Idly, she pulled the cloth away and began to play with a bit of glass from the hand mirror so that it bounced off the larger mirror. Accidentally, she knocked the heavy brush off the table; it made a loud noise when it struck the wooden floor.
“What are you doing?” Octavia Belasysse cried out, having been awoken by the crash. “Why have you uncovered the mirror?”
Quickly, Lucy pulled the cloth back over the mirror, and the little dancing lights caused by the flickering candle ceased. As she did so, she remembered a conversation she had had with Dr. Larimer.
How do Miss Belasysse’s fits start? she had asked. What brings them on?
A stressful moment, a harsh smell, a flickering light, a loud noise, he had replied.
“The mirror,” Lucy said slowly. “It can trigger a fit. When it catches the light or when someone waves it about, like so—” She moved her hand in the air.
Miss Belasysse’s eyes widened. She swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“What is that you have there?” she demanded. “Where did you get that mirror?”
“Is it yours?” Lucy whispered, holding it out to the woman. She could feel her heart starting to beat faster.
“Where did you get it?” Miss Belasysse asked again, shrinking back against the bed, without taking the mirror from Lucy’s outstretched hand. The color had drained from her face.
“I think you know,” Lucy said softly, dropping her hand back to her side. “We found it by the body of your brother. On the ground, near the Cattle Bell Inn.”
The woman started to tremble. “Henry? You found him?” Her face twisted in anguish. “Oh, my dear brother. The good Lord have mercy on his soul.” She began to weep. “What torture it has been.”
“You already knew he was dead?” Lucy asked, staring down at her. A bit of bile rose in her throat. “You’ve been lying to us this whole time? Pretending to have lost your memory, for what?” She crossed her arms, her fury growing. “Because you killed your brother? And that man! And to think I defended you!”
“I did not kill my brother!” Miss Belasysse exclaimed. “No, no! You must not believe that!”
“But you knew your brother was dead! Why did you lie?”
“I did not lie! I was … confused.” The last word came as a bit of a choked cry. Gulping, Miss Belasysse continued, tears running down her cheeks. “I know what this looks like. It is hard to explain how my wretched memory works. I promise you, Lucy, I never meant to deceive you!” She began to weep in earnest then, much as Lucy had first seen her by Holborn Bridge.
But Lucy refused to be moved by her tears. “Then explain yourself,” she demanded through clenched teeth. “Explain everything! Now!”
Miss Belasysse took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. “Somewhere deep inside me, before I came to recollect these terrible events, I always knew something was wrong. There was a grief deep inside me, a melancholia different than anything I have ever experienced.” She choked back a sob. “It was not until you held up my dress in the ruins, all covered in b-b-blood, that everything came back to me at once.” There was a wild look in her eyes. “I did not mean to do it!”
A chill ran over Lucy. “W-what did you do?” she whispered, though she was afraid to hear the woman’s reply. “Did you kill your brother?”
“No! No! I already told you that!”
“Someone witnessed you arguing with your brother, the night he was killed. You were in a fury, I heard tell,” Lucy said, remembering what she had learned from the tavern-keeper’s daughter.
Miss Belasysse looked at her in surprise. “How did you know that?” Then she waved her hand. “’Tis no matter. I was angry at my brother, I admit it. Even though he had finally taken me from Bedlam, I was angry that it had taken him ten months to retrieve me. Ten months! For ten months, I stewed in my own juices. For ten months, they tied me up when I fell into my fits. Priests were smuggled in to do exorcisms; astrologers would intone about Venus and Mercury. A bell would ring and I would find potions and elixirs poured down my throat. If I was not mad before, I most certainly am now.”
Jumping up again, she began to pace about. Lucy stepped back.
“I was angry that he ignored my letters!” she said. “He told me that he had shown them to our uncle Harlan, who convinced him that they were not of my hand. Someone else had written them, you see.”
“Mr. Quade, the apothecary,” Lucy stated.
“Yes. But there were others, too, blackmailing my brother about the truth of that tanner’s death. I did not know that, at the time. They came from someone else.” Miss Belasysse looked up at the ceiling for a long moment before continuing. “Uncle Harlan told Henry that someone was just trying to injure the family, by claiming I was still alive. He swore to my brother that he had looked upon my dead body.” Her mood seemed to shift then. “Most of the time I thought I was dead.” She dropped down to her knees. “But I would never have done my brother ill, to that I wholeheartedly attest.”
“Can you tell me, then, what happened at the Cattle Bell Inn? If you did not murder your brother, then who did?”
Miss Belasysse began to shake. “God help me!” she gasped. “I was there when that blackheart killed him.”
“Who? Who killed your brother?” Lucy asked. “Was it the man who bothered you and your brother in the inn? Did you know who he was?”
Miss Belasysse began to wring her hands. “Oh, how that devil haunts me!” She began to rock back and forth. “The brown bird!”
“The brown bird?” Lucy asked. With a flash she remembered what the Bedlam inmate had whispered. The brown bird does the falconer’s bidding. “The dead man found by Holborn Bridge is the assistant keeper of Bedlam.”
Miss Belasysse twisted her lips. “Alistair Browning. The Bastard of Bedlam.”
“Why did he kill your brother?” Lucy asked.
“He wanted to bring me back, and I … I … well, I could not bear it. And neither could my brother. And now an evil has been done.”
Miss Belasysse stood up and, with a great leap, moved to the window and threw open the shutters. The cool night breeze caught at her, stirring her unbound hair and causing her nightdress to flutter. For a moment she looked as Lucy had first seen her, full of a mad frenzy, along the River Fleet at Holborn Bridge.
Before Lucy realized her intent, Miss Belasysse had lifted one long leg over the window ledge, and then the other, so that her whole body was crouched awkwardly within the window frame. Her fingers clutched at the wooden frame above her head.
“Miss! No! What are you doing?” Lucy cried out. “Pray get down from there! You will hurt yourself.” Then the woman’s intent dawned on Lucy. “No, miss, please! You must not!”
Miss Belasysse looked down at Lucy. “Alas, I fear it has come to this!” she cried, her eyes dark and stormy. “I did not wish to remember! But you forced the memories back upon me. I have no place in this world.”
Still a few steps away, Lucy screamed as the woman swayed. Then, still pleading, she lowered her tone in an effort to calm the woman. “Please. Do not jump.” She could almost hear the local minister damning the act. “Please, you will be cast into hell. Your soul will be damned.”
Miss Belasysse’s face grew pinched. “Do not be sorrowful for me, my dear Lucy. I am already damned, of that I am certain. Have I not been told, nearly every day of my life, that I am a much-cursed being?” She glanced down and involuntarily shuddered. Her smile became self-mocking. “I am a madwoman, but still I fear death.”
“You are neither mad nor accursed,” Lucy said with urgency. “The falling sickness—”
Miss Belasysse cut her off. “I am a madwoman now, even if I was not ten months ago!” She began to weep again. “Long have I been a burden to my family. The keeper told me so. That is why I was left in Bedlam to rot.”
“What do you mean?”
The woman laughed unhappily. “Do you not understand? Lunatics, such as myself, are considered to be such unreasoning
creatures. Because I can never contract a marriage, I will ever be a burden to my parents, an unconscionable reminder of my unnatural state. That is why they had me locked away in Bedlam. I know in my heart that is true.”
Behind her, Lucy heard the door open, but she did not turn around to see who had entered the room. She did not dare move, for fear of startling the woman, who was still more than an arm’s length away.
Duncan edged in beside her. “Are you all right, Lucy?” he whispered, putting his hand on her back. His eyes were fixed on Miss Belasysse. “What is going on here?”
“Ah, Constable Duncan, welcome,” Miss Belasysse said, as if greeting him in a drawing room. “How good of you to join us.” She tittered, her earlier ferment seemingly dispelled. “I must say, I never thought that I should have such a close acquaintance with a man of the law.”
Miss Belasysse took one hand off the window frame then, causing Lucy to gasp. The woman’s perch had become more precarious, and it made Lucy a bit queasy to watch her. She said a small prayer that the woman would keep still.
But Miss Belasysse kept talking, in that odd overly merry tone. “Shall I assume, from your presence here, that you have come to inform me that my brother has been murdered? I am afraid that Lucy has already conveyed to me this vexing news.” Once again she giggled, causing a shiver to run up and down Lucy’s back.
“She says that Mr. Browning was the devil who killed her brother,” Lucy said to the constable. Then she thought about the initials, a sudden realization coming over her. “A. B.! The initials on the knife! Alistair Browning!”
Duncan nodded. He seemed to have already realized the same thing. “So, it is interesting, is it not?” he said conversationally. “Dr. Larimer has confirmed that the same knife killed both men. The question is, how did Mr. Browning come to be stabbed by his own knife—the same knife that killed Henry Belasysse, more than a mile away from the Cattle Bell Inn?” His voice was calm, but still watchful. “Do you know, Miss Belasysse?”
“I thought we would be free,” Miss Belasysse whispered. “Mr. Quade—Jonathan—had given me money, enough to start a new life. I had suitors before, you know, but not one who stayed true after learning of my terrible illness. We thought Henry could keep me hidden until Jonathan could join me.”
“That is why you had the coins sewn into your dress,” Lucy said.
Unexpectedly, Miss Belasysse laughed. “Indeed. It turns out Jonathan was more of a wretch at sewing than I was. What knowledge did I have of sewing? My mother was always concerned that I would convulse while I was doing embroidery and injure myself. So I had to let him sew the coins into the dress that Henry brought me.” Her laugh turned bitter. “Maybe if I had been allowed to stab myself with an embroidery needle, I might not have stabbed a man.”
Duncan and Lucy looked at each other.
“You knifed him?” Duncan asked. “You admit to doing that?”
Miss Belasysse inclined her head. “That is why I deserve to die.”
Lucy put her hands to her lips. “You told me, when we first met on Holborn Bridge, that a devil had been chasing you. Did he come after you, and you ended up killing him yourself? A mistake!” she declared. “A jury might be forgiving!”
Duncan narrowed his eyes. “How did you get the knife from him?”
The woman closed her eyes. As she did so, both Lucy and Duncan took a few silent steps closer to her. Lucy was so close she could almost reach the woman’s knee, but she did not know if that would help should the woman pitch herself over the edge or even accidentally lose her balance.
“How did I get the knife from him?” the woman murmured. “I do not recall.” Then her eyes flew open. “No! He was not chasing me. I was chasing him!”
“What?” Lucy exclaimed. “Whatever do you mean?”
The woman’s expression grew distant, and she tensed again. “After he stabbed my brother, I ran over to Henry, hoping to stanch the blood. But there was so much!” Tears filled her eyes again, and for a moment, she was too overcome to speak.
“That must be how I got his blood on my blue dress. But I looked up, and Mr. Browning was coming toward me. ‘You must come back,’ he said to me. ‘I am not going back!’ I remember shouting back at him. He took a step back, and I leapt up. He took another step back, and I could see then that he was afraid of me. He dropped his knife, and I scooped it up. He turned tail and ran.”
“Where did he go?” Lucy asked.
“Beyond the courtyard and into the burnt-out expanse. I saw him running, the terrible coward that he was. I picked up my skirts and took after him.” She began to shake as the memory overwhelmed her. “Never in my whole life have I run so fast. I was as one possessed, and maybe I was.” Her voice shook. “I wanted to kill him. I needed to kill him!”
Her eyes had taken on an inner fury. “On and on we ran. A devil had possessed me, and it was as if I were watching myself race across that broken plain.”
She began to tremble more. “I heard a voice telling me to stop. I think it was Henry, speaking to me from the beyond. I knew he wanted me to stop, but I could not. I needed that bastard to be killed, to avenge Henry as well as myself.” She took a great breath. “When the blackheart tripped over a rock, I was able to catch up with him. I knew it was my chance! I stabbed him in the back, below his shoulder.” She looked down at her hand in wonder. “Truth be told, I barely knew what I had done.”
“What happened next?” Duncan asked. “Did he fall over? Is that when you finished him off by slitting his throat?”
Lucy looked at him in surprise. The dead man had not sustained such an injury. Duncan shook his head ever so slightly. Ah! She realized Duncan was trying to confirm Octavia’s knowledge of the crime.
Indeed, the woman looked horrified. “I did not slit his throat. I just stabbed him in the back and he fell over. I dropped the knife beside him, and I do not know what happened after that. I may have had one of my fits. I do not remember anything.” She paused. “When I woke up at dawn, I was in the ruins. An old woman was cooking something over a fire. Where you found the dress.”
“What did you do with the body?” Duncan asked. “And the knife?”
“I do not r-remember,” the woman stammered. “That is the truth. It was at that point I stopped remembering what had happened. All of it was gone. I could not remember my name or anything about myself. I only began to remember a few days later, when you took me back there and showed me the dress.”
Lucy and the constable looked at each other. “Someone else killed him,” Lucy said, realizing then what Duncan had already determined.
“What do you mean?” Miss Belasysse said, squinting her eyes.
Lucy held out her hand. “Miss Belasysse, please come out of the window. I will tell you.” She tried to keep her voice calm and soothing, but her heart was racing. It was all too easy to imagine the woman toppling out onto the hard ground of the courtyard below. Duncan went to the other side and held out his hand as well.
“Please,” Lucy whispered.
Obediently the woman took their hands and stepped out of the window frame, as though descending from an elegant carriage. She sat down on the bed, and Lucy sat beside her, pulling a blanket around her.
“That man was struck down in a manner different to what you described. He did have other cuts, but none so deep as what would have killed him. No, he sustained a deep blow to his chest—a death blow. He was found half buried a good distance away, and the knife was found buried as well,” the constable said. “I agree with Lucy. Someone else finished the act. Most likely on your behalf. Who else was there?”
“You said that you heard someone calling for you to stop,” Lucy prodded her.
“Henry,” Miss Belasysse said, stammering. “It was Henry who called me.”
A flash of realization came over Lucy. “No, not your brother,” she said. “It was Mr. Quade, was it not?”
“No!” Miss Belasysse cried out. “No, it was not Jonathan. It could not have bee
n.”
“He knew where you and your brother were going. He was the one who smuggled out the letter to your brother. He brought you the elixir that you needed. He helped you sew coins into your dress,” Lucy said, touching the woman’s elbow. “It seems that he would do anything to help you.”
Duncan looked thoughtful. “That would mean that he had known that the assistant keeper had been sent to retrieve Miss Belasysse.”
“I imagine that he simply followed Mr. Browning to the inn,” Lucy said. She looked back at Miss Belasysse. “Was he there? Did he come inside the inn? Did he speak to you?”
Miss Belasysse did not answer, beginning to weep.
Duncan nodded. “I must go question Mr. Quade. Find out the truth of the matter.”
26
“Please do not arrest Jonathan,” Miss Belasysse pleaded, stumbling after Constable Duncan as he moved quickly down the stairs. “Please.”
“Miss Belasysse,” Lucy called, two steps behind them. “I beg you. Return to your bed. You are not well.”
Duncan had just reached the front door when there came an urgent knocking from the outside. He opened it to reveal Hank standing with Susan Belasysse, Lady Belasysse, and Harlan Boteler.
Having heard the great clamor, Dr. Larimer and Mr. Sheridan had stepped out of the study.
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Dr. Sheridan shouted.
Seeing Constable Duncan, Susan Belasysse cried out, “You have heard from my husband? Where is he? Tell me at once!”
Hank threw up his hands. “I did not tell them,” he said to Duncan. “I just told them that you had news.”
“Pray, come inside,” Dr. Larimer said. To Molly, who was peering out from the shadows of the hallway, he added, “Wine, Molly. At once.”
With a frightened look, the servant scurried off, and everyone else followed Dr. Larimer into the drawing room.
A Death Along the River Fleet Page 25
