From the boots drying on the hearth and the faint smell of wet wool, I had deduced that he had left the Abbey some time after the snow had begun to fall. For what purpose, I could not imagine.
But as I stared at his lowering brow, his lips thinned with displeasure, I realised I did in fact have one more arrow in my quiver.
“Come, Brisbane, let us not quarrel. We must be friends again. I will tell you what I found in Mr. Snow’s room after you left, if you will tell me what you have done with Aunt Dorcas.”
THE TWENTIETH CHAPTER
To do a great right, do a little wrong.
—The Merchant of Venice
If I expected Brisbane to reveal all, I was destined to be thwarted. He shot the cuff of his injured arm, studying his nails with affected nonchalance.
“I can only tell you what I have already told your father—your aunt is perfectly safe.”
I puzzled this over for a moment, not knowing quite where to begin. “That is impossible. You left no tracks in the snow.”
“I was back before the snow began to fall,” he said grudgingly. He did not like to explain the matter, that much was apparent. But perhaps he hoped a little information would throw me from the scent.
“Then how did your boots come to be wet?”
“I was careless. I stepped on a patch of ice. It was not fully frozen yet, and my boots broke through to the puddle beneath. The hem of my greatcoat was fully soaked.”
No matter how much I prodded, he told me nothing more, except to reassure me Aunt Dorcas was well. I was surprised at how much I worried for her. I had not thought myself fond of the old toad, but I would have been genuinely sorry if any ill had befallen her.
“Now,” he said severely, “what did you find among Snow’s things?”
I tipped my head to the side. “You still have not told me what you thought to find in Charlotte’s room.”
He fixed me with a stare so intent, I felt the room falling away, blackness creeping along the edges of my vision. I swallowed hard, sliding my gaze away from his. “Goodness, Brisbane, if Mesmer had had a stare like that he mightn’t have needed a pocket watch. Very well, you do not mean to tell me. I can guess for myself. You hoped to find the Grey Pearls in her room.”
His lids dropped and he reached a lazy hand to pet the dog. “And what led you to that conclusion?”
“A clever jewel thief would never have hidden the jewels in his own room. They might easily be discovered by a diligent servant. Now, anyone would realise there is no point to searching the Abbey—it is far too large and there are nooks and crannies and secret passages God Himself does not know of. Any of them might serve as a hiding place, but how much better to put the pearls in Charlotte King’s room and throw suspicion on her? If they were discovered among her things, she would have a difficult time explaining how she came by them. Jewels found in the public rooms of the Abbey carry a mystery with them, jewels found in Charlotte’s room breed a scapegoat. She might well be arrested and bound over for trial, and no one else would be under the slightest cloud of suspicion.”
“An interesting theory,” Brisbane said slowly. His fingers twitched, and I wondered if he was longing for his pipe. “Now, back to the matter of Snow’s room.”
My fingers went then to the small bundle still nestled in my pocket. I debated fiercely with myself about whether or not to disclose it. Finding it had been rather gratifying. I still did not know what it signified, but I did trust Brisbane to do what was best for my family. I did not believe Aunt Hermia had given the trinkets to Snow herself. Indeed, if I believed that I would have kept them and confronted her with the collection myself. But determined as I was to solve these little mysteries myself, there were few things I could refuse Brisbane.
I drew out the bundle and handed it to him. He turned it over, peering at the monogram worked in silk thread, the tiny design of flowers twining through the letters. After he had committed every detail of the handkerchief to memory, he untied it and took out the pieces one by one, turning them over and marking them carefully. When they had all been considered, he handed them back. I wrapped them and knotted the handkerchief, pocketing the little bundle.
“And you actually found these in Snow’s room?”
I nodded and said nothing.
“The handkerchief is, I suppose, Lady Hermia’s? And the jewels as well?”
“Yes. I asked Portia about them. She said Aunt Hermia kept them in a little pasteboard box on her night table.” Brisbane had begun to glower, so I hastened to reassure him. “You needn’t look so murderous. I did not tell her where I found them.”
His expression was thoughtful. “Snow did not arrive as a houseguest until yesterday, well after Lady Hermia departed the Abbey for London. A box of trinkets on her night table would be easy enough for anyone to pilfer. Snow, or another, had only to make certain the corridor was empty, creep inside and pocket the jewels. It is interesting to note that nothing of real value was taken.”
“The important pieces are all locked in Father’s safe or in the vault in the bank in London. Aunt Hermia keeps out only the things she wears often, those little baubles, a ruby brooch, a few rings, and her chains of sapphires. I am quite certain she would have taken those with her to London.”
“So we have here a crime of opportunity.”
“Tied to Snow’s murder?” I asked. Brisbane shook his head slowly.
“It would be premature to say. He seemed perpetually short of money, if his sisters’ letters are to be believed. Perhaps it was simply too easy for him, a few trinkets that could be pawned in the city. By the time Lady Hermia missed them, it would be far too late to lay the blame at his door. Perhaps one of the maids would be blamed, perhaps even dismissed over it. In the meanwhile, Snow has a little money and no suspicion falls on him.”