Pansy closed her eyes. She was Tinker Bell-Peter Pan’s protector and friend. A beloved fairy, capable of magic. Soon the ballroom would be full of toffs, all watching her fly. All watching her big dying scene.
She heard her cue and floated forward, ready to take on the world. This was what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. She wanted to be an actress, performing in front of huge appreciative audiences. She wanted to hear applause and know it was for her. She wanted to travel to exciting places, and she wanted to be really famous, with people clamoring for her autograph.
“Tinker Bell!”
The thunderous roar snatched Pansy out of her daydream. A smattering of giggles dragged her focus back to the stage. Peter Pan stood in front of her, hands on hips, glaring at her with a ferocious scowl.
Mrs. Fortescue hovered in front of the stage, staring up at her. “We are all waiting for you, Tinker Bell, to fly onto the ship. I suggest you attach your wings, however, before you fall flat on your face.”
Several of the children started giggling again, and were immediately hushed by a fierce stare and a sharp flap of Phoebe’s hand.
Pansy’s face grew warm as she realized she’d forgotten to have her wires attached before she came out onstage. The footman who was supposed to help her with it stood in the wings, waving the contraption at her.
“Sorry, Mrs. Fortescue.” She skipped back to the wings and waited for the footman to attach the wires. From now on, she promised herself, she’d concentrate on the performance. The daydreams would have to wait for another time.
CHAPTER 19
Cecily waited until the carriage was clear of the town before tapping on the window that separated her from Samuel.
He reached back and slid the windowpane across, calling out, “Yes, m’m?”
“Make sure you take the next turn out to the Downs, Samuel.”
There was a long pause, then her stable manager’s voice, heavy with apprehension, answered her. “Are you quite sure you want to do this, m’m?”
“Yes, Samuel, I am quite sure, and hurry. As fast as you can.”
“Very well, m’m.” The carriage swayed to one side as Samuel guided the chestnut into the turn, then they were rattling up the cliff path to the Downs.
All Cecily could hope was that they would not be too late. She would never forgive herself if something happened to Madeline.
Gazing out the window at the sands below, she tried to reassure herself. She had gone over the plan carefully with everyone. All the pieces were in place. Surely it would work as she had envisioned?
Curling her fingers into her palms she leaned forward, as if urging the carriage to go faster. By now Madeline would be at the edge of the woods, waiting for a dangerous killer to approach.
If her friend had rung P.C. Northcott as instructed, the constable should also be waiting within a short distance, waiting to pounce on the killer the moment Madeline appeared to be in danger.
Over ruts and bumps the carriage bounced, jolting Cecily up and down and side to side, snapping her teeth. Barely aware of the bruising ride, her gaze was glued to the edge of the forest.
They were nearing the spot where Thomas Willow had died. Dark clouds had gathered angrily overhead. The change in the weather had brought a thunderstorm in from the sea. The wind whipped the carriage as it bounded across the cliffs, and rain now streamed down the windows.
Cecily could hardly see, squinting through the rivulets of water obstructing her view. Somewhere out there in the mist, Madeline was waiting. Somewhere out there a killer stalked, intent on murder.
Vaguely Cecily could see the outline of trees, and then a flash of color. “Stop!” She pounded on the window. “Stop, Samuel!”
The carriage rocked violently as Samuel dragged on the reins. The chestnut, taken by surprise, reared up on its hind legs, whinnying its outrage.
The carriage halted. Without waiting for Samuel, Cecily flung open the carriage door. Madeline was there, on the far slope of the Downs, facing the cloaked rider. The hood had fallen back, and even at that distance, Cecily recognized the auburn hair.
There was no sign of the constable. She looked in vain for the stocky figure wearing the dark blue uniform. Samuel leapt down from his seat, his eyes wide with apprehension. “She’s there. Where’s the bobby?”
“He was supposed to be here. I can’t see him anywhere.”
Samuel took one look and started racing across the grass. Cecily took off after him, cursing her stupidity in thinking that she could rely on Sam Northcott.
The Christmas Angel had swallowed the bait, but the constable was not where he was supposed to be. Now it was up to her and Samuel to save Madeline.
Samuel closed in, just as Caroline turned, her hand raised and her gleaming knife poised to strike.
Cecily screamed, and stumbled across the wet grass, the wind tearing at her hat and the rain beating her face. She saw Madeline raise both hands, fingers outstretched, her long, wet hair streaming behind her.
Her voice rose with the wind, calling out words Cecily didn’t understand. Samuel leapt toward Caroline, reaching for the hand that held the knife.
The woman neatly sidestepped, giving Samuel a shove. He tumbled forward and cracked his head on the massive trunk of an ancient oak. With a grunt he collapsed and lay sprawled on the ground.
Cecily no longer had breath to scream. She could only stand there, watching as Caroline, poised above Samuel’s fallen body, raised the knife above her head.
“You will die, wretch!” she yelled, grasping the knife with both hands. “No one can stop the angel of mercy! The animals need me!”
Cecily willed Samuel to get up, but he lay still, unconscious from the blow to his head.
Madeline called out again, her face lifted to the heavens. There was a loud crack, and a bolt of lightning flashed down from above and slashed across the knife, sending it spinning from Caroline’s hand.
The seamstress screamed and fell to her knees, clutching her hand to her chest.
From behind Cecily came the sound of pounding hoofs and rattling wheels. Out of the rain came a horse and carriage, with Kevin Prestwick flailing a whip, and P.C. Northcott seated beside him, one hand firmly holding on to his helmet.
Cecily dropped to her knees by Samuel’s side, thankful to see him stirring. Behind her she heard the doctor’s worried voice, asking if Madeline was hurt.
Northcott announced that he was arresting Caroline for the attempted murder of Samuel.
“She tried to kill me,” Caroline insisted. “Keep that witch away from me!”
Dr. Prestwick examined Samuel, who by now had opened his eyes and was trying to sit up. “He’ll be fine,” the doctor announced, then turned his attention to Caroline’s hand.
“It’s badly burned,” he said, as Northcott dragged the defiant woman to her feet. “I’ll take you both down to the constabulary and I’ll treat her there.” He looked at Madeline. “Samuel can take you home on his way back to the Pennyfoot.”
She nodded, then took a step toward Caroline, who shrank back. “You will tell them the truth,” she said, her dark eyes glittering with a strange, fierce light. “You will tell them everything. For if you don’t, if you leave out one single word, I promise you will find yourself facing a far more terrible fire that will consume you until you are nothing but ashes.”
Caroline flinched and allowed the constable to lead her over to the carriage.
Kevin paused, his probing gaze on his wife’s face, then he gave her a brief nod and turned to follow Northcott to the carriage.
Cecily called after him. “Why was Sam with you? He was supposed to be here to protect Madeline.”
The doctor paused. “The constable had another accident on his bicycle. Hit a rock and buckled the front wheel. He should ride in a carriage from now on. I passed him on the road and offered to give him a ride.”