Jane looked down on Ivo’s head as he walked into view below her. He stopped, perhaps six feet from the woman. From Daphne.
‘Oh, Ivo, you have to help me!’ She ran, threw her arms around him and his closed about her, supporting her as she sobbed on his chest. Then she tipped back her head. ‘Oh, Ivo, I have killed him.’
Chapter Seventeen
Jane picked up her skirts and ran along the landing and down the stairs without conscious thought. Ivo was still holding Daphne, who was weeping and clutching at him.
Who has she killed? Her husband?
As Jane thought it the realisation hit her: if Sir Clement was dead then Daphne was a widow.
But a murderess, she told herself. He cannot marry a murderess...
Then, But he is an earl and earls have influence.
The fear jolted her to a stop on the bottom step and with it came a kind of ice-cold calm. Jane took hold of the newel post hard enough to hurt her hand and focused on the pain until her breathing steadied and she was thinking clearly. She had been ready to take the other woman by the shoulders and drag her away from Ivo, ready to literally throw her out of the front door, she realised.
But someone was dead and that was what mattered in this moment, not how this might affect her. That was how a good person, an unselfish person, would think—as her nails scraped into the wax polish on the carved griffon under her hand she knew she was not that self-sacrificing.
But at least the check had given her a moment to compose herself and she had not screamed, Leave him, he’s mine! like a harridan.
‘Daphne, calm down,’ Ivo said with remarkable firmness, given that a hysterical self-confessed murderess was weeping into his shirt-front. ‘I cannot help you if I do not understand what has happened.’
It only seemed to make things worse.
People were beginning to appear in the hallway: staff, a strange young woman who must be Daphne’s maid and Eunice, clutching a vase half-full of flowers that she had been arranging.
She skirted the pair in the centre of the space and joined Jane on the bottom stair. ‘Miss Newnham? What is happening? Lady Gravestock will be very alarmed.’
‘That is Lady Meredith. Please, give me that vase, go up and see what you can do to soothe Lady Gravestock.’
Eunice blinked at her, but handed over the flower arrangement without argument, then scuttled up the stairs, much like the mouse she so resembled.
Jane walked up until she was within arm’s length. ‘Ivo, I would recommend stepping back. Lady Meredith, you are making yourself ill, stop this at once.’
Predictably the wailing continued.
‘Ivo!’
He looked at her, startled, but did not move, so Jane tossed the flowers on to the floor and shot the water straight over Daphne’s head anyway.
She shrieked and spun round, letting go of Ivo. ‘Ah! You—’
‘Oh, do not thank me, it was the least I could do with you in such distress. Hysteria will only make you feel worse, you know. Partridge, kindly send Mrs French to me in the Blue Sitting Room with towels and plenty of tea. Are you Lady Meredith’s woman? Yes? Then come along and help her change out of these wet clothes.’ She took a firm grip on Daphne’s upper arm and steered her into the nearest small reception room, ignoring her gasps and struggles. Besides being compact, the room had a chilly blue and white decor and hard seats.
Let her try and cast herself into attitudes in here, Jane thought grimly as she pressed the other woman into a chair.
The little maid began to open a portmanteau and Mrs French appeared, her arms full of towels.
‘The tea is on the way, Miss Newnham. My goodness, Miss Parris—Lady Meredith, I should say. I do hope you are not unwell.’
Daphne managed a tremulous smile. ‘Mrs French. You are so kind.’ The glance she sent Jane was wary. ‘Oh, Peters, I am so cold.’
They got her out of her pelisse and gown and wrapped her hair in a towel. She snatched another and swathed it around herself.
Jane felt queasy and realised it was apprehension returning, only momentarily banished by the need for action. ‘Here is the tea. Now, drink it down, Lady Meredith. I have added sugar, it will help with the shock.’
‘My clothes. Please,’ she quavered, ignoring the tea. ‘Behind that screen.’