Murder Most Royal — читать онлайн бесплатно полностью

He seemed to appreciate her acknowledgement of that little touch.

‘If you disposed of his clothes on the estate, they’ll find traces of those, too,’ she persisted. ‘Your alibi for the fourteenth, when you were supposed to be seeing Mrs Capelton, won’t hold. It can’t, because you were busy pretending to be your cousin.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘I can understand your reasons,’ she said, warming to her theme. ‘I abhor it, but I can see your biblical sense of justice. What I really can’t forgive is that you had a duty of care to Mr Wallace, and instead of protecting him you hounded him to his death, so you could get away with what you did to Ned.

She spoke with more heat than she intended to. When she finished, a light went on in the baron’s eyes. She realised she had said too much and took a step backwards. He moved towards her, still holding the reins of his horse. She glanced over the wall to her left in the fervent hope of seeing the cavalry riding up the track, but there was only a solitary hare, who looked as nervous as she was.

‘You told them all of this?’

‘I did not,’ she said, which was strictly true, if not entirely accurate.

‘I often wondered if Lee had spoken to your mother.’

‘I have no idea what—’

Hugh took another step towards her. He was taller than she remembered. Or rather, taller than he seemed at Christmas. The grief was real, but the stoop was gone. He used his height to intimidate her, and she was very aware of the riding crop in his left hand. Then he seemed to change his mind and hauled himself back onto his hunter.

Rozie had finally found both horses further up the road and brought them under control. There was still no sign of police or ambulance, but both riders were breathing, the bleeding of the older woman had been staunched with a tourniquet on her leg, and a small queue of traffic at either end of the accident had been prevented from running them over. The Queen’s driver was managing the flow of cars while her protection officer attended to the injured.

‘Who’s looking after the Boss?’

Depiscopo looked up from the teenager, whom he’d been reassuring that help was on the way.

He hauled himself up and started to run, but Rozie was already ahead of him.

Hugh sat tall in the saddle and the Queen realised just how much he had been faking his recent infirmity. At full height, his St Cyr characteristics stood out more strongly. The nose, the eyes, the chin, the remnants of golden hair . . .