A Most Novel Revenge (23 page)

He stepped aside, and I walked out into the hallway, one question foremost in my mind.

If Mr. Collins had spent the night with Freida, why had she been walking out toward the summerhouse so early on that morning?

 

20

I WAS RELIEVED
to make it back to the relative safety of the entrance hall. There was something very untrustworthy about Mr. Collins, and I had not enjoyed being alone with him. Still, there had been a moment of unexpected softness in him when he had spoken of his wife. I thought it just possible that he cared for her more than I had believed. I wondered what implications this might have on possible motives for the crime. After all, if he was willing to protect Freida, he might have been willing to kill Isobel to do it.

“Oh, there you are, darling.” I looked up to see Milo, who was halfway up the stairway. He came back down to meet me. “I was just coming to fetch you. It's a lovely morning and the snow is melting. Will you go riding with me? It will do you well to get out of the house for a while.”

“I would like to, but…” I thought of my blood-soaked riding clothes and barely suppressed a shudder. “I haven't anything to wear.”

“Certainly you do. I told Winnelda before we left the flat to be sure to include at least two changes of riding clothes. I anticipated we would be outside rather more often than we have been.” Leave it to Milo to be sure that my wardrobe was suitable for his plans. I was glad for his foresight, however, for I could certainly benefit from a change of scenery.

“Well, in that case, I should love to get out for a while.” I had tried to keep my tone bright, but Milo, as ever, was not fooled.

“How are you holding up?”

“I'm quite well.”

“Little liar,” he said, his eyes on my face. “You're only pretending to be well so I don't whisk you off to London. In truth, you're not eating well and have barely been sleeping.”

“I'm fine,” I insisted, a bit alarmed at his astute observations. Milo had always been perceptive, but this rather assertive devotion was something new and I was a bit at a loss as to how to respond to it.

“Truly,” I said, meeting his gaze.

“Very well. I shall pretend to believe you for the time being.”

I smiled and he dropped a kiss on my lips and then started back up the stairs. I followed him up, and we went to our rooms to dress.

Winnelda was nowhere to be seen, but I located the change of riding clothes in the wardrobe and put them on. I was standing before the mirror adjusting the jacket of black velvet when Milo came back into my room. “Before we go, I've got a present for you.”

I turned. “A present?”

“Yes, I picked it up a while back and have been waiting for the right occasion on which to present it to you. Since you won't be persuaded to leave Lyonsgate, now seems like a good time.”

He handed me a wooden box, somewhat the worse for wear, with metal corners and a beaten brass clasp. Milo's gifts tended to be in velvet jewelers' boxes, and I was curious to see what this anomaly might hold.

I unlatched the clasp and opened it. It was, indeed, lined with velvet, and on the bed of worn scarlet fabric lay a little pistol with a pearl handle.

“Oh, Milo,” I breathed, running my finger along the smooth, glossy handle, “it's lovely.”

He laughed. “I've given you a lethal object and the best you can say is how lovely it is.”

“Well, you did choose me a pretty one, but if you like it better … oh, Milo, how deadly it looks!”

“I take it then, that you're pleased.”

“Of course, I'm pleased. Thank you.” I leaned to kiss him before turning back to my gift, lifting it gingerly from the case to examine it. “It's much more practical than jewelry.”

“I thought, if you're going to continue to dash about the country involving yourself in affairs, you might need something with which to protect yourself.”

It was terribly sweet of him. Especially since he was continually trying to dissuade me from my detecting efforts. I hoped I would never have cause to use it, but I would enjoy carrying it in my handbag if ever I felt I might need it.

“You are to be very careful with it, of course,” he went on. “I should be most annoyed if you shot yourself, and I certainly don't relish the thought of being shot again myself.”

“I shall be very careful with it.”

“I'll show you later how to shoot it. Perhaps this afternoon.”

“Perhaps tomorrow.” I put the gun back in the box and set it aside. “I have an engagement this afternoon.”

“Oh? With whom?”

“I'm sitting for Mr. Winters.”

“Ah, I see. Well, perhaps I shall teach Lindy instead.”

“You know, I do believe you're right,” I reflected.

“About what?”

“It would be very unpleasant indeed if you were to get shot again,” I told him tartly, and walked from the room.

*   *   *

LUCINDA LYONS WAS
standing near the stables when we came out.

“Oh, are you going riding?” she asked. “I was just preparing to go out myself.”

Some part of me wondered cynically if she had overheard part of our conversation in the entrance hall and had decided to join us at the stables. However, I had no objection to her riding with us. I had never been particularly territorial where Milo was concerned.

“Yes, we'd just planned to go out for a while, if you'd like to join us,” I said.

She smiled brightly, her eyes flicking to Milo. “I should love to.”

The groom brought out the horses and we mounted up.

“It's nice that the sun has come out,” I said as we set off. The warmth of it felt good after so many days in the drafty house.

“Yes, much warmer than yesterday,” she answered. “I'm glad. I don't like the cold much at all. Sometimes I dream of living in a place where it's warm all year long.”

The temperature had increased remarkably since my walk this morning, and already the snow had begun to melt, leaving the way fairly clear for the horses. Lucinda's horse, however, did not seem to like the occasional patch of snow that he encountered. He stepped in one and sidestepped, snorting. “Romeo has a bit of a temper,” she said with a laugh. “He likes to pretend to be a great brute, but he's really a darling.”

I noticed, however, that she had used the opportunity to guide Romeo closer to Milo.

“He certainly is a lovely horse,” I said.

“Thank you. Milo tells me you have a great many horses at Thornecrest. I would love to see them.”

If she was hoping for an invitation, she was going to be disappointed.

Since Milo and Lucinda—Lindy—were on such good terms, I thought it might be an ideal time to question her regarding her recollections of the night of Edwin Green's death. She had been young and had not been a participant in the revels at the summerhouse, but that didn't mean her recollections would not be valuable.

“It is nice to get out a bit,” I said, hoping to steer the conversation in that direction. “Things have been strained in the house. Of course, I suppose it's only natural, given everything that has happened.”

“Yes,” she answered vaguely.

I glanced at my husband, knowing he would have better luck than I. Milo took my cue at once with the effortlessness of a born actor. “It must bring back unpleasant memories of when Edwin Green died here. I imagine that was very difficult for you.”

As I had suspected, Milo's concern warmed her at once.

“Oh, it was dreadful.”

His question was, perhaps, a bit obvious, but Lucinda was not likely to notice, besotted as she was. I wished that he would lead the conversation along to the possible suspects.

“I imagine your brother has had a difficult time of it,” he said, in that unnerving way he had of knowing just what I was thinking.

“Reggie was never the same after the war,” Lindy said sadly. “Oh, he made it through all right. Never got a scratch, not even a fever while he was there. We Lyonses have always been healthy as horses.”

She laughed a little at her joke before continuing. “But it affected him greatly, nonetheless. He came back and, even as young as I was, I knew that he had come back a different person. He sometimes gets a sad, faraway look in his eyes, and I know he's thinking about what happened over there. That's why he was so wild, you know. He wanted to forget. It didn't work, though. And then that awful thing happened, and we were very much afraid for a time that he wouldn't be able to make it through. He was very close to Mr. Green, you know. They had been best friends since they were in knee pants.”

“Did you know Edwin Green well?”

“Not very well. I wasn't allowed to spend much time with them. Reggie and Beatrice didn't much want me tagging along. They said I was a nuisance. I did sit with them sometimes, when they were outdoors. Mr. Winters taught me to sketch. I was quite good at it, I think, but I lost interest.”

“But you were there on the night of the death?”

“Not at the summerhouse, but I was here at Lyonsgate. Home from school on holiday.”

“And were you there the next morning when Mr. Green was discovered?” Milo said encouragingly. “It must have been very trying for you.”

“Yes. That was an awful morning.” She had a faraway expression on her face now, just the kind she had described when discussing her brother's memories of the war. “I remember the morning was cold and there was a great fog everywhere. It was pressing against the windows, as though it wanted to get inside. I was having chocolate at breakfast. Mother had never liked me drinking such rich beverages so early in the morning, but Reggie had said I could have whatever I liked.” She looked up at me and gave a little laugh. “Funny, the inconsequential things one remembers.”

I nodded, afraid to speak and intrude upon her recollections.

“It was very quiet in the breakfast room, as though the fog was swallowing everything up. And then I heard something outside, a long cry. I thought perhaps it was a bird at first. But then it got closer, louder. I could hear it as she approached the house. I got up from the table and went out into the entrance hall to see what the noise was. Freida materialized out of the fog like a ghost. And she was screaming. ‘He's dead! He's dead!' She kept saying it again and again. Oh, it was dreadful. I can barely stand to think about it, even now.”

She looked away, and for a moment all was silent but the hooves of our horses on the wet earth and the gentle creaking of the saddles.

“They wouldn't let me go with them to the summerhouse, but I didn't want to. I knew it would be awful.”

I ventured a question. “Was there … was there any suggestion that it might have been Mr. Glenn at the time?” I felt somehow that her willingness to reminisce might end at any moment, and I might as well get information while she still felt like talking.

“Oh, no!” she said quickly. “I remember how distraught Bradford was when he saw the body. It was as though he couldn't believe it. He told me later that he had hoped never to see death again, not after the war.”

She looked straight ahead, but not in time to hide the tears glistening in her eyes.

“I'm sorry. We shouldn't have brought it up,” I said, glancing at Milo. “We didn't mean to cause you pain.”

“It's all right,” she said quickly. “I suppose it's good, in a way, to talk about it. I wish Reggie would talk about things. I've tried to talk to him, about the war, but he won't speak of it. I suppose some things need to be let out. It can't be good, can it, keeping all that inside?”

I felt suddenly sorry for the family, sorry for the string of tragedies that had plagued them. It had been said that they had deserved what had happened to them after Edwin Green's death, but I could not feel that carelessness and the excesses of youth should have been held against them for the rest of their lives. Unless those excesses had been murder, of course.

I was about to comment, but at that moment a rat scurried across the field in front of us, and Lucinda's horse took off like a shot.

 

21

HER HORSE RACED
across the field and she clung to his back. “Help me!” she cried out. “Help!”

Milo nudged his horse and took off after her, swiftly closing ground. I considered following after them, but there was really nothing I could do. I followed along at a bit less of a breakneck pace and hoped that Milo would be able to catch her.

He accomplished it rather quickly. Milo was too expert a horseman to be outrun for long, and he cut a rather dashing figure as he brought his horse up beside hers and reached out to grab the reins, bringing Lucinda's horse to a stop.

He quickly dismounted and reached out to soothe Romeo.

Lucinda must have said she wanted to dismount as well, for he reached up and helped her down, his hands on her waist. She slid from the saddle and practically fell into his arms.

Really, the whole thing was like watching a romance novel in action.

I rode up behind them so I wouldn't miss the dialogue.

“Oh, thank you, Milo,” she said, her hands pressed against his chest. “I was so afraid that I was going to be thrown and break my neck.”

She looked up at him adoringly, and I felt a sinking feeling. I had warned him. He had been too free with his charm, and I was very much afraid the girl was halfway to falling in love with him.

“You're not at all hurt, are you, Lucinda?” I asked.

She looked up at me, and it seemed for the briefest of instants, an expression of displeasure crossed her face. I had interrupted their lovely little scene, so I could not blame her entirely for being annoyed at my ill-timed entrance.

“No, I'm all right,” she said, “Thanks to Milo.”

“Yes, well done, Milo,” I told him. It was fortunate that nothing had gone terribly wrong. There had been enough disaster at Lyonsgate.