Silence in the Library

by Katharine Schellman

  “I do not like to leave you at such a moment, Aunt,” said Percy, looking doubtful.

  Lady Wyatt’s expression softened. “You are very good. But perhaps you could go upstairs and check on Ellen?”

  “Ah yes, of course.” Percy stood abruptly. “If you will excuse me.”

  Simon frowned, racking his brain for a clue as to who Ellen was. The name obviously had some meaning to the three Wyatts, but he couldn’t place it. “Who is Ellen?”

  There was a moment of stiff silence, all three Wyatts looking surprised that he had asked. “One of our maids,” Frank said at last.

  It was an answer that told him nothing at all. “And why must Mr. Percy Wyatt check on her?”

  “Merely to offer her some comfort and assistance at the moment,” Lady Wyatt said. It was hard to tell from her tone whether she was bored or irritated by his inquiry into her household affairs. “Ellen has been most upset by my husband’s death—so many of these girls in service are quite young and emotional. Percy always has a way of speaking to them that helps them calm down and go on with their work.”

  A flicker of movement caught Simon’s eye; Mrs. Adler had leaned ever so slightly forward in her chair. When she saw him looking at her, she gave her head the barest shake, narrowing her eyes as they glanced between Lady Wyatt and the two young men. Clearly, something about Lady Wyatt’s explanation didn’t sit right with her. He’d have to find out why.

  But he could also tell by the expressions of the three suspects before him—for that was what they were, even if they didn’t yet realize it—that now was not the time to press for more. Simon wanted to sigh.

  “Very well. Mr. Percy Wyatt, thank you for your time and patience. Mr. Frank Wyatt, if you would stay a moment longer, though. We’re not quite done.”

  Frank’s eyes darted toward his stepmother, and he didn’t hide his look of irritation quickly enough. She looked equally unhappy, though she kept her gaze turned resolutely away from him. That was the exact reason Simon wanted to keep them in the room together for as long as he could. He wanted to observe the undercurrents of animosity between them—though in truth they were so obvious that they weren’t really under the surface at all.

  “Mr. Wyatt mentioned that he went out for the evening. What time was that, Lady Wyatt?”

  “He left sometime after half seven, I believe, since that was when Sir Charles and I—” Her voice wavered for a moment. “We dined together. Then we sat together in the library for a while, as we often did when we had no company.”

  “And Mr. Wyatt, do you usually dine at home?”

  “From time to time. I am more likely, though, to dine at the club or with friends.” Frank stood rigidly upright, meeting Simon’s eyes as he spoke. Though his voice was steady, his knuckles were white where they gripped the back of the chair in front of him.

  Simon considered Frank, his own hands clasped behind his back. “I would have expected that a young man such as yourself would keep your own lodgings, the way your cousin does.”

  “I have often wished to,” Frank said, shooting a quick, narrow-eyed glance at his stepmother. “But my father preferred to have me here. It had been just us until very recently.” A note of sarcasm entered his voice as he spoke, and Simon didn’t miss the way Lady Wyatt’s posture stiffened. But the sarcasm faded, and Frank’s shoulders slumped. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “Father and I enjoy … enjoyed each other’s company.”

  “And now?” Simon asked, looking between Frank and Lady Wyatt.

  They both stared at him blankly. “Now?” Frank asked.

  “Which of you will inherit the property, now that Sir Charles is gone?”

  “Oh.” Lady Wyatt raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. “I do not … That is, I had not even considered the question.”

  “We will have to consult with Hammond,” Frank said impatiently. “At one time, of course, all my father’s property was left to me. I cannot say what the arrangement is now. The Devonshire property is certainly still mine—it is entailed in the male line.”

  “You’ve no idea, Lady Wyatt, how your husband left his estate settled?” Simon asked, raising his brows.

  “It never occurred to me to ask,” Lady Wyatt said faintly. “His health was so vigorous, I never would have dreamed …” She broke off. “Please, I cannot bear this talk of money so soon after … I cannot.” She raised her handkerchief to her mouth, catching a sob.

  Frank made a sudden movement with his hands, as though he wanted to reach for his stepmother or shake her. But he jerked them back just as quickly, a flurry of emotions chasing over his features before he schooled them back into proper English calm. “Do try to have a little composure, Winnie,” he said. “The fellow is only trying to do his job.”

  The stare that Lady Wyatt turned on her stepson was blistering; if looks could kill, the Wyatt family might have lost another member right then. “Mr. Wyatt,” she said, enunciating each word so sharply that Simon nearly winced. “I will thank you not to speak down to me.”

  Frank flushed. “I only meant that I would like this whole monstrous business to be concluded as swiftly as possible,” he said, his voice catching. “I find myself ill suited to answering questions or engaging with company at the moment.”

  “You are entitled to grieve for your father,” Lady Wyatt said, turning her head away and taking a deep breath. “But you are not entitled to tell me how I should grieve for my husband.”

  There was a long pause, then Frank nodded. “My apologies. Do you wish me to leave?”

  Another long pause. “I would prefer it, yes.”

  Frank stood, bowing to his stepmother and to Mrs. Adler before turning toward the door. Simon’s jaw clenched; clearly, it hadn’t even occurred to Frank Wyatt that he ought to check with the constable in the room before excusing himself. But Simon knew he wouldn’t get much further with his questions if he upset the lady of the house too much. And he could always come back to Mr. Wyatt. Still …

  He could see some of the tension fading from Frank’s shoulders as he crossed the room, clearly glad to be done with facing questions. So he waited until Frank’s hand was on the doorknob, inches from freedom, before he spoke again.

  “A moment, Mr. Wyatt,” Simon said. Frank paused, glancing back over his shoulder, suddenly tense once more. “Did your cousin give you any indication last night that he and your father had reconciled?”

  “He told me when we met at the club that they had left things on good terms, though he did not say much else. Seemed a little shifty about the whole business, but I was glad to hear it.”

  “And are you equally ready to forgive your cousin?”

  “To forgive him?” Frank looked surprised, then frowned in consideration, staring at his hand on the doorknob. “I suppose I already have. I was upset at the time, certainly. Percy might not always display the best judgment, but I shouldn’t have expected him to do something so underhanded. But now …” Frank looked up again. “Under the circumstances, it seems rather trivial, does it not? My father clearly did not wish to hold a grudge over the matter. I’ve every intention of following his example. Boys make mistakes, after all.”

  Simon held back a retort. Percy Wyatt was hardly a boy, and his “mistake” had nearly cost a man his livelihood—and possibly his life, if the Wyatts had decided to bring charges against the footman for such a significant theft. But his job wasn’t to correct the people he was interviewing. It was to find out what they were thinking and, more specifically, what they had done. He kept his hands firmly behind his back so no one else in the room could see that they had clenched into angry fists. “Thank you, Mr. Wyatt. My sympathies, once more.”

  As soon as Frank was gone and the door closed behind him, Simon turned to Lady Wyatt. “Now, ma’am, I’m afraid I must ask you a few questions as well.”

  Lady Wyatt lifted her face toward him. Her hands still twisted the handkerchief in her lap, but her gaze, as she met his, was steely.

&
nbsp; “Do your worst, sir,” she said softly. “Nothing you can say will hurt me more than what has already happened today.”

  Simon met her eyes, his expression equally steady. “I hope that is the case, Lady Wyatt. But we shall see.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Lily expected Mr. Page to begin his questions right away. Instead, he regarded Lady Wyatt for several long, assessing moments. She met his eyes steadily, but her own were brimming with tears, and she continued to twist the handkerchief in her lap so tightly that the fragile fabric looked as though it might rip. Lily glanced briefly at Jack, and he met her eyes with a frown, his own flickering toward Mr. Page in an obvious question. Lily gave the barest shrug of her shoulders. She didn’t know what the constable was waiting for either.

  Just when the silence had grown painful, Mr. Page spoke.

  “Lady Wyatt, who do you know who might have wished your husband harm?”

  Lily caught her breath at the bluntness of the question. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack start forward before Mr. Page gestured him back sharply. He never took his eyes off Lady Wyatt.

  She had stood abruptly as he spoke, so abruptly that her feet knocked against a tufted footstool and sent it tumbling. She didn’t seem to notice; instead, she regarded Mr. Page with an expression that was somewhere between fury and horror. “No one. This all must be a mistake, mustn’t it? An accident, a terrible joke … surely no one could …” She met his eyes. “But I see you are not the sort of man who even has a sense of humor, are you?”

  “Not much of one, no,” said Mr. Page mildly, seeming unperturbed by the woman’s outburst.

  Lady Wyatt took a deep breath, gathering her calm once more as she sat. “Had Mrs. Adler not told me what was discovered in the library, I would never have believed it possible that Charles could have been … There is no one who could have wanted to harm him. No one.”

  “No one?”

  Lady Wyatt looked around the room, an appeal in her eyes. “Mrs. Adler, Captain Hartley, you saw our family just yesterday. Did it seem to you that any of us harbored any ill will toward my husband? Did you detect any secret vendettas?” Lily and Jack glanced at each other uncomfortably. “Well?” Lady Wyatt demanded, clearly unsatisfied with their silence. Her breathing was deep and erratic with emotion, and Lily hoped the woman wasn’t going to work herself into a faint.

  “I did not,” Jack said at last.

  “And Mrs. Adler, your family knows ours no little amount. Surely you cannot think of anyone who wished Sir Charles harm?”

  “No,” Lily agreed, though she hesitated a little. “There was the issue of the theft, of course, but even Mr. Percy Wyatt seemed to treat Sir Charles with great respect. And according to him, your husband was almost unaccountably forgiving.”

  “There, you see?” Lady Wyatt said, rounding on Mr. Page once more. “There is absolutely no reason for anyone in our family to wish him harm.”

  “Your family aren’t the only ones to consider, Lady Wyatt. There are other people living in this house.”

  Her lips parted as she stared at him, stunned. “You mean the servants?”

  “It is a possibility.”

  “But …” She shook her head, her brows knitting together in thought as she sank back onto the settee. She shook her head firmly. “It is impossible. My husband was a strict man, certainly, who expected a great deal of those in his employ. But he was always fair.”

  “What would have happened to your footman yesterday if Mr. Percy’s theft had not been discovered?” Mr. Page asked pointedly.

  But Lady Wyatt only sighed, leaning back against the settee and briefly covering her eyes with one hand. Her voice, when she spoke again, was weary. “He would have been let go without a character. Which even you must admit would be far preferable for him when compared to charges for theft.” She opened her eyes to glare at the constable. “And, since you seem to know all our business, you also know that Percy’s theft was discovered, thanks to Mrs. Adler.” Lady Wyatt took a moment to nod in Lily’s direction before turning back to Mr. Page. “Our servants have no cause for complaint against us.” She closed her eyes again and added, her voice growing smaller, “So ask your questions and be done.”

  Lily’s heart twisted in her chest, and she had to take her own deep breath against the renewed memory of grief. She felt a gentle hand settle on her shoulder and turned to smile at Jack. She pressed her hand briefly against his before sitting forward, her gaze fixed on Lady Wyatt once more.

  Mr. Page seemed to relent, and he asked his remaining questions in a gentler voice. Lady Wyatt was pale but resolute as she answered, telling him much the same information she had offered Lily.

  No, Frank had not joined them for dinner. She and Sir Charles had dined early together, as they had no evening plans. Yes, she had been sitting with her husband in the library that evening, as they often did. No, there was nothing odd in them having retired at different times. Sir Charles liked to stay up late and spend time by himself. He had been without a wife for many years after the death of Frank’s mother; she had not expected him to change his ways so soon—one hand pressed against her mouth, she closed her eyes as if to hold back more tears—so soon into a new marriage. No, they did not share a bedroom; she would have had no way of knowing whether he ever retired. No, she had not heard anything odd after withdrawing to her room for the night. She had gone to bed early after her maid helped her change.

  Through it all, Lady Wyatt’s voice grew smaller, and one hand pressed her temple briefly as if warding off a headache. At one point, she reached out blindly for support, and when Lily took her hand, she discovered that it was trembling.

  Mr. Page’s sharp eyes caught the gesture, and he hesitated. “Lady Wyatt, are you well?”

  “A trifle …” She briefly closed her eyes once more, before shaking her head and attempting to square her shoulders. “Continue, if you please. I would rather this be over and done.”

  “Very well.” Mr. Page had not moved throughout his questions, his hands still clasped behind his back and his face impassive. “You said you were sitting with your husband in the library before you retired for the night.”

  Lady Wyatt frowned. “We often do after dinner.”

  “And yesterday evening was one of those times.”

  “I believe so.” There was an edge of faintness to the woman’s voice, and she swayed in her seat as she spoke.

  Lily, casting a distressed look at Mr. Page, pulled a vinaigrette out of her reticule and held it out. At Lady Wyatt’s brief nod, Lily held it before the other woman’s face, and the sharp smell of the salts made her catch her breath and sit up straighter. But she was still pale.

  Mr. Page was eyeing Lady Wyatt, his mouth twisted in a way that Lily could not interpret. It might have been sympathy; Lily remembered too well his opinions about the sensitivity and weakness of women of the upper class. Or it might have been frustration that he was clearly not going to be able to ask any more questions at the moment.

  “We’re done for now, ma’am,” he said at last. “I thank you for your time. Perhaps we can call your son and nephew to help you back to your room?”

  “No, not them.” Lady Wyatt stood. But she still swayed a little, and Jack quickly held out his arm over the back of the settee. She steadied herself with it, giving him a small, grateful smile. “If Mrs. Adler will lend me her assistance just once more, I believe I need to retire.”

  “Of course,” Lily said quickly, slipping her smelling salts away and standing. “Captain, if you will wait, I shall return immediately.”

  She took Lady Wyatt’s arm, helping the other woman from the room. Just before they left, she glanced over her shoulder. Mr. Page was watching them go, his forehead creased in thought.

  * * *

  Lady Wyatt did not speak as they made their way upstairs once more, and Lily, knowing the twisting emotions grief could cause, did not press her. After helping Lady Wyatt to her bed, Lily murmured her condolences once more, p
reparing to depart.

  But when she would have turned away, Lady Wyatt caught her arm. “Mrs. Adler, I know you’d not seen my husband in many years. But you and your father know him, know his character.” Lady Wyatt’s grip on her arm was surprisingly tight. “You must tell that man that no one had any reason to harm him, that—” She broke off, dropping Lily’s arm abruptly and turning her head away. “I cannot bear to go down and speak to him again. But please, you know our family. You must tell him …”

  “I cannot imagine my words would have any influence,” Lily said, hesitating. Mr. Page had grown to respect her, certainly. But she doubted he would leave off his inquiries simply because she’d told him Sir Charles had been a man of character and that Frank cared for his father.

  “But surely—”

  She was interrupted by the door swinging open.

  “Lady Wyatt?” A woman in a dark-blue dress and white apron stood in the doorway, her uniform just different enough from those of the other maids of the household to tell Lily that this must be Lady Wyatt’s personal maid or dresser. She held a dark bottle and an empty glass in her hands. “I’ve brought some of Mr. Frank’s laudanum.”

  Lady Wyatt hesitated, shooting a sideways glance at Lily. “Why did you do that, Wilkes?” she asked. Lily was surprised by how cross she sounded.

  The maid Wilkes clearly was too. “The doctor who came this morning, Lady Wyatt, to look at …” She hesitated. “You’ll remember, he suggested you take some to help you rest after the man from Bow Street was finished.”

  Lady Wyatt hesitated again. Lily, wondering if she was worried about being seen as one of those unfortunate people who depended on the laudanum bottle to get through the day, spoke up. “If the doctor recommended it, there can be no harm. And surely you need your rest after such a morning.”

  Lady Wyatt gave a sigh and nodded. “Very well, Wilkes. You may pour a small dose.” Turning, she clasped Lily’s hand. “I thank you for coming to help, Mrs. Adler. It truly was a kindness.”