“Do you think I am not aware of that?” he demanded. His lips thinned, and his eyes were hard with anger and grief. “Child, Iamthe authority in this part of Sussex, or had you forgotten?”
“Of course not, I simply meant—”
“I know well enough what you meant. You think I ought to summon the coroner, that there should be an inquest, neat and tidy, and with what result? My own niece sent to be hanged?”
“Surely they will not hang her.”
His anger ebbed then, leaving him spent. He rubbed a hand over his face. “That is the difficulty. They will not hang her. They dare not because she is of my blood. And yet, how can I ever look any man in the eye after that and pronounce justice if I will not seek it for my own?”
Brisbane remained silent, his good arm folded over the sling at his chest.
“What do you mean to do then?” I asked softly.
“I must send to London tomorrow. The Metropolitan Police may be depended upon to be discreet and to be impartial.”
I did not like to point out to him that no one was likely to be impartial when an earl was involved in a murder investigation.
Instead I nodded. “Very well. And what of this examination?”
Brisbane spoke up. “Much may be learned from studying the corpse, but it must be done quickly. In the morning we can go into Blessingstoke and telegraph Scotland Yard, though it is anyone’s guess how long it will take them to dispatch an investigator. In here, he will be quite cool and fresh whenever their man arrives. I mean to examine the victim first and make very certain they miss nothing.”
Already he was thinking of Snow as the corpse, the victim. It was astonishing to me how quickly Brisbane could slip into the role of investigator, but even as I looked at him I could see his eyes were bright, his jaw set, his very mien one of intense excitement.
I sighed. Between the pair of them they had decided on a course of action I could not entirely approve. The villagers were accustomed to thinking of Father as little less than a demigod. Yet I could not help but wonder how they would like having their minor county officials passed over entirely in favour of London investigators. They would very likely be affronted, and to add insult to injury, I was not completely certain what Father was proposing was legal. But the point was not worth arguing. The combination of Father’s very deep pockets and very blue blood was a potent one.
“There are no windows. There will not be ample light,” I pointed out, hoping to dissuade them on the grounds of practicality. Father waved a dismissive hand.
“With a few mirrors and enough lamps, I believe we can illuminate the room sufficiently.”
“Not to mention all of the helpful kitchen maids and scullery maids and pot boys. Really, Father, there is no hope that this will go unnoticed.”
“I am aware of that, Julia,” Father said with some asperity. “I am also aware I must bear the responsibility of the reckoning of this crime. Every decision I make will be scrutinised and found to be lacking. That is why I must have your help, both of you.”
He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his thick white hair. “Brisbane, you will have to gather the evidence and prepare the reports. With Julia’s help.”
I felt a hot rush of triumph. Brisbane did not even look my direction. “I am prepared to do what I can for you, my lord, but surely there is no need to involve Lady Julia.”
“There is,” my father put in wearily. “She knows the family and the Abbey. She can give you information, and she will be invaluable in dealing with the ladies of the party. I know the wretched girl has confessed, but I wish every provision for her innocence to be explored.” He shook his head. “I can only think that her mind must have been quite deranged for her to have done this terrible thing.”
“Very well,” Brisbane said, grudgingly. “Lady Julia and I will work together.”
“Good,” Father replied. “Now, we will seal this room, and address the rest of them.”
“What will you say to them?” I asked as we filed slowly out of the game larder.
Father shrugged, his upright posture failing him only a little. “I cannot imagine. But I shall think of something.”
THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER
The game’s afoot!
—Henry V
As I made my way from the game larder to the lesser drawing room, I realised the lights, doused for the game of sardines, had been lit. Every sconce, lamp, and candelabrum blazed, banishing the shadows. It was little consolation. The very air of the place felt different to me now that murder had been done here, and I wondered if I would ever feel quite as I once had about my home.
Just as I approached the drawing room, the door was flung open and Alessandro bolted out, his face twisted with emotion.
“Ah, Julia!” he cried. He rushed to me, but before he could engage in any impropriety, I raised a hand. He stopped in his tracks, scant inches from me. He took my hand in his.