Pain sliced through Portia. Yes, she supposed she was just like Charlotte Lyon’s daughter in that way.
“Having her heart broken finished her. She fell into opium—she’d been introduced to it by old Barker. She tried to become a courtesan, but witches like Sadie and Clarissa kept her from finding a protector, out of jealousy and spite. Because she couldn’t find anyone, she was forced to sell herself for pennies on the streets. That’s when she met that young little tart, Nellie, who introduced her to her brother, Reggie. He was a footman in a grand house but got my daughter to steal for him. She was almost caught, and she felt like a sinner. A failure and a sinner. From your wicked family, she believed she had condemned her soul. That there was no hope for her.”
“No! My family would never have taught her that.”
“Oh no? All those places are alike! So noble, but inside, you’re judgmental and cruel.”
The woman was mad. They had never done such a thing. They tried to set children on a good path, but they would never condemn one for stumbling.
“If she’d come back, I would have helped her.”
“How could she show her face when she felt as if she were worthless? I’ve proven she is not. She is worthy of justice.” She leaned back and threw out a cackling laugh.
“How did you kill them?” Portia asked. Could she distract the woman and tackle her, taking the pistols? Would anyone find them out here? “Why didn’t you just poison us all at dinner? Wouldn’t that have been easier?”
The woman smiled, a smile bloated with evil. “I could have, but it wouldn’t have been such fun. Poisoning the viscount was simple. I left a pill for him in his room, with a letter supposedly from Clarissa telling him it would ensure his sexual pleasure. That he must take it with his port after dinner. Of course, he fell for it. I destroyed the letter, of course. Crayle was easy. I’d put a sleeping draught in the brandy in his room. He had a drink, passed out, and I strung him up. Sadie ate the poisoned biscuits and the stupid widow drank poisoned sherry.”
“What of the three servants?”
“None of them thought I was anything other than a silly old woman. It is so easy to attack when no one suspects you. Ellie took the tea I gave her. Then I hanged her. She woke up to the terror of a noose around her neck.”
The delight in the woman’s eyes was sickening. But Portia had managed to move a little closer to the cook while the woman spoke. “The butler—I took care of him by caving in his bald head. And you saw the footman. How terrified he was when I cut him up. I had to stab him to put him out of his agony eventually, but what fun it was to hear him beg that I not cut off his cock. He deserved it. He beat my girl, cut her and whipped her to make her do his bidding.”
“Did Willoughby hurt her too? How did you kill him? He was a strong young man.”
“It is all about the element of surprise, Miss Lamb. Look at that smug footman Reggie. He was young and strong, but not as strong as me!”
No, Charlotte Lyon had a madwoman’s strength.
“I can see that you hated the others. But what did Sinclair do? And Saxonby?”
“My daughter went to Sinclair’s orgies, trying to catch his eye. All she wanted was to be safe and dry and well fed. He rejected her, as did Saxonby.”
“Surely they should not die because of a rejection—”
“You know nothing! If you knew what I know—” Charlotte broke off. She muttered under her breath. “Not to tell. Not to tell.”
The woman was mad, driven by vengeance to do something unthinkable. But while Portia could understand the woman’s grief and hatred, the sudden babbling scared her. “If your daughter was gone, how did you learn about all these sins?” she asked softly.
“Don’t you understand your part in that? That’s the blessing of what you did for her in that home. You taught her to read and write. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known who to make pay for her death. Now you are going to die. You are going to walk off the cliff.”
“No!”
“Do it or I’ll shoot you, then kick you over, Miss Lamb. Lamb to slaughter, that’s what you are.”
“You’ll have to shoot me, then. I am not going to just walk off a cliff.”
Charlotte Lyon leveled one pistol at Portia’s heart. “Then I shall. This is for my daughter, my innocent—”
“What was her name?” Portia asked suddenly. She realized the woman had not used the girl’s name once.
At the look of anguish on the woman’s face, Portia swiftly understood. “You named her, but that was not the name she used. And no one told you her name. It must have been so hard to find her.”