Page 65 of The Hidden Heart

Jessica and Richard sprang apart at the sound, and for an instant they stared at each other, stunned.

Richard jumped to his feet and threw the doors open, running out into the hall. Jessica was right on his heels. They ran toward the staircase, where it seemed the sounds had come from, Jessica hastily buttoning up the front of her dress. All around them, up and down the hall, doors were opening, and there was the excited buzz of voices. Richard reached the top of the stairs and stopped, and Jessica jerked to a halt beside him. Both of them looked down the long flight of stairs to the bottom. Jessica’s stomach turned, and her head was suddenly light.

A dark-haired woman lay at the bottom of the stairs, her navy-blue gown tangled around her. Her head was turned to the side at an unnatural angle. It was Mrs. Woods.

Richard’s hand went around Jessica’s arm, his finger biting into her flesh. “Don’t you faint on me now.”

Jessica nodded slightly. “I won’t. I’m all right.”

Richard started down the stairs, Jessica behind him. At the bottom of the stairs, he knelt beside the body and, unnecessarily, took the woman’s wrist in his hand and felt her pulse. It was clear her neck was broken. Jessica stood, looking down at Mrs. Woods’ lifeless body. She was so pale in death.

There was a wordless cry above them. Jessica turned and looked up. The guests were crowded together at the top of the staircase, all gazing down in stunned astonishment. It was Reverend Radfield who had made the noise. He stood frozen, staring, his face white and stamped with horror.

“Reverend Radfield…” Jessica said.

For a moment the man did not move; then he turned and looked at her blankly. Jessica nodded significantly at Mrs. Woods. His eyes turned back to the body and returned to Jessica, still uncomprehending.

“A prayer?” Jessica suggested.

“What? Oh! Yes. Yes, of course.” He started down the stairs, holding on to the banister for support.

Jessica supposed that he had never seen anyone die a violent death before, given the way he looked. Surely a minister would have seen dead bodies before, but they were, no doubt, tidier than this.

He sank down onto his knees beside Mrs. Woods and picked up her hand, holding it between his. He began a stumbling recital of the Lord’s Prayer, then sat back on his heels, wiping at his cheek with the heel of his hand. “‘She should have died hereafter,’” he murmured, and laid the woman’s hand back on her body. He stood up and walked over to the side, sitting on one of the steps and leaning against the railings.

Lord Vesey came around the stairs from the Great Hall, carrying a candle, and stood, swaying slightly, looking down at the woman. “Good Gad,” he said blankly. “What the devil happened here?”

“Did she fall?” asked a woman’s voice from the top of the stairs. Jessica turned to look. It was Rachel, standing with her arm comfortingly around Gabriela.

“I don’t know.” Richard rose to his feet, frowning. “She obviously took a tumble down the stairs, but I don’t know if she slipped—or was pushed.”

There was a collective gasp from the top of the stairs.

“The devil!” Lord Kestwick snapped. “Why would you say that? Who would have pushed her? Why? Clearly she tripped and fell.”

“At this hour of the night? It is a little late for her to be traipsing down the stairs.” Richard walked over to Lord Vesey and took the candle from him, bringing it back to the body and once again crouching beside her. “There is a cut here on her cheek, and it is red around it. It seems to me that might have been made when someone hit her, sending her backward down the stairs.”

Miss Pargety began to wail, and Lord Kestwick said pettishly, “Now see what you’ve done.”

“That’s nonsense!” Leona exclaimed. “Richard, you are being melodramatic. Why couldn’t she have hit her cheek as she tumbled down the stairs and cut it?”

“It is possible, I suppose…” Richard looked up at the group on the stairs. “Did anyone see her fall?”

He was met with intense silence. He nodded shortly. “All right. I think we have to treat this as if it might have been done deliberately. We are snowed in. We cannot reach the village to fetch the magistrate. Therefore, for the time being, I am going to take charge of the matter.”

He raised his head and looked around him, catching sight of Baxter and the other servants, who had gathered in a small huddle at some distance from them. “Baxter, give us some light. Get blankets and wrap up the body.” He paused. “For the time being, given the weather, the best thing would be to place her body in one of the outbuildings. Lock it securely.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“We need to get down all the facts we can right now,” Cleybourne went on, speaking to the guests. “I am sure that none of us would be able to go back to sleep now, anyway. All of you go into the drawing room.” As one or two of them started to turn away, he added quickly, “Don’t go back to your rooms, just down to the drawing room. Baxter—” he turned to his butler “—send a couple of the footmen up. They can escort everyone to the formal drawing room by the back stairs.”

“Very well, Your Grace.” Baxter spoke to the servants, and two of the burlier footmen started up the stairs toward the knot of people, carefully skirting the body lying at the foot of the steps.

“Now see here, Cleybourne,” Lord Kestwick snapped, his face flushing. “Just what do you think you’re doing? I don’t intend to be shuffled around by your servants. I am going back to my chamber, and—”

“No!” The word cracked through the air like a whip. Cleybourne faced Kestwick, his face like stone, and he was suddenly every inch a duke. “No one is to return to their room. You are all going to the drawing room to wait, and I will speak to each of you in turn. There has been a death in this house, and I do not intend to let that go without investigating it. As long as you are in my house, you will do as I say, and I don’t believe there is much possibility of your leaving here right now.”

“How dare you!”