Peggy dropped the gun. Or rather, it skittered from her hands and went clear under the big bed.
Relief sang through Alexandra's veins. The bullet was spent. Peggy couldn't shoot her anymore, at least not without reloading. And first she'd have to get the gun, which was under the bed. All Alexandra had to do was get out of the room. She'd run for help.
She scrambled up and dashed for the door, reaching for the key.
"Oh, no, you don't," she heard just before hands clenched painfully on her shoulders, wrenched her back, then bodily tossed her on the bed.
Whoever would have guessed Peggy was so strong? Alexandra twisted on the mattress to see her, then blinked, her heart racing even faster than before. This wasn't Peggy, not the Peggy she knew. Or thought she knew. Peggy didn't have such a deranged look in her eyes.
And this deranged woman was coming after her.
There was no way to get to the door without going through Peggy. Alexandra slid off the far side of the bed and went under it.
It was dark, and she didn't fit very well, but she wiggled and wiggled some more, forcing her way under the bed, straining to reach the gun. She didn't think Peggy had supplies to reload, but she wasn't going to take any chances. Her heart beat so loudly it seemed to be thundering in her ears, ricocheting around the cramped space. If she couldn't get the gun, maybe at least under here she'd be safe from Peggy, and Peggy's crazy eyes, and Peggy's strong, hard hands.
A fist started pounding on the door. And then another, and another, all accompanied by wild, angry barking.
"Lady Hawkridge!" Mrs. Oliver called. "Was that a shot?"
"Are you all right?" one of the footmen asked.
"Open up!" That was Vincent, followed by a vicious kick at the door.
Alexandra had warned Peggy people would hear. But being right brought no satisfaction. The doors at Hawkridge were thick, and the hinges were heavy, and there was nothing Vincent or anyone else could do.
"Oh, no, you don't," Alexandra heard, then felt Peggy tugging on her foot, dragging her backward. She yanked her ankle from the maid's grasp and wiggled farther under the bed, trying to regain lost ground.
The pounding on the door grew louder as more servants arrived, adding voices and fists to the commotion. Alexandra stretched toward the gun, almost touching it. Almost.
Then a cackle echoed under the bed, and a hand reached out and snatched the gun from her grasp.
Peggy. She'd scooted in from the other side.
And now she was pointing the gun at Alexandra under the bed.
It isn't loaded, Alexandra told herself, reassuring herself, forcing herself to breathe. There was nothing to do but back out, wiggling in reverse as fast as she possibly could, which wasn't nearly fast enough.
"I'm going to get you," Peggy said. "I am not going to let you take my mother."
Alexandra kept wiggling. Her heart was pounding, and her blood was pumping, and she was gulping spastically and trembling all over. But Peggy wasn't trying to reload the gun. What the devil did she want with the blasted thing anyway, then?
Rex's barking seemed to be getting even louder. "Lady Hawkridge!" the servants shouted. "Let us in!"
If only she could. She and Peggy rose from beneath the bed at the same time, on opposite sides, and as Peggy rounded the bed, coming toward Alexandra with her arm raised, it became clear what she was planning to do with the gun.
Hit Alexandra with it. Very hard, if Alexandra could judge by the maniacal look in the woman's eyes.
Panic rising in her throat, Alexandra scrambled backward, frantically glancing around. A glint of silver caught her eye. As Peggy bore down on her, she snatched her sterling basket off the table and bashed it down on the woman's dratted, curly head.
The maid collapsed like a sack of flour.
Alexandra rushed across the room to unlock the door, her trembling fingers slipping off the key. Again and again. Finally, she managed to turn it. But as she began to twist the knob, she heard a moan behind her and whirled.
Peggy was rising up from the floor.
The maid's eyes—unreasoning green eyes—radiated pure hate. One too-strong hand flexed, as though she were preparing to clench it around Alexandra's throat. Amazingly—petrifyingly—her other hand still held the gun.
With an animal-like growl, she gained her feet and rushed headlong.
At that moment, behind Alexandra—who indeed seemed petrified and powerless to do anything except gape in terror—the door burst open. And Rex bounded in, straight for Peggy.
His huge paws came up and knocked the maid to the ground, and before she could as much as move, he'd draped his body full on top of her.
The gun thudded from Peggy's fingers to the floor. Pinned by two hundred pounds of dog, she couldn't budge. In fact, from the looks of it, she couldn't even draw breath. Not that Alexandra particularly cared. As the servants poured in to surround her, she quietly sank to the floor and just sat there breathing.
The staff erupted in excited babbles, Peggy regained the use of her lungs enough to howl, and Rex, staying put, was barking up a storm. But Alexandra just sat there and breathed.
Until she heard a "Holy Christ" and glanced over, through many livery-clad legs, to see Tris standing in the doorway.
He looked whiter than Juliana's nightgown.
"What happened here?" he husked out.
"Peggy." The liveried legs parted as Alexandra crawled through them, making her way toward her husband. "Maude is Peggy's mother. She thought I wasn't going to see Maude until tomorrow, and she was trying to stop me."
"With a gun?" Tris stared horrified at the pistol on the floor.
"The bullet is already spent." Peggy's hands had seemed as much a weapon as the gun, anyway.
He pulled Alexandra to stand and wrapped her tight in his arms. "Maude is Peggy's
