A Dreadful Splendor (95)

Dr. Barnaby put a hand on her shoulder.

Flora tore away from his touch. When she looked at me, her red eyes were ablaze with accusation. “You told me I wouldn’t have to worry about William after tonight. Look what you done!”

“No!” I shook my head furiously. “I didn’t mean like this!”

I heard a swift click of metal. Something cold as ice clamped around my wrist.

I looked and saw a handcuff. “That’s all the proof I need,” Constable Rigby said, fastening my wrists together in front of me.

“That’s hardly proof,” Mr. Pemberton said, moving to stand between us. “Release her at once.”

In a flash, Constable Rigby had Mr. Pemberton cuffed too. “And I suppose you’re the innocent accomplice?” He snorted. “You two can keep each other company on the way back to London.”

Even though there was a dead man on the floor, Constable Rigby couldn’t help but celebrate his success.

The smoke from the fireplace grew thicker. By this time everyone was coughing, and my eyes had started watering. Bramwell whooshed past with a hand over his mouth. Dr. Barnaby yelled for everyone to calm down. A queer ache in my stomach turned to nausea.

There was another scream from Flora as she pointed to the far end of the room. Everyone froze.

It was her. Audra. She hardly resembled her portrait above the fireplace. Her nightdress was caked with dirt, while a curtain of matted hair framed her bloodied face. A pool of seaweed lay at her bare feet. This was no parlour trick. Her standing corpse reeked of death, the putrid scent scratching at our throats and making us gag.

I blinked a few times. The floor seemed to tilt at an alarming angle. I imagined myself on the deck of the sinking schooner in my painting. Maybe that was the real message all along: Save yourself.

Too late.

She raised a skeletal hand and pointed a bony finger at Mr. Pemberton. “Murderer!” she hissed.

Harry let out a garbled scream and clambered through the smoke toward the door.

Audra took a step closer, the seaweed dragging behind her like a rancid wedding train. She nailed her gaze onto Mr. Pemberton. His face had turned ashen as he raised his cuffed hands protectively. I watched his chest rise and fall rapidly.

She repeated the word over and over, raising her raspy voice each time. Soon, her screams filled the room. “Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!”

“No!” he cried out. I had only heard him use that tone once before, when I was about to go over the cliff. He was truly terrified.

Constable Rigby’s gun shook. He pointed it at Audra, his eyes wild. The smoke grew thicker, obscuring the scene.

Flora shrieked as the blaze from the fireplace trailed out onto the rug. Flames licked the bottom of her skirt as she tried to pull William’s body away from the fire.

Mr. Lockhart let out a forsaken wail and fell on the floor, puffing out of breath and thrashing. His extended cane made Constable Rigby stumble and drop the gun.

Mayhem ensued. Dr. Barnaby took off his jacket and beat at the flames, screaming for water. Coughing fits broke out. I heard gagging and had to swallow hard not to follow with the same.

I looked for Audra again, but her ghost had disappeared. Then I noticed the smoke had drawn toward the grandfather clock. I’d dealt with enough candles to know what that meant.

“Miss Timmons!” Mr. Pemberton warned.

I turned and saw the end of Constable Rigby’s pistol pointed straight at me. There was a shout as Mr. Pemberton launched himself into the officer’s side, sending them both into the nearest shelf. Books tumbled on top of them.

“Run!” Mr. Pemberton yelled to me.

A shot cracked through the air. The wood beside me exploded. Constable Rigby hollered for me to freeze. Another shot rang out.

I dropped to the floor, where the air was less hazy, and scram bled to the clock. I saw where one side had come away from the wall. Just as I suspected, there was an opening behind it. I slipped through the slim space and discovered another passageway.

The clock’s door swung shut behind me, immediately cutting off the chaos. I leaned against it and heaved, coughing as the remnants of smoke left my lungs. My hands chafed against the cuffs. Pulling out a hairpin, I had them picked and was tossing them to the side faster than you could say, Rest in peace.

I looked down. Fresh wax pooled on the floor from a lit candle stub. I glanced back up just in time to see a white nightgown disappearing around the corner. She had been watching me.

Without hesitating, I gave chase. A ghost wouldn’t have need for a secret passage.

I ran through the maze of thin hallways, playing a macabre game of hide-and-seek as she led me along. Finally, I reached a ladder that dropped into the familiar passageway. I found the secret door that led to the hallway from the kitchen.

Slowly, I peeked around the corner. “Fire upstairs!” Mrs. Galloway was shouting. “Everyone out!” A stream of staff vacated quickly, leaving the kitchen empty.

I stepped into the hallway. To my left, a faint trail of muddied footsteps led into the pantry. To my right was the door to the back garden. And beyond it, the path to the stables, where a horse with a satchel full of money waited for me. Hopefully.

But my feet wouldn’t move.

Maman’s mantra came to me. You can only depend on yourself, ma petite chérie.

I ran to the garden door and reached for the knob. There was still a red mark on my wrist from the handcuff. I knew Mr. Pemberton couldn’t pick his lock. Constable Rigby had come all the way to Somerset Park because he was assured of an arrest. He wouldn’t leave unless he had someone—anyone—in handcuffs.