Page 155 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

That, unfortunately, was true. Emma very much feared something dreadful had happened to Henry on the way to Randalls. That thought scared her more than Guy’s weapon.

“Don’t care,” snapped Harry.

“Go up to his room and see if he’s there,” Guy ordered.

“Bugger you.”

Guy shoved up out of his chair and jabbed a finger at Harry as they began to hotly debate how to proceed. In the process, Guy let the hand holding the pistol drop to his side.

Emma leaned toward Mrs. Hodges.

“Prepare to run for the stableyard,” she whispered.

The housekeeper threw her a startled glance but then squeezed her hand before letting go.

As the confrontation between the two men escalated into shouting, Emma steeled herself to do what she must. Guy had given her an idea. It was a terrible one, but it just might save their lives.

“Now,” she murmured to Mrs. Hodges.

Emma then scrambled to her feet, grabbed the lantern off the table, and hurled it directly at Guy. It just missed and smashed into the window behind him. The glass shattered and oil spewed onto the window curtains, setting them ablaze.

Emma heard Guy curse, but she and Mrs. Hodges was already halfway across the kitchen. Mrs. Hodges suddenly veered sideways—with astonishing fleetness of foot for a woman her age—and fled up the stairs to the stableyard. Emma ran straight for the steps back to the main house, half expecting the blast of a pistol at any second.

Her foot hit the bottom stair and she surged upward, three steps at a time. She pushed through the swinging door but then slipped on the top step, her too-large boots tripping her up. Recovering, she scrambled out into the corridor, running as fast as dared. If she fell, Guy would catch her. Even now she could hear footsteps pounding behind her.

“Stop, or I’ll shoot,” he roared.

Emma would rather take her chances getting shot than getting burned up in a fire. She ran as hard as she could, turning from the service corridor into the long gallery. If she could just reach the great hall—

Boom.

A bust of a Knightley ancestor exploded. She flinched when a shard of stone struck the side of her head, and she went down hard on one knee. Gasping for breath, she pushed herself up, only to freeze when she felt the pistol barrel press against her shoulder.

“I have you, Mrs. Knightley. There’s no point in trying to escape.”

Guy’s voice chilled her to the very marrow. Still, she had no intention of cowering on the floor, waiting to be murdered.

Then a thought darted into her head. He couldn’t shoot her, could he? He’d already fired the pistol.

She sucked in a calming breath. “May I at least stand?”

For several seconds, as long as eternity, she heard only his breathing.

Then he withdrew the barrel from her shoulder.

“Please do stand, Mrs. Knightley. I should hate for you to be made uncomfortable,” he calmly said.

Lunatic.

She took her time getting up, darting a quick look around for a possible weapon to use. There was that hideous bust of Julius Caesar on the pedestal just over there. Perhaps—

“Turn around, please,” said Guy, as she heard a thump.

When she turned, her heart plummeted right down to the cellar. The villain had discarded the spent pistol, tossing it to the floor. Now he held a lethal-looking knife in his hand.

Even in the shadows of the long gallery, she could see the gleam in his eyes.

“Just so, ma’am,” he said. “I am still armed. And I assure you that you won’t be able to outrun me.”