His eyes were warm over his little half-moon spectacles and I felt instantly flooded with shame. How could I have suspected, even for a moment, my beloved parent had had any role in Snow’s murder?
But the greatest danger of evil is that it is insidious. It had crept into my home on cloven feet, and would not leave until the murderer was brought to justice. Until then I knew I would be doomed to view every man around me, even my father, my brothers—Plum with his broad palms calloused from chiselling marble, Lysander with hands stronger than a labourer’s from spanning a violin and keyboard for hours every day—as potential murderers. I stiffened my resolve to unmask the villain and put an end to this hateful charade. I rose to leave then, but one last thought intruded.
“Father, I understand you do not wish to remove Mr. Snow until it can be done in a dignified fashion,” I began, tactfully ignoring the fact that the poor man was laid out in the game larder. One can hardly imagine a more undignified place of repose. “But I wondered if you had sent a note to Uncle Fly yet. He will know how to find Mr. Snow’s family. They ought to know.”
Father took in a great breath, then expelled it slowly in a soft, sorrowful sigh. “When a member of the family passes we stop the clocks, to show that time itself has stood still. We do not observe this custom for Lucian Snow, but so long as the Abbey remains snowbound, timedoesstand still. Out there, life carries on its usual pace. No one knows what transpires here, we are an island unto ourselves. For this little time, there is nothing for anyone to know. When the snow melts and the ice runs to water, then we must tell the world what has happened.”
This was a mood I recognised well. Whenever he felt particularly gloomy, he was inclined to talk like Prospero. It was an affectation, of course, but a harmless one, and I looked past his words to the sentiment behind them. So long as we were housebound, no one knew of Snow’s murder, and no one could speculate about the crime or its author. Once word of the murder spread, nothing would be quite the same. The newspapers, ravenous for scandal, would use this story to slake their appetite. From Dover to Orkney, our names would be bandied in every household. It was enough to make me long for Italy and anonymity. It would be so easy to pack my bags and board the first steamer across the Channel.
But for Father there would be no escape. His name was already well-known for his radical politics, the antics of his scampish youth, his charming eccentricities. And when folks tired of gossiping about him, they would cheerfully savage the rest of us. I shuddered to think what my brother Bellmont would make of this. Elected as a Tory, Bellmont was frightfully conservative, and more mindful of his dignity than the queen. As soon as the merest scrap of this reached the papers, he would descend upon us with all the wrath of a Biblical plague, blaming us for dragging the family name into disgrace once again. When he discovered my husband had been murdered, he had stopped speaking to me for two months. It was actually something of a relief, but I did not like to be at cross purposes with any of my family, no matter how maddening they could be.
“I have made a terrible mistake, I fear,” he said softly. “I ought to have left you in Italy. You were happy there.”
“You sent for us because Lysander married without permission. It had nothing to do with me,” I reminded him.
He waved a hand. “Do you imagine I have nothing better to do than meddle in my children’s romantic entanglements? It’s a fool’s game, and one never wins.”
He was pensive, fretting now, talking more to the fire than to me.
“Then why did you send for us if not for Lysander’s sake?”
He hesitated, as if weighing his words. “I knew Brisbane would be here. For weeks. I thought if I brought you home, he might declare himself.”
“Oh, Father.” His expression was apologetic, and a little of the spirit seemed to have gone out of him. “You just said you do not meddle in your children’s romantic entanglements.”
He beetled his heavy white brows at me. “I also said it was a fool’s game and I am nothing if not a fool. A very great fool.”
I started to rise, then sat back down, thinking swiftly. “Brisbane was betrothed to Charlotte. Why would you expect him to declare himself to me?”
“Bah. That engagement was a farce. It is you he loves.”
My heart lurched a little. “He does not love me,” I said flatly, remembering Brisbane’s insistence on never taking a wealthy wife.
“He is far enough down the path, my dear,” Father returned sharply, “and when he gets there, it will be the devil to pay. I ought to have left you in Italy,” he repeated. “If only I had seen him for what he was.”
I stared at him, my fingers tight around the arms of the chair. “What is he?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“A buccaneer,” Father said harshly, “of the worst sort. He will think nothing of you, only himself and what serves his investigations.”
I relaxed my grip on the chair and blew out a sigh of frustration.
“This is not about me. This is about you, resenting the fact that you brought him here and he has acted as lord and master in your home,” I told him waspishly. “You thought you could put the bit between his teeth and guide him where you liked, and it nettles you that he cannot be mastered. He is not like your sons, Father. He doesn’t give a tuppence for your great house or your lofty titles. He accepts you as an equal, but you will not do the same for him. You are a terrible snob, do you know that?”
Father’s lips went very thin. “I am no such thing.”
“Yes, you are.” I rose, smoothing my skirts. “You always taught us that we should value a man according to his merit, his competence. Do you know a man more competent than Brisbane?”
He said nothing, his mouth set mulishly.
“I thought so. You are behaving very badly, Father. Very badly indeed.”
I reached out and took up the little cache of Aunt Hermia’s jewels, pocketing the bundle. “That is why you would not let him take these. You simply wanted to prove you could impose your will. He would never do anything to harm this family, Father.”
Father lowered his head, peering peevishly at me over his spectacles. “I think I may know better than you what that man is capable of, child. There are depths there you cannot begin to plumb.”
I smiled maliciously. “I seem to remember a time when you thought a dalliance with him might be advisable. Have you changed your opinion of him so much then?”
He did not reply to that, and I knew better than to push him further.