The Lady Julia Grey Bundle (11 page)

Within himself the danger lies…

—John Milton
Paradise Lost

 

F
or the rest of that day, I could not settle to anything. I meant to go over the household accounts with Aquinas, but after he had to explain the wine bill for the third time, he closed the grey leather ledger.

“I think your ladyship is much distracted,” he said kindly. “Too much so to bother with the wine merchant. I will inform him that the port was charged twice to your account and that the last bottle of champagne he sent was unacceptably dry. Leave it with me, my lady.”

“Thank you, Aquinas,” I said with some embarrassment. “I will be more myself later. Was there anything else?”

“No, my lady. Nothing that cannot wait.”

He bowed and left me alone with my thoughts, most of them unpleasant. Brisbane was unwell, which was unfortunate both for him personally and for the investigation. Simon had had a bad turn in the night, and Valerius was in possession of a stolen raven. The
queen’s
stolen raven.

And I had gotten nothing useful from Doctor Griggs. What sort of detective would I make if I could not elicit information from someone I had known all of my life? I fretted for a while, then decided it was no use worrying about the inves
tigation until Brisbane was feeling himself again. I took my supper tray into Simon’s room, pleased to see him feeling a little stronger. He rallied enough from his bad night to take a portion of my lamb and a glass of wine. We even managed half a game of chess before he sent me away, rather to my relief. I had been losing badly.

It was later than I had thought when I left Simon, nearly half past ten. Val was out for the evening, hopefully making some arrangement about the raven, and I was feeling unmoored and wide awake. I poked about downstairs, picking up unfinished knitting, then a book of poetry, but putting them down again only a moment later. Finally, I settled into my study to attempt the accounts again. I applied myself, and this time actually managed to make a bit of progress. I made a few notes on matters I meant to discuss with Cook—she was paying entirely too much to the fishmonger, to begin with. And the amount of butter this household used in a month’s time was nothing short of scandalous. I worked on, almost peacefully, relaxing a bit as the numbers spun out of the end of my pen. I could hear Aquinas moving about in the front hall, dousing lamps, when the bell rang. A moment later he came to the study door.

“My lady, a visitor. Mr. Nicholas Brisbane, if you will see him. He apologizes for the lateness of the hour.”

I sprang up, upsetting the pot of ink onto a pile of magazines.

Aquinas whipped a snowy cloth from his pocket and wiped at the mess.

“Send him in, Aquinas. The ink has only ruined the magazines. The ledger is quite untouched.”

He inclined his head, too correct to question my sudden attack of nerves. He swept the magazines up into a tidy pile and took them away along with his soiled dust cloth.

By the time Brisbane entered the study, I had managed to tidy myself, but I need not have bothered. He was looking rather less than dapper himself.

As always, his clothes were impeccable, but his face was still pale and drawn. He carried his walking stick, the same handsome ebony affair I had seen him carry before. But it seemed to me that he leaned on it rather more heavily now, and the silver head remained clutched in his white-fingered grasp. He was wearing a pair of smoky tinted spectacles that he did not remove as he greeted me. He surveyed the room for a moment, then seated himself with his back to the desk. I could not imagine why he should choose that chair—it was small and badly in need of fresh upholstery.

But as I took my seat, I realized that by choosing that particular chair he kept the bright lamp of the desk behind his shoulder, where it would not cast a glare into his eyes.

I looked at him, apprehensive, but he anticipated my question.

“I took the precaution of loitering until I was certain there was no one about to see me call,” he said, his voice thin and brittle.

I smiled my thanks at his discretion.

“Would you care for tea, Mr. Brisbane?” I asked with a glance at the bellpull.

“No, thank you. But a whiskey would not go amiss.”

I poured one from the table by the door and took one myself. He drank half of it off quickly, then sat back, his head resting on the back of the chair.

“I am glad to see that your indisposition was short-lived.”

His lips twisted into what might have passed for a smile on someone else. “It was not. I daresay I am keeping it at bay—but not for long, I fear. In fact, I may not be available to you for some days’ time.”

“Indeed?” I took a sip of my whiskey, ignoring the little thorn of annoyance that I felt. I had thought we were compatriots in this together. I had not expected he would leave me to get on with it myself.

A spasm of pain seemed to shake him then. He closed his eyes, his breath coming rather quickly.

After a minute, it slowed and the spasm passed. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the low light of the room. “I have contacted my friend, the surgeon. He is very busy at present, but he should be able to meet with us in Chapel Street in a few days,” he said.

That hardly seemed likely, given Brisbane’s obvious ill health. I felt ashamed of my annoyance. He gave every indication of a man who was truly suffering, and I had pushed myself and my investigation upon him with no regard for his own trials.

“Mr. Brisbane, your indisposition—”

He waved a hand. “Nothing for you to be concerned with. It is an old adversary. As I said, I will be unavailable to you for a few days. I will not write, but I shall send word through Monk when I am ready to resume the investigation. In the meanwhile, I must caution you not to play the sleuth hound. It could well be dangerous.”

I sipped at my drink, annoyed once more. Brisbane could not help being unwell, but that was no reason for me to sit on my hands.

And why the air of mystery about his illness? On the whole he seemed perfectly healthy, and yet apparently he suffered from some malady that laid him so low he would not even be able to manage a pen. Of course, he was absolutely correct, it was no concern of mine. So naturally I thought about it—excessively.

He drank off the last of his whiskey and rose, pausing a moment to gather his strength and his walking stick. I saw now that its silver knob was fashioned into a horse’s head, with ebony eyes and a deeply chased halter. The neck was strongly muscled, as if modeled when the horse was in full gallop. It was an impressive, heavy piece, unlike anything I had ever seen before, and I wondered where he had purchased it. I walked with him as far as the door. He turned to me then, his eyes blazing black behind the smoked lenses of his spectacles.

“I meant what I said, my lady. You must not endanger yourself. I cannot protect you if you do not follow my instructions.”

I nodded, although inwardly I was seething with impatience. Now that we had begun this investigation I wanted nothing more than to finish it.

But I gave him my word and bade him a demure good-night. He looked at me closely, as if he suspected my rebelliousness. I dropped my eyes and offered him my hand. He took it, clasping it hard in his. It was the first time I had felt the skin of his bare hand against mine, and I was surprised at how warm it was. Overly warm—he was starting a fever. Whatever illness he suffered from, it was real, at least.

“You have given me your word, Lady Julia. Do not disappoint me.”

My head went up sharply. He had never used my Christian name. I opened my mouth to remonstrate with him against this familiarity, but I did not. He was obviously in great pain, and yet he had roused himself to come to me and warn me that I would be unprotected until he had recovered. Surely that earned him the right to a little impertinence? And even if it did not, what was the purpose in maintaining pointless formalities? We were partners in this investigation, however junior he might see my role. He treated me like an elder brother might treat a younger sister, with indulgence sometimes, with breathtaking rudeness at others. It was a fraternal sort of relationship, I argued with myself, and entitled to a certain informality.

Brisbane was watching me with interest, no doubt waiting to see if I would protest at this presumption. He was still holding my hand, so I shook his, gravely.

“I will remember. Take quite good care of yourself,” I told him.

Just then the door from belowstairs opened and Magda, the laundress, appeared. I was surprised to see her; I had thought her long since abed. I moved to speak to her, but she was not
looking at me. Her eyes were fixed upon Brisbane. She came toward us, her bright shawl wrapped tightly about her shoulders.

“Magda? What is it?” She ignored me, coming to stand quite close to Brisbane, peering up through his shadowy lenses. He recoiled from her and I could not blame him. I had warned her about putting on the Gypsy in front of visitors.

“Who is this posh rat?” she asked. There was humour in her eyes and a bright, snapping malice as well.

“This gentleman is a guest of mine, and no business of yours,” I said sharply. I turned to Brisbane.

“I apologize. This is Magda, my laundress. She was just going belowstairs,” I said with a significant jerk of the head to Magda.

She opened her brown palm to him. “Care to cross my palm with silver? No, I thought not. I will not tell your fortune, though I think I know it well enough.” She gave him a laugh and a little push.

“Magda! That is quite enough.”

Aquinas appeared then, frowning. I was profoundly relieved; he was the only one in the household who could control her. He took her firmly by the arm and she went docilely, pausing only to throw a meaningful look at Brisbane.

“We will talk again, won’t we, little
vesh-juk?
”

The belowstairs door closed after them. Before Brisbane could speak, I rushed to apologize.

“I am so sorry. Magda is usually perfectly well behaved. She can speak the Queen’s English as well as I can, but she likes to earn a little extra money by telling fortunes. She thinks it helps business if she puts on the Gypsy.”

Brisbane, who had looked perfectly appalled by Magda’s little display, seemed to gather himself. He waved my apology aside. “There is no need to explain. I was merely surprised that you employ a Gypsy woman as your laundress.”

I spread my hands. “It is complicated. Her people have always camped on Father’s land in Sussex. When Magda had some trouble with them, she naturally turned to me. We had closed up the country house, so I could only offer her a position here in London. She works well enough, when she has a mind to. Her life has not been an easy one.”

His lip curled in derision. “Do not waste your pity, my lady. I have some experience with Gypsies, and I have found that their lives are just about as difficult as they wish them to be. Good night, my lady.”

He nodded shortly and took his leave, letting himself out and leaving me to puzzle over his coolness. I had thought him broad-minded. His obvious distaste for Gypsies surprised me. But in that respect, he was like most other people of my acquaintance. Father was one of the few landowners in Sussex to welcome Romanies onto his property. As children we had played with them, learned their games. But even as they expressed their gratitude at having a safe place to stay, if only for a little while, they kept themselves apart in every way that mattered. We were rarely invited to eat with them, and were strictly forbidden to learn any of their language.

Thus, I had no idea what it was that Magda had just called Brisbane. I only hoped it was not an obscenity, though her tribe of Roma were so fierce about guarding their tongue from outsiders, he would not have understood it in any case. I should have to speak to her about her behavior, something I dreaded. Usually, I allowed her little foibles to pass unmentioned, but soliciting my guests for fortunes in my own home was beyond the pale. Perhaps London was proving too expensive for her modest pay and she was in need of money. Perhaps I should raise her wages.

As I stood in the doorway of the study, pondering the thorny problem of Magda, the bell rang again and Aquinas reappeared to answer it. I wondered if Brisbane had forgotten
something, as there was the low rumble of male voices. But another visitor was admitted to the hall.

“Father!”

I went to him and kissed him. “This is an unexpected pleasure. What brings you to me at this hour of the evening?”

He handed his coat and stick to Aquinas and held out his arm, gesturing me to lead the way to the study.

“A letter I received this morning. Come, my pet. You have some explaining to do.”

As mad as a March hare.

—
Proverb (14th Century)

 

I
poured Father a glass of port and took nothing for myself. After the whiskey I had drunk with Brisbane, I was feeling addled enough, and I had the notion that this conversation was going to require all of my wits.

Father took a sniff of his wine, then a tentative sip. He raised his brows in my direction.

“Not at all bad. Better than the dishwater you used to serve, my pet.”

“I’ve given over the ordering of the wine to Aquinas. He has a better nose for wine than Edward did.”

“Hmm.” He took another sip. “Most agreeable. But this,” he said, waving my own letter at me, “was not. What the devil did you mean writing this to Griggs?”

I spread my hands innocently. “I meant what I said—I was upset. I thought that Doctor Griggs could ease my mind.”

He looked at me shrewdly from under his thick white brows. “Ye gods, girl, if you think I am going to believe that, you are dafter than any child of mine ought to be. Now, if it is a private business, tell me so, and we will not speak of it. I’ve no wish to press a confidence you do not wish to make.”

I thought for a long moment, then shook my head. “No, it is just as well. I could use your advice.”

I told him, as briefly as I could without losing any relevant detail, what Brisbane and I were about. When I finished, he whistled sharply.

“So that is your game. Well, I cannot say I am entirely disappointed. No, I cannot say that at all.”

Far from looking disappointed, he was happier than I had seen him in an age. His colour was high and his eyes were gleaming.

“You are enjoying this!”

He shrugged, looking only very slightly guilty. “Edward has been gone a year. There is little enough chance of you getting yourself into any real danger. Edward’s murderer, if there is such a person, is probably long gone from the scene. This entire exercise is largely academic. It is you I am enjoying, my girl.”

“Me? I am as I ever was. I have only cut my hair and bought some new clothes.”

He shook his head. “No, it is more than that. You’ve finally done something daring enough to deserve the family name. You have begun to live up to the family motto.”

“
Quod habeo habeo?
‘What I have I hold?’”

Father rolled his eyes. “Not that one. The other.”

Audeo
. “I dare.” It had been our informal motto since the seventh Earl March had married an illegitimate daughter of Charles II, thus linking our family with the royal house of Stuart. Family legend claims that he adopted the motto with an eye to putting his wife on the throne someday, until Monmouth’s unsavory end warned him off of his kingly ambitions. It was one of the favorite family stories, although when I was seven I had remarked that the seventh earl had not really dared very much at all. It was the only time I was ever sent to bed without supper. After that I never really warmed to the motto. It had always seemed like a good excuse for irresponsible and reprehensible behavior. I had long
thought we would be a far more respectable family if our motto had been “I sit quietly in the corner and mind my own business.”

Father would not be put off. “There is more to it than lopping off your curls and buying some new dresses. I always worried about you as a child, Julia. You took your mother’s death very hard, you know.” He paused, his expression dreamy. “I wonder, do you even remember her?”

I thought hard. “I remember someone who used to hold me, very tightly. Someone who smelled of violet. And I think I remember a yellow gown. The silk rustled under my fingers.”

He shook his head, regretful. “Ah, I thought you would have remembered more. That was her with the violet scent. I am glad you wear it now. Sometimes you move through the room and I could almost imagine she has been walking there.”

He paused and I think his throat may have been as thick as mine. But he went on, and he was smiling. “The yellow silk was her favorite gown that last summer, when she was expecting Valerius. She wore it almost every day, I think. You stopped talking for just a bit after she died, do you remember that?”

“No.” But I did. I remembered the long silences, the feeling that if I spoke, if I moved on, she would never come back. The certainty that I had to stay just as I was if I wanted her to return. I practiced stillness, rarely moving, trying to force myself not to grow without her.

“Of course, you hated Valerius,” Father was saying. “Blamed him, I imagine. Most of you children did. I did so myself for a while, although it wasn’t the boy’s fault. Ten children in sixteen years—too much for her. But she wanted you all. She wanted you so very much.”

His voice trailed off, and I knew he was seeing her. She had been beautiful; I had seen the portraits. I had impressions of her, but no true memories. He was right. I had been six when she died. I should have remembered more.

“You are very like her,” he said suddenly. “More than any of the others. She was gentle and good, much more respectable than the scapegrace Marches she married into,” he said with a chuckle. “She would have understood you with your quiet little places, your desperate need to be normal. Yes, you are very like her.” He leaned forward, his eyes bright green in the lamplight. “But she knew how to take a chance, my pet. After all, she married me. You have her blood, Julia, but you are a March as well. There are seven centuries’ worth of adventure and risk and audacity in your blood. I always knew it would come out eventually.”

I smiled. “I always thought Bellmont must be quite a bit like Mother.”

“No. He is the biggest rebel of the lot. That’s why he runs Tory.”

“And you think I am beginning to live up to the March legacy?”

He gave a satisfied sigh. “I do. This murder business may be just what you need. Although, best to let sleeping dogs lie, I always think.”

I snorted at him. “You have never let a sleeping dog lie in your entire life, Father. And surely you are not condoning letting a murderer walk free?”

He shrugged. “You have not found a murderer yet. You may not even have a murder. Perhaps poor Edward ought to lie where we buried him.”

I did think about it. It was tempting, the idea of sweeping this bit of possible nastiness under the carpet and getting on with my life. But I knew I could not. I would not be able to sleep nights if I thought that Edward had been murdered and I had done nothing to right that wrong. I smiled at the irony that undertaking this investigation might actually be the one thing in my life that satisfied both my sense of duty and my very secret, very small desire for adventure. I looked at Father and shook my head. “I cannot. It is my duty. If there is any
chance that Edward was murdered, then I must do all that I can to bring him justice.”

He finished his port. “All right, then,” he said, rising. “Do what you must. And I will not ask you what that Brisbane fellow was doing leaving here at such an hour,” he said, chucking me under the chin.

My face grew hot. “We were discussing the investigation,” I told him quickly. “He was here a quarter of an hour at the most.”

Father smiled at me sadly. “My dear girl, if you don’t know what mischief can be gotten up to in a quarter of an hour, you are no child of mine. Come to supper on Thursday next. Hermia is having an oratory contest and I mean to sleep through it.”

He was gone with a wave over his head, leaving me dumbstruck. Surely my own father was not advocating an illicit affair with Brisbane? But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that was exactly what he was doing. It did not bear thinking about. Well, truthfully, I did think about it quite a lot. At least until Valerius came home covered in blood.