Silence in the Library

by Katharine Schellman

  As soon as she saw who was there, the young widow drew to an abrupt halt, her expression wary. “Captain, I believe we are interrupting,” she said, casting an unpleasant look in Mr. Page’s direction. “Perhaps we should withdraw and leave Mrs. Adler to her odd guest?”

  This was the other reason Jack was there; in addition to getting Lady Wyatt into the garden at the right moment, he made it easy to keep her there by the simple precaution of not releasing her hand from his arm. She couldn’t pull away without causing a scene that she clearly wanted to avoid.

  “A moment of your time, if you would be so good, Lady Wyatt,” Lily said, standing. “I apologize for the subterfuge, but Mr. Page has something important to tell you, relating to your husband’s family.”

  “My husband’s family?” Lady Wyatt frowned. “I am not sure …”

  “Please.” Lily gestured to the opposite bench. “Will you sit?”

  Lady Wyatt hesitated, then nodded, her expression impossible to read. She sat slowly, as regally as if she were a queen on a throne. The single glance she cast Mr. Page gave away her nervousness, but a moment later she was nothing but cool composure.

  Percy looked uneasy. “Mrs. Adler, what is this about?”

  “I should like to know that as well,” Lady Wyatt said, but her rich voice was calm as a sunny morning. Lily couldn’t help shaking her head in admiration.

  She sat on the bench across from Lady Wyatt, glancing briefly at Mr. Page. He, still standing, nodded and took a step back, as though attempting to remove himself from the conversation.

  Lily took a deep breath. “I should like the opportunity to tell you both a story,” she said, amazed that her voice sounded as serene as it did. Inside, her stomach rolled with nerves, but outwardly she was as calm as Lady Wyatt.

  “A story?” Percy frowned. “Really, ma’am, I do not think—”

  “A story,” said Lily firmly, interrupting him without remorse. His frown deepened, but he did not protest again. “About a lady—no longer in the first blush of girlhood, of course, but still quite young. She was, as so many women are, in a difficult situation. She was beautiful, cultured, charming, and utterly without options. Her family could not afford to support her, certainly not into her old age. And so, as many ladies in difficult situations do, she married a man that she respected, who she thought would make an admirable husband, but whom she did not love.”

  Lily kept her eyes on Lady Wyatt as she spoke. The other woman’s hands gripped the armrest of the wooden bench, but otherwise she did not move. Her eyes were likewise fixed on Lily. The motion of her chest showed that her breath was starting to come more rapidly, but she did not look panicked. Not yet.

  “Because the admirable man she married was a great deal older than she was, he already had two sons, one grown, one near grown. The younger was one of those individuals who not many years ago might have been called mad because his mind did not seem to live in quite the same world as the rest of us. He was a sweet boy with no harm in him, but his father knew that having such a son in the family might lead some women to reject his suit. So this admirable man kept his courtship short, and the lady did not object. They were married before she was able to meet either of his sons.”

  Percy had begun to look wary. He opened his mouth as though he were going to speak. But he glanced first at Mr. Page, who must have given him some look of warning. He stayed silent, and Lily continued.

  “I cannot judge the lady at all for her choice. Women without fortune are left with so few respectable options for their own maintenance other than marriage. And for what happened next, I cannot judge her either. Indeed, I pity her.”

  As Lily spoke, Lady Wyatt’s composure had been visibly fraying. Though she was trying to keep her expression as polite and disinterested as ever, her hands clutched at the armrest so tightly that her knuckles were white, and her whole body was beginning to tremble. As soon as Lily paused, she stood abruptly.

  “Mrs. Adler, I had not thought you the sort of woman to gossip and meddle in the affairs of others. My husband had nothing but respect for your father, and for you to engage in such—”

  “Because what happened next was truly dreadful for everyone involved,” Lily continued relentlessly.

  Lady Wyatt turned, heading back toward the house, only to discover that Jack was blocking her path. She pushed at him ineffectually. “I refuse to sit here and listen—”

  “The lady and her husband’s elder son fell in love.”

  The words hung on the air, and they seemed to pull Lady Wyatt to a halt, so abruptly did her movement cease. She did not turn around, but her entire body was rigid, held as tightly as if she were about to shatter or fly into a rage.

  Percy started to his feet, staring between his aunt and Lily, his mouth hanging open. “Of all the utter nonsense … Really, Mrs. Adler, what trash. Everyone knows Frank and Lady Wyatt hate each other. And it has been damned uncomfortable for the rest of us.”

  “Not as uncomfortable as it was for them,” Lily said. It would have felt cruel to expose such a dreadful secret if she hadn’t known what it had led to. “I imagine they each feigned their distaste from the beginning, as soon as they realized how much they liked each other. Only gradually did they discover their mutual attraction. And eventually, they were not able to deny themselves anymore.”

  Percy looked ill for a moment, then shook his head. “No, surely not. Tell them, Lady Wyatt. Tell them what rubbish it is.”

  Lady Wyatt was rooted in place, as though terrified to either leave or stay. At Percy’s words, she turned back around, her pale face flaming with rage and embarrassment. “Have you no shame, no womanly delicacy, to say such things?” she demanded, in a voice that was choked with tears.

  “Are you saying I am wrong?” Lily asked, standing at last. She held Lady Wyatt’s eyes, and Lily wasn’t the first to flinch and look away.

  Lady Wyatt took a deep breath. Then she lifted her chin. “And what if you are right?” she said, her voice hoarse. Lily heard Percy let out a choked gasp behind her, but she did not turn away from Lady Wyatt, who was pressing on, as though by finally admitting it she had released a flood of words that could not be stopped. “Yes, I loved him! And he loved me, and I had spent so long thinking no one ever would, that respect and polite regard were all I could hope for, and I thought it would be enough, truly, and it would have been. But then I met Frank, and he … and he …” She stumbled to a halt, her hand rising to her mouth to hold in a sob. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself. When she opened them, they were fixed on Lily with a level of hatred that almost made her take a step back. “I was his father’s wife, not his mother. And it is not a crime to fall in love.”

  “But it is a crime to kill your husband.” Mr. Page had been silent so long that when he finally spoke, his words broke through the air like the crack of a pistol.

  Lady Wyatt and Percy both turned to stare at him, she in rage, he in disbelief. Lily’s eyes flickered briefly to the window, where three figures were now visible, one just having pulled back the curtain slightly to watch the proceedings below. But a moment later, her eyes were fixed once more on Lady Wyatt.

  “Your adultery was your business, Lady Wyatt, until you and Frank Wyatt were discovered by his father.”

  “Disgusted, unnatural, abomination,” Jack put in, his voice clipped and relentless. “Those were the words the housekeeper heard him yelling that night.”

  “And you locked yourself in your chambers where he could not reach you,” Mr. Page added. “I imagine he planned to disinherit his son and divorce you. And that, neither of you could bear. So you decided that Sir Charles had to die.”

  “That was why he sent for me.” Percy, looking ill again, sat down abruptly. “Five hours before, he had been saying he could never trust me again. And then he sat me down in his study and told me that he was putting me back in the will, that most of it would come to me, so long as I promised to care for Arthur.” He stared at Lady Wyatt, his ey
es wide with horror. “Because of you and Frank?”

  “How dare you, all of you!” Lady Wyatt gasped, staring between them in a mixture of panic and fury. “How dare … Yes, I loved Frank, I have admitted it. But I had been married to my husband for nearly a year. Why on earth would we suffer that long if we were just planning to … And why have I not thrown myself into his arms? I am leaving, for heaven’s sake. Leaving! Would I do that if we had some nefarious plot together?”

  “Well, yes, because you are neither of you fools,” Jack said.

  His tone bordered on exasperated, and they all turned to stare at him, the tension of the moment forgotten in sudden surprise. He shrugged.

  “They would only behave stupidly if they were stupid. And they clearly are not, to have arranged things so carefully.”

  “Very carefully,” Mr. Page agreed, nodding. “Having decided that murder was preferable to both scandal and poverty, you two acted quickly, before Sir Charles could expose you. Sir Charles always drank brandy in the evenings, so Frank dosed it with laudanum, which we know was in the house because he took it from time to time—and so did you, Lady Wyatt, on the doctor’s recommendation. And then he went out, careful to have all his movements accounted for and witnessed, and to make a racket when he returned so the butler and his valet would both see him going straight to bed—after the time when Sir Charles would have been killed.”

  “Frank was not lying when he said he could never raise a hand against his father,” Lily put in, looking at Percy. “Which was why Lady Wyatt was the one to kill him.”

  He shook his head at her, his expression a mixture of queasy disbelief and dawning horror. “But … she could not have … she was too …” His eyes grew wide. “The laudanum. I see.”

  “It left Sir Charles unconscious and easily overpowered, even by a woman as small as Lady Wyatt,” Lily said, her voice growing colder. It had been hard not to feel sympathy for Lady Wyatt and Frank when she described the horrible circumstances under which they had met and realized they cared for each other. But no amount of love could justify the taking of two lives. “She very thoughtfully provided herself with toweling to cover her clothing and clean up any blood, which she hid in the chimney, along with the poker she used to kill her husband. But then, of course, she had to direct attention away from the chimney in order to keep them hidden.”

  “And I suppose I lifted his lifeless body, mighty bruiser that I am, and carried him like a feather across the room?” Lady Wyatt said, her sarcasm biting even though her voice trembled. She turned to Percy. “How can you believe this drivel, Percy?”

  “You didn’t need to,” Lily pointed out. “His gout provided the perfect means of moving him easily.”

  Percy’s eyes darted between them, his expression blank and confused.

  Lily heard Jack sigh. “The chair, Mr. Wyatt,” he said. “Your uncle was in his wheeled chair that night.”

  Percy Wyatt drew in a sharp breath.

  “It made it a relatively simple matter, so late when the servants were abed and she knew Frank would not rouse them for hours, to move him to the other side of the room.” Mr. Page picked up the narrative, his voice relentless as he took a slow step toward Lady Wyatt. She, almost unconsciously, took a step back. “You were able to deposit his body on the floor, were you not, Lady Wyatt? And then you decorated the edge of the table with his blood to make it look as though he had fallen and struck his head. You simply moved his chair to the other side of the room again to give the impression that he had left it there himself.”

  “Then you returned to your room, went to sleep, and woke the next morning to play the grieving widow.” Lily’s voice shook as she spoke, remembering how easily she had been manipulated by Lady Wyatt, how ready she had been to confuse the other woman’s emotions with her own. “You did it very well.”

  “I was grieving,” Lady Wyatt cried. “Do you think I wanted him to die?”

  The words hung on the air as all of them wondered for a moment whether that had been a confession. But they were the simple truth, Lily realized. The two lovers had convinced themselves they had no other choice.

  “You may not have wanted him to die, but you were willing to choose his death over your discomfort,” Lily said. “And not only his, but Ellen’s as well, once you realized she knew something about what you had done.”

  “So the maid saw her?” Percy asked, frowning once more.

  “Not the maid,” Lily said. “Arthur saw Lady Wyatt returning to her room, her fingers still red with your uncle’s blood. Remember, he told us that she liked painting? No painting at night, he said. And he told Ellen, the person he trusted most in the world. And she, realizing what he had just seen, told him to be quiet like a mouse while she went to look around the library herself.”

  “Mrs. Harris, the housekeeper, noticed her coming out,” Jack said. “And I would bet my fortune that someone else did too.”

  “And then Lady Wyatt killed her!” Percy exclaimed. Then his face fell. “But she could not have … Lady Wyatt, you were in Hans Town. I visited you there myself.” He shook his head. “She could not possibly have …”

  “She did not.” Mr. Page’s voice was cold. “Frank did. A chemist confirmed that what we found in the maid’s room was arsenic.”

  “One murder apiece,” Lily said. “And each of them gone when the other acted, to confuse the matter as much as possible. Because, until we discovered the feeling that existed between them, their pretense of animosity meant it never occurred to anyone that they might have been working together. I believe they planned to wait a year or so, for appearance’s sake, then wed. Odd enough, certainly, to raise a few eyebrows. But given their ages, natural enough not to cause a scandal. And then they would be together at last, both well provided for through the money that Frank inherited.”

  Lily had gone to stand next to Mr. Page as she spoke. Percy still hung back, but Lady Wyatt was caught among the four of them, her eyes darting around frantically as if looking for an escape. But she hadn’t confessed. Not yet. And they needed a confession.

  “And that is your story, Mrs. Adler? That mess of falsehoods and fabrications?” Lady Wyatt looked from one cold face to another, her eyes wide in panic, before a cool certainty settled over her features. “Ridiculous,” she said firmly, though Lily could see her hands shaking. “I shall be speaking to your superiors, mark my words, Constable. And all of you …!” She turned her icy stare on Lily and Jack in turn. “How dare you throw such slanders about? I am disgusted. No, I am enraged.”

  “We know it is all true,” Mr. Page said calmly.

  “You cannot, because it is all lies!” she insisted. “And even if it were not—even if—you have no proof.” She enunciated the last three words so clearly, so sharply, that she might have been hurling each one at them like a weapon. Her face was flushed with triumph.

  “We do not need proof,” Lily said calmly. “Mr. Wyatt has already admitted it all.”

  Lady Wyatt started at her in blank incomprehension. Lily gestured to the window that overlooked the garden. “I believe he is just signing his confession now.”

  Lady Wyatt and Percy both turned as abruptly as if they had been spun around.

  The curtain had been drawn back from the window now, and the three figures were fully visible. Frank Wyatt sat in profile by the window, signing something on the desk. Mr. Pierce stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder, a solemn look on his face. Before them stood a third man. As they watched, the third man took the document Frank had just signed, looked it over, and said something. In response, Frank nodded, his shoulders slumping, and dropped his head into his hands, a picture of resignation and defeat.

  “I believe my colleague, Mr. Hammond, has everything well in hand there,” Mr. Page said.

  Lady Wyatt had been frozen in horror, watching the scene unfold. Now she started forward a couple of steps, then turned back to her audience, her eyes wide with fear. “No … He would not … He could not …”


  “Really?” Lily said, her voice cruel and relentless in its coldness. “How do you think we knew about your affair? Did you think he would not give you up in exchange for clemency?”

  “He was adamant that the whole scheme was your idea,” Mr. Page said, nodding at the window. “As you see.”

  Lady Wyatt spun back around in time to see Mr. Pierce gesture toward the garden as he spoke, while Mr. Hammond nodded, his expression stern. Frank had leapt to his feet, staring at the two men with him, his expression halfway between furious and stunned. Then he stabbed his finger toward Lady Wyatt, his shouting audible even from the other side of the window, though they could not make out the words.

  “Perhaps he did not love you so well as you thought,” Mr. Page said quietly.

  Lady Wyatt had gone rigid, staring at Frank’s enraged diatribe. When she spun back to them, her beautiful face was livid, red and splotchy with rage, her expression twisted into something beyond fury. She looked like she could have been ready to kill at that moment. “How dare he. How dare he,” she spat. “My idea? He said it was my idea? It was his from the beginning. He was the one who began everything, I would not—I would never—I had determined to bury my feelings forever! But he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, he was the reason we were discovered, and he was the one who gave his father laudanum and then came to me—begged me—said there was no other choice. And then he killed the maid … The agony she suffered—” Lady Wyatt broke off, her whole body suddenly going rigid. “It will be nothing compared to the agony I will cause him!” she gasped. “The bastard, that he could betray … I will kill him myself!”

  Lily had taken an unconscious step back, stunned by the suddenness and ugliness of Lady Wyatt’s confession. It was what they had wanted, what they had planned for. But the rage that lurked beneath Lady Wyatt’s calm, polite exterior was terrifying.