Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery (27 page)

This was my fault; I should have known better than to begin to rely on him. I had known, deep down, that he was capable of something like this, but I hadn’t wanted to believe it. Now, I was paying for my stupidity.

“Amory…” Gil’s voice broke into my thoughts, and I turned to find him and Emmeline emerging from the lift. I attempted to keep my feelings from showing on my face, but Gil was not easily fooled.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, a concerned frown crossing his brow.

I mastered my emotions and managed a smile. “Yes, Gil. Thank you.” I turned to Emmeline. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling a bit better.”

“Gil insists I need some sun and fresh air,” she said. “Will you take tea with us?”

“I … I think not today, thank you. I’m not feeling very well.”

I could feel Gil’s gaze on me, though I could not meet his eyes.

“Emmeline, will you wait for me in the dining room?” he asked her.

“Yes. I’ll see you later, Amory?”

“Yes, Emmeline. I should like that.”

She left us, and Gil turned to me. “Let’s go into the sitting room a moment, shall we?”

I followed him. Finding the room empty, he turned to me. “Now then, what’s wrong?”

I pushed my thoughts of Milo away for the moment. There were more important things to discuss. “I suppose you’ve heard about Mr. Hamilton.”

He nodded. “Inspector Jones stopped by to ask me my whereabouts.”

“He doesn’t think that you…”

Gil smiled, but his eyes were dark. “It only happened after I had been released. I expect I’d hang just as easily for two murders as for one.”

I felt ill at his words. “Don’t say that.”

“They haven’t taken me back in charge, at any rate,” he said. “I suppose they want to make sure that it was murder. I’ve telephoned Sir Andrew. It seems he will have his work cut out for him.”

That reminded me of something I had been wanting to ask him. “Mr. Rodgers said that you sent for Sir Andrew before your arrest,” I ventured. “Were you so certain it would happen?”

“I thought it might. I … you see, I’d written Rupert some pretty strongly worded letters. I was sure they would turn up.”

“But they haven’t.”

“Not yet. I suppose it’s only a matter of time. More coals heaped on the fire.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I said, almost to myself.

I felt Gil’s eyes on me, assessing me. “But Mr. Hamilton’s death and my arrest weren’t what you were thinking about when I came up to you. There’s something else, isn’t there?”

I smiled tiredly. “It’s no good trying to hide things from you, is it, Gil? You may as well know. Milo’s gone.”

“Gone? Where?”

“To London. No explanation.” I managed a laugh that I hoped didn’t sound as forced as it felt. “It’s very typical, you know.”

I found I couldn’t quite meet Gil’s gaze and looked down at the crumbled paper in my hand instead.

“Why do you let him do it to you, Amory?” he said suddenly.

I looked up, surprised by the question, and saw that his eyes were hard and dark. I realized suddenly that he was angry—not only at Milo, but at me.

“You deserve better.” His voice, though calm, held an edge. “Isn’t five years of it enough?”

“I suppose this is really between Milo and me,” I said, finding my own ire rising at the accusation in his tone. “After all, he is my husband.”

“I would have made you a much better one.”

I felt myself pale at the words, and we stared at one another. My lips parted, but I found I could think of nothing to say.

“I think perhaps I better check on Emmeline,” he said after a moment of heavy silence. “Excuse me.”

I watched him go, still unable to think of any sort of appropriate response.

He hadn’t gone far when he stopped and turned. “Does Inspector Jones know? About Milo’s leaving, I mean.”

I hadn’t thought of that. “I … I don’t suppose he does.”

“If you can get in touch with Milo, you’d better do it. Tell him to hurry back. It won’t look well, his running off after two murders.”

*   *   *

I SPENT THE
rest of the miserable evening in my room. Gil’s words echoed over and over in my head. It had been terrible, looking at the hurt and disapproval in his expression. Even worse, I wasn’t sure I disagreed with him. I had made a hasty decision to marry Milo, and I was reaping the consequences. Gil might not have made life as exciting as Milo did, but he would not have made me miserable, and he would not have deserted me when I needed him the most.

I barely touched the dinner I had sent up. Perhaps Gil was right; perhaps five years was enough. As much as I had hoped Milo and I might reach some sort of harmony in our union, I needed someone I could rely on, someone who would be at my side when I needed him. Milo simply wasn’t. Perhaps it was time that I simply admitted my mistake and acknowledged that we couldn’t make a go of it.

The knock sounded on my door, and for a fleeting moment I thought it might be Milo. Then I realized that he probably wouldn’t have knocked.

I pulled the door open and was not completely surprised to see who was standing there.

“Hello, Gil.”

“I need to talk to you, Amory,” he said.

I hesitated a moment before stepping back and pulling open the door. As he entered, I noticed that his gait was somewhat unsteady and that the strong scent of alcohol followed after him.

“You’ve been drinking,” I said, surprised. Since I had known Gil, I had never known him to indulge in more than the occasional glass of wine. From the looks of things, he had had something much more substantial since our conversation this afternoon.

“I have, a little,” he replied. He turned to me, his features somber. “I need to talk to you.”

“Perhaps you would rather do it tomorrow, when you’re feeling better.”

“No. I need to tell you something.”

“Would you like to sit down?”

“Not now, thank you.”

We stood facing one another.

“I’m sorry about today,” he said. “It seems I’m always making a mess of things.”

“We’re all strained at the moment. You needn’t apologize.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he went on. “It’s none of my business.”

“Let’s just forget it, Gil.”

“I knew that first night, you know,” he said suddenly. “When you met him, I knew that … well, I had a feeling that things were going to change.”

I remembered the night I met Milo as though it were yesterday. Gil and I had been at a large party given by some lord or the other. Milo had arrived late, just as we had sat down to dinner. It hadn’t been cliché, locking eyes across a crowded room and all that sort of thing. I had noticed Milo when he walked into the dining room, of course; most of the women present had. I hadn’t given him much thought, however. Dinner finished, Gil had gone off to speak to someone, and Milo had appeared at my side and asked me to dance. I had known who he was before he introduced himself. His reputation was wild even then, but he had been pleasant, polite. It would have been ill mannered of me to refuse. He led me to the dance floor, and, looking into those bright blue eyes, I had felt a strange sensation the first moment I was in his arms …

“I came back into the room, looking for you, and saw you dancing with him,” Gil said. “I saw the way you looked at one another. And somehow I knew…”

“I’m sorry, Gil,” I whispered, and I truly was. I couldn’t help the way I had felt about Milo, but I could have done more to spare Gil’s feelings. I had been young and inconsiderate. I regretted it now.

“I wanted you to be happy.” He laughed, somewhat hoarsely. “I was almost relieved when you said you were going to marry him. At least I knew that his intentions were honorable.”

“I was happy,” I said. “For a while.”

“I know I have no right … but I want to protect you, Amory. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

I wasn’t sure if he spoke regarding Milo or the murders. Perhaps he spoke of both. I only knew that he had somehow chosen just the right thing to say.

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

He swayed a little, and I reached out a hand to steady him. Somehow, he fell against me, and in the space of a moment his arms were around me. We looked at one another. Had it only been today that I had been pressed against Milo in the wardrobe? It seemed so very long ago. And now here I stood, in Gil’s embrace. He was so very close; I could feel him breathing. I felt at once that I should step back, but I couldn’t seem to make myself move.

“Amory,” he said. “I…” Then he leaned down and his mouth met mine.

For just a moment, my mind flashed back to the last time he had kissed me: the night I had told him I was going to marry Milo. I had broken the news as gently as possible, and he had taken it with a grace born of refinement and his own good nature. After all had been said that there could possibly be to say, he had turned to leave me for the last time. Then he had stopped and come back to where I stood. His hand on my face, he had leaned down and kissed me.

There had been so much emotion in that gentle farewell kiss. As in love with Milo as I had been, something about it had left me heartbroken. I had wept when Gil left, utterly miserable. I felt the same thing now: a deep, aching sadness and a forlorn sort of longing that I could not precisely explain.

Then Gil’s kiss deepened, his embrace drew me more tightly against him, and I was pulled back to the present. Things were different now than they had been then. Whatever my feelings, I was still married to Milo. I pulled back, my hands pressing gently against his chest, creating the smallest space between us. “We can’t do this, Gil,” I said softly.

He blinked, as though he was only just realizing this himself, and his hands dropped from my waist as though I were made of hot coals. “I’m sorry.” He stepped back quickly, wavered, and I worried that he would fall.

“It’s all right,” I said, moving to take his arm. “Please, sit down. I’ll have some coffee sent up.”

I rang for coffee as he sank heavily into the sofa and his head dropped into his hands.

“Love makes a mess of things, doesn’t it?” he said, as though he was speaking to himself. “People are always falling in love with the wrong people. It happens over and over. It would be so much simpler if … I didn’t know how she felt, you know … I didn’t think that she really meant it…”

He wasn’t talking about me any longer. Whom did he mean?

I sat on the sofa beside him. “Did you … do you need to talk about something, Gil?” I asked him.

“I thought she was young and infatuated. I didn’t realize she really meant it.”

It could only be Emmeline he was referring to. But what was he trying to tell me?

He sat back and leaned his head against the sofa. “I feel terrible,” he said.

“I know, dear. You’ll feel better when you get some coffee.”

As much as I wanted to know why he should have suddenly brought up the subject of Emmeline and her feelings for Rupert, I was silent and let Gil rest. I still didn’t believe for a moment that Gil had killed Rupert, and yet it seemed very odd he should be lamenting Emmeline’s grief at this particular moment. Then again, he was completely soused. I supposed it all made sense to him.

When the knock came, I answered it and took the tray from the maid, so she wouldn’t see Gil in my room. Closing the door, I walked back to the sitting area and set the tray on the table in front of the sofa. “Here’s the coffee,” I said brightly. “It will be just the thing.”

Gil didn’t stir.

“Gil?”

I looked at him closely. He was sound asleep or, more likely, out cold.

I sighed. I couldn’t have him moved without creating a scandal of immense proportions. He would just have to sleep it off on my sofa.

I removed his necktie and slid off his shoes before easing him into a recumbent position. Then I covered him with a spare blanket and turned out the lights. I couldn’t help but think that, if anyone should find out he had spent the night in my room, I was going to have a devil of a time explaining it to Milo.

23

I HAD ALREADY
dressed when Gil stirred. Despite the fact I had dimmed the lights and that the weather had turned the sky a dismal gray, he squinted as he opened his eyes. Then he caught sight of me and jerked to a sitting position, grimacing as he did so.

“What … Oh, no.”

“Good morning, Gil,” I said cheerily, trying to lessen the shock of it all. “How do you feel?”

“I kissed you last night,” he said, ignoring my attempts at polite small talk.

“Yes.”

He dragged a hand across his face. “I’m sorry, Amory. I don’t know what to say.”

“You needn’t say anything.”

“You must abhor me, forcing my attentions on you like a drunken…”

“You are never anything but a gentleman, Gil,” I interrupted sternly. “And that’s the last we need say about it.”

“Does anyone know that I … spent the night here?”

“I sincerely hope not,” I replied. “Did you tell anyone you were coming up to see me?”

“Not that I remember,” he said ruefully. “I’ve never been quite that drunk before. I’m terribly embarrassed.”

“Please don’t be, Gil. We’ve all done things that we regret at one time or another.”

He looked at me for a long moment, my words hanging in the space between us, and then he stood gingerly to his feet. “I’d better go, before someone sees me.”

“Your shoes are under the table.”

He cleaned himself up as best he could, though his hair would not be tamed and he was in need of a shave.

He paused at the door. “I wouldn’t have come here like that if I hadn’t been drunk,” he said. “As much as I’ve wanted to talk about … things since we arrived.”

“As I said, Gil, we needn’t say any more about it.”

“I’ll talk to you later, then?”

“Yes.”

I closed the door behind him and sighed heavily. I couldn’t wait for this whole thing to be over so I could resume my normal life, or some variation thereof.

*   *   *

I SPENT THE
remainder of the morning and the early part of the afternoon in my room. I had little desire for company, but that did not mean that I had given up on the murder investigation. As tumultuous as my personal life had become, I realized there were more important matters at hand. If anything was to be resolved, it was absolutely necessary that we discover who had murdered Rupert and Mr. Hamilton.