Lady Julia Grey Bundle

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  "You are sure you do not wish to come to Italy?" he joked bravely. "We have the sun almost the whole of the year. You do not have to search for it as you do in England."

  I opened my eyes and smiled at him, taking a moment to memorise the soft black hair touched with bronze, the noble profile, the gentle eyes staring into mine with such sadness, and perhaps the merest touch of relief.

  The wind rose a little just then, scudding a cloud over the face of the sun and throwing the courtyard into shadow.

  "You are shivering. Take my coat," he insisted, draping the garment over my shoulders. I murmured my thanks and took his arm, leading him toward the iron gate that led to the gardens.

  "You see, Alessandro," I began slowly, "you come from an old and proud and very dignified family. I too come from an old and proud family, but I am afraid we are a little short on dignity."

  He opened his mouth to make a polite protest, but I held up a hand. "Oh, do not, I beg you. I know my family for what we are. From the manner of our dress, our speech, our small eccentricities and our grand follies, we are odd. We do not fit the pattern of society, and as a result we are often talked of."

  He said nothing and I pressed on, gently.

  "I should not suit you, Alessandro, not truly. I keep a pet raven and I speak my mind and I associate with those who are beyond the pale of society, and yet I am very nearly the most conventional member of my family. People are still talking about my cousin Charles' appearance at a house party last month. He wore his wife's gown and demanded to be addressed as Carlotta."

  Alessandro choked back a laugh and I squeezed his arm. "You may think it amusing, but to us, he is family. We will not hide him in the cellars and pretend he does not exist. We will welcome him with open arms, and very likely give him the names of our dressmakers," I finished, smiling at my own little jest.

  Alessandro's brow puckered. "But surely such things are better left unknown. I too have the curious cousins, but we do not speak of them."

  "That is the difficulty, my dear. In your family you do not speak of them. In my family, we celebrate them. In Italy, one must always be conscious of la bella figura, of presenting one's best self. Among the Marches, we please ourselves and the devil take the rest."

  His brows lifted slightly and I patted his hand. "You see? I even shock you with my language. We would be very badly suited indeed. Besides," I said carefully, "I believe your father has plans for you. Exalted ones."

  There was a sharp intake of breath. "How did you know that?"

  I smiled, not looking into his eyes. His father's letter had been idiomatic and excessively difficult to translate. I had deciphered perhaps one word in five. But those words were enough. "It is not difficult to guess," I temporised. "Your father is a judge, is he not?" I hoped I had gotten the translation correct from the letter. Father's dictionary had been printed two centuries back and mice had nibbled a fair number of holes through the most useful words.

  Alessandro nodded, his lovely mouth turning sulky. "Si. He is an important man in Firenze, with much influence and power."

  "And he wishes you to be the same, in your time. A very natural ambition for a father, I think."

  Alessandro scuffed his shoe against a paving stone. "But should a man not be ambitious for himself?"

  "Of course. What is it you would like to do?"

  He dropped my arm then to spread his hands. Like most Italians he was incapable of speaking for any length of time without gesturing.

  "I also want to be a judge, to give justice, to have the power to influence people. But I want to want such things for myself. Why are you smiling at me?"

  "My dear Alessandro, what difference does it make if your father wants these things for you as well? If you want them, take them, and be happy. Life is either far too short or far too long to make yourself miserable."

  He said nothing as he considered this. I looked through the garden gate, marking the withered vines, the blind stone eyes of the statues, the sharp angles of the hedge maze. It was not grand or even particularly beautiful, but it was my home and I felt a rush of love for the old place so acute, so complete, I nearly wept.

  "Perhaps you are right," he said slowly.

  I turned back to him and assumed a brisk, governessy tone. It was time for the coup de grâce. "Of course I am. And I will tell you something else I am quite right about—you will need a wife who will understand you, who will present la bella figura and make you proud. I would imagine your father already has someone in mind," I said, widening my eyes innocently.

  "You are a witch," he grumbled. "How could you know this?"

  I gave a modest shrug, remembering how his father had described the girl in question. Una belleza perfetta. I wished Alessandro a lifetime of happiness with her. "It is only logical."

  He rallied, and attempted once more to change my mind. He seized my hands, drawing them to his heart. "I would give up everything for you, Giulia."

  I smiled at him gently. "But you must understand. I should never want a man to give up anything for me. I should want him to feel in winning me he has won the whole world. Now, go back to Italy, marry your lovely signorina, and have a good life. And when you are quite old and sitting on the terrace of your palazzo, sipping a fine chianti you have grown in your very own vineyards, I want you to think of me sometimes and smile mysteriously so that your grandchildren will demand to know what you are thinking of."

  He laughed then and reached out, as if to embrace me, then thought better of it and took my hand. "It was a beautiful dream," he said, his voice laced with resignation.

  "It was a beautiful dream indeed," I agreed.

  He raised my hand to his lips and kissed it, and when he had done, I pressed it to his cheek. Then, slowly, we made our way into the Abbey and went our separate ways.

  * * *

  It was destined to be a day of partings. I left Alessandro in the library, meaning to retire to my room to repair my toilette before luncheon. The wind had risen at the last minute, loosening hairpins and whipping colour into my cheeks. A few moments with my hairbrush and a pot of face cream were all I needed, but just as I set foot on the staircase I noticed Charlotte descending. She was dressed for travel and carrying her small portmanteau. She saw me and lifted her pointed little chin.

  "I mean to go," she warned. I blinked at her and she skirted around me, never slowing her pace. I followed her through the cloister and out to the inner ward, arriving just in time to see Aquinas appear.

  "The carriage is ready, Mrs. King," he informed her.

  "Good. The sooner I am quit of this bloody place the better," she muttered.

  Aquinas caught sight of me then and hurried to my side. "My lady, Mrs. King requested transportation to Blessingstoke. You were not to be found, and since the carriage was placed at Sir Cedric's disposal earlier, I thought it acceptable to extend the same courtesy to Mrs. King. His lordship left no instructions."

  I sighed. It was bad enough Cedric had left with Lucy and Emma. What would Father say when he learned I had let Charlotte go as well? Still, I was rather inclined to view the situation as one of his own making. "If Father wanted anyone detained, he ought to have said so. Besides, we have no right to hold anyone against their will. We are not the law."

  I had spoken softly, but Charlotte overheard this last part. She gave me a broad smile and extended her hand.

  I shook it, not quite willingly. Charlotte could be a likeable rogue, but she was insubstantial. She had recreated herself so many times I was not certain where her fictions left off and the woman began.

  Her smile deepened to one of genuine warmth. "Do not be like that. We got on well enough, didn't we? I am fond of you, my lady, for all your money and fancy ways," she said pertly.

  I returned her smile and inclined my head. "Mrs. King, I will wish you a pleasant journey."

  She gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh. "I am sure. But go I must. I would rather not meet your lover again."

  Her expressio
n was bland, but her eyes were sharp with malice and anticipation. She was waiting for me to sputter in outrage, to deny, to throw her out of the house in my fury.

  And in a flash of blessed inspiration, I realised why. The Tear of Jaipur.

  I turned to Aquinas. "Fetch Morag. Tell her to come at once." He withdrew and I smiled sweetly at Charlotte. "I shall be only too happy to permit you to leave, as soon as your bag and your person have been searched."

  The following minutes were not wholly pleasant. In spite of her ladylike demeanour and her delicate looks, she raged, she spluttered and cursed us all. She scratched and kicked and Aquinas sustained a rather nasty bite on his thumb. But at last we managed to lock her in the boot room with Morag. There were ominous sounds, bumps and thumps and all manner of swearing. After a very long interlude, Charlotte emerged, hair straggling down her back, clothes askew, clutching her portmanteau.

  "Nothing, my lady," Morag advised me, rolling down her cuffs and pinning them neatly into place. It was a testament to her efficiency and her brutality that she had not a hair out of place.

  "In that case, you are free to leave, Mrs. King. Farewell," I told her pleasantly.

  By way of reply she turned on her heel and fairly ran from the Abbey. Aquinas slammed the door behind her and the three of us stared at one another in bemusement.

  I glanced at the tall case clock. "Lord, I must fly. I shall be late for luncheon as it is. Thank you both. I know Mrs. King was a trial, but she is gone now and we need not think on her again. She is a thief and a liar and we are well rid of her."

  "And she didn't even leave a tip," Morag put in bitterly.

  THE TWENTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER

  And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot, And thereby hangs a tale.

  —As You Like It

  If that day was one of partings, the following was one of homecomings. Father and Brisbane returned just after tea, exhausted and in identically vile moods, although they seemed to have made up their quarrel after a fashion. They made straight for Father's study and the whiskey bottle in spite of the hour. Father poured out a large measure for them both, a daintier portion for me.

  "Aquinas informs me we have lost four guests," Father said mildly.

  I bristled a little at the implied criticism. "They were determined to go, Father. I had no authority to hold them." Brisbane's mouth opened and I held up a hand. "And I took the precaution of having Charlotte searched. The Tear of Jaipur was nowhere to be found, and I am certain Morag was painfully thorough. She must have cached the stone somewhere before she came to the Abbey."

  "And now I have missed the opportunity to follow her whilst she retrieves it," he said sourly.

  "Then you ought to have stayed with her," I returned. He raised a brow at the tartness of my tone, but said nothing.

  Father wagged a finger. "Enough. The fault is indeed ours, Brisbane. If we meant to keep everyone here, we ought to have seen to it before we went haring off to London."

  Brisbane's only reply was to take another deep draught of his whiskey. I turned to Father.

  "Where is the inspector? I thought he would return with you."

  Father smiled thinly. "He is warming his bottom by his own hearthside, my dear. He was pleased enough to take the body and the villain into custody and to take our word for which was which."

  "That cannot possibly be right. He ought to have come here, investigated properly, taken statements, asked questions," I trailed off, too indignant to finish.

  "Yes, he ought," Father agreed, draining the last of his whiskey. "But he did not. He is content to accept what Brisbane and I told him and leave matters at that. Ludlow confessed again, this time to the inspector. Our involvement is not required. The boy will swing for it at his own request."

  I said nothing. Father was pleased because it meant there would be little in the way of repercussion as far as the family were concerned. But it seemed deeply unsatisfying to me that it should all end thus. Ludlow was a murderer and deserved to be punished to be sure, but to be dispatched with so much haste and so little concern for his motives struck me as unjust. I could not like that Lucy had escaped so easily from bearing the consequences of her role in this tragedy. Then I thought of her life with Cedric and realised the consequences to her could hardly be worse.

  I left them then with their black moods and whiskey. They would be drunk as lords by dinner, I thought, and appropriately so. I turned the corner toward the staircase and nearly collided with Aquinas. He was coming from the direction of the kitchens, holding a festively wrapped box in his hands.

  "What have you there?" I teased. "My Christmas present?"

  He smiled. "No, my lady. It is a Christmas pudding. When Mrs. King stirred up the puddings for the family, she made one for each member of the house party, including herself. Before she left she asked Cook to send hers on."

  I felt a prickle along the back of my neck. It could not be so simple. "Why did she not take it with her?"

  "Mrs. King took only her portmanteau. She asked that her trunk be sent directly to her hotel and told Cook to tuck the pudding into her trunk before it was sent on. I have her direction. The maid has nearly finished packing her trunk. I meant to dispatch it today."

  I took the parcel from him, pricking my finger on the little sprig of holly Cook had tied neatly to the top. I ripped through ribbons and brown paper until I reached the pudding itself, firm and glistening, a masterpiece of the confectionary arts. The smell of fruit and spices rose from it, perfuming the air with Christmas.

  I took a deep breath and plunged my hand into the pudding. Nothing. I pushed further. My heart gave a great lurch when I pulled out a trinket, but it was only a coin, stirred in for luck and prosperity in the coming year. I pushed my fingers into the sticky mess one more time, willing it to be there.

  Aquinas said nothing through all of this. He merely stood, serenely, behaving as though it were the most natural thing in the world for his mistress to destroy Christmas puddings.

  I pulled out my hand.

  "My lady?" he asked. "Did you find what you sought?"

  I turned my hand over and opened my fingers. There on my palm lay the largest diamond I had ever seen, winking up at me through spiced crumbs and bits of currant.

  "I have indeed, Aquinas. May I introduce the Tear of Jaipur?"

  * * *

  Had I a better sense of the theatrical, I would have cleaned the jewel carefully and presented it to Brisbane with a flourish and a fanfare. But I knew time was of the essence. No sooner had I shown it to Aquinas than I gathered my skirts in my sticky free hand and dashed down the hall, cursing my corset as I ran, Aquinas hard on my heels. I flung open the door to the study.

  "I have it!" I cried. "And her direction as well."

  Father stared owlishly at me over his spectacles, but Brisbane surged from his chair, at my side in a heartbeat. He took the diamond, rubbing at the traces of pudding with his thumb. He sniffed at it, then poked a tentative tongue at the mess.

  "Pudding? She had it cooked in a Christmas pudding?" he asked. Emotions warred on his face, disbelief, elation, and a deeply felt satisfaction, I think. Father rose and came to look at the stone, clucking under his tongue.

  "It is a very fine thing, when it isn't covered in muck," he observed.

  I looked at Brisbane. "She told Cook to make certain it was packed in her trunk and sent on to her. Aquinas has the direction. She will not move without the Tear."

  "Unless she feels cornered," Brisbane said, taking out a handkerchief and carefully pocketing the diamond. "Aquinas?"

  Aquinas retrieved a slip of paper from the pocket of his coat. "A hotel in Southampton, my lord."

  "Southampton!" I exclaimed. "She has taken a page from Sir Cedric's book. She must mean to quit the country as soon as she has the jewel."

  "She will not have the chance," Brisbane said grimly.

  "I will summon the carriage, although I believe the last train t
o Southampton has already left Blessingstoke station, my lord," Aquinas put in.

  "I need a train to London," Brisbane corrected. "I must return the jewel for safekeeping before I pursue her."

  I shuddered at his tone. There was a grim determination there I had not seen in him before, and I felt suddenly rather sorry for Charlotte King.

  "Ah, in that case, if we make haste, it should just be possible," Aquinas said, withdrawing quickly to make the arrangements.

  "I shall go with you as far as the station," Father offered. "I must pay a call upon Fly in any event. He will want to know what Scotland Yard has said about the murder of Mr. Snow." His expression was doleful as he left us.

  When we were alone, Brisbane turned to me, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Well done," he said softly.

  The words were simple enough, but in that moment I was acutely aware of his physical presence.

  "Yes, well, if I hadn't happened to fairly run Aquinas down in the hall, I might never have discovered the jewel," I told him.

  He said nothing for a long moment. He merely stared at me, his dark gaze roving restlessly over my face as if memorising every feature. Time stretched out between us, and everything else, the sounds of the Abbey, the urgent knowledge that he must hurry to leave, all of it fell away. I felt stripped somehow. The moment was far more intimate than any of the kisses we had yet shared. I dropped my eyes, breaking the spell.

  He stepped closer. "I must go," he murmured. "I do not know when I will return."

  He was mere inches from me, so close I caught the scent of his skin.

  "Of course," I replied. With every word we moved closer to one another, not quite touching, but with only a breath between us. I stared at the buttons on his waistcoat.

  "Thank you," I said faintly.

  He bent his head toward mine, brushing his cheek against my hair. I heard him inhale deeply. "For what?"

  "Saving Father in Trafalgar Square."

  I knew in this moment he would not deny it. After a moment I felt him nod. I ran a finger along the silk of his sling. "I promise I shall not ask it again if you tell me the truth. Will you be quite all right?"