Mrs Wilmslow?
It took every effort not to gasp and call her name. What had this got to do with the reverend’s wife?
Lady Stanton raised a hand. “May I attend to the doctor?”
“Leave him.” Bitterness infused Mrs Wilmslow’s tone, and she pressed the knife against Rose’s porcelain skin to show she meant business. “It’s too late now.”
They stood helplessly and watched the reverend’s wife drag Rose onto the path.
“We must do something,” Stanton said through gritted teeth.
Rose disappeared behind a stone pillar, and they followed slowly behind. The walkway led down to a gate and a flight of stone steps giving access to the river. From what he’d heard, the apothecaries transported herbs and plants via a barge to other botanic gardens and nurseries in the district, took delivery of new specimens transported from far and wide.
As they moved closer to the steps, a vessel bobbed into view. Clearly, Mrs Wilmslow had missed the flaw in her plan. How was she to loosen the boat’s moorings when she needed both hands to hold Rose?
A crippling sense of panic burst to the fore. What if Rose seized the opportunity to break free, and the woman lashed out? As he watched Mrs Wilmslow open the gate and descend the steps, Christian’s blood rushed through his veins at such a rapid rate it affected his vision.
Christian tapped Stanton on the arm. “We must close the gap if we have any hope of ensuring Rose’s safety.”
Stanton nodded, and as Mrs Wilmslow stared at the iron ring embedded into the stone wall, wondering what to do about her dilemma, they quickened their pace.
Mrs Wilmslow looked up, her eyes suddenly bulging with terror. Christian thought her fear stemmed from their sudden advancement, but a shuffle of footsteps and a mournful groan caused Christian to glance back behind him.
Dr Taylor approached, shambling like a man who’d downed copious amounts of brandy, and whose limbs had a mind of their own. Blood stained the front of his waistcoat and trickled through the gaps between his fingers where he clutched his chest. Christian was not a doctor, but he knew the look of death. The doctor’s sallow skin held a bluish tint, and his sunken eyes were glassy and unresponsive.
Lady Stanton gasped. She took two steps towards the doctor and hesitated as if expecting Mrs Wilmslow to protest.
Mrs Wilmslow’s frantic gaze shifted back and forth between the doctor and the iron ring. Her arm sagged, the knife no longer pressing into the delicate skin at Rose’s throat. But then the doctor dropped to his knees, and another heartfelt wail burst from the woman’s lips.
“Oh, what have I done?” In her distress, Mrs Wilmslow stumbled back and slipped on the bottom step. The knife fell from her hand and landed with a clatter. Arms flailing, she tried to keep her balance and grabbed the back of Rose’s coat for support.
“No!” Rose’s eyes were wide, her mouth agape.
Christian stared in horror. Time slowed. Rose was falling, clutching at nothing, almost suspended in the air.
“Rose!” Christian darted forward, as did Lord Stanton.
Mrs Wilmslow hit the water first, banging heads with Rose who fell on top of her. The almighty splash sent waves rippling across the surface. Watermen stopped rowing as they passed although no one called out to offer help.
“Rose!” Christian shrugged out of his coat, threw his hat to ground and raced down the steps. Rose tried to keep her head above the water. Again, her hands came up as if stretching for the sky. There was no sign
of Mrs Wilmslow.
“Help! Christian! She’s pulling me down.” Rose disappeared beneath the circle of white foam.
“Good God, she can’t swim,” Stanton cried.
“I know.” Without another thought, Christian dived into the murky Thames.
Beneath, the water was a cloudy green yet surprisingly clear. His eyes stung, and it hurt to keep them open. He spotted Rose, writhing and wriggling to free herself from the coat. With her eyes closed, Mrs Wilmslow showed no sign of distress. Perhaps the bang on the head had knocked the fight out of her. Indeed, when Christian wrapped his arms around Rose and tugged, the woman relinquished her grip, and sank serenely to the bottom.
With Rose in his arms, he swam the few feet to the surface and spat out the foul taste of the river.
Lord Stanton stood on the bottom step in his shirtsleeves, ready to jump in. “Thank the Lord,” he gasped, and he waved them ashore as though the thought of swimming to safety hadn’t occurred to them.
Christian reached the steps, and the earl grabbed Rose by the arms and pulled her out.
“What about Mrs Wilmslow?”