She forced herself to look him in the eye. ‘Are you a murderer?’
‘I have killed men, yes, in duels and in war.But I did not killmy wife.’
He held her gaze. Grace desperately wanted to believe him, but she could not ignore the portraits staring down at her from the walls, generations of rogues, rakes and murderers going back to the time of good King Hal. Everyone in the parish knew the history of the family. Why should this Arrandale be any different to his ancestors?
Her legs felt weak and she sank down on to a chair, regardless of the dust. She should have known who he was. It made suchsense, she should have known.
He began to pace the floor, his boots echoing on the bare boards.
‘There is a warrant for my arrest and a price on my head. If I am caught, your father could be charged with harbouring a criminal. He did not want you to have that on your conscience, too. But he was afraid you might guess.’
‘Why should I do that?’ She was answering herself as much as him. ‘I was at school when your wife died. By the time I came home to look after Papa it was old news and the Arrandales were rarely mentioned.’
‘Except to curse the name for bringing hardship and poverty to the village.’
She heard the bitterness in his voice and said quietly, ‘Will you tell me what happened?’
He stared out of the window.
‘I do not know. We argued, I rode out to cool my heels and when I came back I found her lying at the bottom of the stairs.’
‘Could she have fallen?’
He looked at her then. ‘Judge for yourself.’
He strode off towards a door at the far end of the gallery. Grace knew this was her chance. She could go back the way they had come, escape from the house and from Wolfgang Arrandale. That would be the safe, sensible thing to do.
It took only a heartbeat for Grace to decide. She followed him out of the gallery and down a different set of stairs, wider and more ornate than the ones they had ascended.
‘This is the grand staircase,’ he said, as they reached the first floor. ‘My wife’s room was there, the first door on the far side of the landing.’
The lantern window in the roof threw daylight onto the cantilevered stone staircase. It incorporated two half-turns and landings, so that it occupied three sides of the square inner hall. Grace looked at the shallow steps and elegant balusters. There was a smooth wooden handrail that would provide a good grip for the daintiest hand. Grace imagined herself emerging from the bedroom to descend the stairs. Her fingers would be on the rail as she crossed the landing, long before she reached the top step. Her companion let his breath go with a hiss.
‘I have had enough of this place. Let us go.’ He put out his hand, but let it drop, his lip curling when Grace shrank away. ‘No doubt you will feel safer if I go first.’
Silently she followed him down the stairs. When they reached the bottom he stood for a moment, looking down at the flagstones as if reliving the awful sight of his wife lying there.
‘You said you had just come in,’ she said, trying to think logically. ‘From the front entrance?’
‘No, the garden door, that way.’ He indicated a shadowy passage set beneath the stairs. ‘I had taken the key with me. I was in a foul temper and wanted to avoid seeing anyone.’ He looked down at the flags again. ‘I found her just here, on the floor.’
Grace looked at the spot where he was standing, then she looked up at the landing almost directly above them.
‘You are thinking, Miss Duncombe, that she might have fallen from the balcony, rather than tumbled down the stairs. I remember the injuries to her head were commensurate with such a fall.’
Grace put her hands to her mouth.
‘That could not have been an accident.’ She read agreement in his eyes and closed her own, shuddering. ‘Oh, poor woman.’
‘Quite.’ He sighed. ‘I beg your pardon, I have said too much. I never intended you to know the full horror of it. Come, let me take you outside.’
She did not resist as he caught her arm—more gently this time—and led her to the door. When they reached the front steps she stopped and dragged in a long, steadying breath. The sun still shone brightly, a few feet away Robert Jones was holding the two horses. It was only minutes since they had gone into the house, but she felt as if she had come out into a different world. When she spoke she was surprised at how calm she sounded.
‘Thank you, Mr Arrandale, you may release me now, I am not going to faint.’
His hand dropped. ‘I am glad to hear it.’
Grace set off towards the horses. Without a mounting block she had no choice but to allow him to throw her up into the saddle and she made herself comfortable while he scrambled up on to his borrowed mount. When he thanked Jones for holding the horses the servant lost himself in a tangle of words.
