Hope - Lesley Pearse [253]
His arms flapped, his hands instinctively moving towards the fork. His mouth gaped open and he made a rattling, rasping sound. Blood spurted out, spraying on to Hope’s clothes, and she backed away in horror.
A wounded soldier had once told her that he could shoot any number of the enemy with his rifle and cheer at every one, but he had night mares about the ones he’d killed with his bayonet, for he sawtheir faces, felt their pain.
She knew exactly what that soldier meant now. Albert was sliding slowly down the wall, his hands bloodied as he clutched at the fork, and his expression one of agony. She had sat in the church watching this man marry her sister. She’d cooked him meals, washed his shirts.
She might never have liked him – he was a loathsome creature who had bullied and terrorized both herself and Nell. He had killed Sir William and he should have been hanged for it. But she was aghast that she was capable of killing.
A wave of nausea overtook her and she staggered to the door. Rufus was running up the drive carrying his shotgun, closely followed by Lady Harvey.
‘He’s in there,’ Hope managed to get out before she vomited.
Shaking from head to toe, she somehowmanaged to get to the buggy and pick Betsy up. She stopped crying immediately, but the sensation of the small warm body pressed against her own made tears spring to Hope’s eyes.
She turned with the baby in her arms to see Rufus and Lady Harvey standing at the stable door looking in. ‘Is he dead?’ she asked.
‘Not quite,’ Rufus said in a white-cold voice. ‘And I hope it takes a long time before he is.’
Chapter Twenty-six
Hope had gone back to the gatehouse without Lady Harvey and Rufus, expecting that they would follow immediately. Although trembling from head to foot, she made a pot of tea and then sat down to feed Betsy, struggling to come to terms with what had just happened.
It was a good half an hour, maybe longer, before the other two returned, by which time she’d just finished feeding the baby and was changing her napkin. Lady Harvey came in without saying a word, sat down by the fire and bowed her head almost to her knees.
Rufus said very little. He asked Hope how she was and insisted she have a glass of brandy before he took her home. He said that he would then go on to inform the police about what had happened. He went over to the window and just stood there silently, looking out.
Hope could understand their silence, she didn’t feel able to discuss what had happened either. They were all deeply shocked, but as she sipped her brandy she became aware that it wasn’t just silence, it was tension.
She had felt the selfsame thing when she’d lived here with Albert and Nell. In those days she’d always thought she was to blame for the chilling atmosphere, and she did again now. Were they blaming her for bringing more trouble to their door?
Her head was whirling with unwanted images. She could see Albert’s surprised expression as the pitchfork went into him, his blood spurting out and the knife dropping from his hand. One side of her brain was telling her it was good that she had killed him, but the other kept reminding her, ‘Thou shalt not kill’.
But why wasn’t Rufus telling her that it was the only thing she could have done?
She finished changing Betsy, gulped down the last of the brandy and stood up.
‘I’m ready to go now, Rufus,’ she said.
‘Fine,’ he said, not even turning to look at her. ‘I’ll go and get the buggy.’
But he didn’t move; he was still staring out of the window.
‘We must get someone to come and sit with your mother while you’re gone,’ she suggested.
He turned to face her then, but there was an expression on his face she couldn’t read, for it was more than anger or anxiety. ‘I don’t know that