“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.
THE FOURTEENTH CHAPTER
Who dares not stir by day must walk by night.
—King John
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.
The clock had just struck two, and all was perfectly still in that part of the Abbey. A faint moon, very nearly full, shed its pale silver light through the bank of graceful leaded windows. Hastily, I blew out the chamberstick. The moonlight was just enough illumination for my purpose.
Holding my breath, I crept along the corridor, careful to keep to the middle of the way where the stone floor was thickly carpeted. The bars of dull silver moonlight gave just enough light to read the cards slotted by each door. I squinted at the names.The Honourable Eglamour March,Plum, as he was known in the family. He was sleeping in the Highland Room, a smallish bedroom, charmingly furnished with tartans and antlers. The door was closed, and though I paused a moment I heard nothing. Beyond lay the Maze Room—so named for its perfectly framed view of the Tudor maze in the garden—and Alessandro. All was silence there as well.
I moved on.Sir Cedric Eastley.Aquinas had put him in the Yellow Room, the best of the bachelor rooms with its primrose taffeta hangings and a pair of Gainsboroughs flanking the bed. Strictly speaking, the room ought to have gone to Brisbane as the ranking bachelor, but Aunt Hermia had probably devised the sleeping arrangements before she left for London. She never did manage to work out such details properly.
I had passed Sir Cedric’s door and had almost reached the Tower Room when I felt a rush of air against my face. I opened my mouth to exclaim, but before I could do so, a strong hand clamped about my wrist and dragged me into the room. The door was closed behind me and I was pushed up against it, the hand now firmly pressed over my mouth.
I shoved it away. “Brisbane,” I hissed, “what do you think you are about? If you wanted to speak to me—”
“Do shut up,” he whispered harshly. I shivered as his lips grazed the curves of my ear. “You are not the only person about.”
I pushed his hand aside and caught my breath. “Who?”