Silence in the Library

by Katharine Schellman

  “The girl got in trouble?” Simon asked mildly.

  “Yes.” Frank scowled at the ornament in his hand, replacing it with a sharp click and turning back toward Simon. “She claimed, without any proof, that the child was my father’s. She was dismissed immediately, of course. And I thought that was the end of it. But it seems she married, because after my father’s death her new husband turned up here, insisting that he be allowed to see the will to discover if there was any money for the child.”

  Simon’s mind reeled. It was possible Frank was telling the truth—Mrs. Adler had told him about Edie and the baby’s unknown father. But there hadn’t been any mention of her in the will Mr. Hammond had shown him. “Did you pay him?”

  Frank sighed. “I gave him ten pounds. It was far more than they deserved, and I thought it would be enough to put an end to things.” He met Simon’s eyes defiantly. “And I lied to you about it because I didn’t want any sordid rumors starting about my father. But it did not occur to me until now to wonder …”

  “You think he might have killed your father with the hope of some inheritance for the child?” Simon turned the idea over in his mind. It was certainly possible. “What does that have to do with Lady Wyatt’s maid?”

  “If he was responsible, she could have been the one who helped him gain entry to the house,” Frank said, looking ill. “There were no signs of a break-in, as you said. So someone would have had to let him in.”

  “And why would she do that?” Simon knew why, of course. But he wanted to see how truthful Frank would be.

  “The girl, Edie, was her niece.” Frank sighed. “That man said Wilkes told him my father had died, and I didn’t question it at the time. But now I wonder—he might have known because he did it. And Wilkes may have helped him because she was hoping for a payout for herself. I don’t know. But … but I wanted to tell you.” He met Simon’s eyes, his own wide and serious. “Please. He is a coarse brawler of a man. Exactly the sort who could …” He shuddered, turning away. “Well, you saw what he did.”

  Simon said nothing for a long moment, his eyes fixed on Frank. But underneath his quiet watchfulness, his heart had begun to speed up. Something about the Wyatt case hadn’t made sense. Perhaps this was what he had been missing. “I’ll look into it immediately. Though I wish you hadn’t dismissed Wilkes before I could speak to her. Do you know where she’s gone?”

  Frank shook his head. “But I know where you can find the man. He had the nerve to tell me, as though I would change my mind and send him more money. Eynsford Hill Farm, in Kent.”

  Simon lifted his chin, going very still. “Say that once more, please.”

  “Eynsford Hill Farm, in Kent.” Frank frowned. “Is there something wrong?”

  Simon shook his head slowly. “No … no. Thank you for your information, Mr. Wyatt.” He bowed. “We are all well served by honesty in these matters.”

  “Of course.” Frank looked relieved. “Thank you, Mr. Page. I am glad I can rely on you.”

  Simon managed a polite response as Frank departed and the butler returned to see him from the house. But inside his mind was racing. As soon as he was out of sight of the Wyatts’ house, he pulled his notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages until he had found what he wanted.

  As far as Frank knew, his father’s will had remained a secret. But Simon had taken careful notes the one time he had been allowed to look at it. And there it was: a bequest, amounting to an income of twenty pounds per year, to Mrs. E. Patton of Eynsford Hill Farm, Kent, and her daughter Maud.

  Simon let the pages fall slowly closed.

  If Edie had been dismissed and Sir Charles had denied paternity of her child, why would he have included her in his will?

  * * *

  “Arthur, this will be your room,” Ofelia said, opening the nursery door and standing aside. “We tried to make it feel like home.”

  Percy had brought many of Arthur’s books and art supplies with him, and Ofelia and her husband Ned had been only too happy to hang the young man’s artwork around the walls, just as it had been in his schoolroom back home. The room had been arranged to feel as familiar as possible, with a bedroom for him just next door and a sleeping pallet for the maid who would stay with him.

  Lily squeezed her friend’s shoulder as Ofelia stepped back, allowing Percy and Arthur to explore the room. “Thank you for agreeing to help,” she whispered.

  “Of course we agreed,” Ofelia whispered back, watching Arthur as he proceeded to arrange his pencils and papers exactly as he liked them, in straight lines and neat piles. “It isn’t as if Neddy and I were using the space. Do you really think someone means him harm? It is almost too ghastly to think about.”

  “I know.” Lily turned away, wanting to give the cousins privacy as they settled in. “Shall we leave them to it for a bit?”

  “And I’ll go speak to Daisy, who will be looking after him while he stays here. She will need to introduce herself and spend some time with him while Mr. Percy Wyatt is here as well.”

  When they started down the stairs, however, they found Mr. Page coming toward them, hat in hand and dressed for travel.

  “Lady Carroway.” He bowed. “Mrs. Adler. Sir Edward told me it was all right to come up. If you would step aside, please, I need to speak to the boy.”

  “So quickly?” Ofelia frowned. “Could you not give him some time to get settled first?”

  “Unfortunately, it must be tonight. I leave for Kent as soon as I am done here.”

  “Kent?” Lily asked, surprised. “What did Frank say to you?”

  Mr. Page hesitated. “I think I have found where Edie and her child disappeared to.” Speaking quickly, as though he wanted to get it all out before he changed his mind, he told them what he had learned from Frank.

  Lily felt her eyes growing wide with surprise, and a glance to the side showed her expression mirrored on Ofelia’s face. “So he thinks this farmer killed Sir Charles? What would have prompted him to suddenly …” Lily trailed off, remembering her late-night conversation with the unsober Frank. She had mentioned rumors about the baby. Was that what had made him think of Edie’s husband again?

  “Whatever it was, at least he told you,” Ofelia said. “Do you think this man did it?”

  “I won’t know until I speak to them,” Mr. Page said grimly. “But I saw the man. He looked more than capable of murder.”

  “But Mr. Wyatt did lie,” Ofelia pointed out. “They were in the will, and he had to have known it. So I wouldn’t trust everything he told you.”

  “The will,” Lily said. “That had to be why Wilkes was looking through Sir Charles’s study. She wanted to find a copy to see if Edie and the baby were in it.”

  “Most likely,” Mr. Page said, nodding abruptly. “In any case, time is short. If you’ll excuse me.”

  The passage was narrow enough that they had to squeeze past each other, Lily and Ofelia heading downstairs while Mr. Page went up to speak to the cousins. Halfway down, though, Lily paused, biting her lip and looking back the way they had come.

  Ofelia shook her head. “Go on. You know you shan’t be satisfied only hearing it secondhand.” She smiled. “And then you can tell me, since it is unlikely Mr. Page will.”

  Lily didn’t wait to be urged again but stepped quickly back up the stairs.

  She found Arthur settled at one of the tables, busy drawing, with Mr. Page sitting next to him and Percy Wyatt hovering anxiously nearby, shooting skeptical looks at the constable but otherwise holding his tongue.

  “And Lady Wyatt?” Mr. Page was saying. Lily was surprised by how unhurried he sounded, even though he had nearly three hours of travel waiting for him and any delay made it more likely that he would be arriving in Kent after dark.

  “Lady Wyatt. Not Winnie.” Just enough of Arthur’s face was visible that Lily could see him smiling as he drew—a reaction she wouldn’t have expected, given how she had seen Lady Wyatt speak to him. But a moment later she understood wh
y. “Lady Wyatt likes art too. Like me.”

  Percy frowned, looking a little surprised. “Does she?”

  Arthur nodded and raised his empty hand, wiggling his fingers. “Paint,” he said without looking up.

  “Do you remember telling Ellen anything about Lady Wyatt? Or about your brother or father?” Mr. Page asked.

  He spoke with the same gentle, calm tone of voice, but the effect on Arthur was instant. He dropped his pencil. He didn’t look at any of them as he shook his head, drawing his body into a smaller space with his shoulders hunched and his chin ducked down. “Ellen says I’m to be quiet like a mouse,” he said. “I want Ellen to come back.”

  Lily caught her breath at the misery in his voice, but a sharp glance from Mr. Page kept her where she was.

  “Why did Ellen tell you to be quiet like a mouse, Arthur?”

  The boy shook his head, and several tears splashed down onto his paper. “No painting at nighttime,” he whimpered. “I want Ellen. My drawing is ruined, and I want Ellen to come back.”

  His voice was rising in distress, and more tears fell in rapid succession. Mr. Page stood, his movements still calm in spite of the tension in the room. “Thank you for talking with me, Arthur. I’ll leave you and your cousin alone now.” Taking Lily’s elbow, he ushered her from the room as Percy bent his head close to his cousin’s. They could hear him begin whispering as they closed the door behind them.

  “What do you make of that?” Lily said in an undertone as they made their way downstairs.

  The Bow Street constable paused in the front hall, rubbing his face with one hand. There were gray smudges of fatigue below his eyes, and Lily could see the shadow of whiskers starting to prickle the skin along his jaw. “You were right, I should have given him more time to settle in.” He pulled out a pocket watch, and his mouth drew into a grim line as he glanced at it. “And there isn’t time to wait any longer. I’m traveling by stage, and there’s only one more to catch today.” The Carroways’ butler waited by the front door to hand Mr. Page his traveling valise, and Lily realized he meant to depart immediately. “Will you ask Lady Carroway to keep an eye on him? And tell me if he says anything more about either his brother or Lady Wyatt? Or anyone else in the house?”

  “Of course.”

  “And give my apologies to Sir Edward and Lady Carroway, of course, for hurrying away so quickly.”

  “They will understand. Good luck in Kent. Be sure to find out how old the babe is now.”

  “Why?”

  “To find out when the affair would have happened.” Lily shrugged. “Lady Wyatt might object to someone interfering with the maids while courting her, but I cannot see her being bothered by anything that occurred before.”

  “A reasonable assessment.” Mr. Page smiled grimly. “Is it bad that I’m almost hoping I discover that she did it? Or her husband?”

  “It would certainly simplify things. But I would hate to see her child left without a mother or father.” Lily laid a hand on his arm. “Safe travels, sir.”

  He glanced down at her hand, looking surprised. She wondered for a moment, remembering what Louisa Preston had said about middle-class morality, if she had offended his sense of propriety. But a moment later he gave her a very polite nod. “My thanks, as ever, Mrs. Adler.” His smile became wry. “I seem to keep needing your assistance.”

  “You will have to deputize me one of these days if you are not careful.”

  That made him laugh. “God help us.” He bowed, then placed his hat on his head. “Be well, madam. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

  * * *

  “I had hoped we might have company for dinner tonight.”

  Lily, lost in her thoughts at one end of the table, started as her father broke the silence that almost always ruled their mealtimes together. She had written to Jack earlier in the day, informing him of Arthur Wyatt’s change of residence and asking if he might make Jem available at the Carroways’ home, to carry word if anything important should be disclosed or discovered that night. She had hoped to hear back from him, but there had been only silence for the evening.

  Wrenching her thoughts back to the present, she resisted the urge to narrow her eyes at her father. Instead, she asked, as calmly as she could, “Had you said so sooner, I am sure I could have procured some. I had no idea you felt the lack of entertainment.”

  Mr. Pierce snorted. “Yes, you have been such a delightful conversationalist all evening,” he said sarcastically. “No, I meant that I attempted to procure some guests for us, to spare us both the tedium of another night as each other’s sole company.”

  Lily’s hands tightened around her silverware at the thought of her father inviting dinner guests into her own home without her permission or even knowledge. “Dare I ask who?”

  “Your friend Lady Carroway, as a matter of fact, and her husband.” Mr. Pierce examined the wine in his cup, sighed as if disappointed, and drank a gulp anyway.

  Lily put her silverware down slowly, pleased with how calm her movements were. It didn’t matter that the people he had invited were friends of hers. It didn’t even matter that they hadn’t been able to come. She was tired of her father acting as though she were a visitor in his home, rather than the other way around.

  Oblivious to her mounting fury, Mr. Pierce continued. “I had hoped she and the baronet might have joined us for dinner, but apparently they have an unexpected houseguest and could not be spared this evening. Pity.”

  Their unexpected houseguest was Arthur Wyatt, but Lily had no intention of telling her father that. But the thought of the youngest Wyatt made her remember the conversation she had just barely overheard between her father and Frank Wyatt, and a sudden suspicion made her feel a hot prickle of anger all over. “Was it you who suggested sending Arthur Wyatt away?” she asked, her voice cold with fury.

  “Eh?” Her father frowned at her. “What has Arthur Wyatt to do with the Carroways?”

  “Nothing,” Lily bit off. “But I know you and Frank were talking about him while we were there. And then Frank tells me someone wants to send Arthur away to some asylum.” Her voice took on a sarcastic edge that rivaled Mr. Pierce’s own. “For his own good, I am sure, and everyone else’s safety. Was that your idea? Are you also so willing to pin him with the blame for his father’s death?”

  She realized she was shaking and snatched up her own wineglass just to give her hands something to do.

  “I will thank you not to speak to me in such a tone,” Mr. Pierce snapped, puffing up like an offended bird. “And no, if you must know, I intended no such thing. Sir Charles would never have wanted his son tucked away like that. But I didn’t think you’d object if I kept Frank talking while you slipped out to go learn what you could about Sir Charles’s death.”

  Lily nearly choked on her sip of wine. “What?” she spluttered.

  Her father rolled his eyes, a petulant, childish gesture that somehow suited him perfectly. “That is what you do now, is it not? Poke your nose into business that is not yours? Get mixed up in murder?” He sniffed. “I ran into Lady Carroway as she was leaving yesterday, and she had particularly complimentary things to say about the assistance you provided her before her marriage. And I decided, if you could help her, why not Frank? Since you may have some influence with that wretched Bow Street man after all, I decided I’d see what you could do.”

  Lily stared at him, dumbfounded. He’d managed to make the pronouncement sound like enough of an insult that she had trouble believing his actual words. Had he really just said he was trying to help her?

  “Well? Did you manage to find anything?” he asked, looking bored.

  Lily found her voice at last. “I did not attempt to.”

  She didn’t want to tell him about the murdered maid or that Bow Street’s best suspect for her death was the young man of whom he was so fond. Her father would be furious to find out that Frank Wyatt, of all people, was suspected of murder. And she didn’t trust him not to tell Frank whatever h
e learned from her.

  That might even be his tactic. The thought made her grow cold. Did Frank already know she might be assisting Bow Street? Was that why he had come by the night before? And was her father now fishing for information that he could carry back to the man she had so often felt he wished were his own son?

  Mr. Pierce eyed what was left of his dinner dubiously, then pushed his plate aside to pour himself another glass of wine. “Try not to look quite so shocked, Lily,” he said as he took a sip. “Where do you think you got your brains if not from me?”

  Lily swallowed, trying to make her voice sound as normal as possible. She could be leaping to conclusions, but she had to be careful. “Is that your way of saying you think I am clever?”

  He snorted. “I know you’re clever, girl. I never had any quibble with your mind. What I wish is that you were more ladylike.”

  “You mean malleable.”

  “They are the same thing, are they not? And please stop trying to show off. No one wants to listen to a woman attempting to sound like a man.”

  Lily drew in a sharp breath, then let it out slowly. “And what about a woman who is trying to sound like herself?” she asked, once she had her voice under control again.

  Mr. Pierce sighed, looking genuinely sad. Lily hated that she knew it was genuine. “The trouble, Lily, is that your self is rather grating.”

  It ought to have been hurtful. But she suddenly felt too tired to even be upset anymore. She sighed, shaking her head. “What an odd way you have of delivering compliments, Father.”

  Pushing back her chair, she stood. Her father, she noticed, didn’t bother to do the same, though the good manners he was always harping on ought to have required it. But she hadn’t the energy to point out the lapse. “I thank you for your wish to help. But I assure you, Bow Street needs neither your assistance nor mine to do their job. If you will excuse me, I believe I will retire for the night.”

  She didn’t wait for his reply before leaving.