Chapter 39
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!
Margaret perched herself on the edge of the wash basin, careful not to drag her skirts in the pool of blood accumulated on the stone floor. Her hands ached from pounding on the scullery door, and her voice was croaking by the time she silenced her cries.
That conniving wench! It was her all that time. And Margaret had felt sorry for the leech. But now it made sense. She was ill for far longer than her father or Josephine was. She was faking her illness, perhaps giving herself castor oil or some other elixir to induce vomiting. She released herself from suspicion by posing as a victim. Peter needed to know.
Margaret had already tried the latch, the hinges and everything else she could think of to break free. The one window to the room was a small sliver at the very top of the wall, and there was scarcely enough furniture within the room to stack. She became resigned. She was stuck.
Then she heard a faint sound, the lock unlatching with the unmistakable sound of iron on iron. For a moment, Margaret thought she was hearing things. When the door began to creak open she braced herself. At best it was Ainsley who had come to rescue her, at worst it was Lillian returned to do far worse than lock her in the scullery.
Margaret grasped for the closest item she could use to defend herself and grabbed a laundry plunger and held it at her side while she stood up. She kept her eyes on the door, watching it slowly pry open. Unsure who to expect to see on the other side of it, Margaret carefully craned her neck to look. No one was there.
Slowly she inched toward the door, plunger at her side, and widened the opening. There was no one in the kitchen at all. There were no footsteps of retreat or any sign at all that anyone had been in the room. She dropped the plunger on the kitchen floor and slowly made her way up the kitchen stairs to the main floor. The manor was completely silent with very little illumination to light her way. She paused at the bottom of the stairwell and glanced around the foyer.
There was a line of water, melting snow it looked like, leading from the front door and up the stairs. Her gaze tracked the glistening footsteps up the wood of the stairs and then she saw her. A small girl, standing in a loose fitting night gown, at the very top of the stairs. Her blonde curls fell over her shoulders and she stared at Margaret without blinking.
"Josephine?" Margaret whispered.
The girl said nothing. She waited and finally Margaret began her ascent. Half way up, the girl began to walk away toward the west wing. Margaret followed but soon lost sight of her. A strong gust of artic wind engulfed Margaret and she looked to an open chamber door.
She could hear Ainsley's voice faintly and followed it inside the room, which was clearly a bedroom, perhaps Mrs. Lloyd's judging by the oversized four poster bed. From her spot just inside the door, she could clearly hear Ainsley talking. He was calm enough to anyone else, but to Margaret she realized his words were interrupted with his hastening breath.
Peering around the edge of the door, she could see her brother on the balcony, huddled, almost protecting Mrs. Lloyd who clung to him with abject terror. Lillian was at the door to the balcony, an iron fire poker in her grasp behind her as she blocked the way into the house.
"Peter," she said into the wind, "You should have let her jump."
Margaret watched helplessly from the shadows as Ainsley raised his hand in a protective stance. He positioned himself between Lillian and Mrs. Lloyd, who hid her body behind the obvious strength of her protector.
"No one else dies today," he said calmly.
Margaret could not see Lillian's face but she imagined the girl was smiling before she spoke. "Everyone dies today."
A slight squeal of terror escaped Mrs. Lloyd as she clutched Ainsley tighter.
"Lillian-" Ainsley began, keeping a hand in front of him, as if the gesture would keep the mad murderess at bay.
"They paraded me like a circus mouse, playing second fiddle to that bastard child. She couldn't even sing!"
"It was your father's idea, not mine," Mrs. Lloyd yelled over Ainsley's shoulder. "He wanted to save the mills."
"I know. That's why I poisoned him first."
Margaret began taking steps closer, tempted to snatch the weapon away from Lillian while her attention was elsewhere. With her third step, the floorboard moaned under her weight. Lillian's head turned toward the room and Margaret slipped back into the shadows. She wanted to inch closer but dared not move, not yet.
"I know Josephine was an accident," Ainsley said. Margaret could see his eyes looking around him, searching for a way out, an escape for both him and Mrs. Lloyd. "I know you didn't want to kill her."
"You were supposed to send her back to that witch doctor," Lillian said to her mother, taking a step closer to them.
"How could I?" Mrs. Lloyd asked.
"She was not your daughter. I am!" Lillian's anger returned, harsher than before. Margaret watched her grip tighten on the handle of the iron poker, her knuckles turning white.
"Why Dr. Bennett?" Ainsley ventured to ask. He was stalling her, Margaret realized, postponing the violence long enough to devise a plan of escape.
Lillian swallowed. "That was supposed to be for you. I thought you were smart enough to figure me out but I over estimated you." Lillian laughed but her grip did not lesson on her weapon. "Mary would do anything I asked. But I had to kill her too. She was too weak in the end. Elizabeth will be hanged for my deeds and all I needed was my mother to do her own self in, so I could rest assured that my secret died with her." Lillian paused, and moved her poker from behind her back, revealing it to her hostages.
Margaret quickly crossed the room as Lillian raised the fire poker in the air.
"You ruined it!" Lillian lunged for Ainsley, who pushed Mrs. Lloyd into the snow behind him.
Margaret pushed Lillian, sending the slight woman into railing. She almost flipped over the side but Lillian clutched manically to Margaret, who tried desperately to unhinge the deranged murderer from her. Face to face the women struggled, teetering over the edge of the icy balcony. Within seconds Ainsley was beside them but not before a smiling Lillian threw herself over the edge, clinging to Margaret as she went.
Ainsley grabbed Margaret with one hand, Lillian with the other and used his body weight to anchor them both to the balcony. His face twisted with the strain.
Mrs. Lloyd appeared beside him, pulling on Lillian's arm but she was little help.
"Peter, let go!" Margaret yelled.
He answered her with a visceral growl, squeezing her wrist with more force.
"Peter, don't!" Lillian pleaded, "Save us Peter! Save us!"
Ainsley's face contorted as he pulled on them, attempting to save them both.
Margaret tried to ease the strain by holding her weight on the wall of the house, searching with her feet for a ledge to standing on or a foothold to cling to but the ice made her slip. "You have to let go!" she yelled. "You can't save us all!"
Ainsley gave Lillian an apologetic glance before opening his hand and letting her arm slip from his grasp. Mrs. Lloyd could not hold her weight alone and she too was forced to let go.
In desperation, Lillian clung to Margaret's skirt but couldn't get a proper grip. Her hands slid down Margaret's legs before locking onto her boot. Margaret kicked frantically, aiming for any part of Lillian she could come in contact with. With one swift kick she hit Lillian's upturned face. Lillian let go instantly and fell twenty feet to the snow covered patio.
Heaving her over the railing, Ainsley pulled Margaret to safety. They both collapsed on the balcony floor, the last ounces of adrenalin draining from their bodies. Beside her Margaret found the poker Lillian had attempted to use. She held it up and stared at it. She struggled to bring her breathing back to normal and her hand shook as she held it out. Eventually she tossed the poker aside and watched it slip into the undisturbed snow beside them.
For a long while the only sounds they could hear was their own rhythmic yet rapid breathing and Mrs. Lloyd's sobs. Margaret drew her body closer to her brother, nestling herself under the warmth of his arm.
"For a moment, I thought you wanted me to let go of you," Ainsley said, slipping an ice cold hand into his sister's.
"You'd be dead if you had," Margaret said with a laugh.
"You'd kill me?"
"No, Father."
Ainsley smiled, as Margaret leaned further into him. She could hear his rapid heartbeat beneath his shirt and she could feel his strong muscles holding her close.