“I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “I think I’ll go back in.”
The door opened behind her, and she started to turn, full of relief, when she looked into Mrs. Griffiths’s dark, ratlike eyes. “No, you won’t, missy,” she said, slamming the door behind her and moving out onto the roof, sure-footed as a spider climbing a web.
Sophie edged back from the chimney, reaching for the door, but there was no handle, no way to pry it open. Mrs. Griffiths held up a large iron key. “It’s locked and this is the only way we’ll get back in. I’m afraid you won’t be coming with us.” She turned to look at her son. “Come along then, Rufus! What’s keeping you? It’s a simple enough job—get on with it.”
“She’s on the wrong side, Mama,” he said plaintively, sounding eerily like a small child. “You said I must throw her into the garden.”
Mrs. Griffiths sighed loud enough to be heard over the wind. “Then take her and throw her. You’re a man; you’re strong enough.”
“Why are you doing this?” Sophie cried out, though she knew the answer.
“That’s a remarkably stupid question,” Rufus said petulantly. “I should be the viscount, not Alexander. It w
as only an accident of birth that put him first.”
“He must be at least five years older than you!” she cried.
“Eight, to be exact,” Rufus said, ignoring logic. “I’m the chosen one.”
She stared at him in disbelief, trying to fight the panic that was surging through her. “Chosen for what, exactly?” She couldn’t keep the caustic note out of her voice, when she should have been placating, and she wanted to kick herself. Except if she did, she’d end up falling over the edge of this treacherous rooftop.
“Don’t be difficult, Sophie,” Rufus said. “It was all preordained. Fighting against it will only make it worse. Your father didn’t struggle. I broke his neck and it was over in an instant. I could do the same for you. There’s no way out—make it easy on yourself.” His soft voice was almost persuasive.
Sophie stared at him in shock. “It was you? You killed my father? For God’s sake, why? He never hurt you—you didn’t even know him!” Her cry was caught and carried by the wind, and she wanted to scream in pain and disbelief.
“I needed the money and I needed a scapegoat,” Rufus said simply. “And I needed Renwick.”
“We needed Renwick,” his mother corrected in an icy tone far removed from Rufus’s wheedling. “Now get on with it, or I’ll do it myself.”
The last of Sophie’s fear drained away as sheer fury filled her. These two . . . monsters had destroyed her life and the lives of the people she loved. There was no way she was going to let them win. She clung tightly to her chimney, trying to decide who was her weakest opponent. Mrs. Griffiths was a mountain of a woman—if it came to a battle she would win by brute force. Rufus had a bad leg, which had to affect his balance on this precarious perch. If she could fling either of them over the edge she’d do it without a moment’s regret. She took a tentative step toward Rufus. “I’ll scream. I’ll scream so loud Queen Victoria will hear it.”
“No one will hear it,” said Mrs. Griffiths coldly. “The wind will carry the sound away, and if anyone happens to notice, it will be too late. They’ll just assume it was your scream as you fell in your foolish attempt to escape. Or your suicide, whichever works best. We can decide that later. Right now we just need you dead.”
There was no room for panic, just determination. Alexander was back, and he’d seen her. He hadn’t disappeared for days. Even now he’d be coming for her. She needed to stall these two, just long enough for Alexander to reach her. She could probably manage to fight off Rufus, but Mama was a different matter.
Sophie began to edge her way forward, carefully on the slate tiles, staying on the front side of the building. She had good balance, and now that the fear had been replaced by a cold rage, she felt her way without hesitation, moving farther and farther away from Rufus and his monstrous mother.
“Rufus!” His mother’s bark of fury was enough to startle both of them. “Get on with it. We haven’t much time.”
“But . . .”
“No excuses. You’ve done it before with Jessamine and you said you enjoyed it. Do it now.”
Rufus suddenly looked resolute, like a child facing some inner demon, and he took quick steps and reached for her. She dodged, and her shoes slipped. She went down on her knees, scrabbling at the tiles, and managed to stop her fall. She lay there, panting, clinging to the side of the roof.
“Mama!” She heard Rufus cry out.
“Grab her arm and haul her to the other side!” his mother said, all exasperation.
She felt Rufus come near, cautiously reaching out for her, and she tried to move her arm out of the way but she began to slip. He grabbed her and hauled her up onto her knees, stronger than she would have imagined.
The door to the attic slammed open, and Alexander was there, on the roof, and there seemed to be a hundred people behind him, all talking, familiar voices, calling her name, shrieking in fright.
“Let go of her!” Alexander thundered, his voice rising above everyone. She didn’t dare look. She was kneeling at the very peak of the roof, with Rufus holding both arms, ready to fling her into the garden.
He wouldn’t reach her in time. Rufus would kill her, and Alexander would be alone and she couldn’t bear it.
At that very moment Rufus was staring at his half brother, a look of horror on his face. “Alexander,” he said, stammering slightly, like a boy who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”