A Death at the Church

by Caroline Dunford

But now Lucinda was coming for me. I could not help Richenda, even if she still lived, if I too became a victim. Unfortunately for me there was nothing nearby I could grab to defend myself. Lucinda lunged at me, the bloodied figure in her hand ready to strike down again. I ducked aside, as I had been taught, and grabbed Lucinda’s arm as it passed me by. Using the momentum of the weight, I threw her into a sideboard. She went down with a crash. She was too light to break the furniture, but it fell backwards. The ornament smashed as she fell, but she was lithe, and she was back on her feet before I could close the distance. She now wielded a wickedly pointed shard of marble. She swung it again in a wide arc. This time attempting to cut. I dodged backwards. How could I get close without being skewered? Why hadn’t Fitzroy taught me something more useful. I retreated slightly, but knew if I got back into the corner, she would get me. I felt something bang against my leg. I pulled a scone out of my pocket and threw it at her. ‘Help,’ I screamed at the top of my voice. ‘Help!’

  Lucinda faltered, momentarily surprised by choice of missile. Then she grinned. Though it was less a grin than an animalistic showing of teeth. Lips drawn back revealing gums. ‘No one will come. They are too far away.’

  ‘Lucinda, have sense. If you let me save the children, I will speak for you at the trial. I will say what a monster Richard was.’

  ‘Too little, too late.’

  I threw my last scone. Lucinda laughed. I readied myself for the makeshift weapon coming toward me. With an effort of will I did not know I had, I raised my forearm to catch it. Lucinda had not bargained on this drastic effort. The point sunk deep into the flesh of my arm. Almost blinded with the pain, I twisted my arm away, taking the weapon with it. The pain pulsed through me. Every nerve ending fired with pain. I thought I would split apart. As Lucinda approached, I managed to get my unharmed arm up and closed one hand around her throat. I squeezed her windpipe as tight as I could. She began to choke at once, flailing to get free. But I could feel my strength fading as blood flowed from my other arm. My vision was darkening. I thought of the children upstairs slipping silently into death. ‘Help!’ I screamed with my last breath. ‘Help.’

  My consciousness was fading fast. The door burst open and Bertram ran in. His eyes widened in horror, but he did not hesitate. He grabbed Lucinda and wrestled her off me. Behind him came Fitzroy. ‘The children. Gas lamp. Upstairs.’ I managed to say before I passed into unconsciousness.

  When I came to, I was lying in Richenda’s old bedroom. Fitzroy stood at the end of the bed frowning. Someone touched my face. I turned my head and looked into Bertram’s loving face. ‘The children.’

  ‘All well,’ said Bertram. ‘Fitzroy got to the nursery in time. There will be bad headaches all round, but they, and Merry, will be fine.’

  ‘Thank God,’ I said and tried to sit up. I flopped back onto the pillows almost at once. Fitzroy started forward, then stilled. I saw the bandage on my arm.

  ‘You lost a lot of blood,’ said the spy. ‘You will recover, but for now you are weak. I take it you used your arm to block the shard? Most brave, and most ill-advised.’

  ‘I couldn’t think what else to do,’ I said. ‘I kept calling for help.’

  ‘We were too far away,’ he said. ‘But Bertram somehow knew. He bolted up the stairs. Saved your life.’

  ‘Richenda?’

  Bertram lowered his head.

  ‘No,’ I gasped.

  ‘She is not dead,’ said Fitzroy. ‘But she has not recovered consciousness. A doctor was called. Stone will be driving them all back to the Muller estate. We have notified Hans of her condition. He was most distressed.’

  ‘Glanville?’

  ‘Trussed up in a cupboard, and most indignant,’ said Fitzroy with a wry smile.

  ‘What will happen to Lucinda?’ I asked.

  ‘Let her up, Bertram. She needs to see this.’

  ‘No,’ said Bertram. ‘I most certainly will not.’

  I leaned on his arm and pulled myself to a sitting position. ‘Either you take me around my waist and show me, or he does,’ I said to Bertram. Growling and muttering under his breath, Bertram helped me to my feet. He took me out to the gallery above the lobby. There below, the hideous multi-hued rug had that had been an eyesore at Stapleford Hall from the day I first arrived, was rolled up. Something was inside it. A body!

  ‘How?’ I asked Fitzroy.

  ‘Bertram’s wrestled her off you, but she fought like a wildcat and, being a gentleman, he did not use the force he could have. It was only when they reached the top of the stairs that he resisted harder, or he would have accompanied her down them.’

  ‘She is dead,’ I said flatly.

  ‘Of course, I will turn myself over to the police,’ said Bertram. ‘I will plead accidental killing or some such thing.’

  ‘You will do no such thing,’ I said, looking at Fitzroy.

  ‘I agree,’ said the spy. ‘This ties things up quite nicely.’

  ‘Murderous bride attempts to finish off husband’s family and accidentally falls to her death?’ I suggested.

  ‘You should write newspaper headlines,’ said Fitzroy. ‘Indeed, I think we should go with that.’

  ‘But...’ said Bertram.

  ‘No,’ said Fitzroy and I in unison.

  ‘It’s over,’ I said to Bertram. ‘Let it lie. I will be wholly exonerated, and you will be free of the bad blood within your family.’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Fitzroy. ‘I’ll drive you both to the Bishop’s Palace. I do not believe either of you should return to the Mullers for some time.’

  ‘A quiet wedding,’ said Bertram. ‘Your step-father could marry us. If you agree?’

  ‘But who would give me away?’ I said.

  Bertram sighed. ‘I fear we only have one option.’

  I looked over at Fitzroy. He grinned at me. ‘I do look rather swish in a morning suit.’

  * * *

  25 Arguably it was no one’s home under their late father’s will, but someone must be paying the servants, and Richard, being the one who most wanted to own Stapleford Hall, was liable to be the one doing that.

  Proudly published by Accent Press

  www.accentpress.co.uk

  Published by Accent Press Ltd 2019

  ISBN 9781786156693

  elSBN 9781786156709

  Copyright © Caroline Dunford 2019

  The right of Caroline Dunford to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers:

  Accent Press Ltd

  Octavo House

  West Bute Street

  Cardiff

  CF105LJ