A False Mirror - Charles Todd [16]
She drank it thirstily, as if it was a panacea for her problems.
“I can’t think. My mind’s a blur,” she said, setting her cup down at last. “I wish none of this had happened, I wish it was all a bad dream and there was no truth in any of it. I wish—”
There was a pounding at the front door.
They stared at each other.
“Bennett.” Stephen said the name with despair, then added rapidly, “Felicity, if you believe I’m telling you the truth, that’s all that matters.”
But she was at the sitting room door ahead of him. “Never mind, Nan, I’ll see to it,” she called. And then turning back to Stephen, she said, “There’s the revolver in Matthew’s desk. Top drawer. Quickly!”
Stephen turned to the desk under the windows at the side of the room, opened the drawer, and found the weapon lying there under a handful of papers.
“Come with me,” Felicity added, all but pulling at him. “Hurry, to the door!”
The pounding was louder, filling the house with noise.
“I’m not shooting a policeman.”
“No, come on, Stephen, hurry!”
Nan had stepped out of the kitchen passage, half hidden by the morning shadows in that corner of the hall, her inquisitiveness narrowing her eyes as she peered toward the door. Then she saw the weapon in Stephen’s hand and cried out.
Felicity said rapidly, “Hold the revolver against my back. Do as I say!”
But Stephen was already there, the weapon pointed at her even as he prayed it was empty. Driven by the strident pounding, he refused to think beyond this moment, beyond the need to protect Felicity from any appearance of collusion in the tangle he’d made of things.
She reached the front door and called out, “Who is it?” Her voice quivered, but she had herself under control. Mallory marveled at her.
“Inspector Bennett. Open the door, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“I can’t,” she cried. “I can’t. Please go away before he shoots me!”
Stephen flinched, unprepared for her dramatic pronouncement. He kept his finger away from the trigger, bile filling his throat with a fear that had nothing to do with Felicity or the inspector. Put the barrel into his mouth and end the torment, that’s all he had to do…. But not here, not in front of her.
There was silence on the other side of the door. Then, “Is Stephen Mallory with you, Mrs. Hamilton?”
“Yes, he’s right behind me.”
“Is he armed, Mrs. Hamilton?”
“Yes—yes, he has my husband’s revolver. Please don’t open that door!”
She could hear Bennett speaking rapidly to one of the men with him, then heard them speculating among themselves. Stephen seemed turned to stone behind her.
“My maid is here too. Please go away. Please.” The anxiety in her voice was genuine, her need to be rid of them pressing her into real fear.
“Very well, Mrs. Hamilton,” another voice said. “But we’ll be back. And I’d advise Mr. Mallory that it would be in his own best interest to give himself up quietly. There’s no need to subject you to more horror.”
“I understand.”
She thought she could hear them moving away to the drive, still talking among themselves. Bennett would be furious at being thwarted a second time, he wasn’t a man to take frustration in his stride and try to deal with it sensibly. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest, realizing only then that she’d made matters worse for herself and for Mallory.
Behind her Stephen was exclaiming hoarsely, “What have you done? In heaven’s name, Felicity, do you want to see me hang?”
They locked Nan into one of the rooms in the servants’ quarters, where a butler had kept a cot, then went up the stairs into the sitting room again.
Stephen, drained, sat down heavily in the chair by the window. Realizing he still held the revolver, he gingerly set it on the desk and leaned back again.
“Stephen,” Felicity was saying gently, “Stephen, no, listen to me. They aren’t going to treat you fairly. Bennett is vindictive at best. He’ll have you up on a charge of attempted murder, and if Matthew dies—”
She broke off, her face horrified. “I