Ainsley set out to protest but found his energy for such things missing. “My brother and I are not chums, if that is what you imply. He and I disagree on many things.”
“Such as?”
Reluctant to speak, Ainsley paused and reached for a trinket poking out of a nearby crate. Fingering it he tried to formulate a dismissive remark but found his resentment too strong. “Because he is a womanizer and a brute and does not deserve to be wed to anyone, least of all you. His attentions are always directed towards the maids, very inappropriately, and while he is my brother, I must warn you. Do you realize the nature of the man you are pledging to marry?”
He expected Evelyn to be reproachful but instead she remained thoughtful, as if carefully considering his words.
“I thank you for your concern.” She smiled slightly and began to pace the room, walking toward the window next to her large, imposing bed. “Your concern is charming but unnecessary. I am aware of the reputation of the man I am to wed.”
“He will bring you nothing but heartache, I assure you,” Ainsley said.
“You underestimate me, Lord Marshall,” she said with a smile, “I am not a young girl, smitten by your brother's charm or promises of undying love. I am a woman rapidly approaching spinsterhood.”
“So you would marry him for what? ...children?”
“In part, but you must consider my family's past to understand my true meaning.” She looked out the window briefly, watching over what Ainsley guessed to be the yard, perhaps the carriage lane that would lead to a small carriage house beyond, given the location of the room they were in. When she turned back her expression was sad. “When my father died I was very young. I had no recollection of him and my mother had nothing to remember him by, not money nor property. We were destitute, as difficult a situation as you can imagine, particularly for my mother who had been raised in a lavish home. She married for love and he died within two years. The second time she married for money.”
“Lord Weatherall?”
“Correct. My mother has taught me that love and sweet nothings pay neither baker nor undertaker. My children will be earls and countesses and my purpose will be fulfilled.”
Ainsley tried to suppress a crooked smile. He had learned his brother was not the rightful heir, and by rights he could demand the title be passed on to him. Evelyn and Daniel were planning a life under the impression that he was to be Earl of Montcliff when in reality he was nothing more than a doctor's son. Ainsley reigned in these thoughts, deciding that was another task for another day.
“Are you confessing to marrying my brother for our family's money?”
Evelyn shrugged and began to walk slowly back to him. “You could tell me your brother wished to marry me for something other than the generous dowry Lord Weatherall is providing, but I would know you to be wrong. My money is just as alluring as your brother's money and, naturally, his eventual inheritance of your father's title, though I confess I am glad it will not be for some time. The time will give me more practice.”
Ainsley shoved his hands deep into his pockets and exhaled. “You care nothing for the possible lovers my brother will take?”
“No,” she answered plainly. “He is welcome to take as many as he likes, as long as my children are his rightful heirs.” She paused and regarded him a moment. “You thought me more sentimental?”
“I had, yes.”
“I am aware of the workings of this world. I know the minds of men, the evils they perpetrate. As a woman, I cannot change the system of this country but I can learn to play it to my best advantage.”
Ainsley pressed his lips together, more than a little put off by her confession. She had grown up poor, it was clear she had no desire to return to that state. Lord Weatherall's money gave her the opportunity to rise in rank and secure a future for her children. It seemed sensible enough to him though he wondered if she was discounting the most important ingredients to long lasting happiness, friendship and mutual respect. He had seen the effects of the business driven marriage and it had ended in his mother's early death. No one deserved such a fate. Was he concerned Daniel and Evelyn's marriage would end the same way?
“You may tell your brother my reasons for marrying him,” she said, breaking his reverie. “I am sure he will see it as sensible, just as I see nothing amiss with his expectations of my dowry.”
Ainsley began to nod. “And so is the way of the world,” he said quietly.
He turned, glancing over the half empty crates and unwrapped belongings when something on a nearby table caught his eye. It was a mirrored vanity tray, with cut glass bottles of perfume and scented oils laid out on top. It had silver plated handles intricately designed with swirling ivy and bulbous flourishes. But it was the etchings on the surface of the mirror that caught his eye. On it were clusters of five petal flowers framing the corners in a decorative fashion.
He felt the warmth drain from his head and through his body as if it were seeping into the floor and spilling out all around him. It was the very copy of the etched mirror he had found in Clara's letted room. Ainsley looked to Evelyn, her usual composure lost when she saw what had caught his eye.
“A gift from my brother,” she said quickly.
“Why are you shaking?”
She shook her head, unwilling to reply.
Ainsley began quietly “Evelyn, you know a mirror like this was found in Clara's room.”
“How do you know that?” Her face looked pained.
Ainsley sighed, wanting to keep his own secrets. “Evelyn—”
“I told you all I know,” she answered emphatically.
Ainsley shook his head. “I do not doubt your insistence,” he said, “I believe you do not know of her death. Did Will give her one as well?”
She shook her head and avoided his purposeful gaze. She pulled a cloth bundle from a crate and unraveled it to reveal a medium size vase.
Ainsley continued. “Your brother, he viewed her rather fondly, did he not?”
“Will would not hurt a soul,” she said quickly.
Ainsley smiled and tried again. “What were you both doing at Clara Buxton's room?”
She remained silent, looking at Ainsley sideways. Her hands shook slightly and the vase she held in them looked as if it would completely shatter should she lose her grip. Ainsley walked to her and gingerly slipped the vase from her grasp and placed it safely on the mantle, all the while keeping his gaze trained on her faltering expression of innocence.
“Evelyn, should I be concerned for my brother and the true nature of the woman he intends to marry?” Ainsley raised an eyebrow.
It was the only card he had to play. She had already expressed her desperation to marry for their family's money and rank. She had even confessed to being able to overlook Daniel's wandering eye for the privilege of being the next Lady Marshall. Could she have conspired with Will to murder Clara to prevent the troubled girl from speaking of their family's past? Had Clara threatened such an action Evelyn could very well have neutralized the threat by killing her.
“I do not comprehend your interest in this personal family matter. I think it best if you leave, Peter,” she said forcefully, though a slight flicker in her gaze gave Ainsley reason to believe her confidence wavered.
He did not immediately leave. He stood in disbelief, his options turning over in his head as they looked each other over. With a sudden found vigour she repeated her command, “I am telling you to leave, do so now or I will summon a constable.”
Ainsley gave a smirk at this. It was a higher ranking police officer who had sent him, but of course she could not be told this. “Very well,” he said, resigning to his failed mission. “But understand this, the detectives who came to your engagement ball will be knocking on your door again. They will not be charmed as my brother and I first were and they will not be bought with your family's money. If you had a hand in that girl's death you will be apprehended and tried and maybe even hanged.”
Evelyn quivere
d slightly at his words, shivering against the realism he presented and the abrasive manner by which he said them. Suspected of murder he could no longer treat her with kid gloves or ask special treatment. Too many clues had been uncovered for that. She needed to trust him enough to tell him what really happened lest she be imprisoned or worse.
The terrified look on her face made him soften. “I only tell you so you can prepare. If something happened I can help you,” he said.
“How?” Tears threatened her composure but as quickly as they came, they left and she reverted to her original stance. “It happened as I said,” she answered stoically. “I was not there.”
By the time Ainsley arrived at home, he was chilled to his core. The temperature had taken a sharp dip when the sun went down and the frigid wind proved capable of piercing his overcoat and gloves. After giving a hasty greeting to Billis, foregoing their usual banter, he went straight for the parlour where he found Margaret, Father and Daniel set before a healthy fire.
“Look what the weather blew in,” Daniel muttered when he saw Ainsley walk into the room. He gave a slight sneer, turning from Ainsley, disinterested. Margaret was seated away from the men, having chosen a place near the lamp, a book lying open in her lap. She gave Ainsley little more than a pressed smile causing Ainsley to wonder at the moods of Daniel and their father.
“I'm afraid your sister neglected to instruct the staff to lay a plate aside for you,” Lord Marshall said, a slight slur proving they had been drinking for a while.
“Peter, I—”
Ainsley cut Margaret off. “It's all right,” he said, unbuttoning his jacket. “I admit I haven't any interest in food at the moment.”
He warmed his hands briefly in front of the fire, rubbing them together and moving them to coax back some feeling. Purposely he moved, ignoring the gaze of his father and brother. Removing his jacket he laid it on the arm of a chair placed against the wall and decided to join Margaret, slipping into the empty space next to her on the couch.
He saw her give him a glance and open her mouth as if to say something but then her eyes darted to their father and her confidence retreated. Her gaze returned to her book.
“I was looking for you brother,” Ainsley said, “Had I known you were here I would have saved myself the trip. I found Evelyn at the new house alone.”
Daniel gave a slight chuckle and took a drink of what Ainsley guessed was brandy. “She's quite eager, isn't she?” he replied. “She asked me if she could have her father's men bring over some crates.” He placed his glass on the table. “Why did you seek me?” he asked. “Let me guess, you have found Mother's killer?” Daniel laughed heartily at his own joke which produced a smile only from Lord Marshall and a look of shock from Margaret. Ainsley saw her give him an apologetic look before lowering her gaze again. She had told them, at least about the findings of the examination, if nothing else.
“You do not believe my suspicions then?” Ainsley asked.
“She drowned of her own doing,” Daniel said quickly. He waved his hand dismissively.
Ainsley leaned toward them, sitting on the edge of his seat using his knees as a brace for his elbows. “There was suspect bruising on her shoulders and two nails were broken on her right hand—”
“Suggesting what?” Lord Marshall asked, not bothering to turn to his son.
“Suggesting a struggle.” Ainsley answered indignantly.
Daniel let out a huff. “Move on.”
Ainsley shook his head. “I won't.”
“You will, and that will be the end of it!” The voice of their father reverberated throughout the room, and no doubt the house. He did not turn to even look at Ainsley, who sat in quiet disbelief, unsure how to handle such a confrontation.
“I have made a decision,” Lord Marshall said. He finally turned and pointed a finger at Ainsley. “Your work at the hospital has come to an end. I need not appease your mother any longer.”
“And what of your son?” Ainsley did not dare say only son, though he wished he were ruthless enough to do so. Wouldn't that wipe the growing smirk from his brother's face?
Lord Marshall shook his head. “I am master here,” he said.
“Is that why you killed her?” Ainsley asked, squaring his shoulders, preparing to be rebuked. “So you could be master and commander once and for all?”
Lord Marshall rose and turned, his form silhouetted by the light of the fire behind him. Dark shadows crawled over his face, the light of the lamp next to Margaret making him appear more like a devil than a human. “I will not be spoken to in such a way!”
Ainsley stood, squaring against his equally tall father. “And I won't be ordered about like a prepubescent boy!”
“Perhaps if you ceased to behave as such—”
“Please stop!” Margaret yelled, coming between them. She held a hand to Ainsley's chest, touching him as if knowing her presence would make him behave. “Mother is gone,” she said, as if only to Ainsley. “Nothing good will come of this argument.”
For a moment Ainsley forgot all others in the room and focused on Margaret wondering what she expected him to do. There was evidence enough to prove their mother was forced under the surface of the water, but the findings ran cold when he tried to pinpoint the murderer.
When Ainsley looked from Margaret he found his father had retreated to the fireplace, setting his tumbler beside an ornate gold leaf frame on the mantle. “I did not kill your mother,” Lord Marshall said, his voice quiet and his gaze concentrated.
Ainsley remembered the portrait well, a small painting of his mother in her wedding dress that had sat on that mantle since before he could remember. He distinctly recalled he and Margaret, no more than five, pulling a chair beneath it just so they could climb up and behold it. Of all the portraits of their mother it remained the only one that held a true likeness. It had been a shame it was so small but the artist commissioned to do it died a year after.
“I loved her.”
Ainsley and Margaret stood stunned, unsure how to react to the sound of their hardened father crying.
“I loved her but she did not love me like I thought she could one day.” He pulled the small frame from the mantel and turned it toward the fire as if using the light to look upon it. His free hand wiped a tear from his cheek.
A groan escaped Daniel's lips. “Enough Father,” he said, standing suddenly. “She was a fool and an adulteress. Good riddance to—”
Ainsley charged, pushing his brother from his feet and together they fell over the small table between the chairs, the wood splintering under their weight. On the ground they struggled but Ainsley had the upper hand. He had no drinks that night to impede his hits and he got three solid blows in before he felt the strong arms of Billis pulling him away. Ainsley struggled against Billis' grasp, unable to accept that his vengeful moment had ended.
Daniel sat up, lifting a hand to his nose just as a trickle of blood seeped onto his upper lip.
“You are despicable!” Ainsley yelled, pulling on Billis' tight grasp around his mid-section. “Mother was good to you. She was good to all of us!” Ainsley yelled.
Billis turned Ainsley around positioning himself between Ainsley and his brother. His imposing body served as a wall but Ainsley still tried to breach it.
“You don't deserve to call me brother you selfish prat!”
He could feel Billis pushing him from the room and into his father's study despite Ainsley's attempts to confront his brother. “Move, damn it!” he yelled at the butler.
“That is a command I can not heed,” Billis answered.
Ainsley heard the door to the study close and secretly wished his brother would come for him. His anger had not been satisfied and his temper raged on.
“He is a fool!” Ainsley said to Billis, as he straightened his shirt. It was then he realized two buttons were missing. He loosened his tie and threw it aside.
“You are a fool,” Billis answered evenly. “Your mother hardly deserves such a
fuss.”
“Pray, choose your words carefully. I am in no mood.” Ainsley gave the butler a pointed finger.
“I have served your father for many years and my loyalty remains with him. I have seen the pain she has inflicted on him.” Billis glanced to the closed door and looked back. “I see it still.”
“She was murdered, Billis,” Ainsley said, struggling to keep his own tears at bay.
The butler nodded, his gaze somber. “I know, my lord.”
The door opened and Margaret slipped in, a look of worry on her face. “Good god, Peter, what were you thinking?” She did not need an answer. Margaret was at his side and looking him over, most likely searching for swelling or cuts as she did when he would return from boxing fights. She raised her hand as if to touch his ear but he brushed her away. “I am fine, Margaret.”
While they spoke, Billis turned to the door. Always the same, never changing, Ainsley and Margaret saw that he had aged a great deal in the last few days. He walked to the door as if defeated, his pace slow and his gait haggard. Always brisk and spry, this change startled Ainsley.
“Did I hurt you Billis?” he asked, suddenly aware that he could have injured the ageing butler in an effort to harm his brother.
At the door Billis placed a hand on the knob and turned to them. “No, my lord.” Ainsley watched as Billis left the room, closing the door behind him.
“I think he fibs,” Margaret said. She was not sweet or doting, she looked angry and annoyed, her patience drawn thin by her brothers' row.
Ainsley said nothing. He went to their father's table of liquor and poured himself a generous glass of whiskey, downing it quickly and pouring another.
Margaret let out a long sigh. “You truly think this is the time?” she asked.
Ainsley shrugged and put the glass to his lips. “I don't see how it matters?” he asked. “You heard Father. I'm done.”
“Peter.”
Ainsley shook his head, unwilling to accept her sympathy, and turned to the window just as the icy mist turned into snow. He did not need any more reasons to drink.
Dead Silent Page 20
