Halfway up the staircase, Mary tripped on the hem of her skirt, causing Richard to stop and yank her back to her feet. Scowling with irritation, he pulled her skirt up and snarled at her to hold it. Impatient to get her upstairs, he was becoming annoyed with her obvious reticence and was determined to brook no further delay from her. He turned to continue his trek when he heard the front door burst open and slam into the red plaster wall.
Matthew stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his blue eyes blazing, horrified by what he saw. Oh, Matthew, thank God you're here. I love you so. There in the middle of the stairway at least fifty feet away from him were Mary and Richard—she was in a torn, blood-stained frock, her face flushed and battered and her hair wrapped around her neck and held in Richard's fist; Richard was drenched in sweat, wild-eyed, gasping, holding a gun to her neck. His worst fears were realized, but Matthew held his gun steady, resisting the urge to bound up the stairs and tear Mary from Richard's grasp. He knew better than to act rashly because of Carlisle's hold on Mary and their precarious position halfway up the marble staircase.
"Let her go, you fucking bastard," he growled.
Richard glared at Matthew, angered by the interruption. "I beg your pardon? Sorry, Crawley, she's with me now. You're not welcome here." Even in the throes of madness, Richard's voice was imperious. He looked down at Mary, his eyes glazed and fervent. "Isn't that right, my dear?" He couldn't resist the urge to burrow his face into her neck, causing her to whimper helplessly as she struggled against him. He then looked back at Matthew, who had moved forward slightly, and smirked. He hadn't gone to all this trouble to let her go now.
Enraged by this manifestation of his worst fears, yet realizing he had to remain calm, Matthew's cool demeanor belied his pounding heart. Mary was in grave danger, and he had to keep his head if she were to survive this ordeal. He focused on her perilous state and tried to figure out his next move. This was proving to be a deadly standoff. Knowing Mary as he did, he was sure she had attempted to reason with Carlisle, but he had to try. Keeping his voice even, Matthew said, "Richard, come down, and we'll talk this through." He's insane, Matthew. He won't listen. Trying to reason with him won't work. Mary looked at him, despair pooling in her eyes.
Richard was visibly agitated. "Oh, but, you see, we're headed upstairs. No time to talk, I'm afraid. Maybe another time. Sorry to disappoint, old chap. Come, dear." He turned to move up the stairs but never took his eyes off Mathew.
"I'm warning you, Carlisle! Let her go." Matthew's muscles were visibly tense—as if he were spring loaded—but his gun remained steady.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Tears filled Mary's eyes as Richard put her neck in a death grip using the crook of his left elbow, her hair still gripped in his hand. He turned back, faced Matthew, and pointed his gun at him. "You are not welcome here, Crawley. I'm afraid I must insist you leave us—now." Crawley was becoming a nuisance who was keeping him from his tryst with the woman in his arms.
"On the contrary, Carlisle, I'm not going anywhere," Matthew said evenly, his mind racing as he tried to figure out his next move. Although he knew he was a good marksman, he couldn't risk Mary's life by taking anything but a clear shot.
Mary watched powerlessly as the love of her life stood tall and resolute. Thank you, my darling, but it's no use. Please protect yourself. He'll kill me before he'll let me go. Terrified for herself and now for Matthew, she attempted to cry out to him but was thwarted as Richard yanked the silky-smooth tether around her neck. Her hands flew to her throat to relieve the pressure, but Richard only pulled harder, which caused her to wilt from the intensity of his grip. She believed truly this situation could end only in tragedy. Richard's grip was so strong, and she already was bruised and exhausted from her struggle.
Matthew blanched when he saw Mary droop in Carlisle's grasp. No experience during the war had prepared Matthew for this scenario. Mary's life was being threatened by someone who, without a doubt, was deranged. Her face told Matthew everything she was feeling—terror, anguish, shock, love for him—and his own determination to save her was his sole focus. He thought his mind and heart would explode with his love for her and with the hatred he felt for the man who held her life in his hands. Although his revolver was pointed at Richard, there was little chance of his firing it because Richard now was using Mary as a shield.
"I won't allow you to get away with this, Carlisle. Let her go now!"
"Well, then, Crawley, you leave me no choice." Richard raised his gun and aimed it at Matthew, but before he could fire it, Mary gathered what little strength she had left, grabbed his right wrist, and attempted to wrestle the gun away.
"MARY! NO!" cried Matthew. I love you, my darling. I love you. I love you so….
She barely felt the bullet rip through her body and never heard the second blast.