Louisa was shaking, with the pistol now fired and a smoke vapor escaping from the barrel of the pistol, yet she seemed unharmed. She looked over her body, her lip trembling and her gaze restless. She was not hurt.
Phoebe felt Francis push her backward, until she was in Lady Dodge’s arms.
“Keep her safe,” Francis ordered before barreling forward. He was heading straight for Graham.
Phoebe’s gaze flicked toward her husband, to see what had happened. The pistol was still in his hands, but he was not reloading it. He wavered on his feet for a minute, the strength in his body seemingly vanished.
“Is he…?” Phoebe asked, unable to finish the sentence.
In answer to her question, Graham began to fall backward. Francis grabbed hold of him, stopping him from smacking his body against the floor. With one hand he snatched the pistol out of Graham’s hand, and with the other around Graham’s chest, he lowered him down to the floor.
“We need a physician! Now!” Francis ordered.
Lord Dodge stepped away from their side and reached toward the footman, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar.
“If you don’t want to face a court for what you have done here tonight, fetch a physician and a constable – now,” he demanded. The footman nodded a little, before tearing himself out of Lord Dodge’s hands and running for the door.
“No…no…this cannot be happening,” Baron Notley was muttering to himself. Phoebe snapped her gaze toward her father, seeing how he had gone pale and was veering sideways on his feet, as if he would faint at any moment.
Francis lowered Lord Ridlington down to the floor completely, then placed the pistol in the waistband of his trousers. Kneeling over Lord Ridlington, he called to him, trying to rouse him.
“Wake up. If you don’t want to die, then you have to stay conscious,” Francis said loudly.
Phoebe’s gaze darted between Louisa and Graham. Louisa sank down until she was sitting in the middle of the staircase, staring at the pistol in her hands as though it were a wild animal.
“She’s a killer! We all saw it! She shot him!” the Baron shouted as loudly as he could.
“He’s not dead yet,” Francis said. “And she had no choice but to shoot.”
Phoebe stepped forward, out of Lady Dodge’s hands. Her friend seemed reluctant to let her go, but Phoebe went anyway, her steps taking her straight toward her father.
“You did this,” Phoebe said quietly. Her father backed up so much that he collided with the banister railing around the staircase, his lips parted in horror.
“I-I?” he stuttered in amazement. “I did not pull the trigger!”
“Who gave Graham the pistol?” she asked. She had lived in Graham’s house long enough to know he hadn’t owned a pistol, yet her father had a collection of them. It was a collection he had prided himself on, ornate with some antique items as well as more modern pistols. “You did, didn’t you?” she asked.
“Accessory, then,” Lord Dodge called from across the room as he too knelt beside Lord Ridlington. “They could hang you for that.”
“No…No…” the Baron didn’t seem to be in control of his own body. Phoebe watched as he backed away from her, trying to get around the banister railing before heading straight to the door. He ran out like a child fearful of the rod, rather than an aging man, making the door bang and clatter against the wall on his way out.
“Is he…dead?” Phoebe asked in panic, looking back round to Lord Ridlington on the floor. She couldn’t see him from their position. His face was blocked from where Francis was kneeling.
“Not yet,” Francis said calmly.
Slowly, Phoebe walked forward, tiptoeing in her bare feet across the floorboards until she was standing over her husband.
“Wake up, man,” Francis ordered again. “You need to stay awake.” He struck Lord Ridlington around the face for good measure, just in the effort to keep him awake.
Lord Ridlington flinched, but his eyes would not open. Phoebe’s gaze lowered down to the wound placed firmly in the center of his chest. From the clothes, it was not clear to see the extent of the bullet wound, but the blood was evident, blooming across his shirt and jacket.
Phoebe looked up to Louisa who was crying in the middle of the steps. She dropped the pistol on the staircase and shuffled away from it on her rear.
“You are an excellent shot, Louisa,” Lord Dodge said. Yet it didn’t cause any comfort. Louisa just began to cry even more. Lady Dodge hurried past the group and went straight to Louisa’s side, sinking down beside her and wrapping an arm around the maid’s shoulder in comfort.
The breath coming out of Graham was husky and strained, as though he was struggling to breathe at all. The sound of it made Phoebe look back toward him.
She was numb. Death was not something she would ever wish on anyone, yet she didn’t know what to feel now. Louisa had to shoot, or she could have ended up in this same position. It was not a desired situation, but one borne out of necessity.
