My father swayed toward me. I put out my hands and held him as slowly he slipped to the ground.
I knelt beside him and looked about me helplessly. I was stunned. Briefly I saw the man, then I knew that although he was dressed differently, he was the one I had seen last night waiting on the other side of the road. He had changed his opera cloak and hat for a cloth cap which was pulled down over his eyes. For a second we looked fully at each other. I could not see the widow’s peak, but I did recognize the scar on his left cheek; and instinctively I knew that he was the man who had stood on the other side of the road, and that last night he had been waiting for my father so that he might do then what he had done today. He had turned away and made off.
People were shouting. They were all round us. Bates was kneeling by my father, and servants were dashing out of the house.
It was like a nightmare... fearfully real. A terrible fear had come over me. I might never wait for him to come home to a late supper... never again talk to him of his ambitions.
I had never known such desolation.
My memories of that time come back to me like a series of bad dreams-overshadowed by a terrible sense of loss. I found myself trying to cling to the past, telling myself that it had not really happened... but it had.
Celeste was beside me. She clung to me. She was as dazed as I was. They had taken him to the hospital. Celeste and I went with him. We sat side by side, holding hands, waiting.
I think I knew from the start that there was no hope. He had been shot through the heart and was on the point of death by the time they got him to the hospital. Celeste, I am sure, found a grain of comfort in looking after me. I had been there at the vital moment, I had seen it happen. Small wonder that I was in a state of shock.
I was taken back to the house. There was a hushed atmosphere there. It did not seem like the same house. The servants were silent. There was tension everywhere. I was given something to drink and made to lie on my bed; and after a while I slipped into blessed oblivion.
But soon I was awake again. My respite was brief; and the nightmare continued. I soon realized that I was to play an important part in the drama, for I was the one who had been with my father when it happened. I was the one the police wanted to talk to.
I soon found myself in their company. They asked questions which I tried to answer.
The conversation kept going round and round in my head.
“Did you see the man with the gun?”
“Yes. I saw him.”
“Would you recognize him again?”
“Yes.”
“You seem certain.”
“I saw him the night before.”
They were alert. I had said something of the utmost importance and I had to explain. “I was waiting for my father’s return from the House of Commons. When he was late home I kept a little supper for him in his study. It was a custom between us. While I was waiting for him I looked out of the window and saw a man. He was waiting on the other side of the road by the railings of the garden. He looked as if he were waiting for someone.”
“What was he like? Was he tall?”
“Of medium height. His hat blew off. There was a strong wind. I saw him clearly under the lamplight. He had dark hair which grew to a peak in the middle of his forehead. And there was a white scar on his left cheek.”
They were very excited now. They looked at me in wonder and then exchanged glances.
One of them, the Inspector, I think, nodded his head slowly.
“This is excellent,” he said. “And you saw the same man when the shooting took place?”
“Yes, but he was wearing a cloth cap pulled down over his face. I did not see his hair, but I saw the scar. And I knew he was the one who had waited last night.”
“Very good. Thank you, Miss Lansdon.”
There were headlines in the papers.
BENEDICT LANSDON ASSASSINATED.
BENEDICT LANSDON WAS SHOT DEAD OUTSIDE HIS HOME TODAY.
HIS DAUGHTER, MISS LUCIE LANSDON, WAS AT HIS SIDE. The newsboys were shouting in the streets. All London was talking of the death of Benedict Lansdon who had so recently been making the headlines with his opposition to Gladstone’s Home Rule Bill.
Late in the afternoon of the second day, my half sister, Rebecca, arrived from Cornwall. The very sight of her lifted my spirits a little, and I remembered how in my childhood I had always gone to her for comfort.
She came to my room and we clung together.
“My poor, poor Lucie,” she said. “This is terrible. And you were with him at the time. What does it mean? Who could have done this?”
I shook my head. “The police have been here. There have been a lot of questions.
Celeste didn’t want me to see them but they insisted.”
“They are hinting that this is something to do with his opposition to the Irish Bill.” I nodded. “They are saying that the Bill failed to get through the Lords because of my father’s speaking out against it. And, of course, he was one of those who voted against it.”
“Surely that could not be a reason for ... murder!”
“I don’t know. It’s probably some wild conjecture. The press has brought it up to make it more sensational. There is a mention of the Phoenix Park murders.”
“That was years ago.”
“About ten. And then Lord Frederick Cavendish and his Under Secretary were shot ... just as my father was.”
She nodded.
“So it seems possible,” I said. “Who else would do it?”
“Perhaps someone he knew long ago. Perhaps it was some personal feud. Did you know of anything? I suppose a man such as he was might have enemies.”
“I don’t know, but I expect the police will find out.”
“Lucie, you must come back with me to Cornwall.”
“I couldn’t go yet, Rebecca. I have to wait here for a while. The fact that I was with him when it happened... you see, they come here and ask me questions. There will be an inquest and after that... what do you think will happen? Will they catch this man?”
She lifted her shoulders.
“I saw him, you see,” I went on. “I saw him clearly.”
I told her about the man who had waited by the railings the night before the shooting, and how I had seen him next day kill my father.
She was astonished. “He would obviously have done it the night before, if your father had come home. Can you be sure it was the same man?”
“Absolutely. He had such distinguishing features. Moreover there was something about him... something I can’t describe... something purposeful.”
“You have told the police this?”
“Yes, and they are very excited about it.”
“Do you think it could be that this man is known to them?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. But I see that it could be. Oh, Rebecca, it was so good of you to come. I feel better now that you are here.”
“I know,” she said gently.
“Will you stay?”
“I shall until after the funeral. Then I shall take you back with me.”
“I suppose there has to be an inquest.”
“Certainly there will be. I’ll stay till it’s all over and then you can come back with me to Cornwall.”
“What of Celeste? I feel I should be with her.”
“She could come, too. You will both want to get away from this house for a while.”
“There will be changes everywhere,” I said. “I suppose we shall have to think of what we are going to do. At the moment I can think of nothing but his standing there. He looked surprised. I suppose it was less than a second but it seemed longer and there was my father... staggering, covered in blood. Oh, Rebecca, it was terrible.”