Page 70

“I think someone’s about to be,” Norman said, his gaze on the doorway Pembroke had just dashed through.

Reina rushed out to the main hall, with Norman at her heels. They saw the butler running, taking the steps two at a time, up the grand staircase. The man must have had eyes in the back of his head, because as Reina began to follow, he growled, “Do not let her fall down the stairs, Norman!” without even glancing over his shoulder.

Norman scrambled to keep pace with Reina as she started up the stairs. “Ma’am—please watch your footing—”

By the time Reina and the footman had reached the wide expanse of the mezzanine level, an intermediate floor overlooking the entrance hall, they found Pembroke confronting Belinda, with Tuppence and Enid standing nearby. There was a great deal of shouting among the four of them, while Alan raced around the group in mad circles.

Reina crouched down and called urgently for the dog. “Come, Alan.”

The dachshund came hurtling forward and leapt into her arms, wagging his tail with such force that it was difficult to keep hold of him.

“I didn’t go inside your room,” Tuppence was saying to Belinda, her face red with frustration. “Do you think I’d climb an extra flight of stairs in my condition, just to go poking through your things?”

“Then how did you get it?” Belinda screamed.

“Alan brought it to me. He must have gone into your room and found it.”

Belinda whirled around, her eyes wild. “I’ll kill the little beast!”

Reina held the dog more firmly. A chill ran through her as she saw a glove on Belinda’s hand, the tips sharp and glinting. Metal claws? Where had the glove come from? What did she need it for?

“That’s my missing work glove!” Enid cried, infuriated. “You stole it, and—look, you ruined it—”

“Quiet,” Pembroke snapped. “All of you. Belinda—don’t you bloody move. Tuppence, what happened to your hand?”

They all looked at the smear of blood on Tuppence’s finger.

The housemaid shook her head, her mouth tight. “It’s nothing. A little scratch when Belinda took it from me too quickly—”

“Belinda ripped it out of her hand,” Enid said. “I saw it.”

“It’s nothing,” Tuppence repeated, pressing the cut against the skirt of her apron. She sent Belinda a concerned glance. “We’re not allowed to have such things—weapons—you know the rules for ticket-of-leave—”

“It ain’t nobody’s business what I got or what I done,” Belinda shouted.

“She stole a glove that was mine,” Enid burst out. “I wear it on laundry day to protect my hands—”

Norman spoke up then, glaring at Belinda. “You’re going to have us all sent back to Millbank—”

“—and now she’s made it into a murder mitten—” Enid went on.

“Shut up,” Pembroke said brusquely. “Belinda, take off the damn glove and give it to me.”

Glassy-eyed with rage, Belinda cried, “I’ll hang first!”

“That’s a likely outcome, at this rate. Hand it over.” Pembroke gave her a warning glance as she backed away. “Now, Belinda.”

“I’ll tear you into strips.” The girl seemed not quite human, her stringy limbs electrified, her eyes huge and eerily bright. She bared her teeth and took a swipe at Pembroke as he approached.

He leapt backward, making a few guttural sounds that were probably Welsh and almost certainly profane. The group let out cries of alarm. Alan trembled in Reina’s arms and started barking again.

“Pembroke—” Reina began anxiously.

“Give me the glove,” he told Belinda.

Belinda lunged at him, metal claws slashing the air. They all watched, dumbfounded, as Pembroke ducked swiftly under a wild swing of Belinda’s arm and caught her from behind. He clamped one arm around her front and caught her wrist in his free hand.

Belinda was thrashing and howling as if possessed. “Let go of me! Let go—”