-31-

Jem

Jem tightened his hold on the doorframe when Eliza took off through the concealed passageway. If it weren't for Linfield's cadaver laid open on the table, he'd have gone straight after her. As it was, he stood paralysed. On feeling Bell's gaze on him, he winced, then met the doctor's unflinching gaze. Given that Bell was at work on Linfield's body, there was no option other than to keep his chin up if he wanted to avoid the gristly sight of his lover's remains, a nightmare that was sure to revisit him until the end of his days. Mercifully, the candlelight meant for poor visual acuity.

"The earl won't thank you for a scandal."

"He won't thank us for letting his son's murderer walk free either." There was a smear of viscera on Bell's cravat.

"I doubt that will be the outcome. Powerful men have their ways. However, I won't stand in your way, if you feel you need to act, for whatever reason. I'm just reminding you that any public investigation into the matter is going to unearth things both you and the family would rather stay buried."

He knew that. Knew it all too well. If Linfield were exposed as a molly, a sodomite, or both, then there would be serious repercussions. Attention would turn in his direction. His actions would be scrutinised. Conclusions reached. Did he want to face any of that? Of course he didn't.

"Need it all come out? They're unlikely to crack open Janie Faintree's grave to see if it's a man or a woman buried there. It'd cause too great a noration if they did so and found the grave already emptied by body thieves. They'll accept whatever your word is on the matter, and my relationship with him is hardly of relevance to the case. Why can I not simply be Linfield's tutor?"

"Because, Jem, people are motivated by hunger, for food, for gossip, and especially for scandal. It's the salacious gossip that always spreads the fastest, and when there's a scandal, everyone has their bit to contribute. Also, do you really think Mrs Honeyfield won't have her say before the judge? No one goes quietly to the gallows, and we all know that is the outcome for the one deemed responsible. She'll spill every sordid detail she can, and likely invent a score of embellishments. The crowd will be half in love with her by the end of it. Pamphlets and broad sheets will have been printed. Folks up and down the country will know the tale of the poor young housekeeper who was driven to desperate measures after a known rapscallion, a lord no less, stole her husband from her and swived him with gusto up his bumhole."

The crudity of the description certainly hammered home the potential breadth of the mire.

"Every associate of Linfield's will be scrutinised for similar signs of unnaturalness, and you, the scholarly bachelor, with no reputation for rakery of any kind, a man who's never set foot inside a brothel, will be found wanting."

"I have." Of course he'd been in a brothel, but Bell's point was made. He'd wind up tarnished. Investors would shy from backing his work into high-pressure engines, and he'd be stuck teaching idiots forever, except who would have him after such a scandal? Even other sodomites would shy from the stigma of associating with him in case they too were identified.

Still, he could not stand back and do nothing. There was a moral obligation to fulfil, and Eliza was depending on him. He could not let her down again, not after he'd already hurt her so very much.

"I've no notion of who the local magistrate is, do you?"

Bell, with a curved sailor's needle held between his teeth, took a moment to thread it. "Jem, I'm barely cognisant of my surroundings beyond the castle walls. I came here because Linfield waved a substantial purse of coins in my direction and agreed to me cutting up corpses in his basement. I don't even know where here is, let alone where the nearest big house is. Hell, I'm not sure I could even find my way to the village. Could you?"

On a clear day, perhaps, but when was the last time they'd enjoyed one of those? The weather had been miserable since they'd arrived.

"I can't stand here and do nothing, Bell." He bit his thumbnail. "It can't harm to have the woman confined to her chamber. Can it?"

"That depends on whether you want any breakfast."

"I'm not sure any of us need a breakfast that's been overseen by a poisoner."

Bell shrugged. "I'm fine. I only ever take tea with an egg anyway, and it's rather hard to adulterate an egg fresh from a hen's arse without breaking the shell. Also, who in their right mind would ever adulterate the tea!"

"Yes, that would be the sign of a deeply unsettled mind, because plotting murder is completely sane."

Bell shrugged, leaving Jem to curse beneath his breath. The more time he spent around Bell, the more he'd become acquainted with his inglorious sense of humour.

Jem was not usually one for wearing grooves in the floorboards, not being one of those who required motion to think, but he was restless now. And torn. Deeply torn. Thus, he paced to combat the sense of inertia.

"I think I ought to have gone with her."

"Then go. I'm not holding you here."

"You agree, then, that I should have accompanied her?"

"I think you should be wherever you'll feel most effective and do whatever you deem best. There's nothing I need you for. You're a passable secretary, but a godawful surgical assistant. Miss Wakefield is far more gifted in that regard, and I hope you realise how grudgingly I part with that observation."

"I fear she'll challenge Mrs Honeyfield on her own."

"A most likely possibility."

"Do not say that!" He came to an abrupt standstill, gruesome visions of Eliza being hurt flooding his mind. What if his lingering meant she was already wounded?

"Fine," Bell conceded. "I imagine she's attempting to shepherd Lady Linfield into some manner of meaningful activity…and has likely already realised the futility of that at least in terms of apprehending a murderer, given Lady Linfield seems far more concerned by whatever nonsense George is about."

"The validity of the marriage."

"Yes, I heard her say that too. Utter pap, of course. Non-consummation doesn't invalidate anything."

"Assuming that's what he's claiming."

"What else would he claim? That Linfield has another wife somewhere? Oh, yes. Desperately likely. He's such a one for the ladies. Loves them, he does."

A pertinent point. Linfield was the last man on the planet who would enter a secret marriage. Had been… "Answer me one thing, Ludlow. Truthfully, do you think Eliza is right, and Mrs Honeyfield is responsible?"

The physician refused to look at him and focused on his work for several excruciating seconds. He was still stitching, and Jem was doing his best not to notice; still, he suspected he'd flinch every time he saw a lady at her embroidery from now on.

"What I think is that the idea has considerable merit. Poisoners are usually women, and while the evidence against the housekeeper is largely circumstantial, the only real alternative is that it was your Miss Wakefield who did the deed."

"Why would she, Ludlow? She knew nothing of Linfield and me. I think you are saying so just to incite my ire."

"Perhaps it was on behalf of her friend, who Linfield was treating abominably. You're not the centre of the universe, not even the centre of her world, I think."

"You're making my point for me," he muttered. He definitely wasn't the most important thing in Eliza's world. He was likely a peripheral distraction at best. In any case, murdering a man as retaliation for Linfield being a somewhat rubbish husband to her friend seemed far-fetched. If he'd been a violent tyrant, maybe… "I think Mrs Honeyfield avenging the loss of her husband a far more plausible narrative."

"As you say." Bell momentarily looked up from his needlework. "Jem… James, why are you still here?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Fool…fool… My dear friend, I could draw you a perfect anatomical heart, but I freely confess, matters of love are not my forte. However, I can tell you with some certainty that while the odds are against you gaining Miss Wakefield's forgiveness, she most certainly won't do so if you're not there when she needs you. So, ask yourself, do you think she needs you? Is there a task she asked of you that you might perform?"

There was.

"Now, ask yourself, is the possibility of gaining her forgiveness worth the proverbial bricks you will no doubt bring down on your head by assisting her?"

For Eliza, he'd endure whatever ostracism society threw at him.

Bell's black wing eyebrows perked meaningfully. God damn him, the doctor was right. Maybe he couldn't undo the hurt he'd caused, but he could put Eliza's wishes before his own and help her, and believe in her, when no one else was ready to do so.

"Bell," he turned to say on reaching the surgery door. "It wasn't her. I don't care for you suggesting it was. Dammit, she's the only one among us who would never stoop to such measures, and I include both you and I in that judgement."

His friend snorted. "Go. Away with you. Go and earn your knightly spurs."

~Ж~

The kitchens were deserted. Jem knew there was a dearth of servants at Cedarton, but he couldn't account for the absence of them all. Someone ought to have been about below stairs. He poked his head into both the butler's pantry and the housekeeper's office. The former was home to a pair of black-eyed rats, the latter a few shabby cushions and some dried flowers in a vase. A little dish on the windowsill housed a few small amber stones, which he prodded with a fingertip. There was no sign of the Kunckel's pills Eliza insisted were the source of the phosphorous Linfield had somehow ingested, but nor had he expected to find them so obviously situated.

Thence, he headed up to the parlour, stopped by the study and library and the rest of the furnished rooms without stumbling on any signs of life.

Jem turned one of the little rocks he'd picked up between his fingers, perturbed by the quiet. Even with the pall of death looming over the property, he expected more evidence of habitation. It was too quiet. As if the house itself were holding its breath in expectation of trouble.

On the ground floor, only one of the mirrors had been covered, the largest one in the hall that reflected the main entrance. Unsure where to look next, Jem took to the stairs.

A distinct nip in the air set him rubbing warmth into his arms when he reached the third-floor landing. When he turned the corner onto the corridor that led to Eliza's room, the reason became apparent. The great iron-pinned door at the end of the corridor which had once connected this portion of the house to the Lady's Tower stood open onto the night sky. In its frame were a gaggle of four or five squat figures. Men with swaddled faces and hoods pulled low.

A small figure flew at him, sending him skittering back into the gloom. Betsy, the garrulous maid who'd openly spied on him and Eliza stuck her oval face right into his and growled. "Where's tha gawping at? Ain't nowt to see along here."

"Is that right?"

"Oh, just leave it be, will ya. Away ta ya room and stay outta sight like a nice fella. It'll be better for us all that way. Ya ain't been seen yet, and you ain't seen nowt either. That's reet ain't it, mister?"

It was, but he didn't think theft was something he ought to turn a blind eye to. He did, however, allow the maid to hound him back towards the stairs, so that they were entirely out of sight of the figures in the looming maw.

"What's going on—"

"Don't," she insisted, raising her fingers as if to silence him. "Like ah already said, tha ain't seen owt 'cept some folks moving some things what belongs t' them."

An unlikely story. He was sure his scepticism showed.

"Mister—I'm sorry, I forget ya name. This place's been empty for years. Nee one came here, due t' stories. How was we supposed t' know 'is lordship would show up reet afore Christmas when it were too late t' make other arrangements? Even a wee bit a notice would've done. We'd a up and shifted things, no harm done, like, but no, he just rides up unannounced, and says t' Gordy t' start seeing off anyone who's not invited wi' a gun. I mean who does that? Lordlings ah suppose. So, we've been waitin' for the reet time, an' t'night… I can see t' gettin' ya summat nice, if ya keep ya trap shut."

Jem frowned, not entirely sure what to make of the tale he was being spun. It was serving the purpose of keeping him out of sight and inactive, so on that score it was presumably working. Then again, he wasn't sure what the alternative would have been. He wasn't dumb enough to see off four grown men and a wily maid single-handedly. He did not possess a pistol, and he suspected the tallest fellow he'd seen was in fact the footman he'd been looking for to assist him in detaining Mrs Honeyfield, and whom he'd then intended to send for the magistrate. All in all, his options were thin.

"What is it they're collecting?" he asked.

Betsy's mouth twisted into a conflicted pucker.

"I'm going to assume they're making off with the silver if you don't convince me otherwise," he added reasonably.

"Fine. Victuals," she spat. "Victuals what folk hereabouts depend on, especially at turn o' year."

"Victuals," Jem repeated, beginning to see the lay of things. "But we're miles from the coast."

Her deadly glare continued.

Ah, that was the point. Cedarton was being used as a stopover point for smuggled goods shipped in from Holland to coves along the coast and then sent inland to York. Much easier to avoid the revenue men if you crossed the moors instead of taking the more established roads.

"Brandy," he said. "I'll be delighted to find a bottle in my room."

Betsy grumbled. "Why not just take one of 'is lordships? It's not like he'll be needing it any longer, and Lady Linfield dun't know if there's four or forty in't cellar."

He couldn't fault her logic, even if she was advocating theft.

"Where's your mistress?"

"Gone t' bed."

Jane's room had been destroyed, and Eliza's stood nigh with the smuggling going on.

"Why?" Her gaze turned sly and suspicious. "What's tha planning? Are yer gonna offer comfort, like? Ain't it a bit soon? He's not even laid out proper yet."

"Watch your tongue, girl. That's not my intent. Nor is it any of your business why I wish to see your mistress. Just tell me how to find her."

"Fine, fine, I'll keep me neb out. 'appens, I recalls you're affatuated with tother one."

Jem gave her his meanest glare.

"Down a floor." She wafted him in that direction with her hands and the sway of her broad hips. "Go t' end of the hall past t' master's room, an' take backstairs. It's a bit twisty and turny, but if ya keep goin', you'll find it. Most of them parts are burned or boarded."

They were not the best of directions he'd ever had, but not quite as dire as the ones his cousin Sheridan had once given him for how to reach Hardraw Falls.

"Be off with ya then. Miss Wakefield did wi' the same instructions and didn't linger."

So, Eliza was with Jane.

"Wait. I've another question first. Where are the other servants?"

Her scowl was enough to curdle cow's milk fresh from the teat. "Weren't tha supposed t' be the smart one? Or are ya trying t' get your head bashed in? Edith's in bed. Everyone else is about their business, and if yer've any sense you'll be about yers."

"Mrs Honeyfield… She's not involved in this?" He nodded his head towards the door.

Betsy's gawked at him like he'd suggested her mother was an aardvark. "She ain't' from here. Why would she know owt about owt? Ah don't know where she is, but you'll like as not smell 'er as not. Reeks a rot, she does."

"Betsy?" A man's voice called. "We're done? Where's tha?"

"Comin'." And off she went.

It seemed there were few, if any, of the servants in the castle he could trust. To that end, rather than pursuing Eliza up to Lady Linfield's room, he settled on saddling a horse and setting forth himself to fetch the magistrate. With luck, it would not be far to the neighbouring estate, and he could be back at Cedarton before anyone missed him.

Vexingly, the stables were as deserted of human occupants as Cedarton's interior had been. He'd held some hope of finding a stable lad to send off.

Jem walked a path between the stalls, prompting several horses to wicker and stick their noses over the stall doors. He was almost to the door of the tack room when he noted a curious swag of fabric trapped within the door jamb of the end most stall. Closer, it was clear that something lay within.

"Who's there? Name yourself."

A muffled thump sounded in reply.

Jem flung the door wide. On the floor in the gloom, bound and muffled, sat Linfield's valet. He blinked warily and flinched away when Jem reached for the gag around his mouth. "Clement, ain't it? I mean you no harm." He raised his lantern so Clement could better identify him. Then he uncovered his mouth and set to releasing the knots in the cords around his wrists and ankles too. "I thought you'd hastened away south hours gone."

"Mr Whistler…. Thank you." Wrists freed, the fellow pressed his fingers to the back of his head, then brought them into the light of Jem's lantern gingerly. They were clean of blood, but judging by the man's wince when he prodded a second time, there was a lump the size of a bird's egg on his noggin.

"I were supposed to be. I was all set to be off, just tightening the girth, and someone struck me from behind. They took my horse and cloak and left me trussed up here."

"Do you know who it was?"

The fellow shook his head, and promptly groaned. "Someone shorter than I, I think." He winced again. "Based on the angle from which I was hit. I suppose they meant to stop me reaching Bellingbrook." He stood and dusted off his coat and breeches. "I can saddle another mare now. She won't be as swift, but—"

"Do," Jem agreed. "I came here to do as much myself, but if you're able to take a message then all the better."

"You were heading to Bellingbrook?"

"Ah, no! Closer. We've need of the magistrate. You don't happen to know who that is? I'm afraid I don't have the lay of the land."

"I know where the nearest big house is. It's Sir Cyril Berkley's place. It's a couple of miles east of here. I could ride that way and then head south to Bellingbrook. That's assuming you still want me to do that?"

With a name like Sir Cyril, the man was sure to sit on the bench. "Yes. Yes, the earl needs to know. Go to Sir Cyril first and make sure you convey the urgency of the situation. Explain to him that Lord Linfield has left his mortal coil, and that Doctor Bell believes he's been poisoned."

The fellow's eyes widened. "That's ill news."

"See he sets off tonight and doesn't wait until daybreak."

"I will. I'll do that, sir."

Jem helped Clement saddle up and mount. He leant the fellow his lantern and watched him down the driveway as far as the mists allowed before turning back to the building. As he did, he caught a flash of light at the top of the fire-blackened Lady's Tower.

Now what mischief was afoot?

Two black silhouettes emerged onto the spindly balcony. He could not make out who they were, but they seemed to be both women from this distance. It was clear only a heartbeat later that trouble was afoot, when the second figure snatched at the first, and a blood-curdling cry split the night like lightning forking through the heavens.