Silent in the Sanctuary (16 page)

“Curiosity is a character flaw, and a dangerous one,” he remarked in an acid tone. “Or didn’t your father teach you that?”

“He tried,” I said cheerfully. “But I am afraid that lesson, like so many others, simply did not take.”

He turned then and looked directly at me. I had forgot how singularly intense his focus could be. He had a trick of staring quite through me, stripping me bare while revealing nothing of himself. There had been moments, only a few, when he had been unguarded with me, giving me the smallest glimpse into the man behind the impenetrable façade. This was clearly not to be one of them. He kept his arms folded over the breadth of his chest, and I wondered if the gesture was meant more to contain himself or to keep me at bay.

With some effort, I was able to breathe evenly, and when I spoke, my voice was steady.

“I do hope you are enjoying your stay at the Abbey. Have you been in Sussex long?”

He ignored my opening gambit. “I will not tell you anything,” he said flatly.

I opened my eyes very wide and blinked at him. “Of course you mustn’t. I should not expect it of you. You are a professional, after all.”

He ground his teeth together in a manner I knew only too well. “On that point, I must request your discretion.”

“Why, Brisbane, are you suggesting that your fiancée does not know what you are? I am astonished. A gentleman should be more forthcoming with his intended. How is she to know if you can support her adequately if you do not share these things?”

He took a step closer, using his height to great advantage. The breeze had risen, whipping his greatcoat about him like great black wings, and he loomed over me like some sort of fallen angel. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he demanded.

I nodded. “Oh, immensely! And you must promise to invite me to the wedding. I shall be bereft if I cannot wish you well on your nuptial day. I think I shall wear green. Not fashionable for weddings anymore, but during Tudor times it was just the thing. I believe it has some connotations of pagan fertility, but we shall draw a veil over that.”

His jaw tightened a bit more. “I will not discuss this with you. Not Charlotte, not my profession, and not my presence here at Bellmont,” he repeated.

I fluffed the velvet trim on my cuffs and adopted a tone of supreme indifference. “So you have said, and I agreed with you. Really, Brisbane, you do not listen at all. You shall want to remedy that before you take a wife. A lady likes to be listened to. Tell me, as we are friends, what became of Mr. King? She did not murder him, did she? I shall feel quite nervous for you if you marry a murderess.”

His hand twitched, and though he did not reach for me, I knew I had prodded him too far. Teasing Brisbane was not a sport for the faint of heart. It was only slightly safer than baiting bulls. I could not help myself. Perhaps I wished to punish him for the long, lonely months without word. Perhaps I wished to punish him for forcing Charlotte upon us. I only knew I wanted to hurt him, not deeply, but the temptation to twist the knife was irresistible.

“Honestly, Brisbane. You cannot seriously expect me to believe you intend to marry her. She is ridiculous. She would bore you to sobs in a fortnight.”

He opened his mouth, to say something vicious I have no doubt, but I held up a hand. “No, you mustn’t tell me. I would rather not know.” I tapped the black sling firmly. To his credit he did not flinch. “I do hope you are convalescing well. The air here is quite restorative.”

“I am fine, thank you for your concern,” he ground out, his lips stiff with anger.

“Excellent. And how is Monk? Keeping well, I trust?” Monk was his majordomo, as well as a sometime operative in his investigations. I had only the vaguest theories as to Brisbane’s activities whilst I had been away, but I knew whatever they had been, Monk would have been at the thick of them.

“Monk is in London. And since you will learn of it as soon as you speak with Valerius, I will tell you he is looking after Monk while he recovers from a broken leg.”

I gaped at him. This was most unexpected. “Valerius is treating him? But he is a student. He is not qualified—”

“Under Mordecai’s direction,” he amended. That eased my mind a little. Mordecai was Brisbane’s oldest friend. An excellent physician, he had taken my wayward younger brother under his tutelage. Father would never consent to let Valerius establish his own consulting rooms, but with Mordecai’s help, he could do some real good in the slums that festered behind the elegant quarters of London.

“When did he break his leg?” I asked suddenly. The speed of the attack caught him off his guard.

“A fortnight ago,” he replied, and I had little doubt if he had thought on it, he would have given me a lie.

“A fortnight ago,” I repeated innocently. “The same time you fell from your horse. How very unlucky. And how very fortunate that neither of you were near Trafalgar Square. I understand there was a terrible riot there, just about a fortnight past. Why, either one of you might have been injured much worse.”

“I read of it in the papers,” he said smoothly, refusing to rise to the bait.

“As did I. Just this morning. The stories were utterly appalling. Ten thousand people marching to register their protest at the treatment of the Irish, and two thousand soldiers beating them back. I understand some poor souls were left with broken bones, and shots were even fired. So barbaric.”

I paused, holding the eyes that never left mine. “Well, I must be getting back to the others. You should come along and watch them conclude the deal for the horse. It should be most entertaining. Oh, I am sorry, I forgot,” I said, with a meaningful look at his sling, “you do not ride.” I spun smartly on my heel and started down the path.

“Julia—”

I turned back in surprise. He had never once called me by my Christian name. Emotions warred on his face, feelings I could not identify as I waited, only an arm’s length from him, expectant, hoping for some word, some declaration.

But he simply stood staring at me, locked in a silence he would not, or could not, break, and after an endless moment I let out a ragged little breath that sounded almost like a sob.

“You know, Brisbane, if you thought to rouse my jealousy by bringing her here, you have failed. Abjectly. She is welcome to you, with my blessing.”

He spoke then, something profane, but he did not follow me as I walked away.

After my tête-à-tête with Brisbane, I felt thoroughly exhausted, drained of all feeling and numb with cold and a bit of misery as well as I retraced my steps to the Gypsy camp. I had not been gone a very long time, but it was sufficient for the ladies to have finished their fortunes. Emma and Portia had joined Lucy on her bit of carpet by the cooking fire, and were sipping at chipped mugs. More of Magda’s dreadful tea, no doubt, but at least it would keep the rising chill from one’s bones.

The gentlemen were still haggling, though they had been joined by Plum and Mr. Ludlow. Mrs. King was some little distance apart, attempting to converse with a charming little girl whose glossy black plaits swung to her waist. Next to the child’s exotic charms, Mrs. King looked like a fragile Dresden shepherdess. I thought of warning Mrs. King it would be prudent to keep an eagle eye upon her valuables, and to count the coins in her reticule when the child left, for there was no knowing if the girl was old enough to realise we were friends and not to be stolen from. But just then she looked up and waved at me, her betrothal ring from Brisbane sparkling on her finger, and I held my tongue.

I made for the knot of gentlemen instead, meaning to join them when a figure swayed out from behind the nearest tent. “You do not wish me to tell your fortune? I am never wrong, lady, as you well know.”

I sighed. “No, Magda. Thank you. I trust the ladies paid you sufficiently for your services?”

She shrugged. “Is there enough silver in the world to exchange for knowing what the future holds?”

“Probably not. In that case, I shall leave you to it.”

I made to step around her, but she stood in my path, not touching me, but making it impossible for me to pass.

“What do you want?” I demanded.

Magda shook her head, rattling the coin-bedecked chains at her ears and throat. Roma woman often dressed thus, carrying their life’s savings on their person for safekeeping. “You were kind to me once, lady,” she said, pouting a little.

“For which you repaid me in ways that would have bought you a gibbet if I had gone to the authorities. Instead I arranged for you to leave London, at great personal cost to myself,” I reminded her. “Do not think to win me with your petulance. It is a child’s trick.”

She curled her lip at me and tossed her head. “Very well then. But I will tell you this for free—that one still walks with the dead,” she whispered, nodding toward the dark figure slowly walking toward us from the river path. She grasped my arm fast in her bony fingers. “I told you once before the screams of the dead echo in his steps. You did not believe me, and you nearly died. Do you believe me now?”

I wrenched my arm free. “That is a faery story meant to frighten children. What did you tell my cousin Lucy? That she would marry and take a shipboard voyage?”

Magda looked at me in surprise. “Of course I did. That is what she wished to hear, and it was the truth. And I tell you the truth as well—that man is like the raven. His shadow speaks of death to come.”

“Enough!” I cried, and pushed past her.

“Tell me, lady, has he ever told you the truth about Mariah Young?” she called after me, laughing her harsh, grating laugh.

I stalked off, refusing to turn and address her. The question she asked had nagged at me since I first heard the name Mariah Young. I knew little about her, save that she had some attachment to the Roma, and some connection to Brisbane as well. And that she had been murdered. Beyond that I knew nothing. I had asked Brisbane only once, and he had refused to speak of her. The fact that Magda knew I would have asked, and that Brisbane would not have confided in me, confirmed she knew both of us better than I could have wished.

The gentlemen were just concluding the deal when I approached, with much slapping of hands and laughter and no doubt a few ribald jokes as well. They had dispersed to join the ladies, all save Sir Cedric who remained, stroking the hunter’s nose with an air of proprietary satisfaction.

“Ah, Lady Julia!” he cried as I approached. “Congratulate me, if you please. I have just become the owner of this magnificent animal.”

I peered at the hunter’s face, noting the edge of white showing cleanly around the entire eyeball. I smiled.

“Congratulations, indeed, Sir Cedric. I hope Mephistopheles will make you an excellent mount.”

His hand paused. He looked at me, a trifle uncertainly. “Mephistopheles? Like the devil?”

“Yes, but I am certain it is a term of opposite affection. As one will name a black kitten Snowflake, that sort of thing.”

His expression eased and he went on petting the animal’s nose. It was the first opportunity I had had to assess Lucy’s fiancé in any sort of detail. He had removed his gloves to better acquaint himself with his purchase. His hands were manicured, but all the creams and unguents in the world could not erase the patchwork of scars and calluses formed from many years of hard labour. His tweeds were well-cut and almost alarmingly new. They bore the hallmarks of good tailoring, doubtless from the finest shops in Savile Row. Beneath his hat, a few stray locks of silvering blond hair curled to his collar. His whiskers were the same odd mix of silver and gold, and with his ruddy complexion and tawny eyes, the whole put me greatly in mind of an aging lion. His physique was powerful and sturdy, though he lacked Brisbane’s inches.

“Well, what do you make of the old boy then?” he asked, and I turned my attention to the horse.

“A very fine hunter. Perhaps he needs a bit of training to settle his nerves, but with the proper handling—”

“Not the animal,” he corrected. “Me. Shall I pass muster to marry Lucy? Or am I too rough a creature to be connected to the Marches?”

He spoke lightly, with a chuckle underscoring his words, but I fancied I heard something else there, the faintest note of resentment.

I reached out and stroked the horse’s nose. He flared his nostrils at me, but ducked his head to be rubbed again.

“Sir Cedric, you have met my father’s Aunt Dorcas. The fact that we still own her as one of ours should speak volumes on the subject.”

He nodded. “She does seem a bit of a Tartar, that one. There is not much love lost between her and Emma and my Lucy.”

I hesitated. If our dirty linen was pegged out, the line would stretch from Brighton to Newcastle. And yet, Sir Cedric was not yet kin. I did not like to air too many of our troubles before him.

“I think many young ladies of spirit resent the hand that curbs them,” I temporised. “You needn’t have her to stay once you are settled. She will expect it, of course, but Father will make certain she is cared for.”

Sir Cedric drew back, a trifle affronted, I think, his colour rising. “Lady Julia, I hope I shall always do my duty by my relations, both by blood and marriage.”

“Of course you will,” I hastened to soothe him. “I had a very nice chat with Mr. Ludlow earlier. I know you gave him a place when he was left to make his way in the world. Very commendable.”

His face relaxed, the swift ruddy colour abating a little. I had not thought him so easily vexed, but it appeared he had the temper to match his complexion. I only hoped Lucy knew how to manage him.

“I did. He is a clever boy, and I could have searched the City twice over and not found his match. He can tally a ledger page just by running his eye over the figures, and he can write a perfect letter the first time through, with nary a blob or smudge. Any employer would be lucky to have got him, but he is mine and I mean to keep him.”

A peculiar turn of phrase, I thought, and I wondered briefly if he thought the same about Lucy.

I smiled. “Well, I will leave you to your acquisition, Sir Cedric. I wish you every happiness with him.”

I gave the horse a final pat and turned in the direction of the ladies and their little tea party on the carpet.