Silent in the Sanctuary (22 page)

“But why?” Emma demanded, pulling away. “It is so cold there. Why can she not go to her room?”

“My dear,” Father said, moving to take a chair by the fire, “I would have been perfectly willing to confine her to her room if she had wished it. She remains in the chapel by her own choice.”

“Confined to her room?” Emma followed him, sinking to a needlepoint hassock at his feet. “Why must she be confined at all?”

Sir Cedric interjected, his face stormy, “I imagine his lordship feels he has no choice.” His voice shook, as though he held the reins of his emotion, but only lightly.

Father said nothing, but merely looked at Emma, waiting for her to comprehend. Portia handed him a whiskey, and he gave her a feeble smile in thanks.

Emma shook her head slowly. “You cannot believe it of her. She could never have done this.”

Father took a sip of his whiskey. “Child, there is a dead man in my house, and a girl who claims to have killed him. I am compelled to believe her.”

Emma gave an anguished sob and tore at her handkerchief, shredding the fine lawn with her nails. “No! I will not believe it.”

The rest of us were silent as Emma gave vent for a moment to her emotion. Charlotte and I caught one another’s gaze, and I was moved to see she looked quite devastated by our family’s tragedy. Portia went to pour whiskey for Brisbane and myself, while Sir Cedric sat, his face betraying his disquiet. He seemed to be struggling, and I wondered if he doubted Lucy. They had known each other a bare two months. Was he pondering now if the girl he loved so passionately was capable of bashing a man over the head with a candelabrum?

Henry Ludlow simply stared into the depths of his teacup as though scrying for answers. His eyes were shadowed, and he looked desperately tired. Perhaps he felt guilty for his outburst in the chapel, condemning Lucy as she stood, her hands wet with the blood of Lucian Snow. Or perhaps he was relieved to think his kinsman had been spared marriage to a woman capable of such atrocity.

From the window, Plum moved to stand behind Charlotte’s chair, his face pale in the shadows. She did not turn to look at him, but her back relaxed a little, and I noticed that Brisbane watched the pair with as much interest as I did.

After a moment, Emma composed herself, wiping her eyes and smoothing her hair. “So she must be turned over to the assizes?”

Father shook his head. “Tomorrow I will send to Scotland Yard for an investigator and hand this matter over to the proper authorities. Any local justice will be seen as tainted.”

Emma’s face fell, and I knew she must be thinking of the little girl whose plaits she wove with ribbons when they were children, the little girl she comforted with bedtime stories. Father looked at her, his eyes warm with sympathy. “We have this short time until the investigator arrives to gather any evidence that the courts may take into consideration when choosing to exercise leniency.”

His tone, however, left small doubt that he considered leniency an unlikely prospect.

I had thought she would weep afresh at this, but she merely nodded and resumed her seat next to Sir Cedric.

Sir Cedric rose, his face purpling with rage. “I have heard quite enough. I will not have my future wife treated like a common criminal. She will be released now, and I will take her away from here myself.”

Father rolled his glass of whiskey between his palms. His voice was deadly pleasant. “I think not, Cedric. This is my home, and the girl is my relation. You are not yet married, therefore you have no rights in the matter. If you do not care for my management of this affair, you are free to go. But if you stay, you will not question me again.”

For a moment I thought Sir Cedric might actually have an apoplexy on the spot. He raised a shaking finger at Father. “How dare you, sir! Your high-handedness is not to be borne. I will not have her treated with such suspicion.”

“She will be treated with suspicion the whole of her life if you do not do as I say!” Father roared, slamming his whiskey glass onto the table. “Do you not see that, man? Everywhere she goes, whispers will follow her. Everyone she meets will wonder, did she get away with murder? The taint will live with you forever, poisoning your lives, and it will poison your children’s lives as well. Is that what you want?” Father demanded brutally.

Sir Cedric opened his mouth, then closed it again, gaping like a newly caught fish. Finally, he gave up the fight and dropped heavily into his seat. “I will put all of my resources at her disposal,” he said hollowly. “I will do everything in my power to secure her freedom.”

Emma murmured her thanks, and I caught Brisbane’s glance. I believe in that moment we were thinking the same thing: for all Father’s breeding and Sir Cedric’s money, Lucy had confessed to murder. It seemed rather a good bet she would swing for it.

Father cleared his throat. “I have asked Lord Wargrave, as he has some experience in these matters, to prepare the reports and statements the courts will require. You will all cooperate with him fully, should he choose to avail himself of your assistance.”

Father’s tone left no room for misinterpretation: this was an order. The rest of us, accustomed to such directives, merely nodded. But Charlotte King dropped her teacup. The delicate handle snapped and tea splashed over her pretty slippers.

“Experience?” Her eyes flew from Father to Brisbane. “My lord, what can his lordship mean?”

Brisbane regarded her coolly. “His lordship means in my capacity as a private inquiry agent.”

Charlotte clutched at the saucer. Her complexion was noticeably paler, and I wondered for a moment if I should ring for a vinaigrette.

“My lord, you astonish me. I had no notion you were in trade,” she said, her voice flinty. “I think we must speak of this when we have more privacy.”

Brisbane inclined his head, and I smiled to myself. Behind her, Plum’s expression had turned decidedly smug.

Father issued a few more instructions then, most notably that no one was to approach the chapel without his permission, nor were messages to be sent to Lucy that he had not first approved. Emma asked if she might go and sit with her now that she was in command of herself, and he agreed. She also received permission to bring her sister a few articles she might require for her comfort.

Father then bade the party good-night in a clear gesture of dismissal. First to leave was Charlotte King, sweeping out without a word of apology for the broken cup or a glance for her erstwhile fiancé. Plum trailed behind her and Portia followed with Emma. Ly and Violante walked out slowly, murmuring softly in Italian. Alessandro followed them, casting bewildered glances at me as he left. I lingered with Brisbane, watching Sir Cedric and Henry take their leave.

Father stretched his legs to the hassock. His rheumatism was doubtless playing up again as a result of the cold. He showed no sign of stirring. I laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you coming, Father?”

He shook his head. “Not quite yet. I mean to finish this rather excellent whiskey and have a bit of a think. Good night, both of you. There will be much to do tomorrow.”

Brisbane and I bade him good-night and left him. Much to my surprise, Brisbane escorted me up the staircase and through the long gallery of the dorter toward my room. It was a breach of propriety for him to do so, but I did not think anyone would trouble about it under the circumstances.

Before we reached my room, Brisbane took my elbow and turned me to face him.

“I realise his lordship has sanctioned your involvement, and I do not deny you could be quite helpful in the present circumstances,” he began. I bit back a retort. “However,” he went on, “I will reserve the authority to remove you from this investigation at any time should I feel your safety may be in jeopardy.”

I could not help it. I laughed.

“Brisbane, you must be joking. That is quite possibly the most pompous thing you have ever said to me.”

His grip tightened. “I am not in the mood for jokes, my lady. I meant precisely what I said. If at any time I think there is even the merest possibility of danger, I will have you out of here if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out on my back.”

The image was a delicious one, but I pushed it aside. I could feel the warmth of his palm even through the heavy satin of my sleeve. “But we were partners together—we solved a murder between us, or had you forgotten?”

“I have forgotten nothing,” he ground out. His eyes dropped for an instant to my lips, and I knew he was thinking of that reckless kiss on Hampstead Heath. He dragged his gaze back to mine, his eyes suddenly cool and pitiless. “Most particularly, I have not forgotten that I bungled that investigation so badly you nearly died.”

I paused. It was true the investigation had ended badly. But that had been due as much to my own foolhardiness as anything else. In fact, Brisbane’s timely intervention had saved my life. I could not believe he thought otherwise.

I shook my head slowly. “No,” I whispered, “all those months in Italy—not a word from you. It was not because of that. Not even you could be so willfully, blindly stupid. You saved my life.”

“I nearly cost it,” he countered. I searched his face, but it was implacable, cold and white-lipped as marble.

He dropped my arm, and I stepped back. His fury was almost tangible as it crackled in the air between us.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to evenness. “I have as much right to investigate this murder as you. This is my home, my family, and it is my father who has lent his authority to my involvement. So do not think that I mean to step aside simply because you click your fingers at me. We are partners again, whether it pleases you or not. Besides,” I finished with a malicious smile, “someone will have to make inquiries while you settle matters with Charlotte. I rather think your engagement is at an end.”

I hurried down the corridor to my room. I hazarded a glance behind me as I gained my room, and was not surprised to find Brisbane staring after me with a baleful expression.

As I undressed, I realised my hands were shaking, an inconvenience without Morag to assist me. But eventually I fought my way out of the gown and went to stand in front of the looking-glass. Where Brisbane had grasped my arm there were bruises rising, faintly violet in the candlelight. The sleeve itself was crushed, and no amount of sponging would salvage it. I thrust the gown into the wardrobe and closed the door. I would not wear it again.

Who dares not stir by day must walk by night.

In spite of the evening’s events, I drifted off to sleep rather quickly. I had thought the image of Lucian Snow’s shattered head would stay with me, but even that horror was not able to blunt the dullness of the volume of Plutarch I had taken to bed. I fell asleep with it draped over my chest and woke some time later to find the candle guttered and the fire nearly burned down to ash. It was chilly in my room despite the tapestries and thick carpets, and I rose to poke at the fire, wrapping myself in a coverlet from the bed. Florence was slumbering away in her basket, only her nose poking out from the fur tippet.

I jabbed at the fire a bit and tossed a shovelful of coal onto the grate. It caught, and I sat for some minutes, warming myself and thinking of Lucian Snow. He had been an attractive and charming man and a confirmed flirt, that much was certain. But what about him had driven Lucy to murder? Had he flirted with her, then scorned her? The notion was laughable. I had a suspicion Lucian Snow reserved his attentions for wealthy, unattached ladies of good family. Lucy was betrothed, decidedly not wealthy, and though she was a March, the connection was a slender one. Of course, he was younger and much more personable than Cedric, and there was always the possibility he might have seduced Lucy away from her bridegroom. She was young and impulsive to the point of recklessness at times. It would not be difficult for a persuasive and passionate man to open her eyes and awaken her sensuality, I mused.

But no, Lucian had seemed to have more of an eye to the main chance than that. I thought of our conversations, his warm eyes and lingering fingers. He had been laying the groundwork for a courtship, I was certain of it. He had nocked his arrow toward something more profitable than an impoverished virgin.

But if he had no interest in Lucy, then what was her interest in him? He was worldly and whimsical and no doubt irreligious, all qualities to be deplored in a curate, but who among us had not met a dozen such like him before? Fortune was not always kind to second and third sons. With no solid expectations, the church was often the only means of a comfortable living. More than one churchman had been made of a dissolute rogue. Clearly, this had been Lucian’s lot, but how did it touch Lucy?

Asking her directly was out of the question. She was in a state, and I had no doubt it would take all of Father’s considerable powers of persuasion to convince her to abandon sanctuary and give herself over to the authorities. I had little confidence she would stand up to their questions; I was not prepared to subject her to mine.

But I knew I would not sleep again without attempting to find some answers. I rose from my seat by the fire and found my slippers and a heavy velvet dressing gown. I relit my chamberstick from the fire and fixed it firmly into its holder. Silently, I slipped from my room and made my way down the gallery of the dorter, across the landing, and down another corridor until I reached the turning I wanted.

I peeped around the corner, scanning the bachelors’ wing for any sign of activity. Formerly the lay brothers’ dormitory, the bachelors’ wing was comprised of a broad corridor with windows overlooking the central cloister spanning the length on one side, and a chain of bedchambers on the other. The wing ended at the door to the guest room in the Galilee Tower. In that room a tiny spiral stair rose to the bell tower itself where the great bell rested in silence. I thought of Lucy grasping the sanctuary ring with blood-slicked hands and shivered. The bell ought to have rung for her, but it had remained silent, perhaps rusted mute after centuries of disuse. Deliberately, I pushed aside such morbid thoughts and tugged my dressing gown about me more tightly as I moved into the bachelors’ wing.