Olympia shook her head, silencing him, knowing that he had sensed that something was wrong with her. “But you may have to give him some money. The carriage we came in has not been paid for and the one you came in will also require some money to take the boy to get Dobson.” She sat down beneath the window and leaned against the wall to preserve her strength.
Brant hastily held out some money for Abel, which the boy took and then ran off to fetch Dobson. He turned his attention back to his mother who was watching him with that same, unsettling little smile. It was as if she still knew something he did not and he had the feeling that he did not wish her to tell him, either. He managed to hold back the urge to ask for several minutes as he watched her slowly die with such quiet calm that he was uneasy about it. Yet, when he looked again, he had no doubt that the wound was fatal, that it was actually very surprising that she had hung on to life for as long as she had.
“You were going to shoot me in the back,” he said.
“Yes.” Her voice was soft but steady despite the pain he knew she had to be in. “I know where to aim so that the bullet would still have gone through your heart.”
“An admirable skill for a countess. I do not suppose you are going to ask for forgiveness before you die.”
“No, I think not. I have known for a very long time that I was headed to hell. You see, I lied when I said I have not killed anyone. I killed your father.”
“He died of heart failure. The doctor—”
“Was my lover and had an extensive knowledge of poisons, especially those that left no hint that poison was used.”
“That doctor died of heart failure a year later.”
“Yes, I learn my lessons well, always have, and it was such an easy poison to obtain.”
“Foxglove,” Olympia said and nodded when Brant glanced her way.
“No surprise that a witch would know.”
“Olympia is not a witch.”
“Of course she is but all I find distressing about her Wherlocke blood, the blood of witches and sorcerers and said to give them all such powerful gifts, is that she makes no real use of that power. Very disappointing. I would have welcomed such power. There is one last thing I do need to tell you.”
“And what is that?”
“Emery is not your father’s son.”
Brant frowned and thought of the nine-year-old Emery. The boy was tall for his age and held the promise of being a big man. He had brown hair so light it held blond streaks when he had been out in the sun. And his eyes were a hazel color with a great deal of brown in them. Then he realized where he had seen such coloring before.
“Your footman. The affair is quite old then.”
“He was a very obedient lover and a great resource for me. Of course, when he decided that he did not love me enough to leave London, his usefulness ended.”
A moment later she died. Brant sighed and reached out to close her eyes. “Bitter and vicious right up until the end.”
“Calm, too, for a body that feels sure she is going to hell and that the trip will start with the next breath.”
A moment later Dobson strode in. “You Wherlockes do tend to attract the bodies,” he said as he walked up and looked down at Lady Mallam. “Your mother?”
Brant nodded. “Yes, she was about to shoot me in the back when Pawl shot her. Was hoping you might know a way to help us keep that sort of thing from being known.”
“Well, there are all her crimes to think on but, this does save a hangman’s fee, so I will think of something.”
“Her lover’s body is in the garden. She shot him because he did not really wish to go into exile with her.”
“And there is your answer. Scandalous. A lovers quarrel between a countess and her footman. She shoots him but he lives long enough to shoot her and they both die. It will be scandal enough to whet the appetites of all the gossips so well they will look no further. Might have to wait awhile before we bring up the footman’s body though. Good idea, m’lord.”
“It was Olympia’s idea. She saw the body as she was climbing up the wall to try and help me.”
Dobson looked over at Olympia and then frowned. “Is that when you got shot, m’lady?”
“Shot?” Brant said and heard Pawl echo his cry as he spun around to look at Olympia.
He hurried to her side and then he saw it. Her gown was a dark green so he had not noticed the blood at the shoulder. Now, however, there was a lot more of it.
“Why did you not say something?” he demanded as he tore the sleeve of her gown to look at the wound.
“Your mother was dying and in the mood to tell you secrets.” She winced as he gently tugged her away from the wall so that he could make certain the bullet had passed all the way through, which it had. “I thought she might actually tell you something of importance but it seems she remained petty right up until the end.”
“I need to get you home and seen to by the doctor.”
“Can you walk?” asked Dobson.
“I can carry her,” said Brant.