The Shadowcutter (15 page)

“I shall leave you for a moment, ma’am,” he said, going towards the door.

“No!” she exclaimed. “Please, please don’t go!” Then to Felix’s horror she threw herself on her knees in front of him and clasped his legs. Then, worse still, she bent her head so she was on the verge of kissing his boots, and would have most likely done so, had Felix not sunk down at once to attempt to stop her prostrating herself in this astonishing manner.

“Ma’am, ma’am, I beg you, please –”

There was a struggle, an undignified, unpleasant tangling of limbs. She was a writhing briar bush of miserable emotion, and Felix was able to do little to calm her. In the end, he let her hold him, her arms clamped about him, her damp cheek pressed against his chest. He felt a little like a rock in an ocean being battered by forces beyond his comprehension – to be in such a situation with a stranger, who was not a patient, was decidedly unnerving.

Yet at the same time he was acutely aware of that perfume, so distinctive and unforgettable. It awoke something from the distant recesses of his mind. He found he knew the notes of it in the same way he knew the old French songs his first nurse had sung to him. Again he saw the pink cushions and the floor on which there were scattered – a floor of polished wooden diamonds set in squares, that smelt of something sweet and waxy, mingling with that same smell he now smelt and it shocked him, making him stiffen.

She sensed this and it brought her from her fit. She detached herself, and sat in a pool of her black skirts, her hands in her lap, staring at him with widened, reddened eyes, with such intense scrutiny that he had to look away. Yet there in his mind, it remained, that room: the wood smoke from the fire, violets and carnations, floor polish, and a painted squirrel on the wainscot.
Ecureuil...
A woman’s voice, soft and Irish-accented: “Squirrel. Yes. Your little squirrel.”

He looked back at her, his heart pounding. He studied her face for too long. The conclusion he came too defied all reason and he would not have it.

He scrambled clumsily to his feet, and turned his back on her, intending to leave the room at once. But on getting to his feet something had caught his eye, something wedged between the bed frame and the wall, either by accident or by design.

Now he stooped to fetch it out, relieved to have such a tangible distraction. It was a narrow, flat document case, the sort used by couriers, made in soft, dark red leather, with a coat of arms and a monogram contain an X and an M. It was safe to assume it had belonged to Don Xavier.

He opened it. It contained a packet of letters in Spanish, as far as he could judge.

“What is it you have there?” he heard her say.

“I think this must have belonged to your brother-in-law. He seems to have hidden it.”

“Oh,” he heard her say.

He turned, hearing her rise. He offered his hand to help her to her feet. She refused it, steadying herself on the bedstead instead.

“May I see that?” she said, swallowing her tears.

He held it out to her. She drew out the pile of letters and began to scan the first one.

“Wedged down there?” she said.

“Seemingly,” he said. “Deliberately, perhaps?”

She bit her lip, reading a little more. Her concentration on the documents was intense and contrived to banish her hysteria.

“It is important,” she said after a moment, “that these do not fall into the wrong hands.” She slid the documents back into the case and fastened the buckle. “May I ask a favour of you?”

“Yes?”

“Keep this somewhere safe. Very safe. Do not show them to anyone without telling me first. I know that is a great imposition and God knows, I ought not to impose on you!”

Yet she thrust the case at him and he was obliged to take it.

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

“Put it away in your coat,” she said. “Do not mention this to anyone!”

A moment later the door opened and Don Luiz came in.

Chapter Fourteen

In a great house the size of Holbroke, it was easy to mislay things and people.

Giles wondered if the simplest solution to the missing parure was perhaps the easiest one – that it had not been stolen, but merely lost. Perhaps it was in the strong room at the London House, or at Lady Rothborough’s house in Sussex where they had spent June. Although it was an extremely valuable item, it was only one among many treasures.

These thoughts occurred to him as he was breakfasting with Laura and the three young ladies the following morning. They were sitting in a delightful room decorated with Chinese wallpaper, and the breakfast itself was delicious enough to pique even Laura’s dilatory appetite. She looked comfortable and he had allowed his mind to wander onto the problem of the parure as he drank his coffee and ate the excellent toast.

“We shall go for a drive and set up our easels,” said Lady Maria. “Yes, Mrs Vernon?”

“Giles...” Laura murmured, and glanced at him with a wary look. “Should I?”

“Oh, certainly,” he said. “Yes, of course you must go. But may I suggest that Sukey go with you? Lady Maria, might there be space in the carriage for Mrs Connolly, my wife’s maid? Mrs Vernon has been ill, and it would ease both our minds if she were there.”

“Ill, oh dear – Mrs Vernon, I had no idea,” said Lady Maria. But of course, that is why you were at Stanegate, taking the waters. You are a convalescent.”

“What was wrong with you, if it is not indelicate to ask?” said Lady Augusta.

“Gusta – ” said Charlotte.

“No, no, I don’t mind,” said Laura. “I really don’t. You see, Lady Augusta, it is hard to talk of. Nobody ever talks of these things, at least not people like us. I… I… I was cloudy in my mind,” Laura went on. “I lost my little boy and after that – ” Giles reached for her hand under the cover of the tablecloth, astonished by her bravery. “It is quite common. Mr Carswell says it happens more than any of us know. It really is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Mr Carswell?” said Lady Augusta in a whisper.

“Mr Carswell has helped me to get better. If it had not been for him, I should be lost still.”

“Oh,” said Lady Maria. “Oh, my goodness.”

“You should be proud of him,” Laura went on. “I can see him in your faces. I should be proud to have such a man as my brother.”

There was silence then. Lady Augusta was looking most offended, and shot a fierce glance at Giles as if she expected him to apologise on Laura’s behalf, but Giles could see nothing to apologise for. Laura was right to be so plain spoken. She had seized a sword of truth and run across the battlefield with it. He squeezed her hand again and she squeezed it back, with some intensity. He knew what this show of courage was costing her, and he felt humbled by it, and at the same time, great pride.

It was Lady Charlotte who broke the silence.

“I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr Carswell, Mrs Vernon, and I am glad to hear that he was such help to you. It seems to me that we need more men of talent in the world, whatever the circumstances of their birth.”

“You have met him, Chartie?” said Lady Maria. “When?”

“Two days ago. He came to help Major Vernon.”

“Mama will be – ” Lady Augusta began and then broke off. “Oh Charlotte, how could you?”

“It was an accident,” Charlotte said. “Well, not entirely. I knew he would be here and I wanted to see him. I have wanted to see him ever since I heard he existed, to be frank.”

“So what is he like?” Lady Maria said.

“Maria!” exclaimed Augusta. “Mama would not like you to even – ”

“Oh come now, Gusta, are you not curious? I am. I am just like Chartie. I would love to know him! Papa loves him so dearly. It is so, so – oh, I cannot put into words, but I feel it, just as you do Chartie. I know that it
is
important, even though we are not supposed to talk about it! Well, I should like to talk about it!”

“When it breaks Mama’s heart even to think about him? Nothing that Papa has done could be crueller to her than his misguided –”

“It is not misguided,” said Lady Charlotte. “He is acting as a father should! How could he do otherwise than love him, just as he loves us all so dearly? He is the best of fathers!”

“But not the best of husbands,” said Lady Augusta. “How would you care to be treated that way by your husband, Charlotte?” She turned to Laura. “I am glad to hear you are better, Mrs Vernon, but I am afraid I cannot be a party to general paeans of praise concerning Mr Carswell. I have my mother’s feelings to think of. If you will excuse me.” With which she got up from the table.

Giles stood up, but Laura held fast to his hand. When the door shut behind Lady Augusta, she burst out: “Oh, I am sorry, I did not mean... I should not have, should I? I knew I would do something...” She stared up at him, fear in her eyes. “What have I done?”

Giles sat down and again and kissed her hand.

“You have acknowledged a debt that we needed to acknowledge,” he said quietly.

“I am so sorry,” Laura began again, looking at Charlotte and Maria. “When you have all been so kind. What will Lady Rothborough say? What will Lady Augusta tell her?”

“With luck, nothing,” said Lady Charlotte. “I will have a word with her. But first, I think, some more coffee.”

“I feel most strange,” said Lady Maria.

“You are feeling the abrasive effect of the truth,” said Lady Charlotte. “Will you have another cup of something, Mrs Vernon? Major?”

“I wish you had taken me with you,” Lady Maria said. “I wish I had seen him for myself. Does he really look like Papa?”

“I had better go and speak to Gusta,” said Lady Charlotte, having swiftly drunk her cup of black coffee.

“Careful you do not find her weeping in the arms of Syme,” said Lady Maria, as Charlotte rose from her chair.

“What?” exclaimed Charlotte, sitting down again.

“Tell her if she says one word about this to Mama, I will tell Mama that I saw Mr Syme kissing her.”

“You saw them?”

“Oh yes,” said Maria with a slightly wicked smile. “How she can bear to be kissed by him, I can’t imagine, but she did seem to be quite enjoying it.”

“Did they see you?”

“No,” said Maria.

“I knew he was a wretch!” Charlotte said. “The insolent, presumptuous wretch! Well, we shall not have to look hard to find something to discredit him now, Major Vernon!”

-0-

Laura having been happily carried off by Maria to look at piano duets, Giles turned his attention to business. He looked through his notebook and decided that he needed to talk to Lady Warde again.

He found his quarry, sitting alone in a sunny corner in one of the great reception rooms. On seeing him enter the room, she had avoided meeting his eye and had at once left her place and made swiftly towards the door.

Her determination to be rid of him obliged him to give chase. He followed her through a seemingly endless enfilade of dimly lit reception rooms, the holland blinds down against the sun, until he found her progress stalled, apparently by a locked door.

She stood there, trying the handle, with some agitation, her back to him.

“Lady Warde, it really is important that that I speak to you.”

“Evidently, or you would not have pursued me. I understood, sir, that you were a gentleman.” She addressed these words to the door, in a tiny, breathless voice. It was curious behaviour to say the least – somewhat reminiscent of a common criminal taking flight at the sound of the constable’s rattle. Yet Giles knew that people were scared of the police, simply because they were the police, as if their secrets were more visible to them, whether they had broken the law or not. “It is shocking, that I am to be hounded in such a manner, when – ”

“I will not keep you long, I promise, ma’am,” said Giles, in the calmest, sweetest, most humble tone he could manage.

“I should hope not,” she said, permitting herself to turn at little towards him. “What can I possibly tell you, sir? I have already told you everything.”

“Perhaps we should sit for a moment, Lady Warde?” he said. “And if you feel equal to it, you might tell me again about Eliza Jones.”

He gestured towards a chair, but she did not take his cue.

“Why again?” she said.

“Because previously you had just heard some shocking news. In such cases one’s thoughts can be disordered. Sometimes there will be omissions. Therefore, I would like to talk to you again.”

“I do not know what I can add,” she said, “but if you insist, I must oblige, sir, although I should rather not speak of this at all.”

How prickly she was, he thought, standing so firmly on her threadbare dignity.

“Justice demands that you should,” he said, pulling out a chair for her and placing it. “That you must see.”

She consented to sit, but there was something about the manner in which she did it that suggested she was not going to give up her secrets easily.

He hoped he would not offend the rules of housekeeping at Holbroke by taking up the blind a little, but he needed to read her features as well as hear her words. She flinched a little as the light struck her, and he noticed her hand clasped around the locket she wore on a long ribbon about her neck. He struggled for a moment to remember if she had been wearing it the other day. For a woman who did not wear any other jewellery than her wedding ring, it was notable.

She was certainly an interesting case: a woman who had made a career of being useful, earning her place at a succession of noble tables by means of a life of trivial servitude. No paid domestic would consent to such a life. Her birth and her marriage had conspired to earn her this strange existence, of endless visits to those who ought to have been equals but who were in truth her superiors. Rank without money was meaningless. All it afforded Lady Warde was crumbs and crusts, but what sort of life for her was that? It would require the disposition of a saint, and was Lady Warde a saint? It was an important question, all in all, given how strangely she had just behaved towards him.

“I will get to the point, Lady Warde,” he said, “since you wish to get this done with as quickly as possible,” he said, opening his notebook. “You will excuse me if my tone is a little direct.”