Page 45 of Mistress of Misfortune

“The last of the Thornes, dead by my daughter’s hand.” Her father sounded half-gloating, half-proud.

“You see? It is just as you told me. She is a Starling.” Percival put his arm around Lady Starling, who was smiling.

“We must make it look as if he fell,” Meredith said, and made a show of trying to move Thorne. “I will need all of you to help, please.”

Her parents and cousin hurried over, stepping onto the landing as they reached for Thorne. Meredith closed her eyes as she heard the rotted wood give way, and the terrible screams as all three plunged through a cloud of wood dust and debris.

She allowed herself a moment to sob against Alistair’s shoulder, and then leaned out to look through the hole in the landing. Three floors down the twisted bodies atop the pile of new rubble did not move.

Thorne stirred, and then opened his eyes. “Meredith?”

“I’ve broken the curse, Alistair,” she told him wearily. “Both of them.”

* * *

A weekafter the collapse at Dredthorne Hall, Meredith helped her aunt walk from the churchyard to her carriage, where they stood for a long moment looking back at the three new graves bedecked with flowers. Some mourners from the funeral still lingered; Lady Hardiwick seemed especially grief-stricken. Beside her Prudence eyed the vicar’s curate and pretend to cough into a handkerchief to cover her giggles.

Most of those who had attended had murmured their condolences to Meredith, who graciously accepted them when she wanted to shriek at them for being so blind.

“After you refused him, Lettice had hopes that Percival would take that simpering miss off her hands,” Lavinia murmured. “Lucky for her he lost his footing.”

Alistair Thorne had insisted on reporting the deaths of Meredith’s cousin and parents as a tragic accident, and the shootings of Lucetta and Harshad as accidental. No one questioned this, thanks to corroborating statements from two of the victims and Meredith herself. So many deaths spurred a new crop of rumors in the village about Dredthorne Hall, which was now considered haunted as well as cursed.

Meredith helped her aunt into the carriage. “I will see you back at the house tonight, Aunt.”

“You’re a good girl to look after me, but I have decided to leave.” She patted her hand. “I will be leaving tomorrow for Scotland. I have an old friend there who wishes a companion, and she has a nice little cottage. I have no more reason to stay in Renwick.”

Watching the carriage roll off, Meredith felt a fresh wave of sorrow. She hadn’t told Lavinia the truth of what had happened, but she suspected she knew any way. She would always be grateful to her for trying to protect her from her son and his ghastly need to inflict pain for his own glory.

Now if she could only rid herself of the dark legacy her parents had left to her.

From the church Meredith walked over to the parsonage, where she called on Mrs. Branwen. Deidre invited her to dinner, but Meredith asked if she might simply visit with their guest. She found Lucetta swathed in blankets but busy with her embroidery.

“Have you come to rescue me?” her cousin demanded. “For if I stitch one more posy I think I will tear out my hair and run amok.”

“You may not run anywhere until your wound has healed,” the vicar’s wife chided as she brought in a tray of tea and biscuits.

“How many posies have you stitched this week?” Lucetta countered.

“Once you are healed your life will be far more interesting. Your fiancé wishes to have the wedding as soon as we may, which dear Jeffrey says we must hold here.” She smiled at Meredith. “It is to be Christian and Hindu. I am making her dress. It is beautiful.”

“I am a housekeeper. My good rose linen is perfectly suited for a wedding.” Lucetta glared at her sister-in-law. “You should not go to so much trouble for me. I am old. So is Harshad.”

“You are getting married.” Deidre leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “You would look lovely in a potato sack, but I am making you a dress. I am much more skilled at sewing than cooking, so stop grumbling and thank me.”

Lucetta smiled up at her. “Thank you, Sister.”

They chatted about the wedding plans until Mrs. Branwen excused herself to check on a stew she was making.

Meredith put down her tea cup and regarded her cousin. “My aunt goes to Scotland tomorrow. Since your brother is the only male heir the attorneys can find, Starling House and the estate goes to him.”

“He will never live there,” Lucetta said, grimacing. “He and Deidre are happiest here, in their little parsonage. Have you been to see Alistair?”

“Not since I spoke with the magistrate. There has been so much to do with the funerals, and helping Aunt Lavinia.” Meredith plucked at her skirt. “And there is that other matter, when I bashed him in the head with a brick before I killed my family.”

“Nonsense. They killed themselves. You saved our lives,” Lucetta told her firmly. “Now go to Dredthorne and talk to Alistair, and do try to keep your clothes on while you do. All that can wait until after you are married. At least, that is what I tell myself and Harshad.”

Meredith chuckled, but as she left the parsonage a short time later her amusement settled into a solid lump in her stomach. She had been avoiding Alistair, and Dredthorne, as she did not know what to say to him. The Starlings had spent generations tormenting and murdering the Thornes. Her own parents had planned to kill him. How could a man love a woman so tainted by her own family?