“I wondered where he got the gun,” I muttered. “Where was Sir Rodney while all of this was happening?”
“He was going about his business,” Bill said matter-of-factly. “He didn’t know that Harold had been in contact with Alfred until he spoke with a nurse at Brook House, after Alfred’s escape. Even then he had no reason to suspect that Alfred was threatening me.”
“Of course,” I said, nodding. “Sir Rodney couldn’t have known about our situation until the Scotland Yard team showed up to interview him.”
“It was just as you predicted it would be,” Bill observed, patting my leg. “The team finally knocked on the right door. Their questions roused questions in Sir Rodney’s mind, and he began to see a pattern. Alfred’s escape took place after the new will had been drawn up. Only three people were aware of the will’s contents—me, Sir Rodney, and Harold. Since neither Sir Rodney nor I had spoken with Alfred about the will, the finger of suspicion pointed at Harold.”
“Did the detectives question Harold?” I asked.
“Chief Superintendent Yarborough questioned Harold,” Bill replied, with a look of grim satisfaction. “It took less than an hour to get the truth out of him. Well, most of the truth. He didn’t tell Yarborough about the gun.”
“And that’s when you called me,” I concluded, “to let me know that Abaddon was as good as caught.”
Bill sighed. “I thought he was.”
Dr. Tighe interrupted the proceedings at that moment, to make sure that his patient wasn’t being overtaxed. I took the opportunity to ask after Andrew.
“He’s awake,” Dr. Tighe informed me, “but he’s still quite weak. It’ll be some time before he’s up and about.” He slid the blood-pressure sleeve from my arm and nodded to Bill. “She’ll do. Tough as a nut, your wife.”
“I know,” said Bill, with feeling. “Believe me, Doctor, I know.”
Twenty-three
When Dr.Tighe had gone, Bill insisted on pouring a glass of water for me, fluffing my pillows, and making a clumsy attempt to feel my pulse. He’d just reached the alarming conclusion that my heart was no longer beating when a quiet knock sounded on the door.
Damian put his head into the room. “I hope you don’t mind. Sir William and Lord Robert sent me to spy on you.” He crossed to my bedside and snapped to attention. “I’m under direct orders from their lordships to discover all I can about you and Andrew and report back without delay.”
“You shouldn’t let the boys bully you,” I said, smiling, “but I’m glad you came.” I held my hand out to him. “Someone needs to find my pulse before Bill calls for a defibrillator.”
Damian took hold of my wrist and peered judiciously at the ceiling. “Strong, steady, a bit of a Latin beat . . . Wait, I think it’s Morse code. Possibly Irish step dancing.” He released my wrist. “Medical history in the making.”
I goggled at him. “You made a joke. You never make jokes.”
“Blame your sons,” he said. “They’re a terrible influence.They keep making me laugh. It’s extremely inappropriate.”
“But extremely welcome,” said Bill. “Have a seat.”
Damian sat in the well-worn visitor’s chair, and Bill stretched out on the bed again, so that we formed a conversational triangle.
“Rob and Will are making gingerbread men with Cook,” Damian informed us. “And Sir Percy moved the nursery to his youngest son’s private apartment. He didn’t think the boys would sleep well in the tower.”
“God bless Percy,” I said.
“You and Bill are to have one of the other private apartments,” Damian went on, “until you’re well enough to travel.”
“Good,” I said. “I’m not too keen on tower rooms at the moment either.”
“Thanks for taking the twins back to the castle,” said Bill. “We’ve been discussing things they shouldn’t hear.”
“Ah,” said Damian, half rising from the chair. “Perhaps I should . . . ?”
Bill motioned for him to resume his seat. “We’d appreciate it if you’d stay. Lori wants to know everything, and you know more about the closing chapters of the story than I do.”
“How far have you gotten?” Damian asked.
“Abaddon’s armed and stalking us,” I said, and turned to Bill. “How did he find out we were on Erinskil?”
“Yarborough believes he spent a few days in the hills above the cottage, watching us,” said Bill. “That’s when he took the photographs of the twins.” He eyed me hesitantly. “Ivan Anton found evidence of a campsite, Lori.”
“Where?” I asked.
“Ivan found a tarp rigged up as a one-person tent,” said Bill, watching me closely. “He found it inside the old hedgerow.”