A Most Novel Revenge (25 page)

What was more, poison was an act of premeditation. The stabbing might have been a crime of passion, but there was something calculated about poisoning. It seemed as though the methods indicated two separate would-be killers.

“I don't know how much more of this I can bear,” Reggie said, rubbing a hand across his face.

“It's going to be all right, Reggie,” Laurel said gently. “I'm sure of it.”

“There's no sense in worrying ourselves sick over it, in any event,” Beatrice said. “We've weathered such storms before, and we will do it again.”

Reggie looked at his sister, and it seemed as though he relaxed ever so slightly at the absolute conviction in her tone.

We went back to eating our food, though without much enthusiasm. I was very surprised by this latest turn of events, though perhaps I should not have been. Isobel Van Allen had been ill the night before her murder, and it had struck me that there might be something sinister in it. It must have been the poison. It seemed to me that it must have been administered at dinner. At this very table. It was enough to make one lose one's appetite.

I thought of Mr. Roberts, who was still in his room, though apparently recovering nicely. Was it possible that he had had some of the poison as well? It seemed more than possible. It seemed likely. If so, had it been done deliberately, or had he been a casualty of the war against Isobel Van Allen?

“How is your horse, Lucinda?” Milo asked. I supposed he was hoping to divert the conversation a bit.

“He's very well,” she said brightly. “The scratch wasn't deep at all. I'm so relieved.”

“I heard about the incident on your ride today,” Reggie said. “It isn't like you to be careless.”

“I wasn't being careless. A rat ran across the field and startled Romeo. Mr. Ames came to my rescue.”

The vaguest expression of annoyance crossed Beatrice's face, and I wondered if it was directed at her sister or at my husband. Perhaps she felt, as I did, that Milo had given Lucinda undue encouragement.

“In any event, I think you'd better hold off riding Romeo for a while,” Reggie said.

She looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I'd rather you not take him out if you can't manage him. Take Gallahad or one of the less-spirited horses.”

“That's ridiculous. I'm perfectly capable of managing Romeo.”

“It doesn't seem so,” Reggie replied.

“That's not fair. It wasn't my fault about the rat.”

“Just the same, I paid too much for that horse to have him injured.”

“He's my horse, isn't he?” she said, her voice rising. “You gave him to me.”

“Please don't go on so, Lindy,” Reggie said tiredly.

“But, Reggie, it's not fair.” She was growing distressed, and tears had sprung to her eyes.

“Lucinda, be quiet,” Beatrice commanded.

“You're not my mother, Beatrice,” Lucinda said hotly, her eyes flashing. “I have only seen you a handful of times in the last seven years. I don't see why you should think that you can order me about now.”

Silence descended for a moment as Beatrice appeared to attempt to master her temper.

“You were sent away to school in Switzerland because it was what was best for you,” she said at last, her tone brittle.

“Banished, you mean,” Lucinda said. “Banished to that wretched place, far away from everyone and everything.”

“It wasn't as though we were trying to banish you,” Reggie said. “We just thought sending you to a different boarding school, one abroad, would be better for you, all things considered.” His eyes darted from Lucinda to Beatrice and back again. He was uneasy at the conflict that was rising between them, and I could not say I blamed him. I could feel the anger building like a storm cloud above the table.

“Alas, it appears that it was not as beneficial as we had hoped,” Beatrice said. “You clearly haven't learned much of proper behavior.”

“I don't know what you mean,” she retorted.

“Don't you?” Beatrice's brows rose. “Then you
do
need education. For one thing, it isn't proper etiquette to repeatedly throw yourself at the husband of a guest in your home.”

Lucinda stared at her sister, her face going white and then bright red. Then she rose from her chair and turned and fled from the room.

Almost without realizing what I was doing, I excused myself from the table and went after her. I didn't know exactly what prompted me, but I felt suddenly very sorry for her.

I was not sure what I was going to say. I had not had much experience in dealing with young people. In fact, aside from my school days, when I was one myself, I had had very little contact with them. Though Lucinda Lyons was only three or four years my junior, she somehow seemed much younger.

She had gone into the drawing room, and I followed her there. She turned when she heard me come in behind her, and her face was flushed with anger, tears quivering in her eyes. “She's wretched. They're both wretched. I hate them.”

“You mustn't mind them,” I said. “They're all very upset at the moment. People are apt to say things they don't mean in the heat of the moment.”

“It was a cruel thing for Beatrice to say. I haven't been throwing myself at your husband. I only enjoy spending time with him because he's so kind, and things are so wretched here at Lyonsgate.”

Her voice broke and the tears began to run down her cheeks.

I felt a wave of sympathy for her. I had not much cared for the way she had been doggedly pursuing Milo, but it had been harmless enough and not exactly without encouragement from my husband. Besides, I suspected, as she had said, that she had encountered very little kindness since her return to Lyonsgate.

“You mustn't worry about that.” I smiled. “I'm not a jealous sort of wife.”

“Yes, but perhaps Beatrice is right. Perhaps I don't know how to behave. It's not easy for me to be with people, you know. I haven't had much practice with it. I never know the right thing to say or what people are really thinking.”

“We all feel like that at times.”

She gave a rueful laugh. “You don't expect me to believe that you ever feel that way, Mrs. Ames. It must be lovely to be so calm and poised all the time, always knowing the right thing to say.”

Was that the way I appeared? I certainly tried to make a good show of it, but I often felt less than successful.

“I don't always know the right things to say,” I told her.

“You seem to. And you're so elegant and beautiful.”

“That's sweet of you.”

“It's true.”

“You're quite beautiful yourself, Lucinda.”

She sniffed, wiping a hand across her tearstained face. “I have always wanted to be the sort of person who always behaves properly and does the right things, but I don't suppose I ever shall.”

“That sort of thing comes with time.”

She looked at me searchingly. “Do you really think that?”

“Yes. The more you are with people, the more you will come to understand how to interact with them.”

She sighed. “But I don't like being with people, not really. Because people will always be cruel because of what happened here. It isn't fair. Wherever I go, people shall always say, ‘That's Lucinda Lyons. Do you remember what happened at Lyonsgate?'”

I hesitated. I wanted to tell her that it became easier with time not to mind what people said, but the truth of it was that cruelness always had the potential to hurt. It was more accurate, perhaps, to say that one's feelings became easier to conceal as time passed.

I offered what comfort I could. “You'll learn eventually that it doesn't much matter what people say.”

“Yes, perhaps you're right,” she said. She drew in a deep breath. “I'm sorry if I've said the wrong things, Mrs. Ames. I didn't mean to burden you with all my troubles. It's just that I don't have very many friends. I didn't make friends easily when they sent me to a new boarding school, and Reggie and Lucinda are so much older than me that they haven't paid me much mind in the years since I've been back.”

“You may say whatever you like to me, Lucinda, and I hope that we shall be friends,” I said, and I meant it sincerely. Her life had been lonely and full of unfortunate events. It couldn't have been easy for her to make friends at school, especially after the scandal that Edwin Green's death had caused. Lucinda was right. People could be very cruel, young people especially.

She smiled. “I should like that, Mrs. Ames.”

“Call me Amory.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Amory.”

I felt I should offer one last bit of advice. “You mustn't think your brother and sister don't care about you,” I said. “I suppose they're upset now, with everything that has happened. Your brother seems very distraught, and I'm sure your sister must be, too.”

In truth, I did not feel much like making excuses for Beatrice. It hadn't been a very nice thing to say to her sister, especially in the company of others. Even if Lucinda had made a very conspicuous show of throwing herself at Milo, there was no need to reprimand her for it in front of both Milo and me.

“I know that Reggie means well,” she said. “He just doesn't always know the right way to go about it. I try to be patient with him. But Beatrice has never liked me, not really. My mother was the reason our father left her mother.”

“I see.”

This was a bit of information I hadn't heard. Perhaps that was the reason Beatrice was not especially warm toward her sister.

I reached out and patted Lucinda's hand. “I'm certain things will get better, Lucinda. When all of this is over, perhaps your brother will take you away for a while and all of this shall seem like a distant memory.”

She smiled, and this time it looked genuine. “Thank you, Amory. I certainly hope so.”

*   *   *

REGGIE LYONS MUST
have been hovering outside of the drawing room waiting for me to come out, for he approached me as soon as I left the room, a concerned frown on his face.

“Is she all right?”

“I think so,” I said. “This is all very hard on her, of course, and she hasn't very many friends.”

He sighed. “Things have always been difficult for Lucinda. I have never known the right way to go about talking with her. Young people are different than they were when I was young.” His gaze moved beyond me, a faraway look coming to his eyes for just a moment before he blinked.

“In any event, I'm afraid I must apologize for my sisters,” he said. He gave me a tired smile. “It seems I am forever apologizing to you, Mrs. Ames.”

“Please don't apologize. I only thought I could find a way to help. Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who isn't a family member.”

“Yes, I suppose you're right,” he said vaguely.

“I do think she would like to talk to you, however,” I said encouragingly.

He nodded. “I shall go and talk to her now.”

It seemed almost as though he squared his shoulders before going into the drawing room. I thought it was a good sign that he cared so much for his sister. I wished Beatrice would have been as thoughtful. It would cost her nothing to be kind to her sister. After all, it was not Lucinda's fault that their father had been unfaithful to Beatrice's mother. The matter was really none of my concern, however. If there was one thing I was learning, it was that it was impossible to fix all the problems in the world, no matter how much I wished I could.

“Everything all right?” Milo asked, coming into the entrance hall and catching me frowning. It appeared that they had finished dinner, for I could hear the others approaching from the direction of the dining room.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. Are you coming back to the drawing room for coffee?”

I shook my head. “I don't think so. I'm tired. I think I'll go back to my room.”

“Shall I come with you?”

“That's not necessary. Perhaps you should go in and be kind to Lucinda.”

He sighed. “I do wish you would make up your mind.”

“It wasn't at all nice of Beatrice to embarrass her that way at the dinner table. I only thought that if you go on behaving as normal, she'll feel less awkward about it all.”

“Very well. But I go under protest.”

“Yes, I know how very trying it is for you to make yourself pleasant to women.”

He frowned at me and went into the drawing room.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” said Laurel who had reached my side just as Milo left. “It was kind of you to go and speak to her, especially considering that what Beatrice said was true.”

I shrugged. “I can't blame her for enjoying Milo's company. She's lonely, and he's…”

“Yes, I know what he is,” she interrupted. “Well, I'm sure it shall all pass in time. It's not as though there aren't other things to distract us.”

“Like the fact that Isobel was poisoned, for instance,” I said. “Did you see Inspector Laszlo this afternoon?”

I had thought perhaps my question would throw her off guard, but she didn't appear at all flustered. “Yes,” she said, “but only for a few moments.”

“Did he say anything to you about the poison?”

She shook her head. “That was a complete surprise. Do you really think that two people were trying to kill Isobel?”

“I wish I knew. The whole thing seems incredibly complicated. I'm sure Inspector Laszlo had his suspicions, however.”

I looked at her expectantly, and she laughed. “Don't look at me that way. You act as though we were the best of friends. The inspector doesn't tell me anything. He's very proper, you know.”

“Yes, I'm sure that he is.”

She laughed. “You seem to suspect me of some secret love affair, but I assure you there is nothing of interest to tell you.”