First to the scene had been, of all people, Betty Buffrey. Somehow, she had managed to get underneath her erstwhile employer and was supporting her on her shoulders. While Betty held her aloft like some victorious sportswoman, Lady Hardcastle and Miss Titmus worked to untie the rope, which had been thrown over a roof beam and secured to a sturdy sconce embedded in the stone wall.
Lord Riddlethorpe was doing his best to steady Mrs Beddows as she swayed on Betty’s shoulders.
Mr Waterford was out cold on the steps, but seemed to be breathing.
At last, Miss Titmus managed to loosen the knot, and between them they laid Mrs Beddows on the stone floor, where they untied her wrists and comforted her as she began to weep uncontrollably.
Lady Hardcastle brought me the rope, and we secured Mrs McLelland. I left the knife in her arm. It’s dangerous to remove a knife without medical supervision. And it would hurt like blazes if we left it there.
Chapter Seventeen
It took two trips to get the wounded and the prisoner back to the house. Betty and Miss Titmus had accompanied Mrs Beddows (shaken and wheezing) and Mr Waterford (conscious but woozy). Lady Hardcastle and I had waited with Mrs McLelland (alternately angry and snivelling).
Dr Edling arrived from Riddlethorpe shortly after we had unloaded the still-bound Mrs McLelland from the back of the Rolls-Royce. Lord Riddlethorpe directed him to take care of Mrs Beddows first.
‘French military doctors have a word, my lord: triage. It’s the name for the way we assess and prioritize the wounded for treatment. Your housekeeper’s wound is more urgently in need of attention than your guests’.’
‘The French have a great many wonderful words, Doctor,’ said Lord Riddlethorpe. ‘Do they have one to describe the lack of concern a householder might have for the woman who has just tried to murder one of his sister’s oldest friends? It’s a rather specific situation, I grant you, so perhaps they do not. Treat Mrs Beddows first, then Mr Waterford. When they’re both settled, you may see to the moaning wretch in the corner.’
‘At least let me make her comfortable, my lord. You wouldn’t treat a dog this way.’
‘If a dog had tried to kill one of my friends, Dr Edling, I would have shot it. Suffering is good for the immortal soul, and hers needs as much help as it can get. Treat my friends.’
With an almost theatrical display of reluctance, the doctor did as he was told.
Mrs Beddows was pronounced free of any lasting damage. Her throat was badly bruised and there were abrasions on her wrists from the cord that had bound them, but ‘it could have been worse, old thing, what?’, as Uncle Algy said later. She was prescribed a sedative and told to rest, but she insisted on staying downstairs so as not to miss anything.
The falling stone pineapple had only struck Mr Waterford a glancing blow, but it had bruised his back rather badly. The stone step that rose rapidly to meet him as he fell had raised a lump on his forehead to rival the bump on my own. It had also knocked him out cold for a while, but he, too, was pronounced fit for active duty.
‘You’ll have a sore head for a few days,’ said Dr Edling. ‘If you feel confused or giddy, or if you feel at all queasy, call me at once. But you should be as right as rain in no time.’
He moved on to Mrs McLelland.
‘What manner of knife is this?’ he asked as he examined her forearm.
‘A fruit knife,’ I said. ‘Drop point blade, about two inches long. Not well balanced, but not really designed for throwing, anyway. Looks like it passed straight between the radius and the ulna. Good shot, if I do say so myself.’
‘You threw this?’ he said. ‘It’s buried to the handle.’
‘My father taught me,’ I said.
‘You could have severed an artery. This was most reckless. Very reckless indeed.’
‘It was that, or let her shoot one of us,’ I said. ‘Sometimes, one weighs up the risks and a madwoman gets a knife in the arm. Looks like I missed all the arteries, though – she’d have bled to death by now.’
He glared at me, but he was forced to concede that I was right. He gave her a shot of morphia, and patiently eased the knife from her arm. As he was dressing the wound, the doorbell rang.
It was Inspector Foister and Sergeant Tarpley.
I could see we were in for a long night.
In fact, though, it took little more than an hour for the inspector to take our statements. His expression flitted, seemingly at random, between anger, irritation, astonishment, disapproval, and admiration at such a pace it was as though he were performing some newfangled facial calisthenics.
‘I dare say I ought to be thanking you, my lord,’ he said as he was leaving. ‘You’ve wrapped up a most unpleasant case. But I do wish you’d call the professional force if you ever find yourself in similar difficulties.’
‘There was no time, Inspector,’ said Lord Riddlethorpe. ‘And it’s Lady Hardcastle who you should be thanking. It was she who puzzled it all out. Without her, this Burkinshaw creature would be on trial for three murders instead of two, and we’d be short one more dear friend.’
‘Then I dare say I should be thanking you, too, my lady,’ said the inspector. ‘Your friend Inspector Sunderland speaks very highly of you. I’m not sure I’d be quite so indulgent of you as he seems to be, but you’ve saved a life this night, and I can’t begrudge you credit for that.’
Lady Hardcastle inclined her head in acknowledgement.
‘As for you, miss,’ he said as he turned to me. ‘You might want to consider a life in the circus with a knife-throwing talent like that.’
‘As a matter of fact—’ I began, but Lady Hardcastle cut me off.
‘A story for another time, Inspector,’ she said.
He frowned, but clearly knew better than to pursue it. With a polite goodbye to Lord Riddlethorpe, he and the sergeant led their prisoner out into the night.
Mrs Ruddle had ‘thrown together’ what she called a ‘cold collation’, but which by anyone else’s standards would have been a sumptuous feast, lovingly prepared by an expert cook.
It was served in the dining room, and Lord Riddlethorpe invited me to join them at table.
‘I don’t care what you do to make your living,’ he said. ‘Tonight, you saved more than one life with your knife trick, and I’d be honoured if you would dine with us.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ I said. ‘You’re most gracious.’
‘I’ll never get you to call me Fishy, will I?’ he said with a laugh.
‘May I be frank, my lord?’ I asked.
‘You’ve earned it tenfold,’ he said with a smile.
‘I can’t honestly fathom why you’d wish even your closest friends to call you “Fishy”, let alone a visiting lady’s maid.’
He laughed again. ‘It’s astonishing what a chap learns to put up with over the years,’ he said. ‘Come and sit with us. I think you and your mistress might have to explain to us all exactly how you came to suspect Muriel. Rebecca, I should say. I thought she was quite the best housekeeper we’d ever had at Codrington. How wrong I was.’
Lady Hardcastle waited until the clattering and chattering that accompanied everyone helping themselves to dinner had subsided before she began to speak.