The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [155]
He trotted off.
The fire was so bright it cast ghastly shadows across the clipped grass. The old wing would soon be a gutted shell; the windows had all burned out and flames soared like bright banners from every empty aperture. There was a dreadful beauty about the sight, and we stood watching in silence. Emerson’s arm was around me, and Cuff had bowed his head.
‘He was dead, Emerson. Wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, my dear.’ After a moment Emerson said in an odd voice, ‘A noble end, trying to save a helpless woman from a fate worse than death. Eh, Cuff?’
Cuff’s head lifted sharply. He and Emerson exchanged a long look.
‘Quite right, sir,’ said Inspector Cuff. ‘And now, sir, and Mrs Emerson, shall we go and take charge of the prisoner your son and your butler have kindly captured for us?’
By the time we reached the gate the household had been aroused and the grounds were alive with screaming maids in billowing white nightgowns, looking like a flock of chickens that had escaped from the henhouse. By the gate were two carriages. Our own brougham had been drawn across the drive in such a way as to block the passage of the other, a dark, closed carriage drawn by a pair of handsome black horses. I could not see Henry, but Bob, one of the younger footmen, stood rigidly at attention, as if guarding two people who were half-sitting, half-reclining on the grassy verge.
Miss Minton was swathed from neck to feet in some heavy dark fabric. Her loosened hair had tumbled down; it spread in a shining veil across the knees of the young man on whose lap her head rested. He had pressed both hands to his face, but I knew him, for the moonlight shone full upon his fiery red head.
‘O’Connell!’ I cried. ‘No! Not Kevin O’Connell –’
Emerson caught me by the shirttail, which I had neglected to tuck in. ‘I fancy he is part of the rescue force, Peabody. Surely you didn’t think he –’
‘Certainly not. Never for an instant.’ (But when the strangling hands had held me with careless strength, clean off the ground, I had been reminded of the ease with which Kevin had lifted me on the night of the riot at the Royal Academy. Few men could have done it – certainly not the frail young Earl.)
‘Ha, ha,’ I said. ‘You will have your little joke, Emerson. The murderer is not Mr O’Connell. He is –’
I stopped and looked expectantly at Emerson. He smiled. ‘Inside the carriage, Peabody.’
And that is where he was, so tightly swathed with ropes, cravats, handkerchiefs, and scarves that he was no more capable of motion than the poor mummy he had desecrated. On the seat opposite sat Henry, with a cudgel in his hand. But there was no more fight left in the killer – Mr Eustace Wilson.
After we had delivered the prisoner to Bow Street and seen him charged, Inspector Cuff declared he had a great deal of work to do, but Emerson insisted he accompany us back to Chalfont House. ‘You can take our statements there as conveniently and much more comfortably,’ he declared. ‘Confound it, Cuff, we have all had a hard night. We deserve a little rest and a celebration.’
Fortunately we had been up very late the night before, and slept late in consequence; after I had changed and removed the cursed corset, I felt quite fresh. We all gathered round the table in the servants’ dining room, which was conveniently close to the kitchen, and where Gargery and the others would feel more at ease; and a merry party it was, with cold mutton and pickles and a nice apple tart, and a great quantity of things to drink. Ramses tried his usual trick when the wine was being poured, holding out a glass and hoping his papa would fill it before he noticed whose it was. Emerson did notice; but he laughed and splashed a scant inch of hock into the tumbler. ‘You deserve it, my son. Now, Peabody, don’t frown; he must learn to drink his wine like a gentleman.’
‘He deserves it is right,’ declared Gargery, who had already had a glass of stout. ‘Wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have come in time, sir and madam,