He took up a small china dish figured in gold dragons and ground out the remainder of his cigar. "What were the circumstances?"
"Really, Brisbane, must I—"
"Yes, you must," he said, his tone hard. "I will know everything."
I drew a deep breath. "Very well. Her daughter, Carolina, had died. My father arranged for her to be buried in the village graveyard at Blessingstoke. Magda was found there the next night. Her daughter's body had been dug up. She was embracing the corpse."
"Good God." He sat back heavily in his chair, and I felt a childish sort of satisfaction at having shocked him. "I am surprised they only banished her."
"They pitied her. She was ranting, half out of her mind with grief. They put out her things and packed their own. They were gone by daylight. Within the space of a few short days she had lost her only child, her entire family, her whole way of life. Now perhaps you can find some pity for her."
His eyes lifted to mine, cool and black as a night sea.
"Pity is a luxury I cannot afford, my lady. For anyone."
"How can you be so unfeeling?" I demanded. "What is your heart made of that it can remain so wholly untouched by the suffering of another human being?"
"Stone. Steel. Flint, if you like. I am sure that is what you think."
"What I think does not matter at all," I retorted. "I simply cannot comprehend how any person can live as you do."
"That is because your ladyship has the advantage of a clean conscience and an untroubled past," he said, his words tinged with ice. "If you had to live with what I do, you would understand it well enough."
A sudden image flashed into my mind of Brisbane, drugged and in agony, and I felt ashamed of myself. I inclined my head.
"You are right, of course. I should not have judged you. I apologize."
He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I have just apologized," I said, smoothing my skirts. "You were right and I was wrong. I spoke thoughtlessly. Shall I make amends, or do you forgive me?"
I waited coolly for his reply, but he simply stared, dumbfounded. He was shaking his head, his expression entirely astonished.
"Now I do not understand you. One minute you are passionately attacking me for my cold heart, the next you are craving my pardon."
I lifted my shoulder in a genteel shrug I copied from Fleur. "A lady's prerogative. We are widely believed to be the less logical sex."
"Not you," he said. "I am suspicious of you now."
I smiled guilelessly. "You have no reason to be."
"That I do not believe."
I did not reply and he moved on, rather reluctantly, I thought.
"Is there anything else I should know about Magda?"
I thought, then shook my head. "I have told you everything, as far as I remember. If I recall anything else, I shall write to you."
He rose and walked me to the door. "I will send the ars—powder," he amended hastily, "to Mordecai in the morning. As soon as he sends word I will let you know."
He paused, his hand curved around the knob.
"I am very impressed, my lady," he said quietly. "You turned up a piece of evidence that makes a needle in a haystack seem like a winning proposition. And you did not permit sentiment to dictate your actions. I know how easy it would have been for you to conceal this from me."
"It would not have been easy at all," I remarked, pulling on my gloves. "As you observed, I have the advantage of a clean conscience. I should like to keep it that way."
THE TWENTY-FIFTH CHAPTER
They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee, though I wish him dead.
—William Shakespeare
Richard II
The next day my spirits were low. I could not bring myself to question Val about the second bloody shirt or even scold him for failing to get rid of the stolen raven. I cringed every time Henry came near me, remembering his foul collection of French pornography. And I had a ferocious headache, the result of spending several hours copying my observations during the search into legible form for Brisbane's records. After my surprising success in Magda's rooms, he had sent word that he would require a full list of the contents of the house, particularly personal possessions. It was tedious stuff, and I strongly suspected he had requested it simply to keep me occupied with something dull while he had the more interesting task of taking the grey powder to Doctor Bent's for analysis.After three hours of writing, painstakingly listing the contents of every room I searched, I threw down my pen, spattering the page with a temperamental spray of ink. I had been cooped up in the study long enough. It was time for some physical labor to stretch my limbs and clear the cobwebs from my mind.
I instructed Aquinas to send boxes and tissue to Edward's room and give me the loan of one of the servants—anyone except Henry. I had no desire to be alone with the mad pornographer. To my surprise it was Magda who came, clinking her gold bracelets and swishing her taffeta petticoats. I cringed a little—it was the same red petticoat that I had found wrapped around the box of powder.
"Magda, I have decided to clear out Sir Edward's clothes and personal effects. I would like to box them all up and send them along to Lady Hermia's refuge. They should be able to make quite good use of them."
I was chattering, but Magda did not seem to notice. She simply shrugged and began shifting the stacks of shirts from the wardrobe. Without being told, Magda wrapped the garments into neat parcels, putting a shirt, collar and cuffs with each suit of clothes to make a complete ensemble. After a long moment of watching her, I remembered something I had meant to ask her for several days.
"Magda, what does it mean when there is a serpent in the tea leaves?"
Her inky eyes narrowed. "You have let another Gypsy read the leaves for you?"
"No, of course not. I was just wondering."
She regarded me a long moment, then shrugged.
"Sickness. Bad luck. Spiteful enemies."
"Oh," I said feebly.
The dark gaze narrowed still further. "Are you certain the leaves were not yours?" she demanded.
I gave her a thin smile as I lied. "Of course. But, I wonder, speaking of fortunes, why could you not tell Mr. Brisbane his fortune?"
Her hands did not hesitate but moved smoothly along as she wrapped the next shirt. "I cannot tell you, lady. He can."
We worked another minute in silence.
"Who is Mariah Young?"
There was a reaction at this, a tiny jerk of the hands and a bit of the paper tore. She smoothed it, regaining her composure. "I cannot tell you, lady. He can."
"But he won't."
"Then it is not my place," she said calmly. She was fetching hats now, crumpling paper to fill out the crowns.
I twisted one of Edward's neck cloths in my hands. "Magda, how can you be so stubborn! Don't you realize that I am only trying to help you?"
She continued to work deliberately and slowly, moving with a certain deft precision that I had often seen among the Roma. I moved closer, determined to make her understand.
"He means to see you hang for murder, do you hear me? He has the poison."
She turned, her dark eyes wide with surprise. "He took my arsenic?"
I groaned and dropped Edward's neck cloth to the floor. She bent to retrieve it, fluidly, with none of the creaking and snapping one would expect from a woman of her years. A life spent traveling had kept her supple and strong, stronger than I.
"It was arsenic, then. He thought so. He has sent it to a doctor to be tested."
I reached out and took her hand. It felt cool and wrinkled, like the top of a blancmange left too long in the larder.
"Magda, I know that you must have had some innocent purpose for the arsenic. I must believe that you wanted it for a cosmetic, a face cream. But Mr. Brisbane believes Sir Edward was poisoned. I cannot help you if you do not tell me the truth."
Her face was utterly blank. No emotion, just the calm, fatal acceptance of her race.
"I always
tell you the truth," she said. "Not all of it, not at once, but what I tell you is never false."
I nodded encouragement.
"I did not kill Sir Edward."
I felt my spine sag. I had never actually believed her guilty, but it was a profound relief to hear her deny it.
She looked at me curiously, her eyes snapping with emotion. "You know why I am unclean to my people. But you have never asked me why I went to Carolina's grave. It was because she called me."
My breath caught painfully in my throat. "Called you? Magda, how can that be?"
"I was sleeping, and I dreamed of her. She came to me and said that I must go to her, that she was in danger. I rose and I went to her. My brothers found me there, sitting on her grave with her body in my arms. My brothers understood, they knew that I had to protect her, but the taboo had been broken. I was unclean and I had to leave them."
Magda fell silent, but her words echoed in my head. Why had she felt the need to protect her dead child? The graveyard was a quiet country place, with no one to disturb her. And why should anyone want to? Granted, graverobbing had been a lucrative occupation fifty years before, but there were laws now, providing for the legal use of cadavers for medical study. Schools no longer needed to rely upon unsavory villains to retrieve the newly dead for their anatomical dissections.
But there were others, I thought with a thrill of horror, others who might have need of a fresh corpse, others who had no access to proper medical schools. I thought of my poor, misguided brother, and it was almost more than I could bear.
"Magda, did someone else remove Carolina's body from her grave before you reached the churchyard?"
She nodded and began to rock slowly, her arms crossed over her womb.
"I was too late to stop him disturbing her rest, but I chased him away. He could not take her."
I had read before, in lurid Gothic novels, of one's blood running cold. Until that minute, I had thought it an exaggeration. But as the implication of her words took root, a monstrous idea began to grow, and with it, a cold, creeping certainty.
"Did you have that arsenic because you intended to kill the man who defiled her grave?"
She looked directly into my eyes. "Yes. I waited. It is almost time for me to return to my people. I did not want to kill him and remain under your roof."
I clamped my hand around her arm and shook her hard.
"Do not speak. Do not say another word. Your intentions are enough to buy you a noose."
I stopped a moment, thinking with an icy clarity that should have surprised me.
"Are any of your brothers in London?"
"Jasper. He is at Hampstead."
Jasper, he would do. He was a horse dealer, and a good one. During the season, he could usually be found in London, peddling prime horseflesh to the pinch-purses who would not pay the prices at Tattersall's. I moved swiftly to the mantel, sweeping up the nearest bibelots.
"Take these," I ordered, thrusting the Sèvres candlesticks and the porcelain Pandora's box into her startled hands. "Go to Jasper. He will know where to sell them to get money for you to live on. I haven't any banknotes in the house and I dare not ask Aquinas. Once Jasper has gotten some money for you, get straight out of London. Go anywhere, but not into Sussex. Stay as far away from me and mine as you can, and above all, do not send word where you are. In a few months, you should be able to rejoin your people, up north would be best."
She tightened her grip on the pieces of porcelain, nodding slowly. "You understand that I would never harm you, lady."
I regarded her coldly. "You were prepared to poison a member of my family, my own kinsman. You have already harmed me."
She nodded sadly and turned to wrap the objects in paper. I instructed her to cushion them with waistcoats and shirts, and in a very few moments she was finished. She reached into her pocket and drew out a piece of knotted calico.
"Do you know what this is?"
I shook my head.
"It is a charm, made from the graveclothes of a dead Rom. This comes from Carolina. It is the strongest magic I can give you."
I took it with reluctant fingers. "Magda, I do not—"
"You will need magic. Because of him, the dark one. I cannot tell his fortune, but he brings death. He brings ruination and despair. I hear weeping when he walks and the screams of the dead echo in his shadow."
The words might have been a trifle melodramatic, but the effect was ghastly. Her voice was low and her eyes glowed conviction. Whatever she had seen, or thought she had seen in Brisbane, she believed it.
"Thank you," I said, clutching the small charm.
She nodded and moved heavily to the door, cradling her parcels.
"You will see me again, lady," she promised me solemnly.
"Not for a very long time, I hope," I said as the door closed softly behind her.
I opened my hand and stared down at the knot that carried so much powerful magic. And I tried to remember where I had seen one like it only recently.
THE TWENTY-SIXTH CHAPTER
Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs, and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of passion, For the fair, disdainful dame.
—John Dryden
"A Song for St. Cecilia's Day"
Perhaps the last activity to promise any diversion that night was an evening with my family. But almost as soon as the door closed behind Magda there was a knock at the door and I could hear the too-cheerful voice of the Ghoul."Julia, dear, are you in there?"
I was tempted, sorely tempted not to answer her. But I knew she would run me to the ground eventually.
"Yes, Aunt Ursula."
She entered, black skirts swishing, and surveyed the scene—me, woebegone and bewildered, surrounded by a load of Edward's things, half-packed and tumbled about the room.
"Oh, my dear girl! Why didn't you call me to help you? Packing up a loved one's effects can be so very trying."
Especially when one's laundress admits to wanting to kill your brother in the midst of it, I thought sourly.
"I thought it was time," I said.
"Of course you did. It is only one of the many tasks that you will have now that your first year of mourning is ended."
Trust the Ghoul to mark the anniversary of Edward's death when I had not. Really, she was a better widow to him than I was. I smiled feebly.
"Yes, I suppose so."
"After all, you will need new clothes to observe this new stage in your mourning."
I widened my eyes. "I beg your pardon, Aunt? I thought you expected me to observe strict mourning in perpetuity."
She gave me a sympathetic cluck. "Oh, no! Well, I admit I did think of it at first, but then I realized how much there would be to do if you put on half mourning. And I thought perhaps it might be best if you had something to occupy your days. Besides, there will be time enough to put your weeds back on when Simon passes."
She began to burrow through Edward's effects and I sat, trying to digest what she had just said. Naturally the arrangements of half mourning would appeal to her. There would be all sorts of doleful things to attend to, all manner of fresh new grimness to inflict upon me. I could well imagine what pleasure she would take in draping the house in purple and ordering new writing paper and candles. I opened my mouth to blast her, then stopped. Her intentions were appalling and her remark about Simon had been utterly cruel, but she was harmless enough. I complained loudly about her, but the truth was I minded her rather less as the months went by. Besides, one look at the wardrobe I had selected for my "half mourning" would likely put her into her own early grave.
I dragged my attention back to the Ghoul, who had been chattering happily the whole time, poking through Edward's bits and probably marking out something she would ask for as a "memento." That was another of her favorite tricks. No matter how far removed she had been from the deceased, she always asked for some small token to remember them by, usually the most expensive bibelot or costliest jew
el in the house. Few people had the courage or cruelty to resist her, with the result that she had amassed a collection of jewels and objets d'art to rival the queen's.
"And I told dear Hermia that I would be coming with you tonight."
I jerked to attention. "Tonight?"
"Yes, to Hermia's musical evening. Don't tell me you have forgotten," she said with a trill of laughter, sharp and brittle, nothing like Fleur's silver bells.
Of course I had forgotten. I had begged off of her oratory contest, pleading a headache, but Aunt Hermia was nothing if not persistent. She had sent me a note more than a week before regarding the musicale, a note I had thrust aside and promptly dismissed. Aunt Hermia's musical evenings were legendary within the family. Absences were rarely tolerated, and performances were strongly encouraged—or extorted if necessary. Occasionally other guests were invited, which made for hilarity and a boisterous evening. Other times it was just family, and those could be deadly. I wondered which this was to be and I was strongly inclined to send my regrets.
But I could not. I had missed the oratory contest and the last two musicales; a third and Aunt Hermia herself would come to Grey House to drag me out of it. Besides, I was not much enthused about spending another evening alone, reading and answering correspondence. For all their faults, my family were gregarious and animated, which I could not say for my books and letters. And as an added incentive, it was very possible that Val might be there. I longed to observe him without his being aware of it. He was so seldom at Grey House that Aunt Hermia's entertainment might be the only chance I would have to engage him.
And do what? I asked myself later as I pondered Morag's selections from my wardrobe. She had laid out a deep-necked, delicious violet velvet and a beautifully cut, tight crimson silk. I dithered between them, trying to imagine how I could possibly accuse my youngest brother of the attempted robbery of a new grave. Perhaps I could ask him to pass the gravy and make a dreadful pun…no, that would never do. I would simply have to go and keep my eyes sharp and my ears sharper. Perhaps I could delicately probe our family for their opinions on his sanity. It made me not a little nervous to think of sharing a house with a person capable of exhuming a young corpse simply to cut it open.
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