Aquinas was a superior servant; he betrayed little reaction to the news that there was a corpse in the chapel. He merely blinked once, slowly, and then crossed himself.
“I do hope it was not the duck, my lady.”
My stomach lurched again. “No, nothing like that. Mr. Snow was murdered. Mr. Brisbane, that is, Lord Wargrave is attending him now. If you could find someplace suitable to er,storeMr. Snow, I think that would be best.”
“Of course. One of the larders, I expect, will serve nicely.”
“Father said the same thing. It seems terribly unhygienic, what with the food and all. And I cannot think that Cook will appreciate having a dead man in the larder when she is trying to feed a house party,” I objected.
“Of course, my lady, but he must be kept in a place sufficiently cool enough to retard decomposition—”
I held up a hand. “I donotwish to know. Father is expecting you,” I finished, gesturing toward the chapel. He bowed apologetically.
Leaving him to it, I hurried upstairs to my room, poking Morag awake from where she was dozing by the fire. As quickly as possible, I sketched the evening’s events. She gave a little scream, then shoved her fists into her mouth to stifle it.
“Murder? Here at the Abbey? We will all be killed in our beds, we will!”
“Do not be an ass. Now, Lucy must not be left alone in the chapel. She is quite fragile right now, and there is no one else to sit with her. Emma is too distraught at present. Lucy needs someone of sound common sense, and you will do, provided you do not start wittering on about murder.”
Morag’s eyes were round with terror. “What if she tries to kill me?”
“Morag,” I said through gritted teeth, “there will be a footman at the door should you have need of him, but you will not. The girl is quite overcome. What she requires now is compassion. Take your needlework and a few coverlets, for you and for Lucy. It is chilly in the chapel.”
“Shall I bring a weapon, just to defend myself in case of murderous attack?”
“By all means,” I said brutally. “Bring your embroidery scissors. You can cut her hair if she threatens you.”
Morag obeyed, but sulkily. She took her time gathering her things, and I used the opportunity to remove the pearls. I had a wretched headache from their weight and a sore spot on my neck where the twisted beak had pecked me. It was a relief to be rid of them.
Morag was still muttering sourly under her breath, and I followed her to the chapel myself to make quite certain she carried out my instructions. The body was gone and a quick glance behind the altar revealed the iron candelabrum had been removed as well. Chairs had been brought, hard, pitiless things from the corridor. Lucy was sitting on one, slow tears dripping down her face. Someone must have brought a basin, for her hands were clean now and faintly pink, as if from hard scrubbing. She had been persuaded to release the sanctuary ring and sat with her hands resting in her lap. She looked very small, and quite vulnerable. At the sight of her, Morag’s demeanour changed.
“Poor little poppet,” she said softly. She moved the other chair to sit beside Lucy, folding a woollen coverlet over the younger woman’s shoulders. “Now, Miss Lucy, you know me, don’t you? I am Morag, Lady Julia’s maid. I’ve come to sit with you for a bit. You won’t mind that at all, will you?”
Lucy shook her head and turned, burying her face in Morag’s shoulder. Morag patted her awkwardly, crooning something soothing in Gaelic. She waved me away and I slipped out, closing the heavy doors behind me. A footman had taken up his post outside and he stood up as I passed.
He was pale and wide-eyed, and I wondered exactly how useful he would be in a crisis.
I paused by his chair, looking at him closely. He could not have been more than twenty. “Which one are you?” I asked him.
“William IV, my lady,” he answered immediately. This was one of Father’s little whimsies. Unable to remember the names of the dozens of young men who had served as footmen at the Abbey, he had taken to calling them all William, using numerals to distinguish between them. I gave him a reassuring smile.
“I am sure you will do quite fine, William. Just mind the door, and do not let anyone in or out without his lordship’s permission. Have you a weapon?”
“A—a weapon, my lady?” he stuttered.
“It might be useful, should matters get out of hand,” I mused. “Still, you are a sturdy lad. I’m sure you can handle any trouble that arises with your fists.”
I smiled again, but he merely nodded and murmured, “Yes, my lady,” his expression worried.
I hurried to the domestic offices, not entirely certain where I would find my father and Brisbane. I finally ran them to ground in the game larder. It was a suitably grisly place, any number of dead feathered and furred things hanging from steel hooks in the ceiling. There were a few other lumps of meat, things I could not immediately distinguish, and my thoughts went at once to my Aunt Lavinia who had adopted a ferociously vegetarian diet. The notion seemed oddly attractive to me now.
The worktable had been cleared of all foodstuffs, all the little pots of paté and forcemeats, and Lucian Snow had been arranged atop it. He was decently draped in a sheet, and at his head the iron candelabrum lay as a sort of macabre decoration. I glanced from my father to Brisbane.
“Well, it did seem the best place after all,” Brisbane began defensively. “There is a proper table and it is very cold.”
I shuddered, and Father gave a brisk nod. “He will do well enough in here for tonight. There is not enough light to do any sort of proper examination. Perhaps in the morning…”
I stared at him, not quite comprehending his meaning. “But Father, you must summon the authorities. We cannot deal with this as a private matter. A man has been murdered in our home.”