by Anne Perry
Liliane looked back at her, her face softer, almost as if she felt a moment’s pity. “Minnie must have spoken to her father,” she said quietly. “Who else would have told him that she was asking all these questions? It must have been what she was hinting about at the dinner table the night she was killed. She was taunting him, you must have seen that.”
“What for?” Now Elsa’s mind raced from one wild, half-formed idea to another. Had Minnie learned it was Julius? Or, fearing that her father’s hatred of him would tempt him to blame Julius and even alter the evidence, she had told him that she would defend her husband, whether she loved him or not? She was the only one who was never afraid of Cahoon. Perhaps that was what he loved in her the most.
Had she loved Julius after all? Was the whole affair with Simnel only a way of trying to stir Julius to some response, a jealousy if not a love? Poor Minnie: too proud and too full of passion to plead, too lonely to confide in anyone, and perhaps wounded too deeply by what might have been the only rejection in her life that mattered to her. Nothing before that had prepared her for it; she might have had no inner dreams to strengthen her.
And Elsa had offered her nothing but rivalry. How miserable, how small and utterly selfish of her. She was ashamed of that now that it was too late.
Liliane was watching her, her beautiful eyes concentrating, seeing beyond the need for answers into the reasons for it.
It was Elsa who looked away. Part of the turmoil inside her was jealousy. She recognized the taste of it with a kind of bitter amusement at herself. Julius had courted Liliane and lost her to Hamilton Quase. Had that always been at the heart of it? He had never fallen out of love with her. Minnie knew it, and it was only Elsa who didn’t.
“You can’t do anything,” Liliane said quite gently. “Nothing can be changed now, except to make it worse.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Elsa conceded, although she was lying even as she said it. She would rather pursue the truth, even if she found that Julius was guilty, than surrender without knowing, and betray her dreams by cowardice. Deliberately she changed the subject to something else, utterly trivial.
Liliane seemed relieved.
THEY ALL RETIRED early. There was nothing to say. Even the men no longer had the heart to talk of Africa, and yet conversation about anything else was stilted and eventually absurd. The absence of Julius and Minnie was like a gaping hole that everyone tiptoed around, terrified of falling into, and yet was drawn to by a sort of emotional vertigo.
When Elsa excused herself she was uncomfortably aware that Cahoon followed her immediately, almost treading on the hem of her dress as she went into her bedroom. Bartle was waiting for her and Cahoon ordered her out, closing the door behind her.
Elsa felt a quick flutter of fear. She backed away from him, and was furious with herself for it. She stopped, too close to the bed. He could knock her onto it easily, but if she moved sideways it would of necessity be toward him. She refused to speak first. It was what he was waiting for: the sign of yielding, the impulse to placate him.
“You are making a fool of yourself, Elsa,” he said coldly. “If you want to ruin your own reputation, I don’t care. But you are still my wife, and I won’t have you behave hysterically once we leave here. If you can’t control your imagination and have some dignity, then you will have to be looked after, perhaps in some appropriate establishment where you will not damage either of us.”
He meant it. It was not just an expression of temper, it was a threat. She saw it hard and real in his eyes. She found her knees were shaking, and it cost her an effort to remain standing straight and looking at him.
“You mean a madhouse, like Julius,” she murmured. “That would be convenient for you. Then you can have an affair with Amelia Parr without my getting in the way.”
“You are not in the way, Elsa,” he replied. It was damning. Nothing else could have obliterated her so completely. “Leave the murders alone, or you will find out a great deal more about Julius than you wish to know.” His eyes gleamed, as if somewhere inside himself he were laughing savagely at her absurdity.
In that moment she made up her mind to fight him. If there had been any irresolution in her before, it had vanished. She was ashamed that it had taken her so long. This had nothing to do with Julius; it was for herself, to be the person she wanted to be, not the one too absorbed in her own needs and fears to think of anyone else, or see the possibility that Minnie’s bravado hid the fact that she felt pain as well.
She drew in her breath to tell Cahoon, and then realized how foolish that would be. What if Julius was not guilty, but had been made to look it? Wasn’t that what she was trying to believe? But by whom if not Cahoon? Was it because he hated Julius for loving Liliane, and not Minnie—because he felt the insult and the pain on her behalf?
No, there was another clearer and much more understandable motive. It was glaring, now that she could see it. Cahoon wanted to put her away so he could marry Amelia Parr. If she were innocent, the good wife she had so far appeared to be, then he had no excuse to set her aside. And he would never damage the reputation he had won with such care. He wanted that peerage desperately. He was like a starving man dreaming of food; only in his case it was respectability, belonging, the acceptance he had longed for and that had eluded him all his life.
He must make Elsa appear so bad in the eyes of society that no one would blame him for putting her aside. They must feel that if they were in his place, they would have felt no choice but to do the same.
If she fought for Julius now, when he seemed undeniably guilty of murder and madness, not once but three times, then it would be simple to convince them she was also having an affair with him. She would have betrayed her husband and his daughter—exactly the sins she had denied herself. But who would believe her?
That meant that she must either not fight, or if she did so, then she must win!
“Really?” she said, keeping her voice level with an effort so intense her fingernails bit into her palms, and she was glad of the folds of her skirt to keep them hidden. “That would surprise me. I don’t think we will find out anything at all. I think we are going to keep it all very quiet. You wouldn’t want to have taken so much trouble to woo the Prince of Wales and then cause such a scandal that he had to drop you in the end, would you?”
His face darkened and he took two steps toward her. He was so close she could feel the heat of him and smell cigar smoke and the faint odor of his skin. She did not move, although it was hard to keep her balance and not flinch. She had meant what she said as a half-submission, half-evasion. He had taken it as a threat. She was not being clever.
He swung back his hand and slapped her across the cheek, sending her staggering. The bed caught her behind the knees and she fell onto it on her back, helpless.
He leaned over her, one hand on either side, and bent down so his face was only a foot above hers. “Don’t fight me, Elsa,” he said between his teeth. “I am not only stronger than you are, I am cleverer, wiser, and braver. I am also your husband, which makes me right according to the law. They won’t hang Julius, they will simply lock him away. Don’t interfere.”
There was nothing she could say, but she did not avert her eyes from his.
He waited for her to answer, still leaning over her.
“Do you intend to remain there all night?” she asked. Her face hurt and she felt it burn hot. Deliberately she relaxed her body. “You will get tired before I do,” she added.
He straightened up abruptly and walked out, slamming the door behind him. She got up quickly and locked both the dressing room door, which connected with his room, and the door to the passage. Then she lay down on the bed, shaking so violently she felt as if the whole frame must be juddering with her.
She had no idea how long it was before she finally sat up again, calmer, and began to think. She had left herself no option but to fight. At last she had made a decision. It might be the wrong one, but it was better than losing beca
use she had never found the passion or the courage to try.
Minnie had discussed enough of the truth to be killed in order to silence her. Apparently a broken Limoges dish had been important. Cahoon had described it: white and blue with a little gold. At the time she had imagined it quite clearly; a pedestal dish, with gold lattice around the border and a picture in the center of a man and woman sitting very casually on a garden seat. The blue was in their clothes. She thought of it like that because that was the only Limoges that she could remember seeing. Of course this one could have been any shape or design.
Then she remembered, with a feeling like ice in her stomach, where she had seen it. It was in Cahoon’s cases that he had brought with him, here to the Palace. That was how he knew about it! He had not deduced anything at all.
Perhaps it had nothing to do with the woman’s murder, but he had seized the opportunity to place the blame on Julius, somehow using that dish.
But how? It made no sense. The dish was in the Queen’s room. Did Pitt know anything about it? Certainly he would not know that Cahoon had brought with him one exactly the same. Tomorrow Elsa would tell him. Of course Cahoon would never forgive her, but she had declared war on him anyway; there was no retreating now. If she did not win, she might be blamed for something unforgivable, put aside as an adulteress—or worse, somehow tied in with the murder of the street woman.
There was no one she could turn to for help. They were all fighting their own battles: Liliane to protect Hamilton from the destruction he seemed determined to find in the bottom of a bottle. Why? Was it because Liliane was still in love with Julius?
Olga wanted to win Simnel back from a dead woman whose fire and laughter she could never equal, and whose selfishness, appetite, and occasional streaks of cruelty she would never sink to.
And Simnel, Julius’s brother, who should have been fighting to save him, protect him, was too eaten up by envy to allow himself that loyalty.
If only she could speak to Julius himself. If she could ask him, listen to his answer, surely she would know whether to believe him or not. No one had asked him, they all believed Cahoon’s word. For that matter, had Pitt asked him?
He was locked in and only the servants had keys so they could take him food. Tomorrow the police would come; then she would never see him again. There was only one possible decision: She must wait until the household was asleep, then go downstairs and find the keys, even if she searched by candlelight and it took her half the night.
She waited until two o’clock in the morning. She was exhausted but unable to sleep, although she dared not lie down in case she did drift into unconsciousness and waken when it was already light, and so miss her only chance.
She tiptoed down the stairs, feeling ridiculous, as if she were committing some crime. Then she realized that actually she was. It was probably an offense against some law to unlock the door of an imprisoned man. It was certainly a gross abuse of hospitality. If anyone knew, then she would pay dearly for it. She would be disgraced, socially nonexistent from now on. She hesitated only for a moment in her step. What had she to lose? Physical comfort, that was about all.
But what if Julius really were everything Cahoon said of him? Then he might attack her, take the keys and escape. He must know they would never give him a trial, fair or otherwise. It would be his only chance not to spend the rest of his life locked away in an asylum.
Was she tempted to let him go, deliberately? Yes! The thought of him imprisoned forever was hideous. He would be there until he really was mad, and there could never be any escape. The weight of that thought was like a descending darkness, shutting everything out.
But how far would he get? Not even out of the Palace. There could hardly be a better-guarded place in England.
It took her over an hour to find the keys, she had to search almost every cupboard in the kitchens, scullery, still room, and pantries, using separate keys to unlock cupboards where more keys hung in rows. Then she had to put them back in exactly the same place. Even then she was not certain she had the right ones until she tried them. She must be insane herself, breaking into Julius’s bedroom in the middle of the night. If Cahoon found her, she would have given him the perfect excuse to have her shut away too.
Still, she did it.
Her hands were quite firm, though a little clammy. Her stomach churned. Then she was inside. She closed the door softly, locked it, and put the key in the tiny pocket in her gown. She listened and could hear nothing, except the pounding of her own heart and her breathing.
Gradually it subsided, and she thought she could hear his breath as well.
“Julius.”
Nothing. She could neither see nor hear.
“Julius!”
Movement. A stirring in the bed. Now she felt ridiculous. How on earth could she explain being here? Nothing of love had ever been said by either one of them. Perhaps anything between them was entirely in her own imagination. Probably it was. He would be in his nightshirt, and she had come into his bedroom in the middle of the night, alone. If Cahoon walked in on them, it would ruin them both. It would be exactly what he wished. Had he even planned it? Then she had played into his hands perfectly. How unbelievably stupid! She moved to go back again, her hand feeling for the key.
There was a rustling from the bed, movement in the dark. “Elsa?”
Too late. She couldn’t go now. If she opened the door the faint light in the passage would show her face. Have the courage of her beliefs. If she felt anything, grasp for it, fight for it.
“Julius, I have to talk to you.”
“How did you get in? If they catch you, you will be ruined.” There was fear in his voice. “You can’t help me. Please go, before Cahoon finds out.”
“They won’t try you,” she said, standing still because she did not know which way to step in the dark. “They’ll just say you are insane, and put you into an asylum, somewhere from which you’ll never escape, and no one will ever see you.”
He was silent. Had he not realized that?
“I’m sorry.” She tried to keep her voice from trembling, and failed. She ached to see his face, and yet perhaps not doing so was the only way she could keep control of herself. “Julius?”
“Yes?” His voice was hoarse, uncertain. The darkness also gave him a degree of privacy. She was grateful for that. She remained standing where she was. She ached to hold him in her arms, give him at least the desperate shred of comfort that touch afforded. But there had never been anything between them to suggest he would welcome it. It would be intrusive, absurd. If his feelings for her were in any way different from hers for him, then it would be offensive, embarrassing, awful in every way.
“You didn’t kill Minnie, did you?” she said.
“No,” he responded immediately. “I don’t know who did. I assume it was whoever killed the prostitute. I can’t think of any other reason. Poor Minnie.” There was real hurt, and pity in his voice. “She was so sure she was learning the truth. I didn’t realize it until she kept saying so at dinner. Obviously someone believed her.”
The thought held the kind of coldness that made her feel sick. It was one of the other three men. It could be no one else. She knew them all; in ways liked them, except Cahoon; but she had once thought she loved him. There had been moments that were tender. What was the difference between being in love and thinking you were? Was being in love about what survives after time and temptation, misfortune, change, the need to forget and forgive have all been faced?
“Do you know where Sadie was killed?” she asked him.
“Wasn’t it in the cupboard where she was found?” Julius sounded puzzled.
“Apparently not. Cahoon says it was in the Queen’s bedroom. That’s how the monogrammed sheets got bloodstained.”
“What monogrammed sheets?” His voice was a little high. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Queen’s sheets. They don’t belong in the guest linen cupboard.”
; “Where were they?”
She realized she did not know. “He didn’t say. Do you know about a Limoges dish that was broken?”
“No. I haven’t seen any Limoges. Mostly it’s Crown Derby, Wedgwood, and a few pieces of Meissen. Who broke the Limoges?” His voice was steadier, but he still sounded totally confused.
She was frightened by how little she understood. Even to herself she seemed to be speaking total nonsense.
“I don’t know, but Minnie was asking about it. It seemed to matter to her a lot. Cahoon says it was in the Queen’s bedroom. That’s how they knew the woman was killed there.”
“How does Cahoon know it was there?” he asked quickly. She heard the bedsprings as he moved his weight. She could see nothing, but she was certain from the very slight sounds that he had stood up. Was he coming toward her in the dark? She was afraid. Or was it that she wanted him to? “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe…maybe the Prince of Wales told him.”
“If the Prince of Wales could have killed Minnie, I would wonder if he was guilty of the first one too,” he said with heavy irony. He was on the edge of laughter, and of grief beyond control.
“Julius!” The moment the word was out, she knew the tone of it would betray her: It was desperate with emotion. He had to hear in it all that she felt for him.
“I know. He couldn’t.” His voice was tight now, choked with the effort to keep some dignity, some grip on the fear inside him. “It has to be Simnel or Hamilton.”
“I wish it could be Cahoon.” She meant it, and this was no time to pretend a loyalty they both knew she did not feel. “But he wouldn’t kill Minnie. In his own way, he loved her. She was probably the only person he did love. But apart from that, he wasn’t in Cape Town when the woman was killed there, and it seems the crimes were exactly the same.”
