A Masquerade in the Moonlight(128)

Working quickly, he took cords from three of the windows and knotted all but one of them together. Then, in lieu of an elaborate noose, he tied a large knot in the center of the end loop he had made for Ralph’s head. The pressure of Ralph’s hanging body pressing the knot into his windpipe should shorten the man’s final dance. The last cord secured Ralph’s hands tightly behind his back.

It took several attempts, but he finally managed to toss one end of the makeshift rope up and over one of the curved arms of the chandelier. Using the chair Ralph had been leaning against as a crude stepstool, he was then able to snare the dangling end and pull it down until he could hold onto to both ends. He kicked away the chair, to see if the chandelier could hold the weight of his body.

Perfect.

He hefted Ralph’s slighter, still unconscious body onto the up-righted chair, balancing it there with his knee pressed against his victim’s chest, and slipped the noose around his neck, positioning the knot just below Harewood’s prominent Adam’s apple.

Swiftly, his mind racing, he measured the distance between himself and the large, iron handle that operated the damper on the fireplace. That handle would be his goal. All he had to do was reach it.

Now came the difficult part. He rubbed his hands together briskly, trying to marshal all his strength, congratulating himself for all his care of his still strong and muscular body, then took hold of the other end of the rope, wrapped it twice around his left hand, and began to pull with all his might.

Slowly, the silken, slippery cord began to slide over the arm of the chandelier, lifting Ralph’s weight off the chair, which toppled most conveniently, jerking the knotted noose tight around the man’s neck.

He hadn’t realized an unconscious body could be so heavy, but with his back turned to Ralph and the knotted lengths of cording over his shoulder—like a peddler carrying his sack—William was able at last to take one step, then two, raising Ralph from his prayer-like position on his knees until only the tips of his shoes still remained on the floor.

And then Ralph came awake, and immediately realized his dilemma. “No! This can’t happen! He prom—”

Laleham gave another mighty tug on the drapery cord rope.

Ralph began to kick, reaching with all his might for the floor, garbled sounds coming from his mouth. But no more screams. He couldn’t scream. Not with the knot pushing into his gullet.

William turned around, bracing his feet against the floor and leaning backwards as he continued to pull on the cord, watching with considerable, if detached, interest as Ralph’s normally dim complexion turned first red, then blue, as the kicking increased before finally subsiding. Until all he saw were the man’s bulging eyes, stark with terror... then flat with death.

Only three inches separated Sir Ralph Harewood from the floor when his life ended. Three extraordinarily important inches.

The earl struggled forward, finally reaching the fireplace, and with his last strength tied the cord to the damper handle, then sat down on the floor, laboring to regain his breath.

It was over.

How considerate Ralph had been to send his servants away. That action smacked of a planned suicide. All that was missing was a farewell note—short and to the point.

Forcing himself to his feet, Laleham crossed to the desk and began searching it for a sheet of paper he could use to pen his dead friend’s suicide note. But every paper he picked up had already been written on and marked with yesterday’s date. Every one of them. Written on, and splotched with ink, and—what? tears?—and then written over again, on yet another sheet. What on earth could Ralph have been doing to have scribbled so much?

He took up the papers and headed for his wineglass, giving Ralph’s belly a playful nudge as he passed by it, setting the body to swinging, then sat down and began to read.

He read slowly at first, chuckling under his breath as he saw the words “Shield of Invincibility,” then more rapidly, his smile fading. He sat forward on the couch, one hand to his throat as he continued to read, never stopping until he came to the last paragraph:

And so I vow, on my most sacred oath, that this is my full confession, given freely, as Maxwell says it must be. I am now released from my old life and ready to enter into the world of the reborn, the world of eternal life, and I will deliver this confession to Maxwell tonight at midnight, and he will use it to expunge my sins. I feel so free, so full of life—and I will live forever! Now I cannot die!

Laleham looked up at Harewood’s lifeless, still slightly swinging body. “You fool,” he bit out through his clenched teeth. “You stupid, stupid fool!”