‘I told him. I couldn’t bear it any longer, so I told him.’
‘Doctor Talbot? You told him something?’
At the name he turned his head slowly and stared at me. ‘I told him. Told him I loved him.’
Oh hell. ‘Yes? You told him that here?’
His jaw worked as though the words had to be chewed into submission before he could utter them. ‘No. In his dressing room.’
He took a step forward and I moved back. My heel caught and for a moment I stumbled, righted myself, found I was standing just where we had found Talbot. I had almost tripped on the rug. Bromley kept coming and I kept moving back, past the screen shielding the street door that I knew was locked. When the valet stopped in front of the fireplace I took two rapid sideways steps and reached the far side of the couch. At least I could tip that over if he came at me.
‘What did he say?’ Try and establish a dialogue, they’d said in training on dealing with the drunk or violent.
Bromley had been staring down at the rug, now he looked up, moving his head with that eerie slowness that had me wishing I had never seen a zombie film. ‘He laughed.’
Double hell. ‘Perhaps you took him by surprise,’ I suggested.
‘Don’t be pathetic.’ Bromley’s voice was suddenly so strong, so harsh, that I jumped.
‘I didn’t mean – ’
‘That’s what he said.’ His voice was back to that dreary murmur again. ‘He thought I was pathetic. I’d taken so long to find the courage to tell him how I felt. I kissed his hand. I was kneeling at his feet, holding his shoes. He pushed me away. I fell over.’
Bastard, I thought. Cruel bastard.
‘When was this, Bromley? In the morning?’
‘The night before.’ He held up the razor, turning it in front of his face as though to see himself in the polished steel. ‘He went out.’
The poor devil had spent all night brooding over his heartbreak, his humiliation and, of course, the loss of his position. He’d probably expected to be turned off without a character in the morning. But the mortification and the rejection, would be the worst things. He needed help, proper psychiatric help, and he wouldn’t get it in this century. If he was lucky, he’d be hanged, in public, in front of a jeering mob. If he was unlucky, he’d be sent to Bedlam to be an object of entertainment for that same mob, an early taste of hell. Had I any right to try and stop him cutting his own throat?
I came out from behind the couch, although I kept hold of the ledger. ‘Bromley – ’
‘No! Get away!’ He whirled, the razor slashing out.
I jumped back, crashed against the couch and somehow scrabbled upright. The ledger went flying. ‘Don’t do this,’ I said. ‘Don’t kill yourself. Lord Radcliffe has powerful friends, he’ll find a safe place for you.’ Surely there must be humane private asylums if you paid enough? ‘I understand why you did it.’
He stared at me, suddenly arrested in the middle of a lunge. ‘Did what?’
‘Killed Talbot.’
‘No. I didn’t kill him. I would never hurt him. I loved him.’
He was delusional, clearly. He’d brooded all night in mental agony, then cracked in the morning when his idol showed no sign of relenting. ‘Did Doctor Talbot tell you to come down here in the morning and then dismiss you from his employment?’ I asked, hoping to jog him into recalling it as it really was. ‘And then you hit out in sudden anger? I can understand…’
Bromley gave an incoherent cry of rage and rushed at me waving the razor. ‘Liar!’
I jumped clear fast enough, the training at the police station dojo had taught me that. But we hadn’t practised in trailing skirts, encumbered by stays and petticoats and wearing slippery little shoes. I landed on the edge of the ledger, turned my ankle and fell, sprawling on my back. Bromley dived at me, the light flashing off the blade, and I lifted my foot, got him in the gut and heaved.
It should have sent him over my head and it would have done if my legs had been free and I hadn’t been lying at an odd angle. He crashed down beside me, gasping, and I staggered to my feet as the door burst open and Garrick came barrelling through.
‘Look out – there’s an open razor under him somewhere,’ I shouted as he dived for Bromley.
There was the sound of a blow, a shriek and the razor shot across to the rug. I grabbed it, closed it and retreated behind the desk. ‘Don’t kill him!’
‘Why not?’ Garrick stood, bringing Bromley with him, one arm twisted up behind his back. ‘If I don’t Luc will.’