The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Page 81

“I’m sorry,” Beth whispered. “You must love him so much.”
“I’ve made no secret of that.”
“It must have been hard for you to watch him marry, to start shutting you out of his life.”
Not the most diplomatic thing to say, Beth thought, but she’d lost control of her words.
“I knew he’d have to marry,” Mrs. Palmer said calmly. “I’m thirteen years older than he is and hardly one of his class. He needed to marry some peer’s daughter to host balls and fetes and charm his colleagues. He’d never become prime minister of England tied to a woman like me.” “But plenty of lofty gentlemen have mistresses. Mrs. Barrington liked to rail about it.”
“Who the hell is Mrs. Barrington?” Beth was too weary to answer, and Mrs. Palmer rambled on. “No one would mind so much Hart having a mistress, no. But it’s more than that.”
“Because he was your lord and master?” She remembered Ian’s words, and curiosity drifted through her pain. “What exactly did he do?”
“If you know nothing of that life, you would not understand.” “I suppose not.” Her attention drifted again. “I don’t believe Hart killed her,” Beth said, alarmed at how faint her voice had grown. “He would have waited until Ian was elsewhere. But someone else might have panicked and shoved a knife into Sally.”
“Someone like me,” Mrs. Palmer said. “Perhaps I killed her.”
To protect Hart. Beth’s eyes drifted closed. She tried to imagine the scene, Ian peering through the half-open door, Hart looming over Sally with a knife in his hand, Lily Martin in the hall outside. Something was wrong with that. If only Beth could stay awake long enough to decide w h a t . . . Mrs. Palmer stood up abruptly , as though she heard something, but no one came into the chapel. Beth’s head bumped the hard bench, and she closed her teeth around a groan. “You’ll be fine here,” Mrs. Palmer said. “Someone will find you.”
“No,” Beth whispered in genuine fear. She reached for the woman’s hand. “Don’t let me die here alone.” If Beth could make Mrs. Palmer stay long enough for Ian to figure out where they were and bring the inspector along, Ian could be cleared and safe from Inspector Fellows forever. Mrs. Palmer looked around the chapel, shivering as though a cool breeze touched her. “Why should 1 stay to be caught?”
“Because you didn’t mean to. You thought Lily would betray Hart, and you were scared.”
Mrs. Palmer bit her lip. “You’re right. I went to her to find out what she knew, and she started raving that the money Ian was giving her wasn’t enough anymore. The scissors were right in her basket. I picked them up . . . .”
She stared at her hand, flexing it in wonder.
“Hart will help you,” Beth said.
“No, he won’t. I ruined everything. Lily’s death put Inspector Fellows back on the scent. Hart will never forgive me.”
Beth grasped the edge of the pew, trying to stay conscious. Sleep beckoned her, sweet sleep where there was no pain. “Did you really kill Sally?”
“It doesn’t matter, does it? I’ll go to the gallows for Hart, and he’ll understand how much I love him.”
“Lily and Sally were lovers,” Beth whispered. Her mind reached for something, but lights flickered on the edges of her vision.
Mrs. Palmer snorted. “Lily had a photograph of Sally in her sitting room, can you believe it? Sally had thrown her over all those years ago. I took it away with me. I didn’t want to give the police any hints, but they made the connection anyway.”
“Sally and Lily,” Beth whispered. She closed her eyes, and the scene played again in her head. Lily staring into the room while Hart was with Sally, watching Hart leave her. Perhaps thinking that Hart had already given Sally money. Lily furious because Sally had given her the push, and she wouldn’t have Sally or the money. A knife lying on the table next to the bed and Lily snatching it up. Ian watching from the parlor as Hart stormed out of the house, Ian seeing Lily in the hall, a witness, he thought, to a crime committed by his brother.
“I have to get away.” Mrs. Palmer shoved her hands into the pockets of Beth’s gown, snatching the drawstring bag that held Beth’s coins. She grabbed Beth’s hand and started working the silver ring with the diamond chip from her little finger. “I’ll take this, too. I can flog it when I get to the Continent. And the earrings.”
“No.” Beth tried to close her fist, but her hand was ice cold and so weak. “My first husband gave it to me.” “A small price to pay for me not killing you.” Mrs. Palmer snatched the earrings out of Beth’s ears, the tiny pain sharp. Isabella had given Beth the earrings in Paris when Beth had admired them. Keep them, darling, she’d said, careless and generous. They suit you better than they do me.
Mrs. Palmer stood up. She looked old in this light, a Woman who’d kept herself young with paint and perseverance. Now she looked tired, weary, a woman who’d tried too hard for too long.
“I love Hart Mackenzie,” she said, her voice fierce. “I have always loved him. I will make certain that little woman loving whore Sally won’t ruin him even after all these years. I made sure Lily wouldn’t.”
“Stay and explain to them,” Beth gasped out.
In sudden rage, Mrs. Palmer hauled Beth up by the hair.
Beth cried out, her side like fire.