with it from her chest downwards. And then came another shock: the girl’s eyes were open, and she was gazing up at Betsy.
With a curse Mullin dropped to one knee beside her. But even as they watched Eleanor gurgled, blood bubbling from her mouth. Then she moaned softly, and her head rolled aside.
Footsteps thudded, and Crabb came running in. ‘He got away from me!’ he panted – then he lurched to a halt, staring down at the sight: Betsy and Mullin, kneeling over Eleanor’sbody. Without a word the captain put his hand to the girl’s bare neck, then sat back heavily.
‘My God … why her?’ Crabb muttered. But the next moment he flinched, as Mullin rounded on him in fury.
‘Why her? Isn’t it as plain as daylight?’ And when Betsy looked at him, he turned his anger on her too. ‘The front chamber!’ he cried. ‘Don’t you see? We should never have put her in here … he got the wrong room!’
Bewildered, Betsy met his gaze, then gasped.
‘What do you mean?’ Crabb demanded. But Mullin didn’t answer. Instead Betsy faced him, and her own words chilled her as she spoke.
‘He means it was meant for me,’ she said quietly. ‘Eleanor’s been murdered, because she was mistaken for me.’
In the grey dawn, she sat huddled by the kitchen fireplace in her gown. She had drunk brandy, which Mullin had pressed on her. Thereafter, she turned away from the house and all that went on. She was aware of the two men moving about, but felt it no longer concerned her. All she did was stare into the embers, remembering how Eleanor had banked the fire up the night before. It was the last thing she had done.
Betsy hadn’t wept, not even for Eleanor’s sake. Again it struck her how ill-suited the girl was for the task she had been given. Though she had been on secret ventures before, it was as a servant and an eavesdropper. Now she was dead, murdered by the hand of a man who believed her to be something more. Which begged a terrible question: who had wanted to kill Betsy?
The last few days, she realized, had left her disoriented. Now, she forced herself to think about the people she had encountered . First, the couple on the coach – Franz Katz and his wife, who appeared to be a woman of influence, if not notoriety. Then Thomas Lacy, the angry republican, and his unhappy friend Churston … She frowned. The thought of any of them beinginvolved in this desperate act seemed unlikely. Yet, someone wished her ill. And someone had managed to get into the house undetected, to commit cold-blooded murder.
‘It’s done.’
Emerging from her reverie, Betsy turned to see Mullin, hatless and dishevelled.
‘What’s done?’ she asked in a dull voice.
‘The body … we’ve got rid of it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What do you think I mean?’ Finding a stool, Mullin slumped down on it. ‘We can’t let anyone know of this. The town fathers would ask questions, our mission would be spoiled—’
‘Our mission?’ Betsy stared at him. ‘Is that all that matters to you? An innocent girl’s been stabbed to death—’
‘I know!’ Mullin fixed her with bloodshot eyes. ‘It’s a risk we all take – Eleanor knew that as well as anyone. Our task here’s too important. How many more might die, if we were to abandon it – have you not thought on that?’
‘I don’t care!’ Suddenly Betsy exploded with anger. ‘This is your doing, Mullin!’ she cried. ‘If you’d been alert, whoever killed Eleanor would never have gained entry here, let alone carried out the deed! On top of which, he even got away … You should hang your head in shame!’
‘We all should.’
Startled, she looked round to see Peter Crabb standing in the doorway in his shirt sleeves. The young man was sweaty and dirt-stained, and looked exhausted.
‘What have you done with Eleanor?’ she asked.
‘We buried her, of course.’
It was Mullin who spoke, though less harshly. A brandy bottle was on the table, and he poured some into a
With a curse Mullin dropped to one knee beside her. But even as they watched Eleanor gurgled, blood bubbling from her mouth. Then she moaned softly, and her head rolled aside.
Footsteps thudded, and Crabb came running in. ‘He got away from me!’ he panted – then he lurched to a halt, staring down at the sight: Betsy and Mullin, kneeling over Eleanor’sbody. Without a word the captain put his hand to the girl’s bare neck, then sat back heavily.
‘My God … why her?’ Crabb muttered. But the next moment he flinched, as Mullin rounded on him in fury.
‘Why her? Isn’t it as plain as daylight?’ And when Betsy looked at him, he turned his anger on her too. ‘The front chamber!’ he cried. ‘Don’t you see? We should never have put her in here … he got the wrong room!’
Bewildered, Betsy met his gaze, then gasped.
‘What do you mean?’ Crabb demanded. But Mullin didn’t answer. Instead Betsy faced him, and her own words chilled her as she spoke.
‘He means it was meant for me,’ she said quietly. ‘Eleanor’s been murdered, because she was mistaken for me.’
In the grey dawn, she sat huddled by the kitchen fireplace in her gown. She had drunk brandy, which Mullin had pressed on her. Thereafter, she turned away from the house and all that went on. She was aware of the two men moving about, but felt it no longer concerned her. All she did was stare into the embers, remembering how Eleanor had banked the fire up the night before. It was the last thing she had done.
Betsy hadn’t wept, not even for Eleanor’s sake. Again it struck her how ill-suited the girl was for the task she had been given. Though she had been on secret ventures before, it was as a servant and an eavesdropper. Now she was dead, murdered by the hand of a man who believed her to be something more. Which begged a terrible question: who had wanted to kill Betsy?
The last few days, she realized, had left her disoriented. Now, she forced herself to think about the people she had encountered . First, the couple on the coach – Franz Katz and his wife, who appeared to be a woman of influence, if not notoriety. Then Thomas Lacy, the angry republican, and his unhappy friend Churston … She frowned. The thought of any of them beinginvolved in this desperate act seemed unlikely. Yet, someone wished her ill. And someone had managed to get into the house undetected, to commit cold-blooded murder.
‘It’s done.’
Emerging from her reverie, Betsy turned to see Mullin, hatless and dishevelled.
‘What’s done?’ she asked in a dull voice.
‘The body … we’ve got rid of it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What do you think I mean?’ Finding a stool, Mullin slumped down on it. ‘We can’t let anyone know of this. The town fathers would ask questions, our mission would be spoiled—’
‘Our mission?’ Betsy stared at him. ‘Is that all that matters to you? An innocent girl’s been stabbed to death—’
‘I know!’ Mullin fixed her with bloodshot eyes. ‘It’s a risk we all take – Eleanor knew that as well as anyone. Our task here’s too important. How many more might die, if we were to abandon it – have you not thought on that?’
‘I don’t care!’ Suddenly Betsy exploded with anger. ‘This is your doing, Mullin!’ she cried. ‘If you’d been alert, whoever killed Eleanor would never have gained entry here, let alone carried out the deed! On top of which, he even got away … You should hang your head in shame!’
‘We all should.’
Startled, she looked round to see Peter Crabb standing in the doorway in his shirt sleeves. The young man was sweaty and dirt-stained, and looked exhausted.
‘What have you done with Eleanor?’ she asked.
‘We buried her, of course.’
It was Mullin who spoke, though less harshly. A brandy bottle was on the table, and he poured some into a
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