A Most Novel Revenge by Ashley Weaver Page B

racing too quickly for me to catch hold of one enough to speak it. It was a maddening sensation.
    â€œYou’re certain you’re all right?”
    â€œYes, but…”
    I drew in a deep breath, trying to calm myself. It was just so awful. But perhaps there was still hope. She hadn’t been cold …
    I started to step toward the room, but he slipped his hand around my waist and blocked me from the doorway.
    â€œThere’s nothing you can do, darling,” he said. “Come away.”
    He was right, of course. That much was perfectly obvious, though I hadn’t wanted to believe it. There was nothing anyone would be able to do for Isobel Van Allen.
    Half supporting me, Milo led me down the hall and back to my room.
    As he ushered me into the bedroom, Winnelda turned from where she was brushing my riding jacket. She took one look at me and screamed. Very loudly. It was enough to rouse me somewhat from my stupor.
    â€œI’m all right,” I said. “It … it isn’t mine.” My voice was steady, if a bit faint.
    â€œWinnelda, draw Mrs. Ames a bath.”
    She stood staring at us.
    â€œWinnelda, please do as I ask,” Milo said impatiently.
    She gave a little sob and fairly ran into the bathroom.
    Milo sat me down in a chair and knelt before me, deftly unbuttoning my bloodstained blouse. “It’s going to be all right, darling. You’ve had a shock. We’ll get you cleaned up and you’ll feel much better.”
    â€œYou should send for a doctor,” I said.
    He hesitated for only an instant. “There’s no need for a doctor.”
    I had known it from the moment I saw her, but I hadn’t wanted to believe it. “She’s dead,” I whispered.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThere was so much blood.”
    â€œI know, darling.” He stripped off the bloody blouse I was wearing and tossed it aside. I hugged myself against the cold of the room and the deeper cold I felt inside, but Milo swiftly removed his jacket and put it over my shoulders. Then he leaned down to pull off my riding boots. The brightly polished boots were now stained with blood.
    I looked down at my trousers, the fawn-colored fabric bright red, and felt a wave of dizziness.
    Milo looked up and must have noticed that I had paled, for he cupped my face in his hand, drawing my eyes from my bloodied trousers to his face. “It’s all right, darling.”
    I nodded. It wasn’t all right, but I loved him for trying to convince me that it was.
    Winnelda came out of the bathroom, wringing her hands. “Oh, madam,” she said, her voice breaking. “Oh, madam.”
    â€œWinnelda, you must get hold of yourself,” Milo said firmly. “I need you to tend to Mrs. Ames.”
    She did a very poor job of stifling another sob, and it was apparent that I was going to have to collect myself before she went into hysterics. I wished for the first time in my life that I had been inclined to carry smelling salts. Instead, I drew in a deep, steadying breath.
    â€œIt’s all right,” I said calmly. “There’s … there’s been a … an accident, I’m afraid. Miss Van Allen is dead.”
    â€œOh!” Winnelda’s hand went to her mouth.
    Milo took both my hands in his. The warmth of his grip was reassuring. “Will you be all right if I leave for a moment?”
    â€œYes. Yes, I’ll be fine. I’m much better now.” He studied me for a moment, as though to be sure I meant it, then rose and turned to Winnelda.
    â€œCan I trust you to look after her?”
    She nodded. “Yes, Mr. Ames. I’ll look after her.”
    â€œGood. Help her off with the rest of her clothes and get her into the bath,” Milo said. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and, though he turned his back to me, I could see that he was wiping the blood from his hands.
    He turned to me as he reached the door.