The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Page 78

“Do you think I will?”
“Who are you talking about?” Beth began, and then a knife flashed in the light from the house. Before Beth could twist away, it came down.
Ian, irritated, learned that Katie had screamed because she’d seen Cameron charge out of a room upstairs. It was dark, Cameron was a giant of a man with a gashed face, and Katie was easily alarmed. There was lot of shouting from the girls upstairs, more screaming from Katie, and bellowing from Cameron, until the din echoed through the house. Hart and Cameron finally helped him silence them all, and by then, Ian’s head was throbbing.
“We’re all here now,” Inspector Fellows said testily to the three Mackenzies staring back at him. “Your good wife has a theory that Mrs. Palmer killed Lily Martin and Sally Tate, to save the hide of the duke, here.”
“Angelina?” Hart asked in derision. “Where did Beth get that idea?”
Fellows answered. “Lady Ian talked to some tarts, ones she knew from her days in the slums. You really should be careful who your wife has truck with, my lord.” “Beth is an egalitarian,” Hart said in a dry voice. “What did they say?” Ian interrupted. If Beth was right—no, if they could convince Fellows that Beth was right—
Fellows might turn his focus from Hart.
“They went on about how devoted Angelina Palmer is to Hart Mackenzie. How she’d do anything for him, even commit murder.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Hart snapped. “She would have had ample opportunity to kill Sally when no one was in the house. She didn’t have to do it when Ian could be accused of it.”
“No?” Cameron broke in, his face stern. “She loves you, Hart. Why not push the blame onto Ian, and comfort you when you lose him?”
“Then why would she help me with .. .” He shot Fellows a sharp gaze.
Fellows rocked back on his heels. “Oh, I know damn well what you did, sir. You bustled your brother off to Scotland so I couldn’t interrogate him. He might tell me a few too many things, wouldn’t he?”
“Why don’t we get Mrs. Palmer down here and ask her?” Cameron said. “If anyone knows the truth of what goes on in this house, it’s her.”
“She’s a hard one to crack,” Fellows returned. “I’ve tried. Just as I’ve tried to break through the damned facade of your two brothers, Hart and Ian, cohorts in crime.” Cameron advanced on him. “You have trouble with respect, don’t you?”
“Stop!” Ian balled his fists and stepped between them. “Cameron is right. Hart, get Mrs. Palmer. If you didn’t kill Sally Tate, then she did.”
“Or you did, my lord,” Fellows told him, eyes glinting. “I didn’t want Sally dead. I had to leave her, she made me so furious, but I was ready to pay her off, send her to Australia or somewhere.” Ian glared at Hart. “If the Palmer woman did it, she needs to admit it. She’s caused us enough pain.”
Hart’s voice dripped with coldness. “Angelina isn’t here.” “Isn’t that convenient?” Fellows said. “What is she doing at this time of night? Shopping?”
Hart shrugged, and Ian’s black rage rose. All these years he’d feared Hart had committed the murder, his beloved brother who’d released Ian from his prison. Ian had done his best to throw Fellows off the scent, to keep him from speaking to the one witness who could harm Hart. And all these years. Hart had believed Ian was still a madman, mad enough to stab Sally in one of his muddles. Mrs. Palmer was the one person who could clear Hart and Ian both, and now Hart protected her.
Hart was a liar. Mrs. Palmer was still in the house somewhere.
And Beth was outside....
Beth twisted, trying to throw Mrs. Palmer away from her at the same time. The knife skirted Beth’s corset and dug its way deep into her side, just above her hip. Beth grunted. The pain was sharp, swift, and robbed her of breath. She dug her fingers into Mrs. Palmer’s wrists and hung on.
“Let go of me, bitch. I’ll gut you.”
Beth tried to scream, but her legs buckled, her body suddenly weak.
“Don’t die on me, you little fool,” Mrs. Palmer’s hot voice hissed in her ear. Beth felt herself being dragged out the gate, the stench of the narrow passage gagging her. Beth’s heart pounded in panic. Mrs. Palmer was clearly dangerous, but she was Beth’s only chance to clear Ian. “You’ll make a nice hostage,” Mrs. Palmer was saying in a hard voice. “Hart tells me Ian adores his new bride. Ian will do anything to get you back, I imagine, including let me get out of England.”
Mrs. Palmer was too strong to fight. She got Beth down the alley to another street, Chancery Lane, if Beth had her bearings right. But darkness swam before her eyes, and she couldn’t be sure. Her hands were so, so cold. She heard Mrs. Palmer laughing, a loud, almost drunken sound. But the woman hadn’t been drunk, had she? Beth’s head swam with confusion as a hansom stopped for them and Mrs. Palmer shoved Beth into it. “Bethnal Green, love,” she said to the cabbie, still laughing. “Don’t worry, I can pay. Hurry now. I have to get my sister home.” Beth slumped against the seat, and Mrs. Palmer pulled the lap robe up over them both. The robe smelled of dust and sweat and wet wool. Beth coughed, then groaned in pain.
“They’ll come after you,” Beth said hoarsely. “When they find I’m gone, they’ll look for me.”