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“Now, let me tell you why you’re here right now,” Ian offered. “Stevenson has been losing sleep to keep an eye on the staff entrance, which has an entry close to it that leads to the corridors. We could have set up a camera, but Stevenson wouldn’t hear of it. This house means something to him, as do the people in it. You didn’t just violate the Alcotts with your devilries, Mr. Clifton, you violated our whole family.”
Ian swung out an arm to encompass everyone in the room.
And yes, that right there was when my fall was complete, and I knew I was in love with him.
I looked to Stevenson who was standing, back straight, staring down his nose at Steve Clifton.
“Nevertheless, he didn’t need to. My investigator was following you and saw you approaching the house. She phoned me. But Stevenson saw you come in,” Ian went on, “and he roused the staff to creep around and find you. I’d already roused Dad and Daniel. Daniel and I were the ones who first saw you. Daniel used the corridors to round to the other side. And I watched you myself carry that mannequin to the landing. Then I watched you lie in wait. This was a big play. Were we taking too long to be terrified, Mr. Clifton? Or, at the end of our week together, was this your grand finale?”
“The girl told me what was happening. That the sister was having tricks played on her,” he mumbled sullenly.
“So you thought you could ride those coattails,” Ian surmised.
Clifton lost it but phrased it in an attempt to find the moral high ground.
“You lot think you can get away with bloody murder!” he yelled.
I looked to Lady Jane.
She glanced at me with an expression of lips zipped.
Not that I would say anything, but I didn’t say anything.
“First, that was a hundred years ago. Everyone who was there is dead,” Ian retorted. “More importantly, second, you don’t care who killed Dorothy. You might be covetous of what we have and wanted to fuck with our heads because we have it, and you’re a shit writer, apparently a shit son, and definitely a shit individual. But that’s an aside. Mostly, you needed renewed interest in your dead aunt so it would sell books because you’re broke, and your millionaire family doesn’t give a flying fuck.”
Clifton said nothing.
Thus, again, Ian hit the nail on the head.
“You weren’t expecting to be caught. Just toss the mannequin, terrify Portia, or members of staff who found the things you left for them to find, or whoever would tell the story, covering as many bases as possible, and make a clean getaway, reaping your reward. You were there when Daniel and I tackled you, and now we’re all here,” Ian concluded. “Have I missed anything?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Clifton sneered.
“No. Though I’ll rather enjoy watching what becomes of you doing it to yourself,” Ian returned.
On that stellar comeback, no one said anything for a long time.
Then, the police sirens could be heard coming from outside.
“This house and the one before it have been protecting our family for a thousand years,” Ian said quietly. “Did you honestly think it would fall down on that job to the likes of you?”
“I’ll be wanting to call my solicitor,” Clifton replied.
“Good luck with that,” Ian said, before he informed him, “None of this is good, but it also isn’t that bad. But what you did when you shoved Daphne and she fell down the stairs will be considered assault.”
Clifton blanched.
Casually, Ian turned, nodded to his father, and then Richard moved, herding the women out.
Epilogue
THE CONSERVATORY
It was necessary for me to share my story with the police, so I did.
After that, I was hustled with brusque, maternal clucking by Christine to the Conservatory, where I joined Portia and Lady Jane and was bundled in a fluffy, soft, woolen throw and given a mug of hot cocoa by Laura.
After some time, Richard came in to collect Lady Jane, but she didn’t leave without giving a cheek kiss to me and Portia.
