Seffargo

Chapter 16

Margaret stood before a large circular window, from which the moonlight filtered through, illuminating her blonde hair. If it weren't for the evil in her heart, Barcley may even have called the sight beautiful. But beautiful was a term reserved for those who were impeccable inside and out.

Madeline lay on the ground before Margaret, ropes binding her feet and pinning her arms behind her back. Another rope was gripped between her teeth, forcing her mouth to remain open. As she saw Barcley, her eyes went wide, and her cries became loud. She was speaking, but her words were muffled.

Now Madeline ... she was a beautiful human being. And she was not deserving of this treatment.

'Let her go, Margaret,' Barcley said. His voice was soft with barely contained rage.

'Or else what?' Margaret said, flashing him a smile. 'You'll call for backup? You came alone, you fool.'

'If I brought them, who's to say you'd be listening to me right now? If I brought them, you would have harmed Madeline, or taken her elsewhere. I left them to ensure her safety.'

'And what of yours?'

'Mine is of no concern—provided you let Madeline go.'

Margaret tapped something to her chin. Each time she brought it away from her face, it glinted in the moonlight. It was a knife. 'I could. But I need to deal with you first.'

Barcley took a step forward. 'Let her go, and I'll cooperate.' He stood tall, his shoulders squared, and his jaw clenched—yet the way Margaret looked at him ... It was like he was nothing to her.

'You don't seem to understand your predicament.' Margaret stepped over Madeline, resulting in more muffled cries. Her smile widened with every step, and when she stopped a meter from him, her smile was bordering on manic. 'You don't get a say in what happens,' she whispered. 'You do as I say, when I say, and exactly how I say it. If you don't ...' Margaret pointed the knife at Madeline. 'Understood?'

Barcley fought the urge to lunge at her. He was bigger than her, stronger than her, older than her ... he could take her in a fight. But her confidence ... it was unnerving.

He gave a shallow nod in reply to her demands.

'Speak to me, Barcley.' Her voice was so soft he struggled to hear her words.

'I understand.'

Her smile grew impossibly wide, and Barcley could see her uvula dangling in her mouth. 'Good. Then tell me something.' Margaret moved to Madeline and crouched by her face. The knife was worryingly close. 'How did you catch onto me so fast?'

'The doctors said my father's poison brought about memory loss. The Queen's death report said she suffered from the same symptom. You were part of the Queen's entourage when she was assassinated.' He shrugged. He didn't have to explain everything to her—she already knew how she was involved. 'You had access to the poison—you were exposed to it. Once that connection was made, it occurred to me that I had experienced amnesia recently as well. You drugged me, didn't you? The vase of water you brought in when I stayed up late working.'

'I did,' she said gleefully. 'But it wasn't in the vase—I drank from that to. I lined your glass with the poison.'

Of course. It was simple once she said it. Why had he initially jumped to the vase?

'But don't worry. I didn't give you a lethal dose, otherwise you'd have smelt it on the glass.'

'But why poison me if you didn't plan on killing me then and there? That only helped in connecting you to the poison.'