The Many Sins of Cris De Feaux (Lords of Disgrace 3)

Got him, Cris thought on a wave of relief. We’ve got him scared of the court on one hand and Dapper Geordie on the other. He’ll agree to whatever escape route we offer him.

The elderly magistrate moved forward. The Runner stood up, sending the table rocking, made a grab for it, knocked the screen with his elbow and suddenly Chelford moved, pushing the old man into the screen, shoving the table back into the Runner, who fell against Gooding. Cris reached for him and found his arms full of furious, flailing magistrate. The unlocked door behind the screen banged back and Chelford was gone.

‘Servants’ stair,’ Cris snapped as he and Gabe forced their way through the bodies and furniture and out into the passageway. ‘You follow it down, I’ll take the main staircase, then we’ll catch him in the middle when he comes out into the hall.’

As he ran, bursting out into the corner of the reception room, heads turned. ‘Cris?’ It was Tamsyn, pushing her way to the front of the crowd, who were craning and jostling to see what was happening.

‘Stay there.’ He turned his back on her and ran out on to the wide landing at the head of the sweeping curve of the main staircase, deserted now except for a few footmen.

He took the stairs two at a time, landed skidding on the marble floor of the hall and came face-to-face with Gabriel, who erupted from the green baize-covered door to the servants’ area. ‘Where the hell is he?’

‘Don’t know.’ Gabriel swivelled, searching the hall. ‘The staff say no one went through there, there wasn’t time for him to have got through the front door—’

He broke off as someone screamed on the landing above. Then there was silence. They turned as one to the foot of the stairs.

‘Stay where you are.’ Chelford had Tamsyn by the arm, one-handed, the other holding a long knife. The blade glittered in the candlelight, lethally sharp against the pale skin of her neck.

‘Carving knife from the refreshment buffet.’ Gabriel moved to one side to let Cris come up beside him, three steps from the hall. It felt like a hundred miles from Tamsyn.

‘You can’t escape. Put the knife down before someone is hurt,’ Cris said, pitching his voice to reach the shocked crowd who filled the doorway into the reception room. He could only pray none of them made a rash move.

‘I don’t give a damn who is hurt,’ Chelford snarled. He looked almost hysterical with fear and anger.

‘He bolted before we could tell him there’s a way out, that he could leave the country,’ Gabriel said to Cris, his voice low. ‘He thinks he’s going to hang.’

‘He will if he hurts Tamsyn,’ Cris snapped back. ‘If there’s anything left of him to hang.’ He raised his voice again. ‘Chelford, let her go. Something can be arranged. You can leave the country.’

‘Liar!’ It was almost a scream.

‘He’s beyond reason,’ Gabriel said, taking a step back. ‘I’ll get round the back, see if I can find a pistol, ta

ke him out from up there.’

‘Don’t move!’ Chelford yelled and Gabriel froze as he moved towards the head of the stairs, dragging Tamsyn with him by the arm, the knife waving at the cringing onlookers.

Cris strained to see Tamsyn, who was twisting and turning, trying to free herself. It must be agony; Chelford had large hands that looked strong, for all his dissipation. Then he saw what she was doing. Her long evening glove was loose, twisting on her arm as she distracted Chelford by screeching in his ear. In a moment, unless he realised what she was about, she could slide her arm out of his grip, leaving him holding the glove.

Gabriel realised, too. ‘There’s nowhere for her to go when she frees herself. That part of the landing is effectively a balcony and he’s between her and the door. He’ll cut her throat or stab her. If she jumps…’

Cris eyed the distance between balustrade and floor. The height was too great, the floor, without so much as a carpet, was mercilessly hard marble. If she jumped without anything to break her fall, she would die.

He stepped backwards to the floor, making Chelford shout and brandish the knife.

‘Tamsyn!’ Her head turned. ‘Remember Jory. Do what he did,’ he shouted.

For a moment her eyes widened in shock, then she gave a frantic twist and pulled her arm from the glove, wrenched away from Chelford and swung herself over the rail. She’s strong, he told himself as he ran to stand beneath her.

Tamsyn balanced on the far side of the balustrade, her toes on the narrow ledge, then she crouched, seized two of the wrought-iron uprights and swung down to hang over him.

He couldn’t touch her even if he stretched. A shoe fell off, hit him a glancing blow as Chelford leaned over the rail and swung at her with the knife.

‘Let go! I’ll catch you.’

*

The jolt to her shoulder joints as she swung free with all her weight hanging from her hands made her cry out. Tamsyn risked a glance down and almost passed out, the floor beneath her a shifting pattern of black and white moving dizzily as she swung. Too far, I’ll break my neck, my back. The memory of Jory’s broken body in the seconds before the wave took it came back with sickening force.

Franklin leaned over, white with fear and anger, swiped at her with the long blade, slicing her knuckles. Tamsyn clenched her fingers in agony as the blood welled and he shifted to try again.