This Side of Murder

by Anna Lee Huber

  No. It was better this way. Better to keep our heads about us than add to the guilt and remorse already heaped between us. When . . . If I ever slept with Sidney again, I didn’t want there to be any doubts between us. Or at least not a mountain of them.

  I pushed him away from me, and though at first he resisted, a moment later he retreated. His deep blue eyes didn’t even hold a question. He already understood.

  Grateful not to have to explain, I lifted a trembling hand to my hair, brushing it back from my temple as I stepped to the side and readjusted my skirt with my other hand. When I felt I could speak without my voice shaking, I turned back to face him.

  “I should go.”

  He looked up from where his gaze had been trained on the floor as if to stare a hole in it.

  “I’ll . . . I’ll see what I can find out about the others’ pasts. Try to ascertain who might have had the right political connections to obtain the information contained in that coded missive.” I nodded at where the paper containing the letter’s plaintext translation lay wrinkled on the bed. “And whether they utilized those connections. Even Max,” I added at the last, wanting to reassure Sidney that I could be impartial.

  “There’s something else you should know,” he said.

  I could tell by the wariness in his eyes it was something I wasn’t going to like hearing.

  He shifted his feet so that he could face me more fully, but backed up to lean against the wall at the foot of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. I wondered if he was trying to put as much distance between us as possible because he was afraid of what I would do, or what he would do.

  “The informant who gave me that missive, the traitor’s liaison in France, she also suggested I speak to the officer stationed as the town major. The man handling logistics and translation between the locals and the British Army,” he began to explain as if I didn’t understand what that meant.

  I raised a hand to forestall him. “I know what a town major is.”

  He pressed his lips together, as if holding back a question or a comment, and then dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Of course. Well, she suspected this officer was bribed for his silence on the matter, as she was never caught until after the man was injured and replaced.”

  A worrying thought entered my mind. “What village was this?”

  My nerves tightened when he didn’t immediately answer.

  “Suzanne,” he murmured.

  I pressed a hand to my abdomen in astonishment. “Are you telling me Tom Ashley may be mixed up in this mess as well?” I’d assumed that of all the guests at this house party, all the male ones in any case, my childhood friend was the only one I could safely exclude from the matter.

  “I’m afraid so. Though it might not be as bad as all that,” Sidney hastened to assure me. “I was never able to find proof that Ashley was ever bribed. No suspicious income or expenditures. In fact, he’s far more in debt than he ever was. Unlike Walter and Halbert, who both received hefty influxes of cash during the war and just after.”

  I didn’t ask how he’d uncovered all of that when he’d supposedly remained safely distant from London all these months. I didn’t want to know just then.

  “However, Tom Ashley still might know something,” he said. “Something he doesn’t even realize is important, that could help us uncover who the traitor is.”

  “And you want me to question him?”

  “Him or his wife. Whoever you think will talk to you. Perhaps he shared something with her or revealed something in his letters.” Seeing my sour expression and misinterpreting it, he frowned. “What? I thought you wished to help?”

  I shook my head, brushing it aside. “I’ll speak to Tom.”

  It was obvious he wanted to ask more, but he kept his queries to himself. “Good.”

  I moved toward the door, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

  “And, Verity? Remember, don’t—”

  “Don’t trust anyone,” I spoke with him. “I got it the first time.”

  He nodded, releasing my arm.

  I studied his carefully neutral expression. “What are you going to do?” I could tell he didn’t want to answer, for he broke eye contact.

  “Me? I’m going to find Walter.”

  My eyes widened in alarm.

  “Perhaps a more direct approach is called for.”

  His voice was hard, brooking no argument, but I ventured one anyway. “Is that wise?”

  “Maybe not. But we’ve run out of time, and I’m tired of wondering if Walter is still my friend or a foe.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from begging him to reconsider. His mind was already made up. “Well, be careful,” I said as my chest squeezed in dread.

  “I always am.” I opened the door, almost missing the last statement he muttered under his breath. “Little good it’s done me.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Upon my return to the castle, I was frustrated to find I couldn’t locate Tom in any of the public rooms. Felix and Sam were slumped before the hearth in the library, their search for another boat having been fruitless. A small rowboat had been located in a shed behind the old customs house, but a hole they discovered in the bottom of it rendered it less than useless. They told me that Max and Tom’s search had also proved futile, but they had no idea where either man had taken themselves off to since then.

  Flustered and restless, I stood at the bottom of one of the staircases, considering my options. It was possible Tom had retreated to his bedchamber. If so, I could ask a servant to deliver him a message, but that might draw more attention to my eagerness to speak with him than I wished. Despite the urgency, I thought it best not to make my quest too obvious.

  I was debating my next step when Nellie emerged at the top of the stairs. Catching sight of me at the bottom, she hesitated a moment before lifting her chin and descending.

  Despite my anger toward the woman, I had no desire to quarrel with her. In fact, I would have preferred not to speak with her at all. But there was too much at stake. So, I pasted on a pleasant expression. “Good afternoon, Nellie. Do you know where I might find Tom?”

  She halted a few steps above me, forcing me to crane my neck backward to look up at her, and narrowed her eyes. “Why? You wrecked your own marriage, so now you feel you need to wreck mine?”

  I inhaled a sharp breath, astonished by her accusation. But my shock swiftly gave way to fury. It swept through my veins—hot and fierce. I climbed the steps to stand even with her. “I have had enough from you, Nellie May Sutter Ashley. What is your problem? Why are you being so wretchedly cruel?”

  “I’ve seen the way you dangle after Tom,” she sniffed. “Clinging to his arm, hanging on his every word. Oh, I knew I should never have come here! The cards told me this would happen.”

  “You must be joking,” I scoffed.

  “I have two eyes.”

  “Then you must be blind. Tom?! For heaven’s sake, Nellie. I haven’t the slightest interest in your husband that way. It would be like carrying on with one of my brothers.” My face contorted at the thought. “What on earth sort of nonsense is this?” And why was she consulting tarot?

  “Well, maybe you aren’t interested in Tom,” she grudgingly conceded. “But he’s certainly interested in you.”

  “Oh, Nellie, no, he’s not,” I replied wearily.

  “He is,” she insisted. “You should hear how he talks about you. About how brave and resilient you are. How he knows any number of chaps who would marry you in a heartbeat. How any man would be lucky to have you, so they’d better act fast before you take a fancy to someone else.”

  I stared at her in disbelief. “Tom said all this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he drunk?” I asked baldy, having difficulty imagining him uttering any of those words, especially to his green with envy wife. Was he trying to infuriate her?

  Her nostrils flared. “That doesn’t signify. He still said it.”

  I wante
d to howl with frustration. Of course, it signified. “But you do understand none of that means he has any interest in me? Besides, he’s already married. To you,” I pointed out needlessly.

  Her mouth tightened into that little moue I hated, indicating she was biting back whatever beastly retort was stewing in her malicious little mind.

  I sighed, turning to retreat to the parlor. “This is ridiculous.”

  “It’s not ridiculous,” she snapped. “But you wouldn’t understand, would you? Your husband died a hero before you could ever wonder if he would grow tired of you.”

  I swung back around, my patience at an end. “Yes, Nellie. You got your wish, didn’t you?” I retorted, harking back to those horrid words she’d shrieked at me days before my wedding to Sidney. “He never returned to me. Aren’t you happy?” It didn’t matter that the outcome was no longer true, that my husband was alive. It was the vindictiveness of her words that counted, and the fact she’d never apologized for uttering them. For all she knew, they had come true. Just as I’d believed until eighteen hours ago.

  “Well, at least that wasn’t by choice!” she fired back, then turned aside, as if she could no longer face me.

  I stared up at her in dawning comprehension, lowering my voice. “You mean . . .”

  “Tom wants a divorce.” Her words were clipped and brittle like ice.

  I didn’t know how to respond. The part of me that could still recall our earlier friendship with any warmth wanted to wrap her up in my arms, while the rest of me wanted to chide her for her petty, manipulative behavior, which had helped put her into this situation in the first place. But it was none of my affair, and in any case, Nellie would never listen to my advice. She was merely following her mother’s example.

  I’d watched Mrs. Sutton wheedle and harass her husband for years. Mr. Sutton largely ignored his wife or retreated into his study, but Tom had never been so complacent. And with divorce now becoming more and more acceptable, especially with the large number of soldiers returning to wives they’d hastily wed before being shipped off to the front and now barely knew, I would have been surprised had Tom not considered it. But I was sorry it had come to this, and I told Nellie so.

  She turned aside. “Yes, well, it’s my fault, isn’t it?”

  I was astounded to hear her admit any blame. Maybe she was aware of her own part in the matter. Not that Tom was perfect. I was certain he held a fair share of the responsibility.

  But then she spoke again.

  “I should have known better than to fall for an Ashley’s charms. Or be stupid enough to think he would know the meaning of the word loyalty.” With a twitch of her skirt, she whirled around and marched back up the steps.

  I sighed and shook my head. Even if I wanted to help, there was nothing I could do. Not if she didn’t want to listen. And she’d made it abundantly clear I was the last person she wished advice from.

  “What was that about?”

  I turned to see Tom striding toward me, his hands tucked in his pockets, watching his wife disappear around the corner above.

  “You don’t want to know,” I told him, refusing to step into the middle of Nellie and Tom’s conjugal difficulties. I had enough problems to deal with, including my own marital issues. “But I do need to speak with you.”

  Tom’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”

  I gestured for him to follow me down the hall to the left, away from the parlor, and into a shallow alcove. It was private, but also quite proper, as we were visible to anyone coming or going through this part of the castle, as they were to us.

  He sat next to me on the mahogany bench nestled in the niche with a jaunty grin. “Why all the secrecy, Pip?”

  “I need to ask you about the time you spent serving in the village of Suzanne on the Somme as a town major.”

  He straightened in surprise, but otherwise did not seem particularly wary. “What do you wish to know?”

  I hesitated to lay my cards out on the table, but I didn’t quite know how else to approach the matter. “Were you aware that a woman in that village was arrested on suspicion of being a German informant not long after you were injured?”

  He frowned. “No, but I suppose that’s not entirely unexpected. There were a number of instances when soldiers . . . meeting with the local women were not as circumspect as they should have been. It was a common problem.”

  “Well, in this instance, I’m afraid she was more of a . . . regular friend. One of our soldiers was passing coded missives to her to be carried on to the enemy.”

  Tom blinked at me in bewilderment. “You’re quite serious.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  His gaze drifted to the floor and his hand lowered to his leg. He began to rub almost subconsciously the place where the bullet must have hit him. “Well, I didn’t know anything about it,” he glanced up again to say. “How do you?”

  I ignored his query in favor of asking my own. “Did you notice whether any of our men had a particular association with any of the women in the village? Someone who visited often, or sent messages to a woman there? This man would likely have been an officer? Maybe even someone attending this very house party?”

  He had been searching the floor at his feet as if it could somehow give him answers, but at this last question, his head snapped up in alarm, and I could tell he’d thought of something. However, he pressed his lips together, as if unwilling to admit it.

  “Tom,” I coaxed. “You know this is important, or I would never ask it of you.”

  His eyes were dark with shadows, but he relented with a nod. He swallowed, as if working up the courage to speak. “Walter. I always suspected he had a lover in town. A French mistress. He visited her a few times, and she seemed to regularly receive love letters and packages from him. I even joked with him about it once, and he led me to believe . . .” He shook his head. “Exactly what I wanted to.” He cursed. “I can’t believe it.” He glanced sideways at me. “You’re sure?”

  I nodded and he cursed again, sinking his head back against the wall behind us.

  “So you didn’t suspect the truth about her?” I asked calmly, though my heart beat faster at his confirmation of Sidney’s and my suspicions.

  He lifted his head to look at me with wild eyes. “No. Jeez! You don’t honestly think I would have knowingly allowed such a thing to happen?”

  I pressed a staying hand to his arm. “I don’t. And I’m sorry, but the question had to be asked.”

  His face was tight with insult. “How do you know all this?” he demanded. “If someone else had suggested such a thing, I would have called them cracked. But I know you, Verity. You would never make such outlandish, defamatory accusations without good reason. What I don’t understand is how you could have obtained such information.”

  His belief in me was bolstering, but it was obvious he also expected answers, and I couldn’t give those to him. “You’re right. I do have good reason. But I can’t reveal all to you. Not yet. However, I promise I won’t do anything to slander anyone’s reputation without proof. That’s why you must keep this conversation to yourself for now.”

  His eyes narrowed in misgiving, but he reluctantly acceded. “For now.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, then opened my mouth to press him for more information.

  Until the door at the end of the hall opened behind me, letting in a blast of cool air from outside. I turned to see Max staggering inside, carrying Walter.

  “I could use . . . some help,” he panted between breaths.

  Tom and I rushed forward.

  “What happened?” I demanded as Tom took part of Walter’s weight from Max. The pair of them formed a sort of sling between their arms, which afforded me my first clear view of our host.

  I pressed my hand to my mouth in shock at the sight of his face distended and contorted, and covered in red hives. He appeared to be unconscious, though it was difficult to tell with his eyes almost swollen shut. His breath wheezed in and out of him in agon
ized gasps.

  “I don’t know,” Max replied. “He appears to be suffering from some sort of reaction.”

  “Bee stings,” I deduced. “Helen told us he’s deathly allergic to them. Take him to his bedchamber. I’ll find Mabel.”

  I dashed down the hall toward the parlor, praying Mabel was still there, as she had been twenty minutes prior. Not finding her seated by the hearth reading as I expected, I swung my gaze around the room.

  Helen sat forward in her seat, reading the alarm on my face. “Verity?”

  I located my quarry standing next to the drapes, looking out the window at the wind-swept garden. “Mabel, you’re needed.” My gaze flicked back toward Helen. “I believe Walter has suffered a bee sting. Maybe several. He’s having difficulty breathing.”

  “A bee sting?!” Helen squeaked, rising to her feet. “In this weather?”

  I didn’t try to answer her, having wondered the very same thing. Instead I turned my steps toward the hall, leading Mabel and Helen from the room. “Max and Tom are carrying him up to his bedchamber,” I explained as we lifted our skirts to mount the stairs.

  “I’ll just fetch my medical kit,” Mabel explained, hurrying ahead of us as I let Helen overtake me to lead the way to the master bedchamber.

  We reached the room just as Max and Tom were laying Walter back against the pillows and loosening his necktie. Helen rushed to his side, but I hung back near the door, knowing there was little I could do. I would only be in the way. Less than half a minute passed before Mabel hastened past me with her small case of supplies. Upon her arrival, Max and Tom withdrew to join me in the hall just outside the door.

  “How is he?” I asked.

  “Worse,” Max replied succinctly, his face drawn with worry.

  “What the devil happened?” Tom demanded to know, echoing my thoughts.

  Max turned to us, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I found him crumpled next to the path leading up from the quay.” His jaw hardened as he lifted his hand to examine a small red welt rising next to his knuckle. “But your suggestion that it was a bee sting was a good one. For there was a box of honeycomb swarming with bees kicked over next to him.”