“We’re not splitting up,” she said. “We’re partners.”
“It may not be safe, and I don’t want to lose you.”
“Then trust me to make my own decisions.”
He shook his head. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. We’re partners.”
Thomas held out his hand to her and together they went up the narrow flight of stairs that led to the roof. Unlike the servants’ quarters, there were no electric lights. Only the dim light of a waning moon and the sound of muffled sobs. He dropped her hand when he saw a shadow with a wide skirt on the end of the parapet. He stepped forward and saw another broad figure with arched shoulders pointing a gun at Penelope.
“Drop your gun,” he called.
The figured turned and he saw the face of the woman who had bandaged his scrapes as a boy—Mrs. Norton. The housekeeper pointed the gun from Thomas to Penelope and back again. “Go back inside the house, Thomas, you were not supposed to see this.”
He held up his hands. “Mrs. Norton, please set down the gun. We can talk about this rationally.”
“She’s trying to take away my home.”
“How?”
Mrs. Norton waved her free hand. “She’s going to sack me after all my years of hard work and dedication. It means nothing to an American.”
Cordelia inhaled sharply.
“No one is going to fire you, Mrs. Norton,” Thomas said slowly. “Ashdown Abbey has been your home longer than it has been mine.”
“Forty-five years,” she said. “I came to work as a maid when I was only eleven. A nameless girl from the workhouse, and now I hold the title of housekeeper. The highest position a woman of my class can hold, and I won’t go back to the gutter.”
“You won’t have to,” he assured her, and took a tentative step toward her.
“I’d rather die than go back to the workhouse.” The gun in Mrs. Norton’s hand began to shake. “It’ll be better for you too when she’s gone. She is a low-born American, who is not worthy to be a countess. Once she is out of the way, you can marry Miss Hutchinson and everything will go back to the way it is supposed to be. Ashdown Abbey will follow the old traditions again.”
“The woman on the parapet is not my wife,” Thomas said. “It’s Miss Hutchinson. Please let her safely come back to me.”
Mrs. Norton shook her head. “You’re trying to be noble again and save her. You always were a good boy.”
She pulled back the hammer and pointed the gun at Penelope’s hunched and crying figure.
“Stop!” Cordelia cried, stepping out from behind Thomas. Her head was held high, and she looked every inch the queen that she was portraying. “I am right here. Leave Penelope alone.”
Mrs. Norton turned the gun back toward Cordelia, aimed it only for a second, and fired it at her heart. Thomas pushed her out of the way and fell against the roof titles. The pain in his chest this time was not from his heart but from the blood flowing freely from the wound. He gasped in agony.
“What have I done? What have I done?” Mrs. Norton dropped her gun and howled in anguish. “I’ve killed him. I’ve murdered my precious boy.”
“Thomas!” Penelope screamed between even louder sobs.
Mrs. Norton gave Thomas one last agonizing look before running and jumping off the roof. The poor, misguided woman!
Cordelia was finally safe.
The pain overwhelmed his senses and he shivered with cold. He felt Cordelia’s luxuriant, soft hair fall across his face, her hands heavy against his chest. He hoped to hear her voice one last time.
“Stop crying, Penelope, and help me staunch the bleeding!” Cordelia yelled.
Thomas could no longer see in the darkness but heard Penelope’s steps coming closer to them.
“What do I do?”
“Give me your petticoat!” Cordelia demanded. “And then run for help.”
