Page 45 of The Cursed Writer
Beside her, Harry saw Archer clench his fists. ‘I only wanted to shut him up,’ Eliza defended herself, as if the admission made her actions less terrible. ‘I could have killed him any time.’
‘But what were you moving that was important enough to poison a man?’ Archer burst out.
Eliza glanced at him scornfully. ‘Don’t you know?’
‘He may not,’ Oliver said, stepping forwards. ‘But we do. You’re working with Ishmael Bloom and you were moving narcotics.’ He offered a cool smile. ‘The game is up, Eliza. One call to Scotland Yard and they’ll be able to round up your whole gang. In fact?—’
He was interrupted by a hoarse bellow from the hallway. ‘I told you not to come!’
For a moment, they all stood frozen, staring at the figure in the doorway. ‘How could I not come?’ Eliza snapped. ‘I could hardly leave it to you.’
Harry turned the torch towards the door. ‘Mr Donaldson,’ she said coolly. ‘How good of you to incriminate yourself.’
He jerked his head to glower at her but said nothing.
‘Don’t just stand there, you fool!’ Eliza cried. ‘Help me!’
The command seemed to jolt Donaldson into action. With a snarl, he barrelled into the room, crashing into Oliver and knocking him into the wall. Harry gasped as his head snapped against the wood panels. At the same time, Eliza snatched up the counterpane and hurled it at Barrymore, smothering the dog in the heavy fabric. Archer roared in fury and leapt towards her, but stumbled over the writhing animal. Before Harry could move, Eliza was bounding across the room, making for the door.
Staggering to his feet, Donaldson vanished after her. Heart racing, Harry stared after them, unsure whether to give chase or go to Oliver, who lay in a crumpled heap. But there was really only one choice. With a muttered oath, she hurried to his side and played the torch over his pale face. ‘Oliver?’
Behind her, Archer had succeeded in releasing Barrymore. With a volley of ferocious barks, the dog hurtled from the room. ‘I’ll follow them!’ Archer cried, running from the room.
Oliver let out a groan. His eyes fluttered open. ‘Harry?’
She wanted to sob with relief. ‘You’re alive.’
‘Of course he’s alive.’ Philip St John was clambering out of the bed, his expression fierce. ‘He’s a lawyer – they’re made of stone. But I’ll stay with him. You go and help my nephew.’
This time, Harry felt no hesitation. Snatching up her torch, she hurtled from the room and made for the servants’ staircase. As she yanked open the door, she almost collided with Agnes, who gasped and shrank back. ‘What’s happening?’ the housekeeper cried. ‘I heard shouting.’
Mary peered over her shoulder. ‘It’s the master, isn’t it? He’s lost his senses again.’
‘He’s in his room,’ Harry said, stepping back to allow them onto the landing. ‘But Mr Fortescue is injured. Please tend to his head.’
She did not wait to answer their startled questions, but hurried down the stairs as fast as she dared. In the kitchen, no one was in sight but the window was shattered and the door leading outside was wide open. Cursing, she ran through it and into the freezing night.
There were no lights to guide her this time. Straining her ears, Harry listened for the telltale splashing that would give away the direction the flight had taken. A shout rang out in the darkness, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the water. A woman screamed – Harry guessed that must be Eliza and made for the source of the noise. The beam of her torch picked out the ground directly before her but even so she stumbled. She’d had the foresight to wear her boots when she had dressed for the night’s adventures but she had not anticipated she would need a coat. By the time she reached the fen, her feet were already drenched and she was shivering. But she did not stop.
The sound of fighting increased. Following the crashing and furious cries, Harry splashed onwards, burst through a clump of reeds to see Archer and Donaldson locked in battle. Eliza was watching, kept at bay by a snarling, terrifying Barrymore. With a yell, Harry thrust towards the men. Donaldson saw her first. He swung at Archer, knocking him backwards into her. Harry tumbled, sprawling on her back in the fen. Razor-sharp reeds sliced at her skin as she landed in the ice-cold water. The impact sent the breath gushing from her lungs. She lay still for a moment, wheezing, then scrambled to her feet. The torch lay a short distance away, lodged half in, half out of the sedge, its light extinguished. With an oath, Harry snatched it up and stabbed atthe switch. Dead. She dropped it in the water and turned to the brawl once more.
It was immediately clear Donaldson was the better fighter. He laid punch after punch on Archer, who did his best to weave out of the way but was hampered by the water sloshing against his thighs. Rallying, Archer landed a punch of his own. Donaldson staggered backwards, shaking his head. Sensing his advantage, Archer pressed forward but Donaldson was ready. With a howl, he threw himself into the other man, bearing him through the air and landing them both flat in the water. With mounting horror, Harry watched as Donaldson forced Archer’s head beneath the surface. Archer fought back, spluttering and coughing, but his assailant was too strong. Once more, Donaldson plunged him under the water. ‘Stop!’ Harry cried. ‘You’re going to kill him!’
But it was clear from the demented grimace on Donaldson’s face that he did not intend to stop. Wildly, Harry looked around for a branch or a tree stump she could use as a weapon. She found nothing. And then she remembered the torch. Where had it been? Scrambling sideways, she clutched desperately among the waterlogged vegetation until at last her fingers closed around it. She hauled it from the water and launched herself towards the struggling men, praying she was not too late. Archer’s feet were thrashing now as Donaldson tried to finish the job. Eliza let out a cry of warning. Donaldson’s head jerked up, presenting Harry with a target. Summoning as much force as she could, she brought the torch down on the back of his skull. It connected with a sickening crunch. The man jerked and reared back. His hands loosened on Archer’s neck. For a moment, he hovered in the air, fingers convulsing. Then he toppled sideways and lay still.
The torch tumbled from Harry’s numb grip as she scrambled towards Archer. With strength born of fear, she dragged himfrom the water and hauled him into a lopsided sitting position, banging her fist hard against his back. He coughed, weakly, and a torrent of fen water gushed from his lungs. Another cough, and another, as Harry continued to pummel his back. Finally, he opened his eyes. Blinking, his gaze came to rest upon Donaldson, who lay groaning. ‘Did I do that?’ he croaked. ‘I’ve never been in a real fight before. It’s quite different to what we do on stage.’
On the other side of the clearing, Eliza glared at them. ‘Call off your dog.’
‘That depends on you,’ Harry said, undoing the belt from her skirt to knot around Donaldson’s hands. ‘Are you going to tell the police everything? Or shall I leave you out here with Barrymore?’
The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘You wouldn’t.’
As though on cue, the dog snarled. ‘Oh, I would,’ Harry said. She smiled thinly. ‘Among all the commotion this evening, I believe Donaldson forgot to feed him. He’s probably hungry.’
Eliza seemed to be weighing her options. ‘Don’t leave me out here,’ she said, with a nervous glance at Barrymore’s flattened ears and bared teeth. ‘I’ll come quietly.’
‘Sensible,’ Harry said and turned her attention to Archer. ‘Are you able to walk?’
