Page 103 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
But Mandell’s words were stayed by the footman’s vigorous headshake of denial.
“Another murder, my lord. Last night. Here on Clarion Way.”
“Oh, no!” Sara gave a soft cry of dismay. She pressed her hand to her mouth as though to quell any further reaction.
But Mandell’s attention was riveted on the footman. “Take a deep breath, Hastings, and regain command of yourself.”
Hastings nodded, struggling to obey.
“So the cursed Hook has struck again,” Mandell said. Behind him, he heard Sara sink down upon one of the chairs. “Who has been killed this time?”
“Sir Lucien Fairhaven,” the footman managed to get out.
“Fairhaven?” Mandell frowned. His mind reeled with this strange development. First the death of Bertie Glossop on this same street. Next that Keeler boy behind the theatre. then the attack on Briggs, with Fairhaven disappearing only to surface again to be murdered. None of this affair made any more sense than it ever did.
But he shrugged, saying, “It seems the Hook may actually have performed a service this time—that is if his victim was indeed Sir Lucien. Are you sure of your facts, Hastings?”
Hastings nodded. “I heard about the murder from the postboy. I thought your lordship would wish to know more, so I took the liberty of running down to the Countess Sumner’s to see what I could discover.”
“The Countess Sumner’s? What did you go there for?”
“That’s where Sir Lucien was killed, my lord. In the garden. Near midnight.”
Mandell inhaled sharply. Sir Lucien murdered by the Hook in Lily’s garden, such a grisly thing taking place within yards of the house that sheltered Anne and Norrie. Mandell could well imagine the horror and, the distress Anne must be feeling this morning. Even in death, Lucien Fairhaven had found a way to cut at her peace. Mandell silently damned the man to hell.
“Sir Lucien was supposed to be gone from London,” he said. “What was that devil doing in the countess’s garden?”
“Getting himself killed, my lord,” Hastings said glumly.
The first icy fingers of an inexplicable dread stroked along Mandell’s spine. He had the disquieting feeling that there was something more that Hastings had not told him yet. The young footman possessed a steady, unexcitable disposition. He seemed unduly distressed for mere tidings of Sir Lucien’s murder.
“What else is amiss, John?” Mandell asked. He could scarce bring himself to voice the question. “Is Lady Fairhaven all right?”
Mandell’s dread only increased when Hastings avoided giving a direct answer. Instead, he said, “They have arrested someone for Sir Lucien’s murder.”
“The Hook? They have captured the Hook?”
An odd, strangled sound escaped Sara, but Mandell did not turn round. He fixed Hastings with his gaze, a gaze that the footman no longer possessed the courage to meet.
“No, my lord,” he said. “There was no Hook. Not this time. Sir Lucien was shot by your lady.” Hastings spoke the last words so low, Mandell could hardly hear him.
“What!” He gripped Hastings’s shoulder so hard the younger man winced. “Where did you hear such a damnable tale?”
“From the countess’s own butler, my lord. He was that broken up about it, was Mr. Firken. But the servants at Sumner House and the old watchman, they know. They heard the shot and they saw Lady Fairhaven standing over Sir Lucien with the pistol.”
“Those prating fools,” Mandell rasped. “Anne couldn’t. She can’t even load a pistol properly.”
“Mr. Firken did say that her ladyship swears there was someone else in the garden, a cloaked figure.”
“Then damn you, there was. The Hook. It must have been.”
“But no one else saw him, my lord. And with his dying breath, Sir Lucien accused Lady Fairhaven.”
“Lying bastard! If he was not already dead, I’d cut out his tongue.” Mandell released Hastings, then stepped back, his lips setting into a taut line. “I must go to Sumner House and see Anne at once. I’ll fast put a stop to all this madness.”
“You don’t understand, my lord,” Hastings said miserably. “Your lady isn’t there. They have already arrested her, taken her to Newgate.”
Hastings’s words slammed into Mandell’s consciousness with the force of an explosion. He felt the blood drain from his face. The room seemed to rock, shift beneath his feet, the present slipping away to melt with the past. The sunlight was pouring through his window, his eyes were wide open, and yet he could hear it. The pounding. The infernal pounding at the door.
