A Stranger in Mayfair - Charles Finch [95]
He thought back to the day of the murder. She had come into the alley. Why? At the time she had said she wanted to see if the constable was hungry or thirsty, but now this seemed unlikely. It was much likelier she would have sent a servant out. Did she want to move the brick? Conceal some other clue?
And the attack on Lenox: She had been standing at the door to see Ludo away, no doubt, and heard him come. When she learned the secret was out, eavesdropping on the conversation in the street, she must have flown into a rage.
There was the note! In Frederick Clarke’s room, the note asking him when his birthday was. She must have found out that he was Ludo’s legitimate son, and wanted to know exactly how old the lad was.
These ideas flooded his brain, one tripping on the heels of another, but he didn’t have time to articulate any of them.
Ludo had stood up. “What!” he called. “They know about Fowler. They know about poor Freddie.”
Elizabeth Starling flung the door open, her face transfigured by rage, and screamed, “Shut up, you fool!”
Dallington, who was still in the dark, looked taken aback, but for Lenox it was the final nail in the coffin.
“You killed Clarke, didn’t you?” he asked very softly.
The three other people in the room froze, but he walked to Ludo’s desk and rapped it with his knuckles, eyes cast down, brow furrowed, thinking it through.
“It makes sense to me now. Poor Ludo isn’t a violent type. He’s happy with a game of cards and a glass of brandy. But you—you’re a plotter.”
She was bright red. “You’ve always been a small man, Lenox. Get out of my house.”
“I don’t think I shall. What happened? When did Ludo tell you? Or was it Freddie who told you? Yes—I suspect that’s right.” He started pacing up and down the room. “Freddie wanted to be acknowledged as Ludo’s son and heir, the heir to any Starling title, the heir to Starling Hall. In the heat of the moment—or did you do it coolly?—I can’t decide—at any rate, you pried a brick from the ground and waited at the bend in the alley, where you knew he passed often enough.”
“No!”
“Then you did it. Smiled to his face and struck a blow on the back of his head as he walked away. I shouldn’t have been fooled by your gentle manners, I see now.”
“Lenox, what are you saying?” asked Dallington, appalled. “A woman—a gentlewoman—to have killed—”
Ludo interrupted. “It’s true,” he muttered, almost involuntarily.
“Ludovic!” screamed Elizabeth Starling, her fists tightly clenched and trembling.
“I hate this,” he said. “Because of you—to have been stabbed—our son cast out of our home—our faithful butler—my son! Freddie was my son!” He descended into incoherence now, muttering single words that formed a loose narrative in his own mind.
Lenox saw that the spell of her personality, her willpower, had been broken when the secret came out.
“Why did you cover for her? Why agree to be stabbed?”
“She’s my wife,” was all he managed to stammer out. “But this folly has to end, Eliza.”
As Lenox turned to see Elizabeth Starling’s reaction, two things happened: He heard a sound behind him, and Dallington shouted “Lenox!”
She was attacking him again. She had picked up a good-sized gold clock and had it above her head.
Dallington, who had jumped to his feet, was too late. Fortunately Lenox had managed to spring around her strike and grasp her from behind. She struggled mightily against his grip, but soon she let the clock go and fell in a heap into an armchair, sobbing without restraint.
Lenox, his heart pounding, felt the bandage on his head. Ludo and Dallington were standing beside him, looking shocked.
“I think we must call the police constable,” said Lenox, “but perhaps a doctor would