Page 51 of The Hazardous Measure of Love
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Luc move, then James, both of them, I guessed, trying to keep Jerald’s attention away from me. I crooked my fingers and Arabella reached out until our fingertips touched. One more step and I had her fingers locked tight with mine. As Luc saw us make contact he produced a knife from his sleeve, swept it in front of him and Jerald shifted round to follow the glint of the blade reflecting the dying light.
As he moved I pulled hard, reeling Arabella in towards me. It jerked Jerald off-balance and swung him round, but he did not let go of her. Now it was a tug of war with Arabella as the rope. He was stronger than me and she was too panicked to help. As he backed away I was dragged too – and then he was on the parapet, leaning back to pull her in.
‘Let go,’ I yelled. ‘You’ll both go over.’ A whole brick fell away beneath his heel. There was a distant thud.
‘We will be together!Always.’
Arabella was screaming now. He had her close enough to grab with his other hand. My feet slid over the lead as I was dragged towards the edge.
Then someone fell on me, wrapped his arms around me and heaved. Luc, I realised as another figure dived for Arabella, caught her around the waist and bore her to the ground, breaking Jerald’s hold on her wrist.
He flailed his arms, but he was beyond the point of recovery now. The silence after he vanished seemed to last for minutes, then there was a sickening thump.
Alexander was on his knees, his hands over his face. James sat up, pulled Arabella into his embrace as though she was a crying child and rocked her gently back and forth, crooning to her.
Luc rolled off me. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No. Oh. Yes, my wrist a little. I think I have sprained it. Nothing worse. You?’
We clung together, talking calmly, shaking with reaction, until there was the sound of cries and raised voices from below. Luc took my face between his palms and kissed me. ‘I love you,’ he said fiercely. ‘Always.’
‘I know.’ I said. And then I let myself cry.
* * *
It was past midnight before we returned to Rook’s Acre. Lady Radcliffe was sitting up waiting for us. ‘You are injured.’ She was on her feet, hastening over at the sight of James’s bandaged hands, my strapped-up wrist.
‘It is nothing,’ Luc said. ‘Scraped palms, a sprain. Jerald is dead. The magistrate and Constable and Coroner are at the Hall. He had admitted it all in front of Alexander, and Arabella could not stop talking until the doctor managed to get some laudanum into her. And Lord Tillingham – Doctor Prescott – has died. He heard the tumult on the terrace and somehow got himself down the stairs and outside. He had some kind of seizure when he saw the body and there was nothing anyone could do.’
‘The poor man,’ Lady Radcliffe lamented. ‘Is there any help we can give?’
‘Not now,’ Luc said wearily. ‘Tomorrow we can go and offer our support, but now I suggest we all go to bed – and at least try to sleep. It is going to be another very long day.’
* * *
‘Shall we go direct to Whitebeams when the inquest is over?’ Lady Radcliffe looked more weary than I had ever seen her. ‘I feel the need for our own walls, our own grounds and some peace.’
‘I agree.’ Luc surveyed the party seated – or perhaps slumped, would be the better word – around the dinner table the next evening. We had done our best to help the confused, doubly-bereaved Prescotts, but it would be a long time before Horace’s family would be able to come to terms with what Jerald had done. ‘James?’
‘I should get back to Leicestershire, unless you need me, of course.’ Both his mother and his brother shook their heads. ‘In that case, if you are travelling through Dunstable, I will pick up the Mail there. It’s an easy run to Leicester, then I’ll hire a gig.’
‘Of course,’ Lady Radcliffe said warmly. ‘Cassie, dear?’
‘I would love to go to Whitebeams. As far as travelling back to my own time is concerned, it doesn’t seem to matter where I am. When it is time to go – I go!’
* * *
The inquest took place two days later. The Prescotts, poor souls, shut themselves away at Tillingham Hall for the very private interment of the Viscount, Doctor Frederick as was, in the family vault. In some distant corner of the graveyard, Jerald was laid to rest. Matthew had convinced the Vicar that his fall had been accidental, and not suicide, so at least his parents were able to bury him in consecrated ground. Percy escorted Arabella and her mother home, so perhaps, after all, there was some happiness ahead for her.
After that it took a day to make the final preparations and to send some of the London staff back to St James’s Square, with others staying to carry out instructions on renovating Rook’s Acre.
‘By the time Matthew is old enough to decide what he wants to do with it, these horrors will be a distant memory for all of us, I hope,’ Luc said, as we climbed into two carriages very early the next morning for the journey to Suffolk. It would take us all day, but the weather was good and I thought that our spirits would rise the closer we got to Whitebeams.
The twins, fully recovered from their fright, went in one vehicle with their attendants and the rest of us travelled in the other. ‘At least until we all brighten up a little,’ Luc said. ‘It is a miracle the boys have not picked up our mood the last few days.’
‘Adrien looked a little happier,’ I said as the carriage turned on to the turnpike road. He had ridden over that morning to say goodbye and had spent some time talking to Luc.
‘I suspect that his father is going to want to employ him as his confidential secretary,’ Luc said. ‘But he was also discussing with Marcus which estate they could let him occupy.’
