“It’s very beautiful,” I said. “I imagine you look at it with different eyes, being an artist.
“I have never been much good with landscapes,” he said, still not turning to me. “People are different.”
“How so?”
He turned to face me then. “I can see people much more clearly. But, I suppose in some ways there is not much difference between portraits and landscapes. The curves and lines, the inherent danger.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” I said thoughtfully, wondering if there was something he wasn’t saying. That airy quality about him seemed to have faded. It had been replaced with a somber sadness. He didn’t look as though he was lost in another world, but was somewhere in the past.
“Is everything all right?” I asked at last.
“I wish I hadn’t come back,” he said suddenly. He looked up at me, and I was surprised at the intense emotion in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have, but it was as though I couldn’t stay away. She was like a magnet I was powerless to resist.”
“You loved Isobel,” I said, the realization coming so naturally it felt as though I must have known it all along.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yes. I always loved her.”
Yet another man who had fallen sway to Isobel’s charms. I remembered Laurel’s speculation that Isobel might have been in love with someone besides Reggie. Was it possible it had been the handsome artist who had done her portrait?
“Did she feel the same way?” I asked.
“We were lovers for a time.” He said this without embarrassment, not taking his eyes from mine. “But she wasn’t interested in anything more, anything lasting. Isobel was always one to do what she pleased with whom she pleased.”
I nodded. That had been my impression of her. I wondered if Reggie Lyons had known about her liaison with Mr. Winters.
“I don’t want to speak ill of her,” he said, “but there wasn’t much in her that was kind or loving.”
“I didn’t know her at all well,” I said.
“Yes, I know.”
“Did you ever hear from her while she was in Kenya?”
“I had a letter. Only one. It was just the sort of thing Isobel would be inclined to send, very brief and trite, without any true feeling in it. She told me how happy she was in Africa, that there was nothing in England worth returning for. I think it was more to taunt me than anything.”
He looked up at me and smiled, and I could see no bitterness in it. I wondered if he had truly loved her so much that he had been willing to forgive her faults or if he was an excellent actor who had stabbed Isobel to repay her for all the times she had wronged him. There was passion in him. It would not be outside the realm of possibility for him to have used a knife.
Or perhaps he was nothing more than a gentle man who had had his heart broken by a heartless woman. Suddenly, I hated that I was in this situation, that I was being forced to examine people for signs of guilt, people I might have liked had circumstances been different.
I opened my mouth to say something comforting, but just like that, the reflectiveness in his face was gone, replaced with that vague, distant smile.
“I think that’s enough for one afternoon, Mrs. Ames. Perhaps we can continue tomorrow.”
* * *
MILO WAS NOT in my room when I finally arrived to change for dinner. It might have been just as well to wear the blue evening gown, but I was freezing and wanted something that offered a bit more warmth. I chose a dress of burgundy velvet and went down to the drawing room just in time to be called in to dinner.
“How was your session with Mr. Winters?” Milo asked in a low voice as we walked toward the dining room. “Did you manage to keep your clothes on?”
“Only just,” I retorted.
I had hoped that dinner would be a fairly relaxed meal, but it was immediately apparent that tension was high. Though no one said anything, there was a feeling of uneasiness in the air.
Reggie was flushed and uncomfortable. Beatrice looked as though she was preoccupied.
I wondered if something had happened. I had been locked away in the conservatory with Mr. Winters all afternoon.
I did not have long to wonder.
“That Inspector Laszlo was here again this afternoon,” Reggie said, taking a long drink from his wineglass. I noticed that his hands did not seem quite steady.
I was a bit surprised that the inspector had not asked to see me, but I was also relieved. I didn’t care to have any more interaction with him than was absolutely necessary.
I glanced at my cousin and it almost seemed to me that she flushed. I wondered if she had spoken with the handsome inspector. I would have to ask her about that later.
“Did he have anything of interest to say?” Milo asked, without any apparent interest.
I wondered where Milo had taken himself off to all afternoon. I somehow suspected that he had not spent his time with Lucinda Lyons. He was still cross that she had put her horse in jeopardy. Milo seldom took things seriously, but horses were one thing he didn’t trifle with.
Reggie looked at Beatrice, and she nodded almost imperceptibly.
Reggie cleared his throat, pulling at the collar of his shirt. He was immensely uncomfortable about something.
“He said … it seems that…” He broke off and Beatrice cut in, her voice crisp and cool.
“Before Isobel was stabbed to death, it seemed she was also poisoned.”
22
“POISONED?” LAUREL CRIED.
Despite my surprise, I somehow had the presence of mind to glance quickly around the table, taking in the reactions of the others sitting there. Lucinda’s brows had risen in surprise. Freida had paled and Mr. Collins frowned. Mr. Winters, as usual, exhibited very little sign of emotion. He still seemed preoccupied with the food on his plate.
“Yes,” Beatrice said. “He was very definite about it. Thallium, they think.”
So it had not been the cyanide. This was a shock indeed. Two lethal poisons had been floating around the house, and yet Isobel had been stabbed to death. It was all so very strange.
“What does this mean?” Mr. Collins demanded.
“Nothing, I suppose,” Beatrice said. “I don’t see that it makes much difference. Someone tried to kill her, and they eventually succeeded.”
“Or two people tried to kill her,” Laurel said quietly.
I looked at my cousin. She was right. Did this mean that more than one person had tried to murder Isobel Van Allen? I had certainly discovered motives enough to go around. But I did not want to believe that anyone here was a murderer, let alone that two of them might be.
What was more, poison was an act of premeditation. The stabbing might have been a crime of passion, but there was something calculated about poisoning. It seemed as though the methods indicated two separate would-be killers.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can bear,” Reggie said, rubbing a hand across his face.
“It’s going to be all right, Reggie,” Laurel said gently. “I’m sure of it.”
“There’s no sense in worrying ourselves sick over it, in any event,” Beatrice said. “We’ve weathered such storms before, and we will do it again.”
Reggie looked at his sister, and it seemed as though he relaxed ever so slightly at the absolute conviction in her tone.
We went back to eating our food, though without much enthusiasm. I was very surprised by this latest turn of events, though perhaps I should not have been. Isobel Van Allen had been ill the night before her murder, and it had struck me that there might be something sinister in it. It must have been the poison. It seemed to me that it must have been administered at dinner. At this very table. It was enough to make one lose one’s appetite.
I thought of Mr. Roberts, who was still in his room, though apparently recovering nicely. Was it possible that he had had some of the poison as well? It seemed more than possible. It seemed likely. If so, had it been done deliberately, or h
ad he been a casualty of the war against Isobel Van Allen?
“How is your horse, Lucinda?” Milo asked. I supposed he was hoping to divert the conversation a bit.
“He’s very well,” she said brightly. “The scratch wasn’t deep at all. I’m so relieved.”
“I heard about the incident on your ride today,” Reggie said. “It isn’t like you to be careless.”
“I wasn’t being careless. A rat ran across the field and startled Romeo. Mr. Ames came to my rescue.”
The vaguest expression of annoyance crossed Beatrice’s face, and I wondered if it was directed at her sister or at my husband. Perhaps she felt, as I did, that Milo had given Lucinda undue encouragement.
“In any event, I think you’d better hold off riding Romeo for a while,” Reggie said.
She looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I’d rather you not take him out if you can’t manage him. Take Gallahad or one of the less-spirited horses.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m perfectly capable of managing Romeo.”
“It doesn’t seem so,” Reggie replied.
“That’s not fair. It wasn’t my fault about the rat.”
“Just the same, I paid too much for that horse to have him injured.”
“He’s my horse, isn’t he?” she said, her voice rising. “You gave him to me.”
“Please don’t go on so, Lindy,” Reggie said tiredly.
“But, Reggie, it’s not fair.” She was growing distressed, and tears had sprung to her eyes.
“Lucinda, be quiet,” Beatrice commanded.
“You’re not my mother, Beatrice,” Lucinda said hotly, her eyes flashing. “I have only seen you a handful of times in the last seven years. I don’t see why you should think that you can order me about now.”
Silence descended for a moment as Beatrice appeared to attempt to master her temper.
“You were sent away to school in Switzerland because it was what was best for you,” she said at last, her tone brittle.
“Banished, you mean,” Lucinda said. “Banished to that wretched place, far away from everyone and everything.”
“It wasn’t as though we were trying to banish you,” Reggie said. “We just thought sending you to a different boarding school, one abroad, would be better for you, all things considered.” His eyes darted from Lucinda to Beatrice and back again. He was uneasy at the conflict that was rising between them, and I could not say I blamed him. I could feel the anger building like a storm cloud above the table.
“Alas, it appears that it was not as beneficial as we had hoped,” Beatrice said. “You clearly haven’t learned much of proper behavior.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she retorted.
“Don’t you?” Beatrice’s brows rose. “Then you do need education. For one thing, it isn’t proper etiquette to repeatedly throw yourself at the husband of a guest in your home.”
Lucinda stared at her sister, her face going white and then bright red. Then she rose from her chair and turned and fled from the room.
Almost without realizing what I was doing, I excused myself from the table and went after her. I didn’t know exactly what prompted me, but I felt suddenly very sorry for her.
I was not sure what I was going to say. I had not had much experience in dealing with young people. In fact, aside from my school days, when I was one myself, I had had very little contact with them. Though Lucinda Lyons was only three or four years my junior, she somehow seemed much younger.
She had gone into the drawing room, and I followed her there. She turned when she heard me come in behind her, and her face was flushed with anger, tears quivering in her eyes. “She’s wretched. They’re both wretched. I hate them.”
“You mustn’t mind them,” I said. “They’re all very upset at the moment. People are apt to say things they don’t mean in the heat of the moment.”
“It was a cruel thing for Beatrice to say. I haven’t been throwing myself at your husband. I only enjoy spending time with him because he’s so kind, and things are so wretched here at Lyonsgate.”
Her voice broke and the tears began to run down her cheeks.
I felt a wave of sympathy for her. I had not much cared for the way she had been doggedly pursuing Milo, but it had been harmless enough and not exactly without encouragement from my husband. Besides, I suspected, as she had said, that she had encountered very little kindness since her return to Lyonsgate.
“You mustn’t worry about that.” I smiled. “I’m not a jealous sort of wife.”
“Yes, but perhaps Beatrice is right. Perhaps I don’t know how to behave. It’s not easy for me to be with people, you know. I haven’t had much practice with it. I never know the right thing to say or what people are really thinking.”
“We all feel like that at times.”
She gave a rueful laugh. “You don’t expect me to believe that you ever feel that way, Mrs. Ames. It must be lovely to be so calm and poised all the time, always knowing the right thing to say.”
Was that the way I appeared? I certainly tried to make a good show of it, but I often felt less than successful.
“I don’t always know the right things to say,” I told her.
“You seem to. And you’re so elegant and beautiful.”
“That’s sweet of you.”
“It’s true.”
“You’re quite beautiful yourself, Lucinda.”
She sniffed, wiping a hand across her tearstained face. “I have always wanted to be the sort of person who always behaves properly and does the right things, but I don’t suppose I ever shall.”
“That sort of thing comes with time.”
She looked at me searchingly. “Do you really think that?”
“Yes. The more you are with people, the more you will come to understand how to interact with them.”
She sighed. “But I don’t like being with people, not really. Because people will always be cruel because of what happened here. It isn’t fair. Wherever I go, people shall always say, ‘That’s Lucinda Lyons. Do you remember what happened at Lyonsgate?’”
I hesitated. I wanted to tell her that it became easier with time not to mind what people said, but the truth of it was that cruelness always had the potential to hurt. It was more accurate, perhaps, to say that one’s feelings became easier to conceal as time passed.
I offered what comfort I could. “You’ll learn eventually that it doesn’t much matter what people say.”
“Yes, perhaps you’re right,” she said. She drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I’ve said the wrong things, Mrs. Ames. I didn’t mean to burden you with all my troubles. It’s just that I don’t have very many friends. I didn’t make friends easily when they sent me to a new boarding school, and Reggie and Lucinda are so much older than me that they haven’t paid me much mind in the years since I’ve been back.”
“You may say whatever you like to me, Lucinda, and I hope that we shall be friends,” I said, and I meant it sincerely. Her life had been lonely and full of unfortunate events. It couldn’t have been easy for her to make friends at school, especially after the scandal that Edwin Green’s death had caused. Lucinda was right. People could be very cruel, young people especially.
She smiled. “I should like that, Mrs. Ames.”
“Call me Amory.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Amory.”
I felt I should offer one last bit of advice. “You mustn’t think your brother and sister don’t care about you,” I said. “I suppose they’re upset now, with everything that has happened. Your brother seems very distraught, and I’m sure your sister must be, too.”
In truth, I did not feel much like making excuses for Beatrice. It hadn’t been a very nice thing to say to her sister, especially in the company of others. Even if Lucinda had made a very conspicuous show of throwing herself at Milo, there was no need to reprimand her for it in front of both Milo and me.
“I know that Reggie means well,�
� she said. “He just doesn’t always know the right way to go about it. I try to be patient with him. But Beatrice has never liked me, not really. My mother was the reason our father left her mother.”
“I see.”
This was a bit of information I hadn’t heard. Perhaps that was the reason Beatrice was not especially warm toward her sister.
I reached out and patted Lucinda’s hand. “I’m certain things will get better, Lucinda. When all of this is over, perhaps your brother will take you away for a while and all of this shall seem like a distant memory.”
She smiled, and this time it looked genuine. “Thank you, Amory. I certainly hope so.”
* * *
REGGIE LYONS MUST have been hovering outside of the drawing room waiting for me to come out, for he approached me as soon as I left the room, a concerned frown on his face.
“Is she all right?”
“I think so,” I said. “This is all very hard on her, of course, and she hasn’t very many friends.”
He sighed. “Things have always been difficult for Lucinda. I have never known the right way to go about talking with her. Young people are different than they were when I was young.” His gaze moved beyond me, a faraway look coming to his eyes for just a moment before he blinked.
“In any event, I’m afraid I must apologize for my sisters,” he said. He gave me a tired smile. “It seems I am forever apologizing to you, Mrs. Ames.”
“Please don’t apologize. I only thought I could find a way to help. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone who isn’t a family member.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he said vaguely.
“I do think she would like to talk to you, however,” I said encouragingly.
He nodded. “I shall go and talk to her now.”
It seemed almost as though he squared his shoulders before going into the drawing room. I thought it was a good sign that he cared so much for his sister. I wished Beatrice would have been as thoughtful. It would cost her nothing to be kind to her sister. After all, it was not Lucinda’s fault that their father had been unfaithful to Beatrice’s mother. The matter was really none of my concern, however. If there was one thing I was learning, it was that it was impossible to fix all the problems in the world, no matter how much I wished I could.
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