I inched away from him, still saying nothing.

“I didn’t want to do any of this, you know,” he said. “I had no qualms about killing her. She was a scheming little bitch. But you . . . if only I could trust you to stay silent. But I can’t, can I? You have the moral fiber of your ancestors. You’d have to tell the truth. So I’m sorry. I really am. But it’s my whole future, you see. Everything I’ve lived and worked for.”

I glanced first at the major and then down the stairs. The front door was still open. If I ran fast enough down the stairs I might make it out of the door before him. But I was wearing an evening gown and dainty little slippers. He could outrun me. He could just as easily catch me in the darkness of the park.

If I went the other way—the way he wasn’t expecting, into the royal galleries—I might have a chance. Plenty of places to hide, maybe a weapon of some sort with which to defend myself. And maybe another staircase I could slip down and out into the night. I lifted my skirt so that I could run more easily, then I turned and fled into the darkness. My footsteps clattered and echoed across the landing. After the dim lighting of the foyer it was pitch-black in there. I blundered into a glass case containing some kind of exhibit, felt my way around it, and around a second, and through to a second room. I heard him curse behind me as he obviously bumped into something too. Now I was used to the dark I could vaguely make out old furniture, a display of costumes. I didn’t hesitate another second. I jumped up and took up position in the middle of the display among the mannequins.

Just in time. He came blundering past. His breath echoed loudly. “You can’t go on hiding, you know. I’ll find you. There’s only one way out.”

I stayed perfectly still among the mannequins. There was a chance he’d think I’d gone through to the other rooms and then I could creep down the stairs.

Rats. He was coming back. I could hear his breath, ragged with agitation now.

“There’s a light switch here somewhere,” he said.