Lady Julia Grey Bundle

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  I inclined my head. It would be pointless and stupid to contradict him. I knew that I was in fact playing fast and loose with my reputation by coming to the Bellefleur home, but then I was beginning to realize that I was not altogether comfortable with my reputation in the first place.

  "She is your friend, Mr. Brisbane. I trust that if she were a truly objectionable person, you would not bring us together in this fashion."

  "No, rather the opposite. For some reason, I have always thought that you and Fleur would get on rather well. You have one or two qualities in common that most women lack."

  I edged forward, wildly interested in what those qualities might be, but he disappointed me. He chose that moment to cough a little and reach for the tumbler of water that sat on the table near his elbow. By the time he had swallowed a good part of it and caught his breath, he had lost his train of thought or abandoned it on purpose. Instead, he stared at me through those strange smoky lenses, scrutinizing my face until I could bear it no longer.

  "What is it, Mr. Brisbane? Have I left the house with my hat on backward?" I asked, smiling to relieve the touch of asperity in my voice.

  He passed a hand over his brow. "Forgive me. I have a strange sense that I have seen you, quite recently, but I cannot place it. A dream, I think."

  My heart began to drum so loudly that I thought he certainly must hear it. I was grateful then for the high collar that hid the pulse at my throat.

  "It must have been. Perhaps you took some medicine while you were ill. They can often provoke strange dreams."

  His eyes fell briefly to my mouth, his fingers twitched, and I wondered if he was smelling ripe cherries, remembering the feel of a supple glove against his finger.

  "Yes, they can," he said finally. I dared to breathe then. Apparently he had convinced himself that I had been an apparition, conjured by his drugged fever. Would God he always thought it so, I prayed fervently. The thought of prayer caused my hand to move to my reticule.

  "Mr. Brisbane, while you were indisposed, I discovered something—something rather remarkable."

  I drew out the Psalter and handed it to him. He took it, and to my surprise, did not open it at once. He inspected the cover closely, running those sensitive fingers over the binding, the edges, the stamped crest and Prince of Wales feathers. He even lifted it to his nose to sniff lightly. Curiously, he closed his eyes, pressing the book to his brow. I thought for a moment that he might have relapsed into migraine, so intently still did he become.

  After a few seconds the spell seemed to pass, and he opened his eyes. He paged through the Psalter, pausing to read the inscription in the princess' hand and my own childish scrawl beneath it. He thumbed on, stopping at the page I had marked with the splitting silk ribbon, the page defiled by the sender of Edward's notes. He leafed through it slowly, taking note of each neatly scissored hole.

  When he reached the end, he rifled through it slowly again backward, but found nothing new. He sniffed it again, carefully, but either detected nothing of interest, or did not see fit to share it.

  Finally, he spoke. "Where did you find it?"

  "In my study. It was tucked into a stack of books that I have not looked at for years."

  "Was it dusty?"

  I hesitated to admit the slatternly state of my bookshelves, but I knew that it might be important.

  "Yes. That is, the top book was dusty, those below it, including the Psalter, less so."

  "Could the stack have been disturbed recently?"

  I closed my eyes, picturing the pile of crumbling volumes. "No, I do not think so. The maids never clean there, they are forbidden. And I'm afraid that I haven't done it myself for quite some time. There were a few newspapers in there as well, old ones, quite creased, but only folded once. I think they might have been creased more if the pile was disturbed."

  "Not necessarily, not if our villain was quite careful. And I think he must have been."

  My ears pricked unexpectedly. "He? You think it definitely a man, then?"

  Brisbane was examining the book again. "No, I simply grow tired of multiple pronouns. You may take it as given that I do not know the gender of the perpetrator."

  Prickly, indeed! I pursed my lips in displeasure at his tone, but I might have been a potted cactus for all the notice he took of me. He was too busy comparing the holes and measuring them with his fingers.

  "Seven passages of the Psalms, all cut at the same time, then the book was returned to your study—but why?"

  "How can you be certain they were cut at the same time?" I interrupted. His tone had been thoughtful, as if he had been posing his question more to himself than to me, but I did not care. I had found the clue, after all, and I deserved to know what he had deduced from it.

  He regarded me impatiently. "What villain in his right mind would take the book seven times, and risk apprehension each time he retrieved it and put it back?"

  I bit my lip again, now thoroughly chagrined. How stupid I was! No wonder he treated me like a slow-witted child.

  "Besides," he added, his tone somewhat milder, "the passages all appear to have been cut with the same scissor—a short one, perhaps a nail scissor. In the longer passages there is an overlap where the blade was moved."

  He opened the book for my inspection and I saw that he was correct.

  "So the question is, who had access to the book, and more important, access to replace it, a year ago?" he mused.

  I spread my hands. "Anyone! The Psalter has been there since Edward and I moved into Grey House. We entertained frequently—it could have been taken by anyone and returned at any time and we would not have noticed."

  "But would just anyone know that?" he asked softly.

  It was my turn for exasperation. "What do you mean?"

  He leaned forward, his long fingers tapping the cover of the Psalter. "Many people use the books given at their confirmation for spiritual comfort. One would think a volume given by the Princess of Wales would be even more prized. Most people," he went on, "have the downstairs maid clean their bookshelves, on a regular if not a daily basis. Now, who among your circle would know that not only did you not use this Psalter, but that in fact, you never even permitted your staff to clean the study where it was kept?"

  I stared at him blankly. "Brisbane, what are you on about? If you are criticizing my housekeeping skills, I will admit I have been less than—"

  "I do not give a damn about your housekeeping," he said sharply. "I am talking about someone in your own house who just might be the villain."

  "You are quite mad," I said evenly. It was unthinkable that he could be right.

  "Am I? Think about it," he said, not bothering to be kind. His tone was harsh, his words unutterably painful. "The person who took that Psalter had to know that you did not open it often, or he risked detection. It must have been someone with little access to another such book—this points either to someone who has little money or whose time is not their own. They needed your Psalter because it was handy and would not implicate them, but also because it was unlikely to be discovered. And if it was, whom would it implicate? No one except the lady of the house. So, whom does that suggest to you, my lady? Someone inside Grey House with little time and little money to call their own. Whom does that suggest?"

  I saw what he was saying and I hated him for it.

  "One of my staff."

  He nodded slowly, then pushed the book toward me. I snatched it from him.

  "You cannot honestly believe that one of my own staff has done this. Think about what you are saying."

  He leaned forward swiftly. "No, you must think about what you are denying. What I have just given you is the only explanation that makes sense. And it means that you could be at risk if you continue this investigation. Someone in that house hated your husband, perhaps enough to kill him. If you try to unmask him now, he might kill again, and this time it will be you."

  I shook my head angrily. "I cannot believe that. I know them—"


  "Do you? What do you know of Aquinas? You may have had references for him, but what about his life before that? Before he came into service? What of Morag? What of the footmen, the maids, Diggory? What do you know of any of them? Think of it the next time one of them brings you a pot of tea or lights the fire or scrubs the floor or laces your corset. One of them might be responsible for murdering your husband. And they might simply be waiting for their next chance.…"

  I rose then, icily calm, stuffing the Psalter into my reticule. "I am sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Brisbane, when you are so clearly still in the throes of your indisposition. We can discuss this again when you are more clearheaded."

  He muttered something under his breath, something faintly obscene, so I pretended not to hear it. He did not rise as I left, and as I closed the door behind me I heard the high, splintering sound of breaking glass.

  Madame de Bellefleur met me at the door, her face anxious.

  "My lady, must you leave so soon? But we have not had tea."

  Her tone was pleading and I felt chagrined. She had been very hospitable, and I was behaving badly by running away. Impulsively, I put a hand to her arm.

  "It is as you said, Madame de Bellefleur. Mr. Brisbane is in a nasty temper. Too nasty to do business with, I am afraid. But if you would invite me again, just the two of us, I would be delighted to take tea with you. Or," I added recklessly, "perhaps you would care to come to Grey House."

  Her face suffused with light. "How lovely you are! Yes, that would be very nice. Come, I will walk you out."

  She escorted me to where Diggory was waiting at the kerb. I settled myself against the grey satin upholstery and asked myself for the thousandth time why Edward would have chosen such an impractical fabric for a carriage seat. Velvet would have been just as opulent, but at least then I would not have had to hang on to the edge of the seat by my fingernails to avoid slipping off of it.

  Madame de Bellefleur put her hand into the window to shake mine. "It has been most charming making your acquaintance, my lady. Thank you for coming."

  "You were very kind to invite me. I am only sorry that I have to leave so suddenly. And I fear I have left him rather more difficult than I found him," I said with a rueful glance toward the house.

  Her laugh was merry and light, like the trill of silver bells. It was a Frenchwoman's trick; I had never known an Englishwoman to laugh like that.

  "La, my lady, I have seen him far worse than this. I have ways of handling him, do not fear."

  Of that much I was certain.

  THE TWENTY-SECOND CHAPTER

  Truth is truth To the end of reckoning.

  —William Shakespeare

  Measure for Measure

  I was depressed that night, as I had not been since Edward's death. Mindful of Brisbane's warning, I started every time Aquinas spoke to me. I waved Henry off when he would have lit the fire in the study, and I dismissed Morag as soon as she had unlaced my corset, pleading a headache. The only peace I had had the entire evening was the hour I spent with Simon, chatting and reading the newspapers.But even that had been tinged with regret. His face had grown thinner still, and his hands, when they held mine, were like twiggy bundles of bones under his skin. I left him, feeling desperately sorry for myself. When he passed and the Ghoul moved on, I would be alone in a mausoleum of a house with a staff I no longer trusted and a brother I never saw. I heard an occasional quork from behind Val's door, so I knew the raven was still in residence, but I did not have the heart to scold him. I paced a good deal, and found it difficult to get to sleep, the more so because I now refused the little remedies that Morag was so proficient at concocting. I took to reading, far into the night, until my eyes burned and the words swam on the page. When I did finally sleep, my dreams were ragged and dark and I woke often, cursing Brisbane and wishing I had never found the threatening note in the drawer.

  Even as I muttered the words, I knew I did not mean them. However difficult, however impossible, I wanted the truth, even if it meant unmasking one of my own. Yet I could not believe that an inhabitant of Grey House had harmed Edward, was capable of harming me. I firmly believed that the danger had come from outside.

  But how? I had tried to convince Brisbane that the house was frequented by guests and family, but he had been disinterested, preferring to focus his accusations upon my own staff. How could I possibly get him to direct his attentions outside Grey House, where the true perpetrator lay?

  After a good deal of rumination, it came to me. In order to force Brisbane to look outside Grey House, I had to prove to him that there was nothing of interest in it. I would undertake to prove the innocence of my staff, and in doing so, I would eliminate my own people as potential villains. Then Brisbane, seeing the error of his ways, would be properly abashed, apologize prettily, and we would pursue the true perpetrator.

  I liked this plan very much. It was neat, tidy, and above all, it permitted me to score over Brisbane. The only trouble was devising a method of actually proving the innocence of my staff. There was only one means that came to mind, and I did not like it at all.

  Unfortunately, Brisbane was quick to point it out to me when I saw him the following day.

  "You will have to search Grey House," Brisbane said flatly. He was watching me closely, waiting for my impassioned refusal. But I surprised him.

  I sipped coolly at my tea. "Of course. I had already planned to do so."

  His expression was wary. He had not expected to find me so tractable. And I had not expected to find him so much improved. He was looking so much better, in fact, that if I had not seen him so ill with my own eyes I would never have known he had been unwell. We were on the terrace of Madame de Bellefleur's villa, taking tea while she busied herself inside, tactfully out of earshot, although neither Brisbane nor I had asked her to leave. Her own natural delicacy dictated her withdrawal while we discussed business. I was rather sorry to see her go. She had greeted me even more warmly than before, and I found myself very glad to see her.

  "I am surprised that you are amenable to the suggestion, considering your earlier vehemence."

  I raised my brows lightly at him. "Was I vehement? I don't recall."

  "You questioned my sanity," he returned with a touch of asperity.

  I smiled sweetly. "Yes, I do recall that. As a matter of fact, I do still think it a daft notion. However—" I put up my hand to stem his interruption. "However, I am willing to concede the possibility that someone at Grey House was involved. I fear the only way to put that particular suspicion to rest is to establish without question the innocence of my staff. And the only way to accomplish that is to search their rooms."

  "All of Grey House," he corrected.

  I suppressed the little ripple of irritation I felt at his bossiness. He was still recovering, I reminded myself, and though his temper was vastly improved, he was still a trifle prickly.

  "I do not see the purpose—" I began.

  "The purpose would be clear if you applied your considerable intellect for even a moment," he said coldly. "If the perpetrator is an inmate of Grey House, he may share his quarters with someone else. That means that any evidence of his wrongdoing—poison, glue pots—would best be hidden in some neutral part of the house, someplace that would not implicate him if it were discovered."

  I sipped again at my tea, torn between my pleasure at the slightly peachy undertones of the Darjeeling and impatience at my own stupidity. Really, I was going to have to start thinking things through before I opened my mouth. I was going to have to start thinking like a criminal.

  "That's it," I said suddenly.

  "What is it?" Brisbane's voice was weary and I wondered if his strength was beginning to flag.

  "I do not know how to think like a criminal," I said with some excitement. "If I knew how to think like one, I could probably unmask one."

  "It does help," he returned dryly.

  I tipped my head and regarded him from crisply shined boots to clean, waving hair.
"You seem to have no difficulty with that. Have you a criminal past?" I asked, joking.

  To my astonishment, he flushed. It was almost imperceptible, but I watched the edge of dull crimson creep over his features.

  "What a perfectly stupid question," he commented, his voice as controlled as ever. But in spite of the even tone, his colour was still high and I knew that I had struck a nerve.

  "Your past is your own concern, of course," I said lamely. I had never been so socially inept as I managed to be with Brisbane. How exactly did one extricate oneself from an apparently valid accusation of criminality against one's investigative partner? There were no rules for this in the little etiquette books with which Aunt Hermia had drilled us. I stumbled on the best I could. "I mean, who among us has not stolen a sweet from a shop as a child?"

  Brisbane's complexion returned slowly to normal, but his hand had gone to his throat and he was rubbing absently at the spot where I knew the Medusa pendant hung beneath his shirt.

  I had just opened my mouth to mention it, when I realized that I was not supposed to know about that pendant. I gulped at my tea, now gone stone cold, aghast at how nearly I had given myself away. He was irritated enough with me as it was. I did not think he would ever forgive knowing I had been with him during his illness.

  "I will of course search all the rooms of Grey House," I said quietly. "Even my own. I take your point. You are quite correct."

  He was silent a moment, his black eyes thoughtful.

  "This is more difficult for you than you had anticipated."

  I nodded, tears springing suddenly to my eyes. I blinked them back, determined not to let them fall.

  "I warned you when it began. But you thought I was simply being cruel."

  I bit my lip in silence. The tea had grown scummy. I placed it on the table, careful lest my trembling fingers upset the porcelain.

  "I underestimated the difficulty, yes. And you were cruel."

  "And correct." His voice held no trace of triumph, only certainty. He had known from long experience what this would cost me, and I had not listened.