Regency Masquerade

Epilogue

Tom waited grudgingly for my lady's mysterious visitor to leave by the kitchen door. The man was wrapped in a black cloak, the hood pulled low over his face to conceal his features. Mr Hanson himself had let the man in, Tom not being considered responsible enough for that task, but Mr Hanson had decided it was acceptable for Tom to be the one to stay up late so that he could let the visitor out.

The man hurried down the lane, almost running. Tom looked after him and frowned, queer goings on and no mistake. He shut the door and made certain it was locked securely for the night. He had just turned away, ready to seek his bed again, when a piercing shriek split the air. For a moment he froze, his head swivelling, trying to decide if the sound had come from inside the house or outside in the street. A second scream convinced him it was coming from the first floor. Pausing only to grasp a stout stick from the collection beside the fireplace, Tom raced upstairs.

A scene of mayhem met his eyes. Annie, the maid, was backing out of the doorway into Lady Murray's sitting room, her apron over her face, her screams now reduced to whimpers. "My lady, oh, my lady!"

Tom pushed past her to find Lady Murray crumpled on the floor, her head covered with blood!

"Quickly," he told Annie, "Run and get Mr Hanson." He looked around, "Where is Miss Pettigrew? Her companion?"

They stared at each other in horror for a moment, each wondering if she had been struck down as well. Luckily for their jangled nerves, Miss Pettigrew appeared, tying a voluminous robe around her waist, her cap on her head. "Whatever is the matter, Annie?" she asked querulously.

Annie pointed a trembling finger into the room, "I came down to put 'er to bed and she wasn't in 'er room so I went looking for 'er, and there she is, on the floor! Murdered!"

"Nonsense!" said Miss Pettigrew automatically. However when she saw her mistress lying still, on the carpet, she was a little less certain. Very gingerly she knelt down beside her and touched her shoulder. "My Lady?" There was no answer.

By then the butler appeared, roused by all the commotion, hastily dressed in trousers and a coat which had evidently been chosen at random. "Has anyone gone for the doctor?" he asked sensibly, and then proceeded to send Tom off immediately on that errand. "Let's get her on the sofa," he decided, "It isn't seemly to leave her there on the floor." He looked to the two women for help to lift his mistress.

"Wait, let me get a cloth first, she won't want to get blood on the material, 'tis new," Miss Pettigrew objected. Then she realised Lady Murray might well be past worrying about such things. She plucked a small cushion from a nearby chair and placed it on the sofa. "That will do."

Together Annie and Hanson lifted Lady Murray off the floor onto the sofa and Miss Pettigrew sat down beside her, gently wiping the blood away with her handkerchief. "What happened?" she asked the butler fearfully, "Who has done this dreadful deed?"

For the first time, Hanson realised that he had most likely let a murderer into the house. He felt quite faint at the thought, should he call a constable? He wished Tom would return soon with the doctor, a medical man would likely know what to do, and besides, perhaps there was still some hope for his mistress.

It seemed hours before the doctor arrived, bustling in with his bag and hoping audibly that he had not been brought out on a fool's errand. As soon as he saw Lady Murray however, he cast a sharp look at Hanson, "What's been happening here?"

"I don't know, sir. Annie found her on the floor, like that. Is she ... dead, sir?" he asked anxiously.

Dr Everard was already bending down over the still figure. He looked up gravely at the hovering servants, and shook his head. "I'm afraid she's gone."