Silence in the Library

by Katharine Schellman

  “I could not have done otherwise,” Lily said quietly. “My heart goes out to you for such a horrible loss, truly.”

  Lady Wyatt nodded, her mouth trembling as she closed her eyes and lay back upon the bed. Lily suddenly felt that she could bear to stay no longer. Murmuring condolences once more, she slipped out of the room.

  Lily closed the door softly behind her, her body feeling suddenly heavy and exhausted. There were little gilded chairs tucked in alcoves along the hallway, and Lily sank into one of them with a sigh. Witnessing Lady Wyatt’s grief had brought back too many memories, and she wanted nothing more than to retreat to her own comfortable home on Half Moon Street and be alone with her thoughts.

  Then she remembered that she wouldn’t be alone—not with her father there. For a moment, she wanted to scream with frustration. She whimpered slightly, dropping her head into her hands.

  “Are you well, ma’am?”

  Lily started to her feet to find that Wilkes, the lady’s maid, had emerged soundlessly from Lady Wyatt’s chamber and was watching her with concern.

  “Perfectly well, thank you,” Lily said, standing hastily and shaking out her shoulders. The assertion came out just a bit too loud, and she cleared her throat, trying to bring her wayward emotions back under control. “Lady Wyatt will be able to rest, I hope?”

  The maid’s face softened with sympathy. “Aye, she’s lying down now. Poor dear,” she said, her warm voice surprisingly deep for such a small frame. “And her so newly a bride too.” Lily nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. “I hope it don’t weigh on her too much, that they didn’t have a chance to make up their quarrel,” Wilkes continued, shaking her head sadly. “Sir Charles was married before; he knew those little spats never lasted. But her never being married before, she already took it so seriously.”

  Lady Wyatt hadn’t mentioned a quarrel when Mr. Page was questioning her. Lily hesitated, not sure how to find out more without seeming like a gossip. “I think it must weigh on her,” she said at last, watching the lady’s maid closely out of the corner of her eye. “She wouldn’t even say what it was about.”

  “No, no more would she say last night.” Wilkes sighed. “First her not wanting to go on his walk with him, then her shutting herself in her room like that, refusing to sit with him as she usually did of an evening after he was shouting about leaving London. Poor dear.” She sighed, then curtsied. “Begging your pardon, ma’am. I don’t mean to keep you. You’re sure you’re well?”

  “Of course.” Lily stood, her mind reeling. Why had Lady Wyatt lied about being with Sir Charles last night? “Thank you for your concern.”

  * * *

  When Lily finally made her way downstairs, her feelings back under control and her face serene once more, she found a strange tableau in the front hall. Jack stood at the foot of the stairs, trying to look as though he were concerned only with waiting for her. Mr. Page was talking to the butler, watched over from no very great distance by both Frank and Percy Wyatt. Percy’s arms were crossed belligerently, while Frank had his hands in his pockets, and they had identical scowls of disapproval on their faces.

  Lily paused before she reached the bottom of the stairs, the better to watch everyone below her. Jack laid one hand over hers where it rested on the banister before cutting his eyes back toward the polite interrogation happening in the hall. They stood quietly facing each other, both of them watching the others out of the corner of their eye and listening to every word.

  “And you didn’t wake Sir Charles when you found him sleeping in the library?” Mr. Page asked, pointedly not looking at either of the Wyatt men, who were watching him.

  The butler couldn’t stay quite so impassive; he glanced uncomfortably at them before he spoke. Lily saw Frank gesture impatiently, while Percy’s scowl deepened.

  “No, sir,” the servant said at last. “He often sat in the library in his chair after dinner. If he fell asleep there, we all had specific instructions not to wake him.”

  “And why was that?” Mr. Page asked.

  “Because—” Frank began, but he fell into a scowling silence when Mr. Page held up a hand.

  “I should like to hear it from Mr. Clewes, if you please,” he said pleasantly, only glancing at Percy and Frank before returning his attention to the butler. “Mr. Clewes?”

  Clewes cleared his throat. “On account of his gout, sir. He often slept poorly when it was paining him, so if we found him asleep in such a position—it happened from time to time—we were to let him sleep.”

  “And all the staff knew this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And his gout was paining him yesterday?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you’re sure that he was asleep when you saw him? He was well and uninjured at that time?”

  “Oh yes indeed,” Clewes said, sounding shocked. “I had to approach him to be certain he was actually asleep, you see. And …” The butler cleared his throat again, then lowered his voice, as if afraid of giving offense. “I’m afraid Sir Charles snored quite loudly at times. There was no mistaking it.”

  “Was he still in the library when you retired for the night?”

  The butler hesitated. “Yes and no,” he said at last. “He was there when I first retired—snoring loudly, as I said. But Mr. Wyatt had lost his key, so I had to come let him in when he arrived home—”

  “And what time was that?” Mr. Page interrupted.

  “Around half three in the morning, I should think,” Clewes said. “I didn’t look too closely at the clock, so it might have been a bit earlier or a bit later. I am …” He glanced at Frank and cleared his throat. “I’m not used to arising at that hour, I’m afraid. I wasn’t at my most alert.”

  “By that, do you mean it was uncommon for Mr. Frank Wyatt to return home in such a state during the small hours of the morning?” Mr. Page asked, glancing at the young man in question. Lily saw Frank grimace a little and shrug.

  “Yes, sir,” Clewes said, looking uncomfortable at having to discuss his employer’s drinking and gaming habits right in front of him. “But at that time I did glance into the library on my way to the front door to see if Sir Charles was still there. I didn’t see him, so I assumed he had gone on to bed. I helped Mr. Wyatt upstairs, and Mr. Randall and I—Mr. Randall is valet to Mr. Wyatt and Sir Charles both—helped him undress and put him to bed. Then Mr. Randall and I both returned to our own rooms.”

  Lily raised a hand to her mouth, feeling cold. If Clewes hadn’t seen Sir Charles sitting before the fire, that meant the man was likely already lying on the floor, slowly bleeding to death. And no one had known. She glanced at Jack, whose face was equally grim, then at the others. Percy looked ill, while Frank’s face was stony with repressed emotion. Clearly, both of them understood the implications of the butler’s words as well.

  Mr. Page was the only one who looked unbothered by the news. He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Thank you, Mr. Clewes.” The Bow Street constable glanced at the grim-faced Wyatt men briefly, an ironic smile on his face as they both scowled back at him. “I am grateful for your time this morning.”

  “That will be all, Clewes,” Frank said, his tone final. Only as the butler was bowing to leave did Frank notice that Lily had come down; she thought he jumped a little in surprise. “Actually, Clewes, a moment. Mrs. Adler, how is my mother?”

  “Lady Wyatt is resting,” Lily said, coming fully down the stairs with Jack at her side. “She is as well as can be, I think, under the circumstances.” Struck by a moment of daring, she added, hoping to find out something about Lady Wyatt’s quarrel with Sir Charles, “She wished to know if you will leave London as planned or if you will be staying now.”

  “When were you planning to leave town?” Mr. Page asked, his tone mild even as his brows drew together.

  Frank’s sigh was audible throughout the hall. “I was not. My father wanted me to stay in town and handle some of his business affairs. But he decide
d last night after dinner that he and Lady Wyatt would be leaving for his property in Devonshire today. Mrs. Adler, as you came expecting to ride, I hope I may offer you our carriage to convey you home?”

  Lily thought he might be reaching his limit at last and nodded quickly. “Certainly, it is kind of you to think of it,” she said, glancing at Jack. The navy captain raised his eyebrows. His expression was relaxed enough, but she could feel the tension in him where her hand rested on his arm.

  Frank nodded. “Clewes, see to it, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” the butler said, bowing and looking relieved to have a reason to be gone from the hall.

  “For how long?” Mr. Page asked.

  Frank frowned. “How long what?”

  “For how long was your father planning to remove to Devonshire?”

  “I do not know when he planned to return,” Frank bit off, visibly bristling at the question. “Or when he was going to want me to join them again.”

  “And do you know why?”

  “He does not usually stay in town in the summer.”

  “But why the decision to depart so suddenly? Did he give an explanation?”

  Frank hesitated, his gaze darting to Percy. “He did not say, but I, ah …” He cleared his throat. “I had the impression that yesterday’s events …”

  “You mean, he wanted to get me away from town.” Percy scowled, then sighed.

  “Devonshire is rather far away,” said Mr. Page, his expression giving no hint of his thoughts.

  “Yes, it is,” Frank said sharply, seeming to lose his patience all of a sudden. “And I should like to convey my poor father’s body there for burial as quickly as possible. Have I your permission to do so, Mr. Page? Are we done with this nonsense?” His voice was trembling as he finished speaking, and his hands were clenched into fists.

  “Mr. Wyatt,” Lily said quietly. “Frank.” When he turned to look at her, she shook her head. “He must do his work.”

  “His work should end at our front door,” Percy snapped. His voice rose as he stepped belligerently forward. “And my cousin wants him on the other side of it immediately.”

  “Unfortunately, Sir Charles was murdered on this side of that door.” Mr. Page’s voice cracked like a whip on the word murdered, and every movement in the hall ceased at the reminder that this was no simple death they were faced with. “So here I must come.”

  Lily shivered. Before her return to London, when the worst thing she had seen was her own husband’s final illness and too-early death, she would have had a hard time believing a killer could lurk in such beautiful surroundings. She would have believed that well-brought-up people did not do such things.

  But the Harper murders had taught her a brutal lesson. It didn’t take a monster to kill, just someone who was so convinced of their own rightness and righteousness that they ceased to think of the living obstacles in their path as people at all.

  Such people could lurk in a beautiful drawing room as easily as in a London slum—or in a beautiful library.

  The silence was broken by the return of the butler, Clewes. He glanced at Frank Wyatt, then at the police constable, before clearing his throat. “The carriage is waiting outside whenever Mrs. Adler is ready to depart,” he said, as polite as if nothing were out of the ordinary at all.

  “Yes, thank you,” said Frank quickly. “Mrs. Adler, Captain Hartley.” His chin lifted. “Mr. Page. I think we now wish to be left alone. As a family.”

  For a long moment, Mr. Page said nothing, merely regarding the younger man with a steady, unreadable gaze.

  “The coroner’s inquest will be held tomorrow morning,” Mr. Page said at last. “He will judge whether you may be permitted to remove your father’s body for burial. I need not trouble you or Lady Wyatt any further for the moment, but I will need to speak to your staff after I see Mrs. Adler and the captain to their carriage.”

  Lily held her breath, wondering whether Frank would actually take the step of having the Bow Street officer thrown out and what would happen if he did.

  “Certainly, Mr. Page,” Frank said at last. “Clewes, please have them assemble in the servants’ hall.”

  “And we shan’t trouble you any further,” Jack said, already heading toward the door. Lily, who still held his arm, had no choice but to follow unless she wanted to create a scene by trying to stay put. “Our sympathies, once more, Mr. Wyatt, Mr. Wyatt.”

  Lily murmured something polite as well, but there wasn’t time for extended pleasantries. Jack, clearly uneasy, managed to get them out the door with record speed. Mr. Page stalked after them.

  As the front door closed behind them, Jack cleared his throat. “Well, that was a horrible discovery you made,” he said quietly. Then, glancing at the groom waiting by the carriage, he added in a slightly louder voice, “Such a tragedy for the family. Was there anything else you needed to ask us, Mr. Page, or are we at liberty to depart?”

  “Nothing else at present, I thank you for your patience,” Mr. Page replied, bowing politely and distantly. “Mrs. Adler, may I assist you into the carriage?”

  Lily dropped her voice as they made their way down the terrace steps. “Lady Wyatt lied.”

  Both Jack and Mr. Page faltered in their steps a moment, but they recovered quickly. Mr. Page turned his head away from the groom.

  “I cannot stay out here and speak with you long,” he murmured. “So I’ll request that both of you record your impressions while they’re fresh in your minds. Send them to me at the Bow Street offices.”

  “Certainly,” Lily said quietly. Jack nodded his agreement.

  “And then it will be safest if you stay as far away from this business as possible.” Mr. Page waved the groom back to his perch in the driver’s seat, then opened the carriage door and held out his hand to help her in. He stepped back so that the captain could climb in as well. “Good day, Mrs. Adler. Captain Hartley.”

  “Good day, Mr. Page.” Jack swung the door closed and tapped the ceiling of the carriage with his walking stick as he settled onto the seat across from Lily. Leaning toward the window, she caught a last glimpse of Mr. Page touching the brim of his hat to them, his eyes narrowed in thought, before they rolled away.

  It was two miles back to Half Moon Street, and for a long while they were both silent as the carriage made its way slowly through the crowded London streets. Finally, when there was enough clamor outside that Lily judged the driver would have no chance of hearing them, she asked in a low voice, “What did you make of that?”

  He snorted. “That there was a great deal no one in that family wanted to say.” He was silent a moment more. “Do you think one of them did it?”

  Lily thought of Frank, willful and sunny and obsessed with attention, displaced in his father’s affection by a new marriage. Of Percy’s claims to have reconciled with his uncle in private, though he couldn’t prove where he had been for half the night. Of Lady Wyatt’s cool composure, reduced to faintness in the face of Mr. Page’s inquiry as she quietly lied about her quarrel with her husband. She thought of Sir Charles, the impression he always gave of a studious, friendly lion, arguing cheerfully with her father over the glass of port he always liked in the evening. She shivered. “Someone did.”

  “And likely someone in the house,” Jack said grimly. “I checked the door and windows of the library; there was no sign of a break-in at all. And the clock on the desk was plated in gold. Any proper burglar would have stolen that.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as the carriage jostled over a series of uncomfortable bumps. “You aren’t planning to leave it alone, are you?”

  “I grew up with them,” Lily said quietly, staring at her hands.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack start to rise, then sink back down. She wondered if he had been about to come sit next to her, to offer a shoulder to lean on. For a moment she felt forlorn, alone on her seat, and wished he had. She understood why he had stopped: the gesture would have felt shockingly intimate while
they were in a closed carriage together. But she would have been grateful for the comfort, though she would never bring herself to say so out loud.

  “And Mr. Page asked for our insight,” Lily pointed out, lifting her chin and trying to inject some confidence into her voice. “Which does not stop with a single observation of the family. Well-respected country knight murdered in his own home? You know as well as I that the gossip will be everywhere by tomorrow. And we can learn a great deal from what is and is not said in response.”

  Jack raised a brow. “Every lady needs a hobby?”

  “And you were the one who suggested I make poking my nose into things mine.”

  “I believe the phrase I used was discreet inquiries,” Jack said.

  “And confidential investigations,” Lily pointed out.

  “And I meant it as a way to use that clever brain of yours from time to time. I did not think you would get involved with another murder.”

  “And yet a murder it seems to be.” Lily smiled at him, though the expression took some effort. “Do not fret, Captain. I have every intention of being both discreet and confidential, as you suggested.”

  “God help us,” he muttered, rolling his eyes heavenward as the carriage came to a halt.

  CHAPTER 8

  After Jack left her at the door, departing with a bow to return to his lodgings and record his own observations for Mr. Page, Lily had two unpleasant tasks in front of her. She had to seek out her father, whom she would rather have avoided altogether. And she had to tell him of his friend’s death.

  She found him in her book-room, the cozy space at the back of the house to which she often retreated herself. Yet today looking around the room made her shiver. It was too much like the Wyatts’ library. She couldn’t even glance at the carpet on her own floor, remembering too clearly the stains of Sir Charles’s blood. She was happy to let her father claim the space for the time being.

  Her father cleared his throat impatiently, recalling her to the present moment. “What is it? You oughtn’t to daydream like that; it makes you look unfortunately vacant.”