The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [74]
Percy dropped his fork. Bits of scrambled egg flew like snowflakes.
“What did you say?” he demanded shrilly.
“I am about to lock you in your room,” said Weldon. “Have you finished? Take along some toast, if you like; you will be incarcerated for some time, and I know you are not accustomed to going without food for more than a quarter of an hour.”
“But Richard…” said Mrs. Ponsonby-Jones.
“No, my dear, my mind is made up. It is for Percy’s own good,” he added gently.
Mrs. Ponsonby-Jones subsided, with an agonized glance at Percy. Her meekness maddened her son. He burst into a furious speech whose epithets were more or less equally divided between his mother and his cousin. He backed slowly away from the table as he shouted. Thomas had never doubted Percy’s emotional instability; now he was ready to believe it might be more than a mild neurosis.
“Percy,” said Weldon quietly.
Percy stopped shouting. He was drooling with rage and excitement. “You can lock me up,” he said, licking his lips. “But you can’t keep me there.”
“I can but try,” said Weldon equably. He gestured. One of the footmen stepped into the room. He was the same husky young man who had carried Percy the night before. Apparently Percy recognized him; his damp chins quivered.
“Go along with Charles,” said Weldon.
“Oh, very well.” Percy made a lunge at the table. Lady Isobel, who was closest to him, shrieked and shied away, but Percy’s designs were on the food. Snatching a handful of bread, he sauntered toward the door. Thomas did not find his change of mood reassuring. The boy’s furious frown did not wholly conceal the glint in his eyes. Percy enjoyed being the center of attention—the suspect—and he was already planning his next move.
He swaggered out, with the embarrassed footman in close attendance. There was a long, universal sigh. Mrs. Ponsonby-Jones, huddled in her chair, did not speak.
“And those are the precautions you mean to take?” Jacqueline inquired.
“You think them inadequate?”
“I do.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Disperse the house party.”
“I can’t do that,” said Weldon good-humoredly. “This is a supreme moment for all of us. Nor will I insult old friends by seeming to suspect them.”
Jacqueline’s glasses were slipping. She stared over them at Sir Richard, who smiled affably at her.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you—”
Weldon laughed. It was a pleasant, low-pitched laugh, but Thomas didn’t like the sound of it.
“My dear—no, I wouldn’t. I know some of the surmises that have been flying about. Fantastic theories! They do more credit to the imaginations of my friends than to their intelligence. I feel quite sure of the identity of the person who has been playing these nasty little tricks on us. That is all they are; nothing harmful was ever intended. If any of you wish to leave, of course I shan’t stop you. But I do most sincerely hope you will all stay and share this day of triumph.”
Thomas was hypnotized by Jacqueline’s glasses, which continued to slide slowly down her nose. At the last possible moment she put her finger on them and pushed them back into place.
“Oh, I’ll stay,” she said. “Either everyone goes, or we all remain. But may I suggest that we gather in groups from now on? That particularly applies to you, Sir Richard.”
Weldon continued to smile. Thomas thought he heard Jacqueline’s teeth grind together before she spoke again.
“I presume the famous letter is safe?”
“Oh, yes. I have just looked to be sure.”
“Damn it,” Thomas burst out. “You said you wouldn’t go near it until—”
“So I did.” The smile seemed to be stamped on Weldon’s face. “You must allow me my little subterfuges, Thomas. And now, shall we all retire to the drawing room to await the great moment?”
He walked out, moving as if in time to the strains of a slow, majestic march. Jacqueline jumped to her feet and followed. The others moved like a herd of animals after a leader.
Thomas remained in his chair. The more