I turned my attention back to Ludlow. He picked up the thread of his tale, his voice lower. The perspiration was beading freely on his brow now, but still he did not move.
“She came to me, that first night we were here in the Abbey, when we were introduced to Lucian Snow at dinner. She was in tears. I have never seen her so distraught. It was half an hour before she could speak and tell me what he had done.”
Here he broke off and, coming to himself a little, he wiped the sweat off of his brow. His other hand still clutched mine.
“What had he done?” I prompted softly.
“He threatened to reveal all to Cedric and the earl if she did not offer him payment. He said he would see her ruined if she failed.”
He leaned a little closer, his expressive eyes dark with anguish. “Can you imagine what that meant to her? To see that monster here? In polite company, received by his lordship as an honoured guest? Sitting at table and making polite conversation with her? She was shattered by it, wholly. I could not believe that a man of God could be so foul. But I heard with my own ears when that man would talk so lightly of worldly things. I realised the picture she painted of him was a true one. And I knew he must be prevented from ever hurting anyone else.”
I swallowed hard, sickeningly conscious of the fact that I was holding hands with a murderer. How had I gotten it so profoundly wrong?
“So you determined you must stop him,” I said evenly. It would not do to alarm him now. There was nothing else to do but encourage him calmly to tell his tale.
“You must see that I had no choice,” he said, a touch of anger sharpening his words.
“Of course,” I told him, my tone soothing. “It had to be done.”
His expression lightened at once. “Yes, that is it. It had to be done. You do understand. I did what must be done. And I am not repentant of it, save for the burden of guilt upon my immortal soul. It was no different than hunting a fox. He was predatory and destructive and he had to be stopped. So I took the jewels from Lady Hermia’s room and while he was turned with his back to me, gloating over them, as trusting as a lamb, I struck him down. It was an easy thing, so much easier than I thought to put my hand to his neck and finish it. He did not even struggle. He simply opened his mouth and gave one great sigh and his eyes rolled over white. I had a bad moment when he would not turn loose of the jewels,” he said, almost apologetically. “I thought I would have to force his hand open, but there was one last shudder and his fingers relaxed. I did not know the dead would do such a thing. I put them into my pocket, and later I left them with his things. I thought someone might find them there, and in death know him for what he was.”
He bowed his head, raising our clasped hands until they touched his damp brow. We were silent for a long while; he seemed spent, and yet somehow cleansed, as if talking of the deed had washed him free of the stain of it. For my part, I knew I should never be clean of it, but still questions lingered.
“I am curious about something,” I said softly. “When we entered the chapel and Lucy was discovered, standing over the body, why did you cry out and ask her what she had done? You as much as accused her of murdering Snow herself.”
He flushed painfully. “That grieves me more than taking the life of Lucian Snow. Snow was a devil, and devils must be cast out. But implicating Miss Lucy was a sin I cannot forgive in myself.” His expression was rueful. “I was tempted, my lady. I saw in that instant she might be blamed for it, just for a little while, and Cedric might break with her.”
“And if he did not marry, you might inherit his millions,” I finished.
He nodded, the flush ebbing to leave him white-lipped. “So much money, so much good might be done with it. But it was unworthy of me to covet what is not mine, and I am wholly repentant.”
“But why did you attack Miss Lucy and Miss Emma with the brandy?”
His eyes widened. “I would never—that is, I could not. Not a lady. Least of all so good, so deserving a lady, nor her sister. I could never raise my hand against an innocent. I promise you, I have confessed my sins. Do not lay that one at my door as well.”
His back drooped a little, and the spirit seemed to go out of him, but I was still wary. He was a changeable creature. His manner might be soft and gentle with me, but he had killed in cold blood, and I was deeply conscious of the fact that we were alone together.
“Lady Julia, you must believe I did what I did because it had to be done. And I have paid for it every moment since. I cannot close my eyes that I do not see his, staring up at me as I pressed the life out of him. I am not accustomed to such dark deeds. I am a clergyman’s son from Kent,” he said with a small, mirthless laugh. “What do I know of such things?”
Tears gathered in his eyes again. “My father was right, you know. He always told me that of the seven deadly sins, envy was the deadliest. I was envious of Lucian Snow. It was not just that he was a monster. It was that he had everything I had not. And he did not deserve it.”
“That was not for you to decide, Henry.”
“I wanted to believe I was an instrument of justice. At least that is what I told myself when I thought of taking his life. But when the moment came, there in the chapel, when my hand tightened at his throat, all I felt was that cursed envy. I knew I was taking away from him everything he had that I did not, and I delighted in it. Tell me, Lady Julia,” he said, his voice cracking on a sob, “who is the monster?”
He fell into me then, and I shied from him. But he meant me no harm. He was sobbing, the great, racking sobs of a child whose heart has been irreparably broken, and all he looked for in me was comfort. Without thinking, I put a hand on his back and petted him. He slid from the chair to his knees and stayed there, weeping into my lap for some time. Finally he recovered himself and drew back, wiping his face with a handkerchief.
“I am sorry. More than that, I am penitent. I know justice must be served, Lady Julia. I am content you should go and tell his lordship. I give you my word I will not try to escape,” he said, straightening his shoulders and looking me squarely in the eye.
I rose and edged my way to the door. I did not truly believe he would harm me, but I had been wrong about such things before. It seemed to me a little caution, even at this late juncture, would be prudent.
“Will you grant me one thing before you go?” he asked. He had command of himself now, but only lightly. His shoulders were trembling and his tone was plaintive.
“If I can,” I told him, my fingers wrapped about the doorknob.
He raised his chin, summoning his dignity. “Will you promise not to think too badly of me? I would not like to think that I was entirely friendless in this world, although God knows I do not deserve your regard.”
I paused a moment, my instincts warring. Then I released the doorknob, and with cool deliberation walked to where he stood. I put out my hand.
“You are not friendless, Henry. It is not in my power to forgive you, but neither is it in my power to condemn you.”
Solemnly as a judge, he shook my hand and the ghost of a smile touched his mouth.
“Thank you for that. Your kindness means more to me than you can possibly comprehend.”
I nodded and hurried out, stopping only when there was a stout door between us. I took a few deep breaths, not surprised to find my legs could barely hold me up. I was shaking, and cursing myself for a fool. But there was no time for recrimination. I hastened to Father’s room and banged upon the door. He must have returned to his room whilst I had been hearing Henry Ludlow’s confession, for he had already retired to bed; he was half-buried in a pile of mastiff pups, dear Crab snuffling in her sleep on the floor.
“What the devil is it now?” he growled, sitting up and straightening his nightcap.
“Father, you must come. Ludlow has just confessed to the murder of Lucian Snow.”
It took several minutes before I could make him understand what I had just learned, his expression growing more ominous by the minute.
<
br /> “You mean to say you went to this man’s room alone to accuse him of murder?”
“Not precisely, no,” I temporised. “But he has confessed it, and you must come.”
It took three more tries to coax him out of bed, and by that time he was scolding me bitterly.
“For an intelligent woman, Julia, you are by far the most headstrong, reckless, thoughtless, feckless of my children. And that is quite saying something,” he grumbled, tumbling the puppies as he threw aside his bedclothes.
I retreated hastily to the corridor and paced, waiting for him to appear. He had dressed himself quickly, not bothering with collar and cuffs.
“You might want to remove, er—” I pointed to his nightcap. “It lacks a certain gravitas.”
He gave me a filthy look, then yanked off the offending garment and stuffed it into his pocket. “Get Brisbane,” he ordered. “I will take Aquinas to Ludlow’s room and we shall take him into custody. God only knows where we will put him. I suppose we must lock him in the wine cellar,” he trailed off, more to himself than to me.
“Father, let me find Aquinas. Brisbane’s room is quite near Ludlow’s. You could fetch him on the way,” I suggested.
Father regarded me coldly. “I have no wish to speak to him at present. Words were exchanged this evening. No, you go and tell him what you were about, and I will deal with the matter of Henry Ludlow.”
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 providing 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.
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