It might have been those last words that forestalled her protests and sent her running in a wide arc around James. With a twinge of relief I saw that she still held the harpoon. She might not have even realized it, but now James couldn’t reload and use it on me. The same thought must have crossed our minds at the same time, for he spun around to yank the arrow out of the marsh.
He gripped it like the spear it was and came at me. I waited until he was almost within striking reach before ducking out of the way and sidestepping to my right. He was swift to follow, but I kept moving, away from the pond and deeper into the cattails again. He was having trouble moving—I’d done some damage. I racked my brains to decide how to do more.
And then, through the reeds, I glimpsed hope. Frail and faltering, but hope all the same. I knew what I had to do.
Circling James, I moved toward the pond again, forcing him to turn his back to the figure approaching through the cattails. Meanwhile I prayed he’d think panic had me moving blindly, and that he wouldn’t recognize my attempt to manipulate him.
One other quick prayer ran through my mind, and to help facilitate its being answered I made as much noise as possible. I stomped my feet to raise loud splashes. I cried out as James came closer. I pleaded with him not to hurt me.
Only a few feet separated us now. With the pond at my heels I’d run out of room to retreat, for my skirts would only ensnare me in the water and make James’s task easier. He came on slowly, in no particular hurry. With a swipe of his sleeve he cleared the blood off his face. He believed he had me and quite possibly he would have, if his sister didn’t just then emerge from the cattails, creep up behind him, and bring the shovel in her hands crashing down on the top of his head. Just as when Consuelo had shot at him, his eyes opened wide—but now they held no surprise, no conjecture, merely a blank stare. Then his knees buckled and he hit the ground.
The fight seeped out of me and I sank to the ground as well, but I wasted no time in crawling to him and sliding the arrow he still held out from between his fingers. Instinct sent me scrambling to put distance between us again. Then I sat up and glanced up at Marianne. She stood over her brother like an avenging angel, the shovel gripped in both her hands.
“Thank you,” I managed between heaving breaths.
She let out a loud cough, one that must have taken great effort to suppress as she’d sneaked up behind her brother. “I couldn’t let him hurt anyone else.”
“No.”
“Please believe I didn’t know until today about the others—those two women. I—” She coughed again, long and hard, the force of it doubling her over.
“I believe you,” I said when the fit subsided. From where I sat, with the wet ground soaking the back of my skirts, I studied James’s inert body. “Is he . . . ?”
Still holding the shovel, Marianne crouched beside him and held her hand close to his nose. “He’s breathing.”
I crawled back to them. “Let’s get his suspenders off. We can use them to tie his hands and feet.” I hesitated. “Did you see Consuelo?”
Marianne nodded as she began unhooking the suspenders from her brother’s trousers. “I sent her on to the nearest cottage for help. Someone in the area might have a telephone—”
“Someone does,” I said, remembering one of the local residents had called the police after Lady Amelia’s body was found on the beach. “As long as Consuelo manages to find someone home and explains what happened, help will arrive.” I knew that to be true because I knew these islanders. They would waste no time in taking care of their own. “Let’s hurry. There’s someone else who might be gravely hurt. James said he’s locked in your shed. He needs me. . . .”
Within minutes we had James secured. Not that he’d be waking up anytime soon, from the looks of him, but we were taking no chances. When I finally stood, the results of our tussle asserted themselves in the form of aches and sharp pains in every part of me. I gazed down at the man, feeling a fool for having been so easily taken in by him, and so furious with him I could feel nothing even approaching pity for his current state. But all of that passed in a second or two. I gathered my sodden skirts and hurried as fast as I could through the weeds and back toward the cottage. After a minute or two Marianne followed; I heard her soggy footfalls and her occasional coughs, but I never once glanced back. I only looked ahead.
A half-rusted padlock greeted me with its unyielding presence when I reached the shed. A sense of denial filled me and I seized the door handles, tugging for all I was worth. While they banged in and out the inch or two allowed by the lock, I shouted Derrick’s name. I pounded. I kicked. I leaned my forehead against the splintered wooden panels and wept.