Guilt gnawed its way through his chest until every heartbeat ached. Thanks to his stupidity, Kipling was now dead as well while Gabriella would be forever marked by what had occurred here this evening.
An unforgiveable tragedy for which he alone was to blame.
Nothing he did from this moment on would ever make up for the loss he’d caused. By God, a man was dead. Yet Miss Hastings still lived and she needed him now more than ever. A reminder that forced him to shuck his own emotional upheaval so he could get on with his job.
He swallowed and drew a deep breath, which somehow managed to steady his chaotic pulse, then proceeded to study Miss Jones with a professional eye.
Blonde wisps of frizzy hair brushed her brow. Several loose strands were fanned out behind her head. She was fairly young, he determined. No older than Miss Hastings.
Her gown, a lovely shade of deep blue, was slightly askew, the bodice so thoroughly stained there was no denying the horror of what had occurred. She’d been stabbed multiple times. So many, in fact, Peter would have believed the perpetrator to be an unhinged lunatic, had he not been privy to more information.
A sliver of concern settled against his spine. He’d told Gabriella all would be well but what if he was mistaken? They didn’t even know if Miss Jones had any relatives or what kind of trouble they might cause. Yes, she’d killed three men, but could they prove it? Could they make a believable case in Gabriella’s favor?
No one had been here to witness what happened. Had they?
He stared at the mutilated body. First things first, he needed to get a statement from Lewis, Anderson, and from Gabriella herself. Doctor Fellowes would write a report based on his findings, and then…
Peter shook his head. This was his domain. He believed in the law, but would it be on Gabriella’s side in this instance? What if no one believed she’d acted correctly?
Surely the victim upstairs would lend credence to the threat there had been to her life? But… How had she actually survived her encounter with such an unscrupulous woman? Naturally, he was glad she had, but it did strike him as strange that she’d managed to do so without being wounded herself.
He rubbed the back of his neck. All they knew about Miss Jones was that she’d been employed as a maid at Moorland House. Learning more about her would be useful.
Seeing that her gown appeared to have no pockets and that she wore no form of outerwear, he supposed she must have left a jacket, perhaps even a reticule, elsewhere in the house. Leaving home with no means by which to carry a key or some coin made no sense. Neither did venturing out in the rain without some form of protection.
“I realize you’ve had a long day already,” Peter said to Lewis when he returned to the foyer, “but can you stay here a while longer? I’d like to escort Miss Hastings home, after which I’ll return with additional Runners so you can get some rest. Shouldn’t take more than an hour, tops, during which I’d appreciate it if you and Anderson can jot down the sequence of events that occurred here this evening. You can make more official statements tomorrow, but this should give me enough information to start with.”
“Maybe I should stay and help,” Gabriella whispered. “You need my statement too, don’t you?”
“We’ll get to that later,” Peter told her. “After you’ve had a chance to recover from the shock.”
When she didn’t move to rise from the step on which she sat, he bent to take her upper arm. Gently coaxing, he managed to get her to stand. He shared a look with Lewis, then reached for the scissors once more. It took some effort to pry them from her fingers, but he eventually managed.
“Put these on the table in the parlor,” Peter told Lewis. “I’ll inspect them more closely when I return.”
After parting ways with his men, Peter took Gabriella by the arm and steered her out of the house. Her footsteps were stilted, as though she wasn’t fully aware of her movements.
They reached the carriage, and he helped her climb in before issuing orders to the driver. The man didn’t question the address Peter provided. He merely nodded and prepared to set off.
31
There was no getting past this. Her life was over.
This was the truth that had filled Gabriella’s every thought since she’d realized the woman she kept on stabbing no longer breathed.
Yes, it was the other woman who’d made the first move. And yes, she was surely the murderess they’d been chasing. But how was Gabriella any better when the woman had been unarmed? She’d not been thinking clearly, she’d just reacted with fear.
She couldn’t even recall how she’d ended up with a weapon or what sort of weapon she’d used. A knife, she supposed, for it had gone straight through flesh and tissue. Over and over.
Her body still trembled. Would it ever stop doing so?
The thought evaporated when someone settled into the spot beside her and pulled the carriage door shut. Peter. He drew her against him without a word, offering comfort and support in the aftermath.
Even though she knew she ought to refrain, she selfishly settled against his sturdy frame. Whatever future she’d hoped to have with him had become unachievable. Even if she managed to avoid prison, or worse, there was no ignoring the atrocity she had committed this evening. That woman had needlessly died at her hands. She could still feel the blood staining her fingers.
No amount of soap would ever wash it away.
As it was, Gabriella feared she wouldn’t be able to live with what she’d done. Supposing Peter would be able to was more impossible.
