A Porcelain Viscountess by Hazel Linwood

Chapter 29

“Louisa!” Phoebe screamed her name’s friend in panic as the shots ricocheted around the room.

Louisa was shaking, with the pistol now fired and a smoke vapor escaping from the barrel of the pistol, yet she seemed unharmed. She looked over her body, her lip trembling and her gaze restless. She was not hurt.

Phoebe felt Francis push her backward, until she was in Lady Dodge’s arms.

“Keep her safe,” Francis ordered before barreling forward. He was heading straight for Graham.

Phoebe’s gaze flicked toward her husband, to see what had happened. The pistol was still in his hands, but he was not reloading it. He wavered on his feet for a minute, the strength in his body seemingly vanished.

“Is he…?” Phoebe asked, unable to finish the sentence.

In answer to her question, Graham began to fall backward. Francis grabbed hold of him, stopping him from smacking his body against the floor. With one hand he snatched the pistol out of Graham’s hand, and with the other around Graham’s chest, he lowered him down to the floor.

“We need a physician! Now!” Francis ordered.

Lord Dodge stepped away from their side and reached toward the footman, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar.

“If you don’t want to face a court for what you have done here tonight, fetch a physician and a constable – now,” he demanded. The footman nodded a little, before tearing himself out of Lord Dodge’s hands and running for the door.

“No…no…this cannot be happening,” Baron Notley was muttering to himself. Phoebe snapped her gaze toward her father, seeing how he had gone pale and was veering sideways on his feet, as if he would faint at any moment.

Francis lowered Lord Ridlington down to the floor completely, then placed the pistol in the waistband of his trousers. Kneeling over Lord Ridlington, he called to him, trying to rouse him.

“Wake up. If you don’t want to die, then you have to stay conscious,” Francis said loudly.

Phoebe’s gaze darted between Louisa and Graham. Louisa sank down until she was sitting in the middle of the staircase, staring at the pistol in her hands as though it were a wild animal.

“She’s a killer! We all saw it! She shot him!” the Baron shouted as loudly as he could.

“He’s not dead yet,” Francis said. “And she had no choice but to shoot.”

Phoebe stepped forward, out of Lady Dodge’s hands. Her friend seemed reluctant to let her go, but Phoebe went anyway, her steps taking her straight toward her father.

“You did this,” Phoebe said quietly. Her father backed up so much that he collided with the banister railing around the staircase, his lips parted in horror.

“I-I?” he stuttered in amazement. “I did not pull the trigger!”

“Who gave Graham the pistol?” she asked. She had lived in Graham’s house long enough to know he hadn’t owned a pistol, yet her father had a collection of them. It was a collection he had prided himself on, ornate with some antique items as well as more modern pistols. “You did, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Accessory, then,” Lord Dodge called from across the room as he too knelt beside Lord Ridlington. “They could hang you for that.”

“No…No…” the Baron didn’t seem to be in control of his own body. Phoebe watched as he backed away from her, trying to get around the banister railing before heading straight to the door. He ran out like a child fearful of the rod, rather than an aging man, making the door bang and clatter against the wall on his way out.

“Is he…dead?” Phoebe asked in panic, looking back round to Lord Ridlington on the floor. She couldn’t see him from their position. His face was blocked from where Francis was kneeling.

“Not yet,” Francis said calmly.

Slowly, Phoebe walked forward, tiptoeing in her bare feet across the floorboards until she was standing over her husband.

“Wake up, man,” Francis ordered again. “You need to stay awake.” He struck Lord Ridlington around the face for good measure, just in the effort to keep him awake.

Lord Ridlington flinched, but his eyes would not open. Phoebe’s gaze lowered down to the wound placed firmly in the center of his chest. From the clothes, it was not clear to see the extent of the bullet wound, but the blood was evident, blooming across his shirt and jacket.

Phoebe looked up to Louisa who was crying in the middle of the steps. She dropped the pistol on the staircase and shuffled away from it on her rear.

“You are an excellent shot, Louisa,” Lord Dodge said. Yet it didn’t cause any comfort. Louisa just began to cry even more. Lady Dodge hurried past the group and went straight to Louisa’s side, sinking down beside her and wrapping an arm around the maid’s shoulder in comfort.

The breath coming out of Graham was husky and strained, as though he was struggling to breathe at all. The sound of it made Phoebe look back toward him.

She was numb. Death was not something she would ever wish on anyone, yet she didn’t know what to feel now. Louisa had to shoot, or she could have ended up in this same position. It was not a desired situation, but one borne out of necessity.

“It’s no good, Francis,” Josiah said, as he lifted a hand and placed it to Lord Ridlington’s neck, checking his pulse. “He’s fading.”

They both reared back a little from Lord Ridlington. Phoebe could feel all of their eyes turning on her, but she didn’t know what to do. She supposed many wives would sink down to their husband’s side and kiss them on the forehead in a goodbye, something of the kind, yet she could not. Merely thinking about giving Graham such a gentle touch felt wrong, not when she thought of all the hurt that he had caused her, plus his intention to kill not only Louisa, but Francis too.

“Goodbye, Graham,” she said calmly and took a step away from his body. She turned her gaze away, hearing the last breath he took.

“He’s gone,” Francis said.

* * *

Francis had explained repeatedly to the constable what had happened, yet they were going over it again anyway. He looked around the sitting room of the inn, amazed at the mess that had unfolded.

Through the doorway, back in the entrance hall, Lord Ridlington was still laid on the floor, but he had been covered by a sheet and hidden from view. In the sitting room, the innkeeper and his wife had been released from their ties and were partaking in strong glasses of ale that had been prepared for everyone for the shock.

Phoebe and Louisa were sat side by side, hand in hand, gripping one another so tightly that the knuckles of their hands were turning white. Diana was sat close by to the two of them, staring at what was now her empty glass of ale.

Josiah was by Francis’ side as they sought to explain again what had happened.

“Why did they come for Lady Ridlington if she was filing for divorce?” the first constable asked as the night watchman beside him scribbled down some notes in a small notebook with a pencil.

“Some men do not accept such things as divorce easily,” Josiah explained. “He was determined to take Lady Ridlington back with him, come what may. Lord Ridlington brought his father-in-law too.”

“Where is he now?” the constable asked.

“Gone,” Francis answered with a sigh as he ruffled his hair. “When Lord Ridlington was shot, Baron Notley ran out of here. I don’t think he fancied being charged with being party to the kidnap of his own daughter.”

“That is what it was?” the watchman said, looking up from his notebook with a strained voice.

“Without a doubt,” Francis answered, keeping his voice strong. “They tried to take her away and threaten to shoot us if we attempted to stop them.”

“Lord Ridlington was going to shoot you anyway, Francis,” Josiah said, pinching the bridge of his nose in stress.

“Yes, thank you for the reminder,” Francis said wryly, watching as the constable and the watchman exchanged fearful glances.

“Rest assured, Baron Notley will be charged for his part in tonight,” the constable said, standing a little taller.

“Thank you,” Francis said, glancing across the room to where Phoebe was talking so quietly with Louisa. They were so far apart that she couldn’t hear their conversation. He was almost pleased for it, as he did not know how she would react to hearing her father would end up in court for what he had done.

“Would you like to break that news to Lady Ridlington, Your Grace?” the constable asked. Francis turned his gaze back to the constable, seeing how perceptive a comment it was.

“Yes please, I think it best,” Francis said with a firm nod.

“Right, then we come back to the crux of the matter…” the constable paused and shifted between his feet, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “A viscount has been killed.”

“That he has,” Francis said, sensing where this was going. “But he was a man the same as any other, and an unkind one at that.”

The constable glanced toward the watchman who shifted just as awkwardly, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.

“The magistrate will want someone charged for such a crime,” the constable said eventually in a harried whisper.

“You want to charge a maid with murder?” Josiah said, not afraid to keep the derision out of his voice. “It was self-defense.”

“Was it absolutely? Would you be willing to swear to it in court?” the constable said with a kind of desperation. “I know the magistrate; he’ll insist that someone be charged. In order to refute it, I will need firm evidence.”

“Louisa had no choice,” Francis said with strength and folded his arms across his chest. The constable and the watchman turned their gazes toward Francis, both falling quiet and attentive. “He was firing at her. If you want proof, then go find the bullet he shot in her direction. It landed in the staircase, somewhere near her feet. If she hadn’t shot, he would have killed her.”

“No man would convict her in court,” Josiah said, matching Francis with the same firm tone. “Surely you would not drag her through the chaos of a trial just to be cleared at that point.”

“They would clear her. Categorically so,” Francis said. Seeing the way that the constable and the watchman were looking at him, Francis could see a route to pull the situation to his favor. It was hardly something he liked to do, seeing it as using his superior status to get his way, but on this occasion, it was for the right decision. “You have not only the words of a marquess and a marchioness to prove it, as well as a viscountess, but a duke too. Do you think a magistrate would disagree with my word?”

He could see the way Josiah smiled a little, trying to hide it, knowing full well what Francis was doing. The constable and the watchman exchanged glances again before turning back to Francis.

“No, the magistrate would not disagree with your word,” the constable said eventually.

“Then you have your answer,” Francis said with finality. “Louisa fired in self-defense and Lord Ridlington was a victim of his own wish to murder. Is that clear?”

“Abundantly so,” the constable said with a firm nod. “Thank you, Your Grace.” He pointed his head to the watchman, ordering him to write down some more notes.

Silence descended for a minute, the only sound being the pencil that scratched on the paper. Francis felt a small elbow in the side of his stomach and turned to see Josiah was staring at him, trying to communicate something soundlessly.

“What?” Francis mouthed the word. Josiah gestured back across the room, toward where Phoebe was sat, hanging her head. She looked pale with her brown curls hanging around her ears. The innkeeper had provided a blanket to throw around her shoulders to help her modesty, but nothing seemed to matter to her right now. She was in shock.

Francis nodded at Josiah, showing he understood.

“With Lord Ridlington’s passing, Lady Ridlington will take possession of her home again. They have no children, and I understand he has no siblings either. The property will be hers; do you have any objection to her reclaiming the property tomorrow?” he asked, deciding it was best to get to the point.

“No objection,” the constable said hurriedly. “We will inform the magistrate at once of what has happened and the news will be delivered to London in the coming day. Lord Ridlington’s body will be taken back to the city for burial too.”

“Thank you,” Francis said, nodding a little.

“Your Grace?” A small voice called his attention from across the room. He turned to see Louisa standing from her seat, with Phoebe doing her best to pull her back down, but she wouldn’t be moved. Louisa stood a little taller, her body stiff and tears on her cheeks. “Will I be arrested?”

Francis smiled as gently as he could, seeing the fear in her face.

“No, Louisa, you will not,” he said, watching as her lips parted in amazement. “The constable agrees it was self-defense and there is no point at all in seeing a court for it. You did the right thing, Louisa.”

Her tears came more heavily as she capitulated back down to the chair. Phoebe wrapped her arms around her friend, keeping her tight into her side as Diana moved to the same settee and placed a hand on Louisa’s shoulder in comfort.

“What of my father?” Phoebe asked, addressing her question to Francis. He glanced toward the constable before crossing the room toward her, needing to answer her without the room watching on as a kind of audience.

She was peering around Louisa’s shoulder as he reached her side.

“He will be arrested, Phoebe,” he said softly. “For assault and attempted kidnap.”

She nodded though she bit her lip, holding back more tears.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly.

“He never liked me,” she whispered into the air. “He hated me because I took my mother away from him. She died in childbirth. After that…he became a bitter man.”

He reached out to her, needing touch. She reached out too, and their hands connected in the air, clinging onto each other.

“He will not come for you again, Phoebe. He will be charged for trying to help Lord Ridlington.” His words seemed to bring her some comfort, though she bit her lip all the more, holding back tears. “You’re safe now. You’re a free woman.”

“Free?” she said as one tear escaped down her cheek. “I never thought such a day would come.”