“Not entirely.” His tone was bland, but Father took his meaning at once.
“The passage from the priory vault to the family crypt in the churchyard,” Father murmured, shaking his head. “So that is how you got the old fright out of here last night, is it not?”
Brisbane picked an imaginary bit of fluff from his sling. “It is, and though the mechanism was coming over rather thickly with ice by the time I returned, I imagine it would still function with a little persuasion.”
I cursed my own stupidity. I had thought enough about hidden passageways in the last few days. I ought to have remembered that one. As children we had never been permitted to play there, but we had heard it spoken of from time to time. Originally built to provide dry, easy passage to the village for the monks, it had been just as useful as a means of egress for mischief-minded Marches for centuries. My grandfather had locked the passage during Father’s boyhood, claiming it was unsafe for the children. But Aunt Dorcas would remember it well from her own youth; doubtless she even recalled that the key had been thrown into a great Chinese pot on the mantel of the dining room. It would have been a child’s trick to find it. Why she had left the Abbey, and why Brisbane had seen to her passage were puzzles I burned to solve. But the murder of Lucian Snow was more pressing.
I turned to Brisbane.
“If Lucy even knows of that passage,” I countered. “I had entirely forgotten it myself. It has not been used in years. Grandfather had it locked ages ago. I can’t imagine it has been opened since.”
“It has not, insomuch as I could determine,” Brisbane confirmed, his handsome upper lip curling in distaste. “A fair bit of it has collapsed, and I saw distinct evidence of rats.”
I shuddered. “How in the name of heaven did you persuade Aunt Dorcas through that passage?”
Brisbane gave me a deliciously wicked look. “My dear lady, I did not coax. I wasled.Lady Dorcas was thoroughly acquainted with the passage and showed no hesitation in scrambling over broken stones and splashing through puddles.”
“The maid said she took no coat. She must have been freezing,” I remarked.
“Not at all. She sent me to the lumber rooms for some furs and was warm as toast.”
Father and I were silent a moment. I was having a difficult time imagining Aunt Dorcas, wrapped in furs, leading the charge down the rock-strewn, rat-infested passage. I suspected Father was as well.
“And you say she is in good health?” Father asked finally.
Brisbane gave a short nod. “Quite. Now, on to other matters. I discovered nothing of interest in Sir Cedric’s room,” Brisbane reported. “There was a good deal of correspondence from his agent in London, but nothing unusual. The letters confirm he is what he presents himself to be—a successful man of industry. I took the opportunity of searching Henry Ludlow’s room, as well as that of Alessandro Fornacci,” he finished smoothly.
“Tell me you did not,” I said, levelling my gaze at him.
He returned my stare with a coolly appraising look of his own. “Oh, but I did. Fornacci is the only other gentleman of the party not connected with this family. That fact makes him suspect. Am I to infer you did not search his trunk?”
I opened my mouth to speak, then snapped my teeth together. “Blast,” I muttered between them.
“From that delicate expression I will conclude you put sentiment aside and searched it. I will further presume you found nothing to incriminate him. You will be pleased to hear I found nothing in his room pertaining to this investigation.”
Father raised a hand. “No sparring, I beg you. Now, what will you be about, Brisbane?”
“I have other matters to attend to at present. When Lady Julia has something relevant to report, I will listen.”
He rose, nodded sharply once to Father and once to me. He clicked his fingers at Grim, who responded with a happyquorkand a flap of glossy black wings. I waited until the door had closed behind him before turning to Father.
“If the passage to the churchyard is navigable, why can we not remove Mr. Snow now?”
Father flicked the snuffbox open, then snapped it shut again. “You heard Brisbane. It is collapsed in places. Fallen stone, icy puddles, rats. It would be madness to attempt it.”
“Surely not. If Aunt Dorcas could manage it, I daresay a few footmen could maneuver Mr. Snow quite handily.”
Flick. Snap.It was rather hypnotic, the slow, even movements of his fingers on the snuffbox. Father scorned modern instruments, but played the lute quite beautifully. He had taken it up as part of his homage to Shakespeare. I had not heard him play in years, but there was still a musician’s suppleness to his reflexes.
“It is a trifle unseemly, don’t you think? One ought to treat the dead with dignity.”
Still his hands moved, and as I watched them, it did not seem entirely fanciful to imagine them laced about Snow’s throat, closing tighter and tighter, choking the life out of him.
“Julia.”
I jumped in my chair. “Yes, Father?”
He laid the snuffbox onto the desk and gave me an apologetic smile. “Your aunt deplores my little habit as well. I shall endeavour not to fidget.”