The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [81]
“No,” he shouted. “No, don’t—”
The cry helped, distracting Frank’s attention for an instant. Jacqueline was already in action. Only her arm moved. Her arm—and her purse, whose strap was now wound around her fist like the cords of a sling. The massive, weighted object sailed in an accurately calculated arc, striking Frank’s hands and the hilt they clasped. The impetus carried arms and sword up and back, away from Weldon’s face. In a single smooth movement Jacqueline rose and took a long stride. She lifted her knee.
Thomas stood frozen, not with fear but with consternation. The brutal, effective blow and Jacqueline’s white-clad elegance made a rather horrid combination.
Jacqueline herself seemed surprised. Looking down at the moaning form at her feet she remarked, in a wondering voice,
“Amazing. It really works!”
8
“YOU NEVER STUDIED KARATE,” SAID THOMAS. IT was not a question.
“I read a book.”
“You cannot learn karate from a book,” said Thomas. His voice vibrated with passion. “It is impossible to learn karate from a book. No one has ever learned—”
“Well, I saw it on television, too,” Jacqueline said calmly. “I’m not even sure that particular move is karate. Judo, perhaps? Or that other thing, the Chinese—”
“Where I come from, it’s plain dirty fighting,” said Strangways, grinning. “I wish I’d seen you in action, Jacqueline. Not that Thomas’s description lacked verve…”
They were barricaded in the drawing room while Wilkes and the other servants searched out and expelled lurking reporters. The meeting had been canceled; the roars of trucks and the expletives of frustrated media men reached them faintly, even through the closed and bolted windows. It had stopped raining.
“Someone will have to give them a statement,” Kent said, as a particularly outraged expletive echoed along the hall.
“Inspector Whatever-his-name will handle that,” Jacqueline said. She looked apologetically at the new member of the group who stood, in formal rigidity, by the door. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name either, Sergeant…Lieutenant…”
“Constable Stewart, miss,” said the young man, moving only his mouth. A wave of color ran up his thin face, from his tight collar to the roots of his sandy hair. Thomas had noticed that he blushed every time someone spoke to him. He wondered if the young fellow was really cut out for his profession.
“Thank you.” Jacqueline smiled. “You don’t mind if we talk, do you?”
“I have had no instructions as to that, miss.”
“I’m going to talk whether it’s allowed or not,” said Philip decidedly. “I’m confused. What the hell has been going on?”
“Weldon will live,” Thomas said. “He was stabbed three times and lost a lot of blood, but none of the wounds was fatal. The fourth—or fifth, or sixth—would have been.”
“But why not dispatch him at once?” Mr. Ellis looked lost without his usual companion. Rawdon was still upstairs with the wounded man. “The unnecessary brutality…the cruelty…”
“Richard was killed by a dozen blows,” said another voice. “They hacked at his body after he had fallen.”
They had forgotten about Liz, who sat quietly in a corner of the sofa. Thomas stirred uncomfortably as she turned her pale face toward them. She was pale, but composed. Weldon’s survival was the only thing that really mattered to her; the mad events of the day had clarified her feelings.
His candid, sympathetic face gave his thoughts away. Liz smiled at him.
“I’m quite all right, Thomas. Mother is still having hysterics upstairs, but that’s simply habit. She never liked Frank.” A touch of bitterness cooled the girl’s voice, but it disappeared as she went on. “Isn’t it strange, how the most frightful things can have positive results? Percy has been absolutely marvelous. He’s with Mother now. Perhaps all he needs is responsibility. She’s coddled him too long.”
“There’s nothing seriously wrong with Percy,” Jacqueline said. “He’s pampered, frustrated, and overweight. He needs a few good hard kicks in the rear, and the chance to do his own