I tugged on Lady Hardcastle’s sleeve, and she bent slightly towards me.
‘Keep everyone moving around a little,’ I murmured. ‘There are too many of us for her to keep track of everyone if we don’t stand still.’
‘Righto,’ she said. ‘Watch for your signal?’
‘You’ll know when to go,’ I said.
She nodded.
I stepped slowly to my right as Lady Hardcastle turned to mutter something to Lord Riddlethorpe. As I took another step, I could just about hear him whispering to Mr Waterford. They both had the aggrieved look of men-of-action who have been asked to wait for someone else to take the lead, but they seemed to be complying for now. They shifted about, calmly, naturally.
Another step took me to the very edge of the stone steps leading to the doorway as Betty crossed in front of Miss Titmus. I could see that Lady Hardcastle had already reached the opposite side of the steps, so that the six of us were now spread out across Mrs McLelland’s entire field of view. She could still see us all, but she couldn’t focus on all of us at once.
As instructed, the other four continued to shuffle about while Lady Hardcastle began to speak again.
‘We know you blame Katy’s friends for what happened, Rebecca. But this isn’t the way to settle things.’
‘It isn’t?’ said Mrs McLelland. ‘And how do you propose we “settle” it? How do you propose we “settle” the vile bullies who hounded my sister to death? They destroyed my father, too. Drink. Gambling. He lost everything. Why do you think I came to be working as a governess? How did I end up here, cleaning up after this undeserving shower of titled nonentities?’
‘How did you end up here, Rebecca?’ persisted Lady Hardcastle.
‘That oaf Kovacs suggested it.’
‘You knew him, didn’t you? He had a letter from Lord Riddlethorpe’s father, the previous earl. They met in Vienna, along with your father. The earl was the one who introduced Viktor to his lordship. You must have met him when you were a little girl on trips with your father. Did he become a family friend? Did he look out for you when things went wrong?’
Mrs McLelland laughed. ‘Only as far as it suited his own ambitions. He was sweet on my mother, mostly, but she wouldn’t give him the time of day. Once he got over that, he “looked out” for me. Didn’t want to actually help. No money. He wanted me “to stand on my own feet”. And then when he told me that “Fishy” was looking for a new housekeeper, he said I should come and work here. “It would be more money for you. Better prospects. A promotion. A grand family, too. And while you’re there you could perhaps keep me informed of his lordship’s progress with his motor cars.” The old fool.’
‘He didn’t know about Lavinia, Helen, and Roz, did he?’
‘He was an old fool who knew nothing. I came here. I did his sordid spying for him. But I had plans of my own.’
‘And they started to unravel when he saw a picture of the girls,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘He knew Katy at once. He realized what you were up to. He tried to stop you. That’s why you met in the coach house. Did you mean to kill him?’
‘I had to stop him. He was going to ruin everything.’
‘But it’s over now, Rebecca. We can help you. There’s no need to make things worse than they already are,’ she said. ‘Another death isn’t going to make things any better.’
‘It’s not going to make things any worse, though, is it? Two useless articles already dead; a third won’t make them hang me any less. Might as well be hung for a—’ She noticed for the first time that everyone was moving slowly about in front of the doors. ‘What do you all think you’re doing? Stand still!’
‘But it won’t bring—’
‘It won’t bring Katy back? Please tell me you weren’t going to say that. The great Emily Hardcastle and her Big Girl’s Book of Clichés? Do please shut up, dear. Just a few more moments and the sun will go down. Then this useless, evil article can suffer the same way as my dear Katy. They say hanging is quite a horrible way to go without the hangman’s drop. And I do so want to make sure it’s as horrible as it can possibly be.’ Her maniacal grin was proof, as though any were needed, that she had passed beyond the point where appeals to reason might have any effect.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr Waterford tense as he began to charge up the steps. Some people just won’t do as they’re told.
Mrs McLelland saw him, too, and was swinging her shotgun round towards him.
I had the fruit knife concealed in my hand. I had hoped to get into position for a better throw, but needs must . . .
‘Get down!’ I yelled. I flicked my wrist and sent the tiny knife flying towards her. It embedded itself in her left forearm an instant before she pulled the trigger.
It was a risky stratagem. From where I stood, there was no way I could stop her from shooting. I couldn’t rush her, and with such a tiny knife, there was no way I could incapacitate her. My best bet was to disrupt her aim and hope that everyone had the good sense to obey my shout and follow me to the ground.
A shotgun blast is terrifying when the gun is discharged indoors. The sound of shattering glass is always startling, too. The sight and sound of an ornamental stone pineapple falling from a door lintel ought to be comical, but when it crashes into the back of a heroically foolish man – even one who has ignored explicit instructions to wait for the signal to attack – that, too, is disturbing.
Mrs McLelland had flinched as the knife struck her, and her shot had gone high, blasting the window above the door and dislodging the aforementioned ornamental pineapple. She was a game girl, though, and was already steadying herself for her second shot as I leapt up and charged towards her.
She didn’t manage to level the gun before I cannoned into her, but she did manage to kick the rickety stool to one side. As I attempted to wrest the shotgun from Mrs McLelland’s grasp, Mrs Beddows screamed, fell, and then silently kicked as the rope tightened around her neck.
I decided that I’d rather the heavy shotgun were only useful as a club, so as soon as I was sure it was pointed safely away from any of Mrs Beddows’s would-be rescuers, I squeezed Mrs McLelland’s trigger finger and forced her to fire it harmlessly against the wall. Harmlessly for us, at least. It proved to be Mrs McLelland’s undoing.
Unbalanced by the recoil from the gun, she was easy to topple. An elbow here, a knee there, and a well-placed boot just so, and she was lying on the floor, disarmed and choking.
I was finally able to turn my attention to saving Mrs Beddows, but that urgent matter was already well in hand.