Silence in the Library

by Katharine Schellman

  “Of course,” Frank said, looking flustered. “I did not—”

  “Mr. Wyatt was unaware that we were arriving,” Lily put in, feeling obligated to rescue Frank from Mr. Page’s imposing stare. “When we were here yesterday, Lady Wyatt invited us to go riding, and of course, with the tragedy of Sir Charles’s death, no one remembered to—”

  “You were here yesterday?” Mr. Page broke in.

  Lily bristled a little at the interruption, but she decided to forgive him, considering the circumstances, and nodded. “Both Captain Hartley”—she gestured to Jack—“and I called on Lady Wyatt. I am Mrs. Adler.”

  “Mrs. Adler, Captain.” Mr. Page bowed, and his gaze fastened first on Lily, then on Jack as he straightened. “If you will permit a question: did either of you see Sir Charles during your visit?”

  Lily exchanged a glance with Jack. “Yes, we both saw him when we were here yesterday afternoon. That was when we engaged to ride with Lady Wyatt this morning.” She felt a pang of sympathy as soon as she said the words and turned to Frank Wyatt. “How is she?”

  Frank swallowed visibly. “I am not certain she has overcome the shock. But she will be devastated.” He glanced toward the stairs, his expression lost. “We all are.”

  “Regrettably, I do need to speak to Lady Wyatt,” the Bow Street officer said. “But I’ll only need a moment of her time. If you’d be so good as to ask her to see me?”

  Frank hesitated. “I am not sure that is … wise.” He glanced back up the stairs, then shook his head. “She is unlikely to come down, I am afraid. She and my father were very fond of each other, and she …” For a moment, an expression like irritation crossed Frank’s face, but it was quickly swallowed back into his general distress. “It seems she is not the sort of woman who bears up under difficulty.”

  A day before, Lily would have been surprised at the statement. Lady Wyatt had seemed exactly like the sort of woman who would handle difficulty with forbearance. But to lose a husband you cared for, and without even the warning an illness could provide …

  Lily closed her eyes, the reality of Lady Wyatt’s loss hitting her like a blow. But a moment later she felt Jack’s hand on her elbow, warm and comforting and understanding, and she opened her eyes. She couldn’t quite bring herself to smile at him, but he seemed to sense her gratitude, because he gave her arm a slight squeeze before releasing her.

  “I need only ask Lady Wyatt a few questions about last night,” Mr. Page said. “To have as clear a picture as possible of what happened. And if I do not ask now, I will have to return another day, which may be more difficult for the family.”

  “Very well,” Frank said, his voice as stiff as his posture. The expression he turned on the constable was not quite a glare, but it was certainly a warning. “As long as I have your assurance that you’ll make no mention of this preposterous theory that my father was killed deliberately. We are all distressed enough, sir. We don’t need any more reasons for grief.”

  The constable bowed. “I will certainly do everything in my power not to add to her distress.”

  “Then, of course, we should be leaving,” Jack said to Frank. “If there is anything we can do …”

  “Unfortunately, Captain, I must ask you both to wait a moment as well,” Mr. Page said. “As you and Mrs. Adler saw Sir Charles yesterday, it would be most helpful if I could have a moment of your time to hear your impressions of how he appeared. Perhaps you’d be so good as to answer a few questions while Mr. Wyatt fetches his stepmother?”

  Frank looked unhappy, but there was little he could do when both his guests readily gave their assent. He nodded, told them he would return as swiftly as possible, and, with a final warning glance toward the constable, hurried upstairs.

  As soon as they were alone, Mr. Page crossed his arms and took a deep breath before bringing his stern gaze to rest first on Lily, then Jack. “And how is it,” he asked, keeping his voice quiet, “that I find you yet again in such close proximity to a suspicious death?”

  “Bad timing,” Jack said, shrugging before reaching out a friendly hand. “Good to see you in any case, Page.”

  There was a glimmer of a smile in Mr. Page’s eyes as he shook the offered hand, and Lily couldn’t help but marvel at the friendliness of the gesture. When they had first met, neither Jack nor Mr. Page had been willing to see anything of value in the other, each of them caught up in a tangle of resentment and misunderstanding arising from the gulf between their different positions in the world. And Mr. Page’s opinion of Lily herself had been as far from flattering as could be. Only gradually had they come to feel anything like respect for each other. When the Harper affair had finally resolved with the murderer of three men arrested, Mr. Page had been willing to admit that both Lily and Jack—and Ofelia, Lady Carroway, whose practical mind Lily suddenly found herself missing immensely—had been vital to uncovering the truth.

  “And you, Hartley.” Mr. Page turned to Lily. “Mrs. Adler.”

  “Sir. Mr. Wyatt does not seem to think there is anything to be suspicious of,” Lily replied, keeping her voice low to match his. “Why did you not want him to know we are acquainted? I have known the Wyatts for years, and Frank trusts me. He might be more cooperative if we tell him you are known to us.”

  Mr. Page eyed them without answering for a moment, then, seeming to make up his mind, reached for the door behind him. “Come into the library.”

  Lily hesitated. “Is that where …?”

  “Yes.” The constable raised his brows. “Never say you’re becoming squeamish now, ma’am.”

  “Here, now,” Jack said, though there was little heat to his objection.

  But Lily had already lifted her chin and, meeting Mr. Page’s challenging gaze with her own defiant one, stepped through the door he was holding open.

  “What do you want us to see?” she asked, once all three of them were inside with the door closed behind them.

  “Mr. Wyatt may not think there’s anything suspicious, but I hope you’ll allow me to know more than he does,” Mr. Page said in clipped, professional tones, walking toward the windows. “Or at least, to have more reason to be suspicious than he has.”

  There was a heavy desk near one wall of windows. Mr. Page stopped next to it and gestured toward a spot Lily would rather have avoided looking at. One jutting corner was smeared with red-brown stains, which had dripped down the wooden leg beneath it. Below, a darker puddle had soaked into the expensive carpet. It was a jarring sight, especially with no other signs of struggle or disorder in the room. Lily swallowed.

  “The family would assume that he tripped, correct? And hit his head?” Jack asked.

  Mr. Page nodded. “He was found dead on the floor this morning. Wound to the head. This was what did it.” He gestured toward the bloody desk. “At least, that’s what seems obvious.”

  “But you doubt it?” Jack asked, squatting down to gaze at the unfortunate scene before them. Though he moved without hesitation, Lily was gratified to see that his expression was nowhere near calm; seeing death in the middle of a war was a far cry from being confronted with a puddle of blood in someone’s library, and Jack clearly thought so too.

  Mr. Page nodded. “I think it’s too tidy. My instincts say there is more under the surface here. But I’ve no way to prove anything, especially if these Wyatts keep me out of their life the way most of your class does.” His hands clenched into fists as he spoke, a rare moment of emotion for the stoic constable.

  Lily exchanged a quick look with Jack. He raised his shoulders in a quick shrug, then nodded. She nodded back. “What do you need from us, Mr. Page?”

  He couldn’t hide his surprise at the quick agreement. “Just like that? You’ll believe me and offer to help, with no more proof than my instincts?”

  “I am familiar with not being believed about something important, sir,” Lily said, and though her tone was mild, she couldn’t keep the pointed expression from her face. Mr. Page, who had been dismissive of her i
nsight more than once when they first met, flushed as she continued. “You know your business, and you have proved more than once that your instincts do not lead you astray.” She pursed her lips, then added, “Though they do sometimes bias you against widows of a certain class.”

  Jack let out a short bark of laughter, which he quickly smothered. “Beg pardon,” he said. “Not the time for humor, I know.”

  Mr. Page was smiling too, though the expression was more self-deprecating. “As you say, Mrs. Adler. I’ll be certain to hear Lady Wyatt out, you may be sure. But it’s not just instinct that makes me suspicious.”

  “What, then?” Jack asked, standing.

  Mr. Page hesitated, then gestured toward the fireplace. “One of the irons is missing.”

  Lily followed the motion of his hand, frowning. The stand of implements on the hearth was indeed missing a poker. The absence would never have struck her as odd—but as soon as Mr. Page pointed it out, it did. Everything about the room was tidy and organized, each book and knickknack in its place. For something to be missing was incongruous. And an implement like a poker wasn’t something that was inclined to break easily.

  “You think it was used for nefarious purposes?” Lily asked quietly.

  “It’s a possibility,” Mr. Page agreed quietly. “Though a difficult one to prove. But it’s enough to make me curious.” He cleared his throat, then pulled a small memorandum book from his pocket, flipping through a few pages. “Mr. Wyatt is fetching his stepmother at the moment. Perhaps you’d be willing to stay while I speak with her, Mrs. Adler? I imagine she’ll feel more comfortable with you than with me.”

  “Of course,” Lily said, surprised at the request. As grateful as Mr. Page had been for her help in the past, it had taken more than a little effort to convince him to accept it. For him to now seek out her assistance, and Jack’s, must mean he was convinced indeed that his instincts were correct—and convinced that the members of the Wyatt family would do their best to hide the truth from him.

  Her suspicions were confirmed as Mr. Page glanced at the door, then lowered his voice even further. “For now, what can you tell me of the Wyatt family?”

  He was looking to both of them, and Jack shrugged. “Just met them for the first time yesterday when I accompanied Mrs. Adler on her visit.”

  “I have known them for years, except for Lady Wyatt. Mr. Frank Wyatt is my father’s godson, and they are quite close,” Lily said, moving slowly around the room as she spoke, her gaze traveling over every object there without settling in any one spot. “Sir Charles and my father have long been acquainted, but before yesterday, I had not seen any of the family in years.” She swallowed, suddenly feeling a surge of emotion, and grasped the edge of the mantelpiece to steady herself. “I can hardly believe he is truly gone.”

  “And you called yesterday because …?”

  Lily grimaced. “Because my father didn’t want to. Sir Charles and Lady Wyatt married recently, and I was calling to pay my family’s respects, offer our best wishes, that sort of thing.” She glanced up, shaking her head. “My father does not approve of second marriages, so I was dispatched in his place.”

  “And then you met Lady Wyatt?” Mr. Page asked, his fingers steepled together as he tapped them thoughtfully against his lips. “What did you think of her? And of the young Mr. Wyatt?”

  “I know Frank from childhood, though he was several years my senior and away at school a great deal of the time.” Lily shook her head. “He was always the sort who aspired to being a popular man about town, and it seems he has achieved that goal. Lady Wyatt was charming and, from what I could see, devoted to her husband.”

  “Which did not seem to endear her to her husband’s son,” Jack put in. He shook his head, grimacing. “They were quite the pair.”

  “Sniping at each other,” Lily explained, seeing the question in Mr. Page’s expression. “It surprised me in Frank. But there didn’t seem any real harm in it. I think there is very little difference in their ages, which could account for it. She was injured yesterday, not badly I think, and while Mr. Wyatt seemed annoyed, he was also perfectly helpful.”

  “And did you see Sir Charles?”

  “Briefly,” Lily said, hesitating, her gaze darting back toward the blood at the other end of the room. She shivered, tucking her gloved hands around her elbows for comfort before glancing at Jack.

  “He seemed well enough,” Jack said slowly. “In full command of himself and his household, except for his nephew.”

  “And except for his gout,” Lily added.

  “A nephew?” Mr. Page’s brows rose. “I hadn’t heard that there was a nephew as well.”

  “Mr. Percy Wyatt. I had met him only once before yesterday, when we were still children, and know him not at all. Except that now I know he steals carriages from other pedestrians,” Lily said, though there was no heat in it. With a man dead, Percy Wyatt snatching their carriage was hardly of consequence. She glanced around the room again, this time looking anywhere but at the blood by the desk. She was going to have to tell her father that his friend was dead.

  “He gambles,” Jack added. “And he is a very poor thief. At least when Mrs. Adler is around to catch him. And he doesn’t live here, though he and Mr. Frank Wyatt seem to be friends.”

  Lily listened with only half an ear. How was she going to break the news to her father when she could barely believe it herself?

  There was so little about the library that was remarkable. Comfortable chairs before the fireplace, two walls of books. A wheeled chair sat in one corner; Lily eyed it, puzzled, before she recalled Sir Charles’s gout. Such an affliction often caused swelling in the knees and feet, and a wheeled chair would likely prove a comfort on days when the sensation was particularly painful.

  The desk … She shuddered and looked away again, her eyes going to the windows beyond it. The curtains were only partly open, which made sense. If a maid had started to air out and clean the room, she would have gone to the curtains first, then been interrupted as soon as she caught sight of Sir Charles’s body on the floor.

  “Theft? I’m going to need you to elaborate on … Mrs. Adler, what are you doing?”

  Lily was walking slowly over to the windows. Something had just struck her as odd—but what was it? She looked round once more, hoping something would jog the thought loose, and her eyes fell on the hearth where she had just been standing.

  “Mrs. Adler?”

  That was it. There was a streak across the hearth, as though someone had begun wiping the ash and soot away before abandoning the task.

  “Look,” Lily said quietly, pointing. Both men came to where she was standing, frowning at the hearth.

  “Someone did a poor job of cleaning,” Jack said, then broke off. “No, that makes no sense. If a maid had been cleaning the fireplace yesterday, she would have finished the task.”

  “And the one this morning didn’t even finish opening the curtains before discovering Sir Charles,” Mr. Page said, turning to look back at the half-covered windows.

  “She certainly would not have begun cleaning the hearth.” Lily stepped closer. “Was something dragged across it?”

  “Sir Charles cannot have done it, after he collapsed,” Jack said. “And look at this.” He reached out as though to touch something on the carpet, then drew his hand back, looking uneasy. “Unless I mistake my guess, those are spots of—”

  “Blood.” Lily crouched down to look at them as well, swallowing back a wave of nausea.

  “And yet Sir Charles supposedly collapsed near the desk,” Mr. Page said, his voice rising slightly with excitement as he strode briskly toward them. “Which was how he hit his head. So why was someone by the … Mrs. Adler, what are you doing?”

  Lily was twisting her neck to look in the fireplace, and as she did, something white behind the lintel caught her eye. She reached in, grabbing a corner of it, and tugged. “There is something stuck in here, some kind of fabric.” She tugged again, then let out a star
tled yelp as whatever it was came free and tumbled into the fireplace with the clanging sound of metal and a shower of soot.

  Jack grabbed Lily’s arm and hauled her to her feet while Mr. Page stepped quickly back. All three of them were coughing as the door to the library flew open.

  “What the devil?” Frank Wyatt demanded, staring at them from the doorway. Behind him stood Percy Wyatt—newly arrived, judging by the hat and gloves clutched in his hands. Lily, her arm still clasped by Jack while dust and soot swirled around them, tried to think of some explanation. “Mrs. Adler, what are you … And Mr. Page, what is the meaning of …”

  He trailed off, staring toward something at their feet with confusion that was slowly growing into horror. Lily followed the line of his gaze.

  At her feet lay a pile of toweling that had clearly once been white. Now, though, it was stained and discolored—not just with soot from being stuffed in the chimney, but with the reddish brown of blood that had not yet had time to dry. And sticking out of the bundle was the missing iron poker.

  CHAPTER 6

  For long moments there was deep silence in the room, broken only by the swish and trickle of soot that still fell from the chimney. Lily was suddenly grateful for Jack’s steadying hand at her elbow. Gathering her composure, she met the two pairs of eyes staring at her from the doorway.

  “I am terribly sorry, Mr. Wyatt,” she said, amazed by the steadiness of her own voice. “But I am afraid someone stuck that up your chimney.”

  Frank and Percy both gaped at her. “But what—” Percy began.

  “Step back please, madam, sir.” Mr. Page stepped forward, herding Lily and Jack out of the way. His voice was that of an officer of the law once more, serious and impersonal.