The moonlight illuminated his cheek but cast his eyes in shadow. He floated toward me, inexorable. “No.” He giggled. “I was here, watching.”
The face in the window.
“That Taylor shoved the log between the door and the step.” He took two steps forward; I took two back. “He was not pleased when Miss Smith rebuffed his advances. I told you he was a venal man. I thought stabbing him appropriate as he’d stabbed Perrin.”
It was the matter-of-fact tone of his voice that sent the shiver down my spine. There was no remorse. No acknowledgement of the immorality of his act. No concern even over being caught.
Bertram couldn’t distinguish right from wrong. Consequences for his actions probably had never entered his head. And there was no way I was going to reason my way out of this.
“And the windows?” I whispered. “Did you break those or was that Mr. Taylor?”
“Oh, I did that.” Bertram mimicked throwing a rock.
“Why?”
He looked confused at my question. “Because I wanted to.”
I swallowed. And there was nothing more to it than that. Bertram desired something, so he did it. Without thought or remorse.
Pleasure. That was the false idol Bertram worshipped. He’d killed Perrin because avenging his sister would make him feel good. He’d let his wants overrule rational thought. Though if what I suspected about his health was true, it was hardly his fault.
I circled back to the tall round table, hoping the white sheet draping over it would hide my intent. “Why did you come back here?” I placed my fingers under the rim of the table and tried to lift it. When had my strength left me? It had happened so slowly, year after year, that I hadn’t noticed I wasn’t the spry woman I once was.
“Because you knew.” He tapped his fingers on his thigh. I’d thought it just a nervous habit, but now I saw all his fidgets, the playing with his cards, covered tremors of his own. “You knew, and you were going to inform on us.”
Yes, I had known. Once Cook Clem had told me Havenstone had been with him during the time Taylor was killed, Bertram had been the only logical suspect. Despite Katherine’s arguments to the contrary, I couldn’t credit Miss Walker killing Perrin. She wanted to be lady of the manor and the wealth that came with that. Killing Perrin wouldn’t have accomplished her goals. I’d written as much to the magistrate.
The magistrate. I tucked my walking stick under my arm and gripped the table with both hands. “I’ve already written to Lord Preston. Killing me won’t save you from prosecution, it will only add another charge.”
“Yes, but—”
I didn’t wait to hear his reply. I hefted the table with all my might and turned it over onto his legs. Spinning, I ran for the door.
I was only ten steps away from the exit when he caught me. The blow hit the center of my back and sent me tumbling. My knees slammed into the floor, followed by my palms and jaw. I tasted blood before I felt the first lick of pain. My walking stick had bounced ahead of me, and I reached for it.
Bertram grabbed my hair and yanked me backwards. He dragged me past Southey, a shaking, furry little ball. Past the settee. I clawed at his hands. I knew I broke skin, but he didn’t seem to feel the pain. When we reached the floor-to-ceiling windows, he tossed me aside.
“I don’t want to stab you.” He looked down at me, hands on his hips. “I promise, this will be quick. You won’t feel much pain. I wouldn’t want a woman to feel pain.”
This time, I couldn’t hold back my harsh chuckles. It all seemed so terribly amusing. He was happy to kill me, but his chivalry didn’t want me to hurt.
Bertram was going to kill me, and I couldn’t stop laughing.
He kicked a pane of glass, the window shattering. “I don’t suppose you’ll jump for me?”
My laughter died. Bertram was going to kill me, but I wouldn’t go down alone. I twisted, pulled back my legs, prepared to kick, claw, and hammer his body in any way I could.
He turned his head, his eyes widening. There was the flash of light on a pale face, the shimmer of muted flames. My walking stick made a satisfying crack as Marie struck Bertram across the face with it.
Marie pulled the stick back then jabbed the knob end into Bertram’s gut.
He wheezed and fell back. His shoulder hit the jagged window, sending more shards of glass to the terrace below. He hung, half out of the window, his hands clinging to the edge of the window frame.
“Come on.” Marie held out her hand and pulled me to my feet. “Let’s get out of ’ere.”
I had no objections to that idea. The first step sent pain shooting up my bones, but I ignored it. I stopped only long enough to gather up Southey before hurrying after the maid into the hallway.
She took my elbow as we hobbled to the stairs. “Are you injured?”
