Dr. Patterson came forwardto see to Inglewood, while George, at the vicar’s instruction, carried Lady Inglewood into the vicarage. Cecilia hurried after them. She pumped water over a cloth she found in the kitchen, wrung it out, and went back to Lady Inglewood, who George had laid on the vicar’s sofa.
“Take off her hat and veil,” Cecilia directed George. Cecilia gasped when she looked at her, but quickly placed the cool cloth on her head. The squire’s wife had a black eye and a deep gash in her cheek.
George pointed to the gash. “That’s from my father’s signet ring,” he said flatly. “I don’t know how he caused the black eye.”
Cecilia looked at him, shocked, more for how he told her than what he told her. She turned back to Lady Inglewood and dabbed the cloth across her brow and down her neck. Lady Inglewood moaned as she roused from her faint. She blinked her eyes. “Lady Branstoke?” she said weakly. “He didn’t shoot you?”
“No, he didn’t, thanks to you and your son,” she said gently.
“Good…good…” She closed her eyes again.
“Do you hurt anywhere?”
She smiled slightly and opened her eyes. “Other than my usual afflictions, no.” She struggled to sit up. Cecilia rushed to help her.
“Don’t try to stand; you need to sit here awhile. . . George, would you please bring over that pillow from the wing chair? We’ll put it behind her back to make her more comfortable.”
The vicar came in the door, followed by James.
“Is Lady Inglewood all right?” the vicar asked.
“I’m fine,” Lady Inglewood assured him from her seat on the sofa.
He crossed the room and took her hands in his. “Dr. Patterson does not know if Squire Inglewood will live. He thinks the knife nicked a liver artery.”
Lady Inglewood shrugged. “If I am arrested for murder, so be it.”
“You won’t be,” James said, coming forward, “no matter the outcome. You were acting in the defense of others.”
“I shudder to consider what you have suffered at the hands of that man,” Cecilia said.
“It has only been in the last five years that he has become obsessed with respect, dignity, and power. He twists around a slight or disagreement into displaying disrespect, and that makes him livid. Only perfect agreement and obedience are accepted, and occasionally, even that can be twisted. It was like he looked for us and others to disrespect him. Expected it.”
“But to hit you… How can you respect a man who does that?”
Lady Inglewood smiled slightly. “You learn.”
“Mother, if he lives, you will not be safe living with him, you know that, don’t you?” George said.
“Yes. But…I have a confession to make.”
They looked at her quizzically.
“I followed my husband when he followed Mrs. Jones up on the downs. I haven’t ridden a horse in years; however, I am a good rider. Better than Alfred.”
“Which is the reason you haven’t ridden in years,” James said.
She smiled. “Yes… I kept to the line of trees at the far left side of the meadow. It was beautiful up there. The golden hour before dusk, when everything is bathed in warm golden light. Iunderstood why Mrs. Jones liked to paint up there at that time of day.
“I saw him grab her around her neck to choke her. You were correct in your supposition that the pin came loose. It glinted in the sun and caught his hand. He sharply jerked that hand away. That gave Mrs. Jones the opportunity to run away from him. He chased her, cornering her near the cliff. She tried to get away, but he laughed at her. Laughed! …And he pushed her. I heard her scream, then nothing. I didn’t consider that she might be alive. I rode back to Inglewood Manor quickly so he wouldn’t know I had followed him.”
“You saw him actually push her?” James clarified.
She nodded. “Strange, though, it appeared…slow and casual, and when she went down, he looked…satisfied.”
“I do not blame you for not coming forward before now,” the vicar told her. “But I don’t understand why he wanted to claim she committed suicide.”
“Even in death, he wanted to hurt her,” Cecilia said.
