"Tell Desmond he needn't bother to wear livery as he will no longer be going out or greeting callers. A plain suit should be sufficient for tending Sir Simon. Father will want him in something serviceable at the Abbey in any case."
"Very good, my lady. Will you be going out this morning?"
"Yes, I'm afraid I am."
A question flickered in his eyes, but he suppressed it.
"Tell Diggory I will need the carriage in an hour. There is no need for Henry to come. He will have more duties here now that Desmond has been shifted to the sickroom. Call me when Doctor Griggs is ready to leave, will you? I should like a word with him."
Aquinas bowed from the neck and turned back to the chafing dishes as I left the breakfast room. I stepped back into the room.
"Aquinas, don't think me very odd, but I was wondering, what happens to all the food? What the family does not eat, I mean."
"The meats are turned into luncheon for the staff, my lady. Kidney pie, ham croquettes, that sort of thing."
"And the eggs?"
"The eggs, kedgeree, rolls and toast are given to the poor."
"Thank God for that," I murmured.
"I beg your pardon, my lady?"
"Never mind, Aquinas. Never mind."
I should have dressed with care that morning, arming myself for battle. But I was in a hurry to speak with Griggs before he quitted Grey House, and in the end I simply stood still while Morag dragged on something green she had unearthed from the wardrobe.
"Oh, feathers," I said, peering into the looking glass at my sallow skin. "You have gone and picked the one colour that I could not stand up to today. Best hand me some of that rose salve of Madame de Bellefleur's."
She passed over the little jar. "Only a thumbnail's worth left, I should say. You'll be wanting more of that, I wager."
I rubbed a bit into my cheeks and lips. There was immediate improvement, although I was beyond real help.
"I cannot ask Madame de Bellefleur. What is in it? Could you make it?" Morag often pottered about the stillroom, concocting soaps and cosmetics and even proper perfumes. She had never made anything as sophisticated as this rose salve, but it was certainly worth an effort.
Morag gave it a sniff, then rolled a bit between her fingers. "Aye. Bit of beeswax, I should think. Some crushed rose petals. Cannot say for the rest, but I could try."
"Then save the rest of it. You'll want that for comparison." I smoothed my hair and gave a final tug to the waist of my jacket. The green seemed almost regal now, or at least less like a weedy pond. I gathered up my reticule and umbrella.
"Morag, I will be going out as soon as I have spoken with Doctor Griggs. You may have the afternoon free to do as you like."
She blinked at me, a little suspicious. "My afternoon is Wednesday."
"I am aware of that, Morag. But my wardrobe is in order and I shouldn't think it would take you very long to tidy up in here. You might see if there is anything Sir Simon requires if you go out."
"Aye, my lady." She did not move, and I stared at her, faintly exasperated.
"Is there something wrong?"
She shook her head slowly, but her expression said otherwise.
"Well you look mightily put out to me, although I cannot think why. If there is a problem, we will have to discuss it later. I am late."
"My lady." She bobbed me a curtsey, rare for her, and said nothing more. But I caught her look as I turned away and it was speaking.
My interview with Doctor Griggs was brief and unhappy. In short, Simon's heart was beginning to fail and Griggs had prescribed laudanum to ease his pain and help him to sleep. He thought it might only be a matter of a very few weeks now and encouraged me to spend as much time with him as I could.
"Although, I see you are dressed to go out," he finished with a touch of disapproval.
A flash of anger rose and I beat it back with an effort. It took all the control I possessed not to tell him exactly what I thought of him. I dared not, for Simon's sake. I had little doubt that Doctor Bent could give him better care, but what difference would it make now? Simon was comfortable with Griggs, he did not see him for what he was. To me, he was anathema. His stupid prejudices, his blindness, his thoughtless dismissal of me as a mere woman…he represented everything I hated most in an Englishman. Narrow, biased, unfeeling and snobbish. But snobbery was a two-edged sword for the daughter of an earl.
I drew myself up and fixed him with the coldest look in the repertoire Aunt Hermia had passed on to me.
"My business is my own, Doctor," I said, stressing his title. If there was one thing Griggs hated, it was being reminded that he was little better than a tradesman.
He gawped at me, his jowls wagging. He would have liked to have told me what he thought of me as well, I imagined. But he did not dare, either. The power of the March name cut too deeply for him to risk that. Attending Sir Simon Grey on his deathbed was simply another feather in his professional cap.
"I meant no offense, my lady. I simply thought that Sir Simon should have the comfort of his family at so critical a time."
I checked the clasp of my reticule and smoothed my jacket.
"You have just said that you gave him laudanum. He will be sleeping. He will not know if I am out or not," I pointed out reasonably.
"But if he should wake, he would doubtless welcome the sight of your face," he put in. There was something sly in his manner, something I did not like. "Besides, I am sure it is not my place to say, but there is beginning to be some talk…"
He let his voice trail off suggestively, intimating God only knew what. But I had some idea. I had relaxed my vigilance in my calls to Brisbane's rooms. I had not bothered with incognita when I called at Madame de Bellefleur's. Anyone might have seen me and put the worst construction upon it. And Griggs was a popular enough figure in society thanks to his penchant for the latest gossip. It would not have been long before some patient poured the story into his eager ears.
I fixed him with the sweetest smile I could, taking care that it did not reach my eyes.
"I have no doubt of that, Doctor. There are always those unfortunates who have nothing better to do than gossip about their betters."
A dull red flush crept up his cheeks. I doubt anyone had ever had the temerity to speak to him so. I picked up my umbrella and gave it a little twirl.
"You see, Doctor, aristocrats are rather like tightrope walkers. We simply do not notice what is beneath us."
I swept out, leaving him speechless in my wake. It was one of the most childish things I had ever done. But one of the most satisfying, I thought as I settled myself in the carriage. Most satisfying, indeed.
THE THIRTY-FIRST CHAPTER
I have unclasp'd To thee the book even of my secret soul.
—William Shakespeare
Twelfth Night
I was regretting the jam I had eaten at breakfast by the time Mrs. Lawson waved me up to Brisbane's rooms. It sat bitter on my tongue, and as I rapped and waited for the door to open I sucked a cachou to sweeten my mouth.Monk admitted me at once. "Good morning, my lady," he said, civilly enough.
I gave him my warmest smile. "Good morning, Monk. How are you today?"
His expression was correct, but his gaze dropped instantly to my bruised lip.
"Better than most, my lady."
It was an effort, but I held my bright smile fixed in place.
"Mr. Brisbane is not expecting me, but I wonder if he could spare me a few minutes of his time?"
Monk stepped backward and gestured for me to enter.
"I shall see if Mr. Brisbane is available to callers, my lady."
He gestured for me to take a chair and I sat, willing my knees to stop trembling. I was frankly nervous at seeing Brisbane, and I wished fervently that I had worn something more flattering, something to give me a bit of dash and a bit of confidence. Yes, I should definitely have worn the scarlet walking suit. Either that or taken a very stiff whiskey before I had come out.
So deep was I in my musings, I did not hear Brisbane come in—it was only a moment later and he was treading like a cat. Or a Gypsy. I remembered from childhood how soft-footed they were. From years of eluding trouble, I imagined, but I suppose it served Brisbane well in his chosen occupation. He took the chair opposite mine and simply regarded me, saying nothing. There were a few bruises from the fight darkening his jaw, and a little cut on his lower lip that I was very much afraid had not come from the fight at all. I felt a wave of heat break over my face, doubtless leaving me unattractively ruddy under his scrutiny.
"It was good of you to let me in today," I began, my voice a good deal steadier than it had a right to be. The tips of his nostrils were flaring white—not a good sign. I had always been undone in the presence of angry men.
"I did not," he pointed out coolly. "Monk did."
"Ah, yes. Well, I suppose it would be too much to ask for you to make this easy for me. Why did you agree to see me, since you so obviously do not wish to?"
He lifted one shoulder in a bland shrug. "Curiosity. It killed the cat and no doubt it will be my undoing, as well."
"I suppose that is fair enough. What do you wish to know?"
He gave a short, mirthless laugh that was probably intended to make me feel stupid. It succeeded wildly. "Everything. To begin, how could you, a woman of such obvious intellectual gifts, not realize the danger of a Gypsy camp?"
"I did realize the danger. That is precisely why I went."
He passed a hand over his eyes. They were shadowed today, and I wondered if he felt another headache coming on.
"I do not understand you. Most women would go fleeing in the opposite direction of such a situation."
"Oh, and so would I, under other circumstances. But you see, I did not have a choice."
Brisbane's eyes were sharp and wolfy. "Because you wanted to find the box before I did."
"Yes. Or no, I mean I wanted the box, but I went to find you, really."
"To ask me to give up on Magda, I expect."
"No, of course not," I said, growing exasperated. Why were men so impossibly obtuse at times? "If I were so worried about poor Magda, I would hardly have told you where to find her. Come to think of it, why did you even tell me that you were making for the camp?"
"Because I did not think you would be daft enough to follow me," he returned, his temper rising.
"But how else was I supposed to make certain that you were all right?"
He went quite still then. I would have sworn that even his pulse did not beat in that quiet moment. "Explain," he said finally, his voice quite low.
"As you pointed out, Roma camps can be dangerous places. I thought you meant to tear off and accuse Magda of something dreadful—something her menfolk would not stand for. To be honest, I would not have given a farthing for your chances if you hadn't known the language. As it was, you were really quite lucky, you know. Magda's family are very private, even for Gypsies. They don't mix very much with their own kind."
He was staring at me with an expression that would have been dull-witted on any other man. I waited while he gathered his thoughts and closed his mouth.
"Let me see if I understand you," he began slowly. "You went along because you thought you were on a mission of rescue?"
"Something like that. I mean, I doubt Val and I could have done much against a tribe of angry Roma, but we do know Magda's family. We could have vouched for you, that sort of thing. I rather think they feel they owe me something for taking care of Magda, which is utterly backward when you think about it, because they are the ones who turned her out without so much as a cook pot—Mr. Brisbane? Brisbane, are you quite all right? You look very queer."
He rose and went to the window. He was thinking, apparently something too electric to share. I shrugged and sucked another cachou, waiting for him to get hold of himself.
After a minute or so he resumed his chair. "Forgive me, my lady. I was simply struck by the irony."
"Irony?"
He waved a hand. "Never mind. I sent word to Mordecai about Mrs. Birch's observations. He wrote back this morning. He seems quite encouraged by her information and tells me that he hopes to have discovered the source of the poison within a few days. Then we shall be one step closer to finding our man."
"Our man. You still think the murderer a man?"
He shook his head slowly. "No. I meant the word figuratively. Poison is often a woman's weapon, and the method…it speaks of love gone wrong, does it not?"
I nodded slowly. "I suppose the brothel, then. Perhaps he had a relationship with a particular girl…"
Brisbane was watching me closely.
"Do not think that I enjoy this, Mr. Brisbane, but it is only logical."
"Yes. Especially when you know the purpose of the box."
He reached again into his pocket, this time producing the little porcelain box that was the source of so much trouble. It was rectangular, fitted with gilt or perhaps even gold fastenings. It was slim and elegantly proportioned, but the colours of Pandora's portrait were rather garish. Gilt, I decided finally.
He opened it, but it was empty. "Do you know what this is?"
I shrugged. "As you said before, a rather tacky souvenir of my husband's distasteful adventures."
He placed it carefully on the table. "It was designed to hold condoms—contraceptive sheaths."
I stared at the pretty, tawdry little box. "You mean that that actually—"
"Held the murder weapon. Yes. At least I am as certain as I can be. I intend to have Mordecai test it eventually. Perhaps traces of the poison remain."
The sweet cachou turned sour in my mouth. "Put it away. For God's sake."
He did, slipping it into his pocket.
"How did you persuade Jasper to get it from Magda?"
"I offered him money."
I lifted a brow at him. "Is that really all it took?"
"She had given it to him to pawn. It saved him a trip. My greatest trouble was persuading him that I only wanted the box. I almost had to take those bloody candlesticks as well."
I looked up at him and he was almost smiling. He knew I would not take offense at his language, and I think he was trying in some small way to put things right between us. I was still miserable, but not as bleakly so as I had been a moment before.
"I am sorry, you know. Clearly you meant to keep your Gypsy blood private and I blundered in where I had no right to be."
He waved an indifferent hand. "Perhaps I did not mean to keep it so private as I thought I did." He paused, canting his head at my incredulity. "You're blinking at me like a rather curious owl."
"Forgive me. You seemed angry enough at me last night for discovering your secret."
"I was angry…for a variety of reasons. Not the least because I distrusted your motives. I thought you meant to take the box before I could retrieve it."
"Oh. Well, I hope you understand now that that was not my intention."
"I do." His gaze was firm and clear, no shadow of a headache, I thought now. "But you are quite correct. I told you where I intended to be. I opened myself to the possibility that you would find me speaking Romany."
"Quite fluently, I should say." I caught my breath, comprehension beginning to dawn. "Magda knew, didn't she? The first time she met you, she spoke Romany because she intended you to know that she had discovered your secret. She called you a posh rat."
Brisbane's eyes gleamed. "The word is poshrat," he corrected me, giving it the sa
me inflection Magda had used. "It means half-breed. And yes, she knew me well enough for what I was. My mother's people all bear a strong resemblance to one another." His mouth twisted into a bitter little smile. "You will note that I do not resemble His Grace of Aberdour in any respect."
"Thank God for that! Is that why he looked at you so viciously when you played the violin?"
He nodded. "It reminds him too much of the wild little half-breed he took in. Especially when I play Romany music."
I felt my heart quicken. "The second piece?"
"Yes. Did you like it?"
"I did." I swallowed thickly. "I had never heard it before, but I should have known it for what it was. I heard enough Gypsy music as a child."
He waved a lazy hand. "So, you see? I must not have intended to keep my secret from you for very long."
His gaze narrowed and focused now, tightly upon my face, my eyes, and I began to feel flustered. I have seen the terrible excitement of chickens when a fox comes creeping too near the hen yard. I felt my feathers beginning to ruffle.
I cleared my throat primly. "You may be certain that I shall keep it."
"It does not matter. One of these days my great-uncle will get too old or too tipsy and that particular cat will come streaking out of the bag. And I will be finished in society."
"You do not know that." I felt suddenly argumentative. I did not like him like this, quiet and acquiescent. Combative and difficult was his normal manner. I had grown accustomed to it. "Many Jewish men are accepted in society. Why not a Roma?"
"The Jewish men in society all have a great deal of money that they are happy to lend to their impoverished peers."
Lady Julia Grey Bundle Page 28