Page 91 of Ghost in the Garden
“More questions,” Duggin mocked.
“The thing is,” Solomon taunted him, “you can’t expect me to be afraid of such threats, can you? Not when you couldn’t even protect the man who paid your wages.”
That got a reaction, at least, a tightening of the face but no more. Upstairs, someone knocked loudly on the front door. Duggin didn’t break eye contact.
“Which is oddest of all,” Solomon said. “All the elaborate security in this house. Patrolling the grounds as though it’s a royal palace, bodyguards for the master and mistress wherever they go, all under your supervision. And yet the master of the house is axed to death under his own roof, only a few feet away from you. What sort of message does that send to the denizens of your world?”
Duggin sprang to his feet, fists clenched, face ugly. Solomon, poised for possible attack, held his gaze without troubling to stand. At last, the man’s pride was rattled, though to Solomon’s annoyance, the timing was wrong.
Footsteps clattered down the stairs. One of the footmen, looking irritated, came first. Young and burly, he was a reinforcement for the enemy that Solomon could have done without. But ignoring Solomon, he addressed Duggin.
“Rozzers again, Mr. D.”
Duggin released Solomon’s gaze reluctantly and turned to face the footman and Sergeant Flynn. “Anyone’d think you worked here,” he sneered.
“Right now I do,” Flynn retorted. “Where’s Inspector Harris?”
“How would I know? He left here an hour ago.”
A frown of annoyance crossed Flynn’s face. “I don’t suppose he left a message for me or said where he was going?”
“To arrest Iris Fraser,” Duggin replied with a sly glance at Solomon.
Flynn swore under his breath, then frowned, appearing to become aware of Solomon’s presence for the first time. He opened his mouth, but Solomon never knew what he meant to say, for a sudden crash exploded across the kitchen.
Solomon sprang to his feet, shoving Duggin out of the way. The alarming noise had come from the cook’s bedroom on the other side of the kitchen, and it was quickly followed by a furious groan of pain.
Solomon, in sheer terror for Constance’s life, burst into the room with Flynn, Duggin, and the footman close on his heels.
The frail, gin-soaked old cook was wrestling an axe out of the wall with a cry of rage. A huge lump of plaster came with it as she staggered back with the force. Constance, who had clearly ducked out of the axe’s path, sprang upright once more, a dusty wine bottle and bundle of stained white calico clutched to her chest.
Ida, her back to the newcomers and apparently oblivious to their entrance, hefted the axe with both hands. Solomon lunged forward and wrenched it from her astonishingly powerful grip. She spun around to face him, her empty fingers reaching for his face like claws.
With a complete lack of chivalry, Solomon knocked her aside into Flynn’s hold so that he could get to Constance.
Wide-eyed and breathing rapidly, she didn’t waste time by collapsing onto his willing chest. Instead, she grasped his arm in a grip that hurt.
“Mrs. Feathers killed them both!” she gasped. “She hid the wine bottle to get Lambert into the cellar at the right time. Her apron’s covered in blood. So is the axe—I’m sure it’s the same one that killed Gregg.”
“Ida Feathers,” said Flynn, grasping the old woman’s suddenly limp arm, “I am arresting you for the attempted murder of Constance Silver. And on suspicion of the murder of Caleb Lambert.”
“And Huxley Gregg,” Constance insisted.
“I’m sure we’ll get to that,” Flynn said hastily.
“No, you won’t,” Duggin growled, advancing with menace, the footman poised at his side. “Let the poor old woman go.” He fixed Flynn with his basilisk stare. “Trust me, peeler, it ain’t worth it.”
Flynn, who was made of sterner stuff than Duggin imagined, merely stared back.
But they could not afford a fight in this constricting space, not with thugs who were probably armed, and certainly not with Constance in the room, clutching her bottled evidence like a swaddled baby.
Oh well.
Solomon shook off Constance’s hand and, uttering a wordless battle cry that could have come from any of his ancestors, charged past Flynn and Ida, wielding the axe before him.
Chapter Nineteen
Her jaw droppingat Solomon’s bizarre behavior, Constance still followed him blindly. So did Flynn with the now-cowering Ida in his grasp. Duggin and Bert, taken by equal surprise, fell back before the onslaught, falling over each other to spill back into the kitchen.
