Death at Dawn - Caro Peacock [130]
I think I’d shocked Daniel, describing Stephen Mandeville’s end. It would have shocked him far more – Daniel being such a civilised man – if I’d tried to share with him the fierce joy I felt when I knew he was dead. That joy had faded now, leaving only an immense weariness.
‘Didn’t you guess he’d killed my father?’ I said to Daniel. ‘You must have known why she fainted.’ I nodded across at Mrs Martley, so as not to wake her by saying her name. ‘She saw him and heard his voice and knew he was the other man in the carriage.’
Daniel nodded.
‘You did guess, then. Why didn’t you say so?’
‘I was concerned at what you might do, child. I thought if I could only take you away to London, put it in the hands of the proper authorities …’
‘Who’d have done nothing, you know that. He killed his own grandmother too, and they wouldn’t have done anything about that either.’
Even now, although justice had been done in my heart, it would not show in the official records. The version put about by Sir Herbert and Kilkeel would be what the world knew. Mrs Beedle died of heart seizure after all and her grandson in a tragic riding accident while nobly trying to rescue his sister from an abductor. What his sister would feel I should probably never hear. I didn’t expect to see Celia again. I’d done all I could at the end to save her from the true story about her brother. Now she’d have to do the best she could with the rest of her life. Like me.
‘You’re convinced he killed Mrs Beedle too?’ Daniel said.
‘Sure of it. All his future, even his freedom, depended on pleasing his stepfather and making their plot succeed, and she was trying to stop it. Then there was that empty place opposite me at dinner.’
An empty place near the top of a table must be filled. Therefore, if somebody near the top of the table were called away on other business at the last minute, the place cards would be moved up and the gap left at the bottom instead. The son of the house had been otherwise employed.
‘I wish I’d been with you,’ he said.
‘There was no time.’
I didn’t ask the question that was in my mind: ‘What would you have done?’ We’re not allowed revenge any more. It belongs in savage myths and even then usually to men, seldom to women. Yet, remembering Amos Legge’s hand resting for a moment on my shoulder, I thought he’d understood. But I’d left him there. He’d given me no choice in the matter.
‘We must wait for Amos Legge when we get to Windsor,’ I said.
‘We’re not waiting for anybody,’ Daniel said. ‘We’ll be on the first coach to London. At least the magistrates there can’t all be Sir Herbert’s friends.’
‘I don’t think they can do anything against me now. They have too much to hide.’
‘Probably, but I’m not taking the risk.’
I said nothing, not wanting to quarrel with him before I must. As the sun came up, a thin mist rose from the meadows on either side. Rancie, who’d been so quiet, suddenly raised her head and whinnied. Mrs Martley’s eyes snapped open.
‘Who is it? Who’s after us?’
There were hoofbeats coming along the lane behind us at a steady canter. Daniel shouted to the driver to go faster, but he was more than half asleep and didn’t seem to hear. I turned and saw a heavy bay cob. He needed to be heavy because his rider was built like a young oak tree. I stood up and waved.
‘Mr Legge. Amos Legge.’
He came up beside us, bending from the saddle to untie Rancie from the back of the landau.
‘Morning miss.’
‘What happened?’
‘Back there, you mean? Couldn’t say. Didn’t think I was needed, so I went and left them to it. It’s taken me a while to catch up because I couldn’t puzzle out what way you’d gone, see.’
He grinned, touched his hat and fell in behind us without another word, leading Rancie beside him. A mile or so on, the lane turned on to a wider road and he came up alongside the landau.
‘Everything all right, miss?’
‘Yes, thank you. Mr Legge, what shall you do when we get to Windsor?’
My mind was heavy with the thought that we must part there.
‘I’ll see you and the gentleman on the London coach, then come on up