Before I could ask what he was about, Brisbane eased open the door and slipped out, closing it silently behind him.
“Men,” I muttered, returning to the wardrobe. I continued to complain to myself as I searched. I did not relish putting my hands into the pockets of Snow’s clothes, or into the toes of his shoes. The only time I had ever handled Edward’s clothes had been after his death when, as a good widow, I packed up his belongings and sent them to charity.
I was just about to admit defeat when I thrust my hand into the last shoe and my fingers touched something hard and lumpy. I turned the shoe over and emptied it into my palm. It was a handkerchief, knotted securely. It took some minutes to release the knots, but I did so, careful not to damage the fabric. Inside, I found a tiny collection of jewels. There was a string of amber beads, a bracelet of flowers fashioned out of coral, a brooch set with turquoises and seed pearls. And in the midst of them sat a clever little jade monkey, his tail curved like a question mark.
I looked over each piece carefully, making note of the engravings. They were dainty, delicate things, suited to a lady’s boudoir, and I could not imagine how Snow had come by them. I wrapped them carefully in the handkerchief, touching the embroidered monogram lightly with a finger as I slipped the little bundle in my pocket. There were two mysteries to solve now, I reflected. First, why had Lucy killed Lucian Snow? And why were my Aunt Hermia’s jewels in his possession when he died?
THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER
We that are true lovers run into strange capers.
—As You Like It
Despite my iron resolve to search Snow’s bedchamber thoroughly, the room was growing colder by the minute, and I was uncomfortably aware that I had not yet solved the mystery of the phantom. I knew it for pretense, of course, a childish trick to alarm the superstitious. But I could not like the idea of someone playing tricks when there were other, more sinister events afoot. A man had been murdered in my home, and it was not impossible that his death had some connection, however tenuous, to our spectre.
Certainly, the costume of a phantom could be assumed for entirely innocuous reasons. An assignation, for one. Not only would a spectral disguise keep people at a distance if one happened to be spotted, it also rather neatly preserved one’s incognito. Certainly it might have been Sir Cedric, but I had little doubt Lucy intended to hold him at bay until she was properly married. Given her mother’s sad history, Lucy would have marked her lesson well and insisted upon a ring before submitting to the ultimate caresses.
But Sir Cedric was not the only gentleman with a lady love at Bellmont Abbey, I realised with a start. Father had brought Hortense under his roof, a notion that did not bear thinking about, I decided with a shudder. I liked Hortense very well, but the idea of Father playing the Casanova was faintly distasteful. Besides which, Father would never think it necessary to don a disguise to pay a nocturnal visit to his inamorata. He would be discreet, I was certain, but haunting his own hallways was carrying things a bit too far.
That left Brisbane. Instantly my mind whipped back nearly two years in time, to a conversation I had had with Portia as we strolled in Hyde Park. I had just met Brisbane for the first time, and Portia was entertaining me with tales of his exploits, both as a fighter and a lover. He uses disguises sometimes in the course of his investigations…for discretion…he came to her once dressed as a chimney sweep. Quite invigorating, don’t you think?
Ruthlessly, I pushed the memory aside. I refused to torment myself with thoughts of him and Charlotte. He did not mean to marry her, and whatever his game with her, I meant to discover it.
And then there was Plum, I thought, dread rippling in my stomach. I had seen him once or twice watching Charlotte with some warmth. Her manner toward Brisbane had been correct and deferential, but not affectionate. Perhaps, for her part, the marriage to Brisbane was a means of securing her future. And if her heart was not involved, she might well permit herself to engage in a dalliance with Plum. For Plum’s part, he was a great admirer of beauty, and not overly scrupulous if the beauty belonged to another. The fact that donning ghostly draperies and lurking in corridors was just the sort of lark Plum would find hilarious did not comfort me.
I shook myself, ashamed of my doubts. Plum’s amorous exploits in Italy—and they had been legion—had been restrained compared to most of the travellers we had encountered. Everyone went to Italy to dally with the signorinas. Holiday romances were one thing. To assume he would interfere with a betrothal was another, and I resolved to put the notion from my mind.
I extinguished the light and crept to the door, easing into the corridor. There was no one about. Brisbane had disappeared, and in spite of his twitchiness, there was no sign of the spectre. On a whim, I turned my steps to the staircase and made my way silently downstairs. It was slow going, for the moon had disappeared entirely, and I had to hold the banister, feeling each step carefully beneath my slipper before I descended another tread. At the bottom a lamp glimmered faintly, the night-light that Aquinas always left lit—a single brave little flame, wavering in the chilly draughts. It threw shadows down the main corridor, but I steeled my resolve and made my way toward the chapel. At the opposite end of the nave I could just make out Maurice, his claws and teeth terrible in the half-light.
Another turn and I was at the chapel, the doors firmly closed, William IV asleep at his post. His head was sunk low on his chest, bobbing heavily with each slow breath.
I clicked my tongue at him. “Really, this won’t serve. Do wake up,” I said, poking at his shoulder. Suddenly, he gave a great shudder and slid down in the chair. He gave a deep, resonant snore and muttered in his sleep.
I bent swiftly and smelled his breath.
“Dead drunk,” I murmured. He smelled strongly of brandy and there was a faint, seraphic smile curving his lips.
I stepped over him and put my eye to the keyhole of the great doors. The key had been lost ages ago and never replaced. Now the enormous keyhole was a tidy little window on the chapel and its erstwhile inhabitants. Not surprisingly after her ordeal, Lucy was curled onto a crude pallet of blankets, sleeping deeply, her mouth agape, one hand flung above her head. Emma was slumped next to her, a hand tucked in Lucy’s. The tableau touched me. I was close to my own sisters, Portia in particular, and I could only imagine the anguish Emma must be feeling at the possibility of losing her beloved girl to the hangman’s noose.
It seemed like an intrusion to spy upon her grief. I turned to leave then, and saw something gleam out of the tail of my eye. I peered closer and realised it was a brandy bottle, tipped on its side and quite empty. I looked at the slumbering footman and bent swiftly to look under his chair. No bottle or glass there, I observed. How then did he manage to become intoxicated?
Nibbling my lower lip, I turned the heavy knob of the chapel door, easing it open just enough to slip inside. I tiptoed to where my cousins slept. I picked up the bottle and sniffed it. Brandy, yes, but something more, a shadow of something bitter.
I leaned over Emma, listening to her quiet, even breathing. It was so soft I could scarcely hear it, and when I pressed a finger to her wrist, I felt the merest flutter. Frightened now, I put my hand to her heart. The beat was faint and slow. I paused only to touch the pale skin at Lucy’s wrist. It was as weak as her sister’s. I took to my heels, bottle in hand, fairly flying up the stairs and down the dormitory wing to the Tower Room. I was careful to keep to the carpet, my slippers noiseless, and when I reached Brisbane’s room, I scratched softly, muttering prayers as I did so.
He opened the door at once and I pushed inside. He closed the door behind me and turned, his back to it as if to shield me from whatever had caused me to take flight.
“What has happened?” he demanded. The bedclothes were askew and the bed still bore the impression of where he had lain, but the lamps were lit and he held a book in his hand.
“It’s Emma and Lucy. I think they have been drugged, and the footman as well,” I told him, holding o
ut the bottle.
He took it, sniffing deeply. “Brandy, but it has been tampered with.” He sniffed again, then touched his tongue to the rim of the bottle.
I snatched it from him. “Are you quite mad? You do not know what may be in there.”
He shrugged. “It is laudanum, quite a lot of it, I should think. How are they?”
I spread my hands helplessly. “Senseless. They seem to be sleeping, but I can scarcely feel the pulse at their wrists, and their heartbeats are slow and heavy. The footman has been drugged as well, but he seems less affected.”
“He is taller than either of them by a foot and doubtless heavier than either by an hundredweight,” he commented, moving to the wardrobe. He flung open the door and pulled out a small leather case.
“Brisbane, you cannot mean to physic them yourself. They need a doctor.”
“Look outside,” he ordered. “The snow has begun, and it will only get worse. It would take more than two hours to fetch a doctor from Blessingstoke and they haven’t that long if we mean to keep them alive.”
“Oh,” I said faintly. I drew myself up to my full height and squared my shoulders. Whatever horrors the night would bring, I was prepared to face them.
Brisbane turned at the door, the case tucked under his arm. He nodded toward the washstand. “Bring the basin. This is not going to be pleasant.”
I gulped and nodded, snatching up the basin and following him to the chapel.
The next hours were not ones I can remember with any pleasure. It began with a vicious argument between Brisbane and myself as to whether the rest of the household should be roused. He insisted we should deal with the situation alone, maintaining that until he knew how and why the girls had been drugged, he did not want to alert the malefactor who had attempted to harm them. I flew at him, accusing him of suspecting a member of my family, which he coldly affirmed, and matters deteriorated from there. We were hardly speaking by the time we reached the chapel. Brisbane knelt swiftly over William IV, palpating his pulse and counting.
“He will be fine. His heartbeat is strong. Roll him onto the floor and let him sleep it off,” he ordered.
I did as he bade me, swearing fluently under my breath the entire time. William IV was a substantial lad, and it took all of my strength to wrestle him off of the chair and into a more comfortable position on the floor. By the time I reached Brisbane in the chapel he was already finishing his examination. The crimson dressing gown was pooled at his feet, the leather case open beside it. I could just make out an assortment of lethal-looking instruments and small, smoked-glass vials tucked inside.
He glanced up at me, his eyes boring into mine. “They have not been drugged,” he said, rising to his feet. “They have been poisoned. We must get them moving and we must dose them with stimulants. Fetch Aquinas and have him bring tea, pots of it, as hot and sweet as he can manage.”
I nodded and moved swiftly to the door. I paused the barest moment, glancing back at him. He was on his knees, draping Emma’s arm over his good shoulder, levering her to her feet. Her head lolled back against him, her features peaceful and immovable. There was an expression of grim determination on his face and I could hear him talking softly to her, demanding she open her eyes and respond to him. I blinked back sudden tears and left them. It was in God’s hands now, God’s and Brisbane’s.
I rapped lightly at Aquinas’ door. He roused at once and answered the door wearing a dapper dressing gown of striped China silk over his trousers.
“My lady?” he inquired, as brightly awake as if I had rung for him at teatime.
“Brisbane needs you. He is in the chapel. Someone has poisoned Miss Emma and Miss Lucy with laudanum. He said to bring tea, masses of it, as hot as you can.”
“And sweet,” Aquinas said knowingly. “The sugar will help with the shock.”
I blinked at him. “How do you—never mind. I do not wish to know. Bring enough for William IV. He has been dosed as well, but Brisbane says he is not as unwell as the ladies. Mind you are quiet. Brisbane does not wish to rouse the household.”
I scurried back to the chapel, and in a remarkably short time, Aquinas appeared, bearing quantities of hot coffee and tea, both liberally sweetened. The three of us took turns for the next few hours walking the girls, slapping lightly at their faces and ladling hot drinks down them. They vomited often, but Brisbane merely commented that this was good and encouraged it. William IV slept on, rousing only to take a few cups of tea before resuming his slumbers. Aquinas hefted him onto his back and carried him to his own room, reasoning that the boy would have more privacy in the butler’s room than the footmen’s dormitory. Some hours before dawn something turned, and both Emma and Lucy seemed suddenly stronger. Their pulses were even now, and stronger, and Brisbane let Emma slide gently to the floor. “They are sleeping,” he told me. He stretched then, like a bear rousing itself from winter sleep.
“This cannot have been good for your shoulder,” I said softly. “You must be in pain.”
He shrugged.
“I have methods,” he said blandly. “The ladies ought not stay here,” he observed. “It is too cold, and they will be vulnerable to a chill. Aquinas, you take Miss Lucy and I will carry Miss Emma. They will do well enough in their own room.”
Aquinas moved quickly to take up Lucy as Brisbane hefted Emma up once more. I remained behind to clear up the traces of the unpleasantness, bone tired and moving as slowly as an old woman. It would be dawn in a few hours and the household would begin to stir. I washed the basin in the butler’s pantry and realised I must return it to Brisbane’s room before the gentlemen rose.
Once more I traversed the dormitory, scratching lightly at Brisbane’s door. After a long moment he answered, still wearing his dressing gown and trousers.
“I have brought your basin.”
He took it, but to my surprise, stepped aside. I moved wearily into the room and sank down into one of the armchairs by the fire. “So we may presume they were drugged intentionally. To what purpose?”
Brisbane took the chair opposite me. “Perhaps because they wished to escape the inevitable.”
I stared at him. “I do not think I comprehend you. I am stupid with tiredness. Do you mean to suggest they took the laudanum on purpose?”
He shrugged. “Possibly. But unlikely. I could believe it except for the footman. If Emma had brought the drugged brandy into the chapel for the purpose of destroying herself and her sister, how did the boy come to drink it?”
I said nothing, but merely nibbled at my lip. It was a dreadful but alarmingly possible theory. Emma was just devoted enough to take Lucy’s life to save her from the horror of a state execution. Naturally she would take her own life as well. I hated to admit it, but Brisbane might well have deduced it.
He passed a hand over his brow. I looked at him sharply.
“Headache?”
He smiled, a thin, wry twist of the lips. “Not yet. I have managed to keep them at bay for some time.”
“A new medicine?” I asked hopefully.
“Of a sort.”
I had discovered during our last investigation that Brisbane was prey to violent headaches, migraines of the most virulent type. After employing traditional medicines to no avail, he had been driven to more exotic methods.
He rose and rummaged in the wardrobe for a moment, returning with a peculiar piece of apparatus he placed on the floor in front of him. It was a tall, slender glass vessel, reaching as high as his knee and divided into a few chambers. Into one he poured some water. Then he fiddled with a live coal and a bit of silver paper and a small greenish-brown brick of some substance I did not recognise. There was a tube attached to the vessel ending in a carved mouthpiece. Brisbane put his mouth to it and drew in a breath. He did this a few more times, and after a moment I could detect a heavy, sweetish smell, very unlike his usual tobacco.
“I know what that is!” I cried suddenly. “It is a hookah!”
“And you know this from you
r many nights spent in opium dens?” he inquired blandly.
“Alice in Wonderland, actually,” I admitted. “The caterpillar. ‘You are old, Father William.’”
Brisbane said nothing but drew in a deep, languid breath. He held it in rather a long time, then exhaled slowly, letting a thin, sinuous plume of smoke curl over his head.
“That is not your usual tobacco,” I pointed out.
He took another slow, sensual draw off the pipe. “It is called hashish. It is widely used in the East. In small doses it relieves pain and acts as a mild intoxicant.”
“And in large doses?”
Brisbane shrugged. “Hallucinations, if one is stupid enough to take too much.”
I was silent a moment, thinking of the one time I had seen Brisbane in the throes of a sick headache. Absinthe had been his drug of choice then, leaving him prey to hallucinatory stupors. The experience had been disturbing.
But as he smoked, I realised the hashish seemed to have no effect beyond a mellowing of his temper. He smoked slowly, and as I watched, his pupils dilated and he relaxed visibly. His posture eased, and his eyes, always expressive, seemed to take on a Byzantine slant. It was oddly fascinating. He might have been a sultan at his ease in a harim, and I his trembling concubine. The thought was a diverting one, but this was no time to pursue it.
He said nothing for a long while, then he removed the mouthpiece and held it out to me. I swallowed hard, then reached out and took it. His eyes never left mine as I pulled in a modest breath of sweet, heavy smoke. I coughed and my eyes watered, but by the second draw I was comfortable and by the third I held it, then blew the smoke out slowly between my lips.
Silent in the Sanctuary Page 19
