The Lady Julia Grey Bundle (69 page)

I whirled and left the room, thoroughly put out with his peremptory attitude. I stalked to the Galilee Tower and
rapped sharply, my temper rising. Brisbane answered the door on the first knock, still dressed in trousers and shirt, his dressing gown thrown over his shoulders. “What has happened?” he demanded without preliminaries.

“Henry Ludlow has confessed to murdering Mr. Snow. Father has gone to fetch Aquinas to lock Ludlow in the wine cellar,” I said. His eyes narrowed in suspicion and I retreated a step.

“And how exactly do you come to know all of this?” he asked, his jaw tight.

I could sense his anger simmering and I thought of Father, ordering me about as if I were still a child. I thought of Brisbane, beckoning me toward him with one hand and shoving me back with the other. And I decided I had had enough of overbearing men.

I stepped forward, drawing myself to my full height and lifting my chin. “I know because I went to his room to continue this investigation, the investigation I was charged by my father to undertake. And because of my actions, a murderer has confessed and justice will be satisfied.” I put my hands on my hips, not caring if I sounded like a Billingsgate fishwife. “Yes, it was a dangerous thing to do, but as it seems to have escaped your attention, I will remind you I am above thirty years of age, of sound body and mind, and in control of my own fortune. That means,” I said, moving closer still, poking his chest for emphasis, “I am mistress of myself and I answer to
no one.
Not you, not even Father. I am fed up to the back teeth with being wrapped in cotton wool and treated like an invalid.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I shouted him down. The floodgates were opened now, and nothing would stem the flow of my indignation. “I spent more than five years in a marriage that smothered me. I was buried alive in that house, dying slowly, and I did not even know it. And just when I thought I might learn to really live, I nearly lost my life.” His expression changed; something flickered in the depths of his eyes. “I know you blame yourself for that, and so long as you do, there will never be anything between us except regret. Well, I do not mean to live my life haunted by the ghosts of what might have been. I intend to live every day just as I please, and right now it pleases me to do this.”

Before he could utter a word I reached up, took his head between my hands and pulled him to me. He had kissed me twice before, both times at his behest, and I had been merely a willing participant. But this embrace was mine, and from the moment I touched him I made certain he knew it. I pushed him back against his door, using him as I liked. I was insistent, demanding, taking more than I gave. But when he made to circle me with his good arm, I broke away, holding him at bay.

I straightened my dressing gown and looked at him coolly, lofty as a duchess. “There. Now you have been used at
my
whim.”

He put out a hand to me, but I stepped sharply out of his reach. “No. I want you to think on what I have said. And if we meet again, it must be on equal ground, or I will have none of it.”

I gestured toward the carpet at his feet. “You will want
to leave that shirt for the maid to mend. I am sure the sleeve can be put back on.”

He said nothing, did not even incline his head. He merely stood, staring after me as I left, his expression inscrutable. I could not imagine what he was thinking, and for the first time, I did not care. I was determined, well and truly, to be my own woman, to stand on my own two feet and to employ whatever talents and abilities I possessed in some useful occupation.

And I would be treated as an equal, or not at all, I told myself fiercely as I made my way back to my bedchamber. I threw myself onto the bed, astonished at my own ferocious will and my resolve to be mistress of myself. But even this new determination was not enough to stop the slow slide of tears onto my pillow.

I woke early the next morning, having slept a scant few hours, and badly, as well. A dull headache lurked behind my eyes and I snapped at Morag more than once as she performed my toilette. She got her own back by yanking at my hair with the brushes and muttering under her breath about what a trial her life was.

“Not a word of appreciation,” she grumbled, jerking the brush through a snarl of hair. She twisted and pinned ruthlessly, jabbing pins into my head. “And does not even look behind herself to see what a mess she’s made, leaving her dressing table a right disaster and her pockets full of rubbish.”

I twisted round in the chair to look at her. “What rubbish?”

She pulled my head back around and shoved in another
pin. “There. You still look a horror, but at least you’re a tidy horror.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out Aunt Hermia’s bundle of jewels. “I found these in your pocket yesterday. Would have served you proper if I’d kept them, it would.”

I took them from her and made a note to return the jewels to Aunt Hermia’s room before breakfast. There would be little enough else to do, I thought ruefully. Before dawn I had risen to push aside the draperies and watched Father and Brisbane depart in a closed carriage, Henry Ludlow positioned firmly between them. With the murderer confessed, Father had decided to present the matter to Scotland Yard as a
fait accompli.
He meant to call at the vicarage en route to the station to break the news to Uncle Fly himself. It would be an unpleasant task, but no worse than Uncle Fly’s. He must write Snow’s sisters and tell them of their loss. I hoped they would grieve for him. I did not like to think of him unmourned.

The body of Lucian Snow followed the carriage on a farm wagon, stowed in a makeshift coffin draped with a length of blue fabric. Someone, perhaps Aquinas, had fashioned a wreath to pin to the fabric. With a shudder, I realised it was the white heather intended for Lucy’s wedding flowers. I had turned away then, desperately sad, my heart feeling too full to sit within my chest.

The rest of the household felt the same, if the faces at the breakfast table were anything to judge. Charlotte was absent, doubtless sulking in her rooms, but the rest of the party had assembled, a sad, dwindled little group after the
events of the past few days. Hortense attempted to make conversation, but no one was terribly interested and eventually she lapsed into silence, probably relieved. Emma and Lucy, looking a good deal stronger than the previous day, were quietly picking at their eggs, while Cedric looked utterly bewildered. I felt rather sorry for him. All this time, harbouring a cousin in his employ who was capable of such viciousness. Lucy rose to the occasion, bringing a plate of eggs and kidneys from the sideboard and coaxing him to eat. I had wondered how their betrothal would stand after Ludlow’s revelations, but as I watched them, noting her gentle ministrations, I wondered if Ludlow had not told the whole truth to my father and Brisbane.

I pulled a piece of toast to bits, thinking quickly. Without me present to question him, he might well have omitted any reference to Lucy at all in his motive for killing Snow. His envy would have provided motive enough, and with a confessed murderer in custody, no one would question him too closely. The authorities, and Father as well, would be grateful enough to have the matter closed before it was even officially investigated. I would not be asked to provide any sort of statement under oath so long as he confessed before other witnesses, an eventuality I was certain Father would ensure. Considering Ludlow’s fondness for Lucy and his chivalrous nature, it made sense he would hold his tongue. He had deplored Snow’s blackmailing of her. By going to the gallows without disclosing her role in the affair, he ensured she would live out her life unmarred by scandal, her prosperity and happiness pro
viding an expiation for his guilt. I still wondered about the poisoned brandy, but no one spoke of it. I heard from Aquinas that Father had decided Ludlow must be responsible, and since the fellow had refused to speak further, that crime would likely be attributed to him as well, and all but forgot in the greater horror of a clergyman’s murder.

Sir Cedric interrupted my musings then, rousing himself to demand coffee. It was Aquinas’ duty, but he was absent, retrieving another rack of toast from the kitchens. In his place, Lucy sprang to her feet, fetching the coffeepot and pouring out. She was smiling, but there was a new anxiety I had not seen in her eyes before, and I knew in that moment I had just had a glimpse into what the rest of her life would be: catering to the demands of a capricious, temperamental man who would always keep her firmly in his debt because he had married her in spite of the scandal that was sure to break over our heads like a thunderstorm.

Lucy’s hand shook a little and a drop spilled on the saucer. She darted a quick glance at Cedric, who sighed deeply.

“You are clumsy this morning, my dear,” he commented. He smiled a little, but there was no blunting the barb. She flinched and apologised, using her own napkin to wipe the saucer clean. No one else at the table seemed concerned with their little drama, but as I glanced about I noticed Emma’s eyes were too firmly fixed on her plate, two harsh spots of colour high on her cheeks, a clear sign she was angry. She must have heard every word, and she must see as clearly as I did what the future held for her sister.

Perhaps she felt my gaze upon her, for she looked across
the table at me then; our eyes met and held a moment. I gave her a small, sympathetic smile. She pressed her lips together and dropped her eyes immediately. I returned to my breakfast, chatting quietly with Hortense as she sampled her hot fruit compote. And every time I glanced back at Emma, she was staring at her plate, cutting her ham into tiny shreds.

A
fter breakfast I returned to my room to look in on Florence. She was busy savaging my favourite set of hairbrushes while Morag knitted by the fire. I left them to it and decided to take a turn about the Abbey, walking slowly from wing to wing. Everyone had scattered to their own pursuits and I was glad of it. I was dreadful enough company for myself; I should have been worse if I had been forced to make polite conversation. Just as I passed the lesser drawing room Plum came barrelling through the doors, his complexion high. He brushed past me, so closely that he dropped his sketchbook.

“Plum, you will want this,” I called after him, but he did not turn. He simply strode off in the direction of his room,
and when I glanced into the chamber he had just quitted, I understood why.

Charlotte was sitting alone by the fire, pensive. I stooped to retrieve the sketchbook, then rapped lightly at the open door. Charlotte nodded at me to enter and I took the chair next to her.

“You have an animal’s instincts for survival,” I commented archly. “This room is the warmest in the Abbey. The monks piped hot water under the stones. Astonishing that the system still works, isn’t it?”

Charlotte gave me a sideways smile. “I meant what I told you in the inner ward, about how wonderful it is here. It makes it a little harder to hate you.”

I stretched my feet toward the fire. “Heavens, why should you hate me? I have troubles enough of my own.”

She laughed, a short, sharp bark of laughter. “I should like to have your troubles. Which dress to choose, which noble lord to marry, which country to spend the winter? Yes, those are troubles indeed.”

There was mockery in her voice, but it was not malicious, and I knew we understood one another after a fashion. Under other circumstances, I might have been friends with this woman. The silly, prattling widow she had pretended to held no interest for me at all.

“I never meant to turn to thieving,” she said, leaning her head back against the chair. “Oh, yes, I will tell you of it now. It does not matter. And I think I would like to tell someone.”

I settled more comfortably into my chair and awaited her tale.

“My mother was an actress. You would not have heard of her. She toured provincial theatres, giving second-rate performances to third-rate audiences. My father was a gentleman, and I think I need not tell you my birth was not blessed by the church. My father paid for my education. He thought to put me into service, as a lady’s maid or companion, but I am my mother’s child. I left school and took to the stage, a conjurer’s assistant, smiling prettily and showing my legs.”

She turned her head to look at me. “Did Brisbane tell you about Edwin?”

“Your husband?”

Charlotte smiled a tired, hollow smile. “My life. Edwin cannot marry me, and I do not care. He was the conjurer who took me onto the stage and into his bed when I was fifteen. He is, quite simply, the most beautiful man I have ever seen. White-gold hair, and eyes bluer than the sea. His skin is so pale, you could almost see the wine move down his throat as he drinks.”

“So Brisbane was not the sort of man to attract you in any event,” I hazarded.

She laughed again. “Absolutely not. Who would want the dark of the moon when you have been dazzled by the sun? But for all his beauty, Edwin is not a gifted magician. You cannot imagine how many birds he has smothered in his pockets or rabbits he has let wander off because he forgot to shut the cage. But he is glorious, and I am not the only lady to think so. There have always been others, others willing to pay for the privilege of what he gives freely to me.”

I said nothing, but the room had gone suddenly chill and I shuddered a little. Charlotte’s watchful eyes missed nothing.

“I have shocked you, my lady. You cannot imagine sharing a man you loved.”

“Indeed not,” I agreed. “I should sooner cut out his heart and serve it to him on toast.”

Her pretty mouth curved into a sneer. “You think you would. But you have the luxury of food in your belly and a roof above your head. What if all you had was that man? Would he be feast enough for you? Could you not simply gorge yourself on him and let other women have the crumbs? Oh, I think you ought not to judge, my lady, until you have lain awake at night, the hunger pains in your belly so sharp you cannot sleep, the rain soaking your thin bed as the wind shrieks into the room, chilling you to sickness. Then you will have trod a mile or two in my shoes, and then you would understand.”

She turned away again and resumed the thread of her tale. “Edwin sometimes took things, little trinkets usually, something grander upon occasion. We lived on what he earned on his back and what he stole from the women who used him. It was his idea to take the Tear of Jaipur, and a grand idea it was. The princess used to come, incognita, to see friends of Edwin’s perform. Acrobats, they were, and she would clap and smile like a child as she watched them. But Edwin was often seated in a box near the stage, and it was not long before her eyes strayed to him and lingered. He can read the need in a woman like some men can read a newspaper. He knew what she wanted of him,
and he knew she owned the Tear. It was simple enough to arrange. He took the jewel, pledging to return it the next day. She was nervous, but she trusted him. That’s the trouble with women,” she said wonderingly. “We know what we oughtn’t do, and yet we do it anyway. Nature has given us instincts, but when a man comes along, we hear only his voice, and not our own.”

She shook herself out of her reverie. “We would have left England that very night, but I had fallen ill and Edwin would not go without me. It was dangerous to keep the Tear in our lodgings, so Edward hid it in a piece of furniture and gave it to a friend for safekeeping. He was taken the next day for some jewels he had sold the week before. It wasn’t like him to be careless. I think he was so taken with the idea of the Tear and all it promised that he made a mistake. He sold the jewels to a pawnbroker he had used before, and the man marked him well. Edwin was taken, and I had no money, no means of living. It was too dangerous to sell the Tear, but I was desperate. Edwin penned letters of introduction, and within a week, I was the houseguest of Lady Hester Millar. From there, I moved in only the most exclusive circles. I took what I needed, discreetly.”

“There is a lady’s maid with a cracked skull who might disagree,” I commented dryly.

Charlotte shrugged. “A cornered animal fights, and as you observed, my lady, I have an animal’s instinct for survival. It was not long before Brisbane appeared, trailing me like a hound. I visited Edwin in prison. I told him I was frightened, but he only laughed. He told me to be bold, that
I must throw myself into Brisbane’s path to divert suspicion. In the meanwhile, I would plot my escape from England, and establish myself abroad when it was safe to move. I would sell the diamond and buy land, acres and acres of it where we would be our own lords of the manor. The charges against Edwin will be difficult to prove. He will be released in a matter of months and we will be together.”

“But without the Tear,” I reminded her. “Your things have been searched.” Even as I said it, I realised she might well have hidden the jewel anywhere in the Abbey, along with my pearls. But she could not hope to recover them.

She gave me a lazy smile. “Then I will go without it. I will make a future for myself and for Edwin.” There was something I did not like in her manner, some smugness that she was unable to conceal.

“And my pearls?”

“Have not left the Abbey. I leave you to find them since you love a good mystery,” she said, slanting me a challenging look.

My tolerance for her was moving rapidly into hatred. “And my dog? I suppose you were the one who poisoned her?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened in mock horror. “My lady, you shock me. I would never poison a dog. I merely drugged her with a tasty bit of venison soaked in a drop of Cook’s laudanum. I discovered it when I was stirring up the Christmas puddings, and I thought it might be useful.”

There seemed nothing else to say. She had admitted to her crimes, but without either the jewels or the authority to hold her, I was powerless. She gave me a fond smile.

“I have actually quite enjoyed myself, you know,” she told me. She stretched, lissome as a cat. “I shall be sorry to leave Bellmont Abbey.”

“Do forgive me if I say that we shall not be sorry to see you go,” I returned.

I left her then, her laughter echoing in my ears.

When I moved into the nave, I was astonished to find Sir Cedric there with Emma and Lucy, dressed in travelling clothes and surrounded by their baggage. Sir Cedric was quite purple in the face and yelling at Aquinas.

“Sir Cedric, contain yourself,” I said crisply. “There is no call for that sort of behaviour. Now, what is the trouble?”

Sir Cedric was sputtering too much to speak, so Aquinas stepped in. “Sir Cedric and his party wish to leave and have requested a carriage and baggage wagon to take them to the station in Blessingstoke. I have had no instructions from his lordship on the matter, and I am uncertain of his wishes.”

I looked at the little trio of travellers. Sir Cedric had lapsed into furious muttering under his breath. Lucy and Emma stood a little apart, Lucy biting at her lip while Emma stood so straight I thought her back would snap from the strain of it. Their faces were white and nervous, and I pitied them thoroughly.

“Aquinas, order the conveyances.” Father had taken the coachman to London, but Whittle, the gardener, was a fair hand at the whip when necessary, and one of the footmen could manage a baggage wagon as far as Blessingstoke.

Aquinas bowed and withdrew to make arrangements. Sir Cedric pulled his greatcoat tighter about his girth, his expression almost, but not quite, mollified. Lucy shot me a look of pure gratitude before sinking down to sit on one of Cedric’s trunks. Emma laid a hand on her shoulder, and it occurred to me then she would also have to tread on eggshells if she hoped to stay in her future brother-in-law’s good graces.

“Sir Cedric, I presume you are returning to town? Father must give your direction to Scotland Yard. They will want to speak with you about this business with Mr. Ludlow.”

“Do not speak his name to me,” he thundered, his face purpling again. “No, I do not mean to return to town. We leave for Southampton. I mean to be aboard ship tonight.”

It took me a moment to grasp what he was saying. “You are leaving the country? Tonight? But Mr. Ludlow will need you. He must present a defence to the charges of willful murder, as well as the attack against Emma and Lucy. Statements must be given, and references to his character. I grant they will not weigh heavily as he has confessed, but you must help him.”

“Must I?” His tawny lion’s eyes narrowed to something small and mean. “He has disgraced himself, and me by association. I do not mean to stay here whilst I am made sport of by the newspapers. He will be tried for the murder. To have the attack upon Lucy and Emma made public would be unacceptable. We leave for India tonight. Lucy and I will be married on board the ship, and we will remain in India until this is all quite finished.”

“You mean until Henry hangs for what he did?” I asked brutally.

Sir Cedric looked at me appraisingly. “I was quite right about you. You need a husband. Someone with a firm hand to keep you in line. You are far too forward and mannish.”

I inclined my head graciously. “How kind of you to notice. In that case, permit me to wish you as pleasant a journey as you deserve.”

I exchanged pecks on the cheek with Emma and Lucy. Emma was in complete command of herself, although her manner seemed brittle, as if her nerves were stretched taut as a bowstring. I did not envy her future in Sir Cedric’s employ.

“Thank you, dearest Julia,” she murmured into my ear. “You helped to save my darling girl, and I cannot ever repay such a debt.”

She squeezed my hand and turned away, blinking furiously. Lucy was inclined to cling. Her lips were bleeding a little where she had chewed them, and her nails were bitten to the quick. Eventually, I detached her from my neck and patted her arm. I took my leave then, but as I mounted the stairs I took one last look over my shoulder. Sir Cedric was fussing over some imaginary scuff Lucy had left on his bag. Lucy was on her knees, buffing at it. And behind them stood Emma, her expression blank as a marionette’s as she watched them both.

I met Portia at the top of the stairs and quickly related the news that Cedric was leaving his cousin to the mercy of the law, without recourse to money or influence to help his defence.

“I never liked him,” Portia said stoutly. “I wonder if Lucy knows what she is doing?”

I tipped my head thoughtfully. “I think she begins to see it, and to worry. But it is too late. If she puts a foot on the deck of that ship, she has as good as married him. What is that you are carrying?”

Portia unrolled the bundle of white linen. “A ghost,” she told me, pointing to the two charred spots where the holes for eyes had been burnt. “The maid found it in the linen cupboard this morning. Christopher Sly has decided at last to admit people to her nursery.”

I held it up, touching the blackened holes lightly. “But I thought Charlotte was our only ghost,” I murmured.

Portia shrugged. “I could not care less, my heart. I only know I have to explain to Aunt Hermia why one of Grandmama’s prized sheets from France is ruined.” She put a finger through the hole and waggled it at me. “I do not suppose you would like to break the news?”

I took the sheet and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I would be happy to do it.”

Portia peered at me. “Are you starting a fever? You are unnaturally decent this morning.”

I smiled at her, thinking of Lucy and Emma and the lives they would lead. “I am merely exceedingly grateful that we are ladies of independent fortune,” I told her. And I left her, staring after me in puzzlement.