The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [61]
The room was lit by a single lamp, on the table at the far end near the windows, and by the glow of a dying fire. Straight ahead, Sir Richard’s massive desk filled one corner of the room. In front of it was a good-sized log, similar to others in a wood box next to the fireplace. Philip’s body lay on the floor beside the block of wood. Trunk, arms, and legs were visible. The head stood on Sir Richard’s desk, staring straight at the onlookers with wide, glassy eyes.
6
THOMAS PUT A SUPPORTING ARM AROUND JACQUELINE. She was shaking. They crossed the room together. Jacqueline put out her hand and lifted the head by its long flaxen hair.
It was a shocking gesture, even though Thomas had realized by that time that the head was plaster. The eyes had a glassy stare because they were glass—or some kind of plastic. The features didn’t even resemble Philip’s; only the hair and the bizarre setting had lent the object enough verisimilitude to give them a brief but effective shock.
Thomas dropped to one knee beside the actor and lifted the cloth that covered his head.
It was a plain square of cotton the same color as the crimson rug. Crude as the substitute head, it had nevertheless served the same function—to lend illusion, for the necessary moment of horror. Thomas threw it to one side and passed his hands over Philip’s head and body.
There was blood on his hand when he looked up. Weldon and Strangways were still in the doorway. Weldon had gone limp; only the white-knuckled clasp of his hands on the door-frame kept him erect. Strangways was kneeling beside Liz, who had collapsed into a moaning heap.
“He’s alive,” Thomas said.
“Thank God.” Weldon’s voice was barely audible.
“He’s had a bad knock on the head, though, and I don’t like the way he’s breathing. See if you can arouse the doctor. Last time I saw him, he was passed out in the dining room.”
Strangways rose and ran out. He was back in less time than Thomas would have believed possible, pushing Rawdon ahead of him. The doctor was only half awake and mumbling querulously, but the scene in the library woke him with a vengeance. Without realizing it, Thomas had taken up a position that once again concealed the fallen man’s head and shoulders; and Jacqueline, leaning against the desk, was still holding the plaster head by its hair.
“Dear God,” said Rawdon, coming to a stop.
He was reassured and put to work; and after examining the actor he was able to reassure the others. Between them the men got Philip upstairs to his bed. Sir Richard insisted that the servants should not be brought into it, so they used the upper stairs that led to the bedroom wing by way of Sir Richard’s sitting room.
Rawdon stayed with his patient. The others returned to the library. Thomas looked at Jacqueline, who was still contemplating the plaster head. He was reminded of Margaret of Navarre admiring the macabre mementos of her dead lovers. Liz lay in a chair like a stuffed dummy; she had not spoken since she came out of her faint, nor taken her eyes from the horrible head.
“It’s the sort of thing they use on department-store dummies,” Jacqueline announced, looking up. “The wig was probably purchased elsewhere. It’s been glued on, somewhat amateurishly.”
In order to demonstrate, she suspended the head by its hair and bobbed it up and down like a yoyo.
Liz gasped. “Please don’t….”
Strangways seated himself behind the desk. “It wasn’t meant to convince anyone for long,” he agreed. “But it certainly did the trick for a few seconds. God!…He must have been sitting here when he was struck. Here’s a copy of my book, open to page four hundred fifty-seven.”
“But how did the assailant reach him unobserved?” Weldon was beginning to recover his control. “He was wary and nervous—”
“Not after Mr. Strangways was unmasked,” Thomas said. “He felt safe then.”
“Damn it,” Strangways began.
“No one is accusing you,” Weldon said. “Thomas is merely stating an observed fact. Philip was put off his guard, not only by the discovery of your true identity, but by the fact that Percy