Kate Kingsbury: Wedding Rows

“I’m just curious, Mr. Ludwick. How did you know there was no wine in the cellar?”

Fiona tugged at her arm, but instead of letting go, he held her tighter, making her wince. “I didn’t,” he said shortly. “I told the old boy that because I was afraid he’d go looking for wine and fall and hurt himself.”

Elizabeth got slowly to her feet. “I don’t think so,” she said firmly. “I think you went back later, thinking that Brian Sutcliffe was still locked in the cellar. You found the door was open and went in to investigate. I believe you found him at the foot of the stairs, having fallen, perhaps unconscious. You saw the knife and stabbed him with it. Then you left. You told Martin there was no wine down there to get rid of him. You couldn’t have him finding the body while you were still there. It was too risky.”

Malcolm was smiling, but there was no humor in it at all. “Very clever, Lady Elizabeth. Unfortunately for you, no one will ever hear that theory.”

“Malcolm!” Fiona cried. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get rid of her.” He backed toward the door, dragging Fiona with him. He reached with his free hand into his pocket and withdrew a cigarette lighter. He flicked the wheel with his thumb, while Fiona gasped in horror.

“No! I won’t let you do this!”

“You don’t have any say in it.” Malcolm reached the door. “This place is old. It will go up like a bonfire. Too bad Lady Elizabeth was trapped inside when the place burned down.” He held the flickering flame to the newspaper lying on the hallstand. It immediately burst into hungry flames that quickly ate up the pages.

Fiona screamed, and Elizabeth stepped forward. “Let her go!”

“Not on your life. I’ve killed for her now and she’s going to keep me in comfort for the rest of my life.”

“No, I’m not!” Fiona screamed. “I hate you! I’ll see you hang first.”

“I don’t think so, my dear.” Again Malcolm’s mouth stretched in an evil grin. “If you want to live, you’ll do exactly what I say. If you breathe a word about what happened here, or what was said here, I’ll make sure you share the same fate as our esteemed lady of the manor.”

The flames were now devouring the coats and scarves on the hallstand, and the smoke curled up to the ceiling. Elizabeth coughed and started toward the door. She never saw Malcolm’s fist coming. All she saw were stars, as a jolting pain shot through her jaw and her knees buckled under her. From a distance she heard Fiona scream again, then everything faded into black.

Elizabeth opened her eyes and blinked. She lay on a couch in an unfamiliar room, and people milled around, all seemingly talking at once.

“She’s awake!” said a gruff voice, and then George was bending over her, his red-rimmed eyes full of concern. All right, your ladyship?”

Elizabeth coughed and sat up, feeling immensely uncomfortable. She recognized Arnold, the elderly ironmonger, and his wife Trudy, who was hovering at her husband’s elbow, her face taut with anxiety.

“I’m quite all right,” Elizabeth assured them, surprised to hear her voice so hoarse. Actually she felt rather dizzy, but she wasn’t about to admit that. “What happened?”

“I got there just in time to see Ludwick dragging Mrs. Farnsworth out of the burning flat,” George told her. “I hit him with my truncheon and he went down like a wounded pheasant. Mrs. Farnsworth told me everything. Luckily the fire hadn’t got much of a hold. Arnold and some of the other shopkeepers managed to put it out. The fire brigade is on the way to make sure everything’s under control. I’m afraid the new bride will be coming back to a bit of a mess, though.”

“What about Fiona?” Elizabeth swung her feet to the ground. “Is she all right?”

“She’s at the station, helping Sid write out a report. The inspector’s on his way to take Ludwick into custody. Right now he’s locked up in our cell.”

Very carefully, Elizabeth got to her feet. She had to hang onto the arm of the couch to steady herself, but gradually the room stopped swimming around.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, your ladyship,” George said, looking anxious. “Trudy here rang the doctor. He’s on his way to look you over.”

“Oh, I wish you hadn’t bothered him.” Elizabeth smiled at Trudy. “I’m sure some fresh air is all I need.” She started coughing again and Trudy hurried forward.

“Come with me, your ladyship, into the back garden. You’re right, you need some fresh air. You can wait for the doctor out there. I have a nice comfortable deck chair you can sit on until he gets here.”

She refused to take no for an answer, and Elizabeth allowed herself to be led outside onto a pleasant square of lawn where Trudy settled her onto a deck chair.

“There,” said the ironmonger’s wife, as she handed Elizabeth a copy of Woman’s Weekly. “You just rest there and I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea. I’m sure the doctor will be here in no time.”

Thanking her, Elizabeth made herself more comfortable on the chair. Perhaps she was just a little tired. She couldn’t help wondering what Earl would say when he heard about her narrow escape. Perhaps it was foolish to go into Priscilla’s flat without George. Then again, they might never have got a confession from the man if George had been there. So it all worked out, after all.

A faint drone in the distance drew her attention to the sky. Airplanes. She shaded her eyes against the bright sunlight, and finally she could see them-a huge formation of bombers flying low toward the coast.

They drew closer, the leading formation almost overhead. She could see the markings on their wings. The distinctive white star on the blue circle confirmed her fears. American airplanes. Earl must be up there somewhere with them.

She watched them until they disappeared from sight, the drone of their engines fading into silence. Someday she would not have to watch like this, her heart full of fear for him and his men. Someday the war would end, and all this agony of uncertainty and despair would be over.

Someday.

She could only hope that day would come soon.