Page 32 of A Lady’s Guide to Murder

CHAPTER 31

Death Comes to Enberry Abbey

Moments ticked past. Neither wounded woman moved and Henrietta’s hope slipped away. Eliza must be dead, she reasoned, and Désirée unconscious from pain.

Theo and Marlow’s fight filled the ballroom. They were locked in a desperate struggle for survival and though Marlow was older, he struck with ruthless brutality, for he sought to kill Theo by any means necessary, and Theo was hindered by his humanity.

Through it all, Henrietta repeated the names of Désirée, Eliza. She called them to stay with her, to stay alive, not to give up the will to live.

A feminine exhalation brought the first spark of hope. Then a rustle. A movement. Eliza’s cloaked form was sliding across the floor and Henrietta’s heart leapt. ‘You’re alive,’ she whispered as the radical leader pulled herself closer, extending her right arm, sliding her body on its side along the parquet, extending the arm again. Repeating the process. A trail of black liquid smeared the floor where she’d been.

Eliza paused beside Désirée. Touched the dancer’s face. ‘I cannot go on,’ she murmured, two dark heads side by side. ‘Take the knife. Cut her bonds. If she is not released, four people die tonight rather than only one.’

Désirée moaned, but the words and touch roused her. ‘I will be sick,’ she said, with a strangled cry, and she made good her prediction.

‘It is the pain,’ Eliza said as Désirée retched. ‘Your arm is broken, but your spirit is not. Gather your strength. Pull this knife from me, cut the duchess’s bonds and you will live to dance again.’

Désirée sat up, the men too locked in battle to notice. She pulled back Eliza’s cloak, revealing a blood-soaked torso. Eliza’s hands were clasped around the hilt of the knife, the blade entirely sunk into her body.

‘The blade staunches the flow,’ Henrietta whispered urgently. ‘Eliza, if Désirée removes the knife, you may die.’

The corner of Eliza’s lips quirked. ‘I am the great Eliza King, and, as such, I am immortal. In death, I shall be more powerful even than in life. The people will avenge me. My causes will succeed at last. Besides,’ she looked at Henrietta keenly, ‘I’ve allowed innocents to die merely because their lives stood in the way of victory. I close my eyes at night and though I think of them, I cannot bring myself to mourn. In a way, I am already dead inside.’

Henrietta understood. Eliza was not without any conscience. ‘If I survive tonight,’ she told her former maid, ‘I shall avenge your sister. Officially, Marlow will hang for your death and for Edmund’s, but, at the same time, Nelly will receive her justice. Nelly and the other restless souls, whomever they may be.’ She transferred her gaze to Désirée, who sat watching them. ‘And your testimony will help bring this about.’

Désirée snorted. ‘Who’ll believe what I say?’

‘The people will.’

‘But it is not the people who will try Marlow,’ Désirée said. ‘It’s the House of Lords. What do they care about the people?’

‘In a large enough group, the people have a voice louder than that of all the aristocrats, and they will thirst for vengeance for the killer of both the Duke of Severn and Eliza King. If Marlow’s peers don’t hold him accountable to the full extent of the law, with the state of this country what it is, there could be a revolution. That’s not the answer any of us want, not even you, Désirée, after what the last revolution took from your family. There are innocents and the guilty on both sides; let us take action so no more innocent blood is shed.’

Désirée visibly paled as she studied Eliza’s blood-soaked front. She made to move her uninjured hand towards the knife hilt but then she recoiled, covering her mouth instead. ‘I cannot do this thing. I shall feel I’ve killed you …’

Eliza acted swiftly. A weak but curt nod. A movement of her arms. A slurp as the blade withdrew. A gush of blood in its wake. An offering of a blood-soaked weapon.

Désirée didn’t hesitate then. As if her will to live suddenly possessed her in force, she began to saw at Henrietta’s ankles. One foot was freed. The bloody blade slipped, hit the floor. Désirée wiped her hand, smearing dark liquid across her skirts, and picked the knife up again. Another foot freed.

The pool of blood around Eliza was growing. Seeping, spreading across the ballroom. The radical leader clutched her cloak to her stomach as Désirée began to hack at the ropes binding Henrietta’s torso.

‘What voice and influence and fortune I have,’ Henrietta said to Eliza, ‘I shall use to amplify the honourable causes of the people.’

‘I believe you.’ Eliza’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘I watched you. I watched you save journal articles. I watched you observe the radicals. I heard you encourage your husband to think more extensively than he already did, and I believe you mean it. You’ll do it for your husband, whom you loved—’

‘Yes,’ Henrietta said. ‘But even more than that, I’ll do it for the people.’

And she’d do it for herself. Because she believed in the cause. Because she was not a pawn. Not powerless and weak and reliant on the advice of men. She was a woman of independent means and independent thought. She would use her life to make a difference.

‘ A treas’ry is our common land ,’ Eliza said.

Henrietta nodded. ‘ United all we make our stand .’

The last rope slipped free and Désirée placed the knife in Henrietta’s hand.

‘Staunch Eliza’s wound, Désirée.’ Henrietta rose to her feet, ready to aid Theo in his fight.

Désirée moved towards the radical. Then she stopped. ‘She’s already dead, Your Grace.’

Henrietta looked down. Eliza’s ghostly white face was motionless, her black eyes staring but forever sightless to this world. And it was up to the next world, whatever that might be, to judge Eliza King. The good and the bad of her, tangled so tightly together.

Henrietta’s heart ached for Jim King, deprived of two daughters by the same vicious man. He was yet another reason Henrietta must see justice done.

Resolved, she rushed forward, knife in hand. She did this for the people of Britain. She did this for Edmund. For Theo. For the King sisters, for Désirée du Pont, for Deborah Hawke, Theo’s innocent child-mother. For Mrs Ford, so she would come to no harm. And she did it for her brothers, who had ensured she knew how to fight.

She couldn’t possibly let them down.

She wasn’t going to let anyone down.

Least of all herself.