Chapter 17

C HAPTER 17

"She'd already stabbed the maid when I got there," said Evangeline, in a high, trembling voice. "I'd just walked in and I saw her and at first I didn't know what had happened. Then I saw that poor girl and there was so much blood…" She covered her face with her hands.

"There, there," said the Squire, patting her shoulder. "There, there. It's not to be wondered at. You don't expect to walk into such a thing."

They had all moved back to Lady Strauss's suite and Willard had brought tea and brandy. The room was a mirror of the one that Mrs. Green had been staying in, and everyone kept looking toward the balcony door, despite the heavy curtains covering it.

There was blood on Evangeline's fingers, Hester noted. She looked over at Richard, who nodded to her, almost imperceptibly.

"Forgive me, madam," he said. "Did you go to the maid, then?"

"What?" Evangeline took her hands away from her face. "Did I?"

"You must have," said Hester, "since you've got blood all over you."

The flash of anger was so swift that no one would have noticed if they weren't already looking for it. Evangeline looked down at her hands and began to tremble. "I must have. Yes. Oh god…" She wiped frantically at them with a napkin from the tea tray. Everyone watched in silence until Samuel mumbled something and pulled out his handkerchief to offer her.

"Why were you in Penelope's room to begin with?" asked Lady Strauss.

"She'd asked me to come. Said something about a brooch to loan me, that she thought would go well with my hair." Evangeline shook her head.

Imogene nodded, as if this were perfectly understandable. Perhaps if you didn't know Penelope, it was.

"I thought she was going to stab me next," said Evangeline. Her eyelids fluttered. "I was so frightened…"

"Yes, of course," said Samuel gruffly. "Understandable. Anyone would be."

"It was like she was possessed." The words began to dissolve into tears at the edges. Hester stared into her teacup and thought uncharitable thoughts.

Even Doom might be upset, having someone brandish a knife at her.

Penelope Green would no more stab someone than she would fly to the moon.

Penelope Green is dead.

It was impossible. She couldn't believe it. She'd watched her friend go over the railing and she didn't doubt for a minute that Richard had been right when he said that she died instantly, but still… dead? How was that possible? Surely she would walk through the door in just a moment, scarred and ravishing, and everyone would turn toward her, like flowers toward the sun. Surely that bright, hilarious light had not been snuffed out.

It's perfectly normal, Hester told herself. Anything so fast and so irrevocable feels impossible. Of course you don't believe it. It'll hit soon, and you'd best be tucked up in bed when it does, so that you can cry your eyes out in peace.

She closed her eyes for a moment and pictured a goose. A perfect goose, the sort that she had bred a few times, a tall, plump bird with dove-gray feathers and a deep orange bill. The rump would be white, the chest smooth, without an obvious keel. Like that. Yes. She took a deep breath and felt a fraction calmer.

"Did she say anything?" asked Richard. "Any hint why she might have done something?"

Lady Evangeline bit her lower lip and looked at Samuel. Hester saw without surprise that she could cry without her nose turning red or her eyes going puffy. If I didn't already loathe the woman, I certainly would now. Nature is so unkind.

"She said… she said…" She put her face in her hands. Imogene looked at Hester and Hester schooled her face to be carefully blank.

"Anything you can tell us may be helpful," Richard said.

"Yes, go on, pet, it's all right. Nobody will be angry at you," said the Squire, patting her shoulder. "I've got your hand right here and you just squeeze as tight as you need to."

Evangeline gave a watery sniffle. "Yes, I just… it's so…" She swallowed. "She said that once I was out of the way, he'd be all hers again."

"Eh?" The Squire's eyes bulged. "The old girl said what? But that was over years ago and she was the one who—"

He cut himself off, rather too late for propriety. Lord Strauss coughed. Richard rubbed his temples.

"She looked so odd," he murmured, almost to himself. "Like a wind was blowing her over the railing. I've never seen anything like it."

"Yes," said Hester, sitting bolt upright. "Like a strong wind." Trust Richard to put his finger on it, as Hester recalled the dream Penelope had shared with them just that morning. The one with the wind that blew open the balcony doors. "And she was fighting against it."

"There wasn't any, though," said the Squire. "I was right there. So were you, Evermore."

"No. No, of course not." Richard shook his head. "Forgive me. It's been a terrible evening, and I'm getting fanciful. Perhaps—"

Whatever he was going to say next was eclipsed, however, as Evangeline dissolved into tears and flung herself in the Squire's arms. "There, there," he said, patting her back and looking at the others as if daring them to say something. "It's all right, pet, it's over now."

"Yes," said Hester, pushing herself to her feet. Her knee felt as if there was a live coal under the cap. "Yes, it's been a terrible evening. In the morning, I suppose we'll have to tell the constables."

"Already sent Jack out with a note," said the Squire. "They'll be around first thing tomorrow."

Hester nodded. "Then I suggest we all go to bed," she said wearily. "Everything will be easier in the morning."

The others murmured assent. Hester left the room before she could see what the Squire did with Evangeline. She knew that Doom had won this round, and she didn't have the heart to see it play out. And there's not a damn thing I can say that won't look like I'm bullying a frightened woman.

Hell, maybe I would be.

Richard followed her, taking her arm and she leaned on him rather more than she wanted to. "Your knee's bothering you," he murmured, as they slowly tackled the stairs.

"I could have called one of those sturdy young footmen to carry me instead."

"And deprive me of the chance? How often do I have a beautiful woman pressed up against me without anyone thinking twice about the proprieties?"

Hester told him where he could put the proprieties.

"I see that sailor's mouth of yours hasn't changed."

"You could hardly have expected it to. Particularly since you taught me a few of the words."

"The student has, I think, outshone the master."

"Bollocks. Don't tell me that men don't have words they use when no ladies are around."

"We do, but I expect ladies have words they use when no gentlemen are around, so I'm not sure that counts."

Hester sniffed haughtily. As Richard no doubt intended, the conversation had been a welcome distraction from the pain. They reached the hallway to her chambers.

"Is it very much worse than it was?" he asked in an undertone, as they approached her door.

"No," she lied. "I was just a fool and tried to run on it, because Penelope…" She swallowed the rest of the words, feeling tears starting in her throat.

Richard moved to embrace her and she put her hand on his chest. "Don't," she said hoarsely. "Don't be kind to me. I'll start bawling if you do."

"I think I'd survive."

Hester closed her eyes and imagined, just for a moment, being weak. Laying her head on Richard's shoulder and letting him be strong for her. Letting herself pretend that the gulf between them was something that could be bridged with love and care and tears.

"I'm not sure I would," she told him, and walked blindly through the door before her grief could overwhelm her at last.

The next morning passed in a haze of misery. Mary, Hester's maid, rubbed goose grease on her swollen knee and wrapped it tightly while Hester cursed through gritted teeth.

"If you'd let me send for the doctor, this'd be easier," Mary told her crossly.

"He'll give me laudanum, and what's the good of that?"

"The good is that it'll hurt less," Mary said, helping her into her dressing gown.

"Fat lot of good it'll do if it puts me to sleep in the process."

Mary gave her a wry look. She'd been in Hester's employ for over a decade and took no nonsense. "Any particular reason you want to be awake for the pain?"

Hester sighed. "I have to keep my wits about me. That woman's got Samuel eating out of her hand now."

Mary's lips thinned, but she didn't argue the point. She helped Hester into the sitting room and set her in a chair, draping a lap quilt over her legs and sending for tea to fortify her against the trials to come.

Her first visitor was her brother, come to see how she was doing. "Nasty shock." The ends of his mustache looked ragged, as if he'd been chewing on them. "Terrible business. But who knew the old girl had it in her?"

"I would swear she didn't," Hester said.

"Just goes to show you can't ever tell." He ran his hand over his thinning hair. "Back when she and I… when we…" He cleared his throat.

"Had an understanding," Hester offered, bemused. The woman killed herself in front of us and you're still hung up on the dignity of her having been your mistress years ago.

"Right, yes." The Squire coughed. "Never showed any sign of that. Never a wild one. Never would have thought it."

"No, she never was." Hester stared into her teacup. "I'm sorry I invited her," she said. "That is, I feel if I hadn't, she'd still be alive." The teacup shook in her hand and she glared at it as if it belonged to someone else.

"No, no," said Samuel hastily. "Nothing like that, old girl. Brace up. If someone's a bad 'un, it comes out eventually. Blame's all on her. Stabbing someone at your friend's house party! Shockingly bad form, what?"

Hester stared into her brother's earnest face and didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or dissolve into tears. She drained her teacup instead.

"Just what I told Evangeline," Samuel continued. "Not her fault at all. Poor thing was trembling like a kitten."

I'm sure she was, thought Hester grimly. And telling you that you were the only thing that made her feel safe, I'll bet. She murmured reassurances to her brother and then Mary chased him out of the room and poured her more tea.

The next visitors were two constables, who wanted her statement on what had occurred. One was short, with a shock of red hair, and one was tall, with a long neck and a narrow, angular face that reminded her of a gander she'd owned once. He'd been a good goose. She'd gotten a fair few chicks out of him.

"Terrible business," Red said, sitting down. "We won't trouble Your Ladyship for long." Gander leaned against the back of a wingback chair and said nothing.

"Terrible, yes," said Hester. She took a fortifying gulp of tea and wondered what Richard had told them. "Ask your questions."

"Can you tell us what you saw, precisely?" asked Red.

Hester ran down the list of events from the time she'd heard the scream. It made her realize just how quickly everything had occurred. Strange that something so huge and irrevocable could happen in so little time.

"Did you recognize the knife?" Gander interrupted, speaking for the first time.

Hester paused. "You know, I didn't think about it at the time, but it may have been the one from the library. My grandfather collected all manner of objects. He couldn't travel, you see, so he lived vicariously by buying things from the old country." She nibbled on her lower lip. "You'd have to check. Willard can help you there."

Gander nodded to Red, who quickly scrawled a note on his pad.

"That means she didn't plan it, doesn't it?" said Hester. "If she used a knife from here?"

Red shot a look at Gander, clearly deferring to him. Gander shrugged. "That's one possibility. We are merely collecting facts."

"Penelope Green would never have stabbed anyone," said Hester. "I want you to know that." She stopped, pinching the bridge of her nose. "At least, I would have sworn…" She hated how her voice sounded, how weak and querulous and old, so she stopped. Obviously she did stab someone. These men wouldn't be here if she hadn't.

"Your Ladyship—" Red began, and his voice was so obviously that of a man being kind to a flustered older lady that Hester wanted to curse him out roundly. Which will not help at all. Get control of yourself.

Mary stepped in and fussed with Hester's shawl, keeping a sharp eye on the two constables. Hester took a deep breath. "Forgive me," she said. "I know what happened. But I would have sworn that Penelope would never have hurt a fly. Given the fly the cut direct, perhaps."

A muscle in Gander's cheek twitched, not quite a smile but close. Red said, "I understand, Your Ladyship. Please continue."

"There's not much more to tell. Richard asked her to give him the knife. Evangeline shouted something, and then Penelope turned around and went for the balcony." Hester grimaced. "She looked like she was trying to fight a strong wind. I would have said she didn't want to jump."

Gander put up an eyebrow. Red put up both of them. "Well," Red said, after a moment, "it's hard for some people to… err… nerve themselves up for things. You know. Is there anything else you can tell us?"

Hester stared at the ceiling. And what could I tell them? That I don't actually believe that Penelope would kill herself?

But she did. I watched it happen. And she stabbed Ruth, and…

No, wait. No one saw her stab Ruth.

"No one saw her stab Ruth," she said out loud.

Red flipped through his notebook. "Ruth Svensdottir, her lady's maid, correct?"

"Yes. I didn't know her last name, but yes, that's who I mean. Penelope never had anything bad to say about her, though. And why would she stab her maid, anyway? To hear Doo—Evangeline talk, Penelope had planned to kill her all along. What would stabbing Ruth accomplish?"

Gander and Red exchanged looks again. "Perhaps she was an inconvenient witness," Red said.

Hester suspected that Ruth would have been more likely to grab Doom by the ankles and help her mistress carry the woman to a shallow grave, but it didn't seem like something she ought to say to the constables. "Evangeline said that Ruth was dead when she entered the room." Hester spread her hands. "I'm sorry, gentlemen. I know this sounds like I'm grasping at straws, but it just doesn't make sense. Penelope had to know she'd never get away with it. She wasn't a foolish woman."

Gander tapped the back of the chair. Red looked to him, like a sheepdog receiving a herding command, and nodded. "People can become unbalanced," Red said gently, closing his notebook. "It happens more often than you'd think. Oftentimes the friends and family are the most shocked. Thank you for your time, Your Ladyship."

He rose. Hester sank back in her chair. I haven't convinced them that anything strange is happening. I don't know if I've even convinced myself.

All I know is that if I hadn't invited her here, she'd probably still be alive. Her and Ruth both.

Guilt rose up in her like bile, swamping her senses. Hester closed her eyes, forcing herself to picture geese again, a flock on them on the water, their heavy bodies suddenly as graceful as swans. From a great distance, she could hear Mary scolding the constables about "bothering a sick old lady" and thought, Am I an old lady, then? Already? But I haven't figured out how to age gracefully yet.

Penelope would have known how. She was doing it. What changed?

She sighed and let Mary fuss over her, bringing a fresh cup of tea. "No, I don't want to go back to bed," she said, in response to the fussing. "Getting out of it was too much work."

"I can bring you a tray in bed, you know."

"Yes, and I'll spend the night with crumbs if you do. You might bring me my embroidery here."

There was a hesitant tap on the door. Mary glared at it. "That had better not be those policemen again," she muttered, but opened it anyway.

Cordelia stood there. The young woman's lips were pale and bloodless, but her face was composed. She bowed her head too deeply to Mary. "May I come in, please?"

"Lady Hester's not feeling quite the thing—"

"Let her in, Mary." Perhaps she'll have another question, like the one about being compromised. God knows, I could use something to distract me completely, or I'll sit here brooding until nightfall. "What brings you here, child?"

"Are you all right?" Cordelia asked. "You weren't hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. You're kind to ask, though."

The girl bit her lower lip, bringing a brief flush of red to it. "I… that is… I wanted to say…" Her eyes sought out Mary, who was bustling determinedly over the tea service.

"Mary," said Hester, "I think I could eat a little after all. Will you go down to Cook and ask if she has anything very light? A thimbleful of broth, perhaps?"

Mary gave her a long, level look that said that Hester was not fooling anyone, but said, "Very well." She swept out the door with more dignity than Hester had ever managed at any point in her life. Cordelia's gaze tracked her departure.

"Now," said Hester, "what is it that you wished to say in private?"

Cordelia squared her shoulders and met Hester's gaze with great calm.

"You probably won't believe what I'm going to say," she said. "I know that. But I have to tell you anyway. It's the only thing I can think of to do. Maybe you'll have some way to fix it."

Hester stared at her, completely at sea.

Cordelia lifted her chin. "I think my mother killed Mrs. Green."