see. She’d only just realized…
Lady Calvin lifted a hand to her lips as if to suppress a cry. Lady Glossup put an arm about her.
Mrs. Buckstead, seated beside Drusilla, leaned forward. “You must tell us all, my dear. There really is no choice.”
Drusilla looked at her, then dragged in a breath, and glanced at Stokes. “I was walking in the gardens that afternoon. I came back into the house by the library doors. I saw Kitty lying there and saw the flap in her hand. I recognized it, of course. I realized Ambrose had finally had enough and…” She paused, moistened her lips, then went on, “For whatever reason, he’d killed her. If he was caught… the scandal, the shame… it would kill Mama. So I prised the flap from Kitty’s fingers, and took it with me. I heard voices in the front hall-Simon’s and Portia’s-so I went out by the terrace doors.”
Stokes regarded her gravely. “Even when the attempts to silence Miss Ashford commenced, you didn’t think to tell anyone?”
Drusilla’s gaze flew to his face. She swayed; her skin turned grey. “What attempts?” Her tone was weak, horrified. “I didn’t know about the adder.” She looked at Ambrose, then at Stokes. “The urn… that was an accident-wasn’t it?”
Stokes looked down at Ambrose. “You may as well tell us.”
Ambrose fixed his gaze on his hands. “I’d taken to pacing on the roof-I couldn’t let anyone see how worried I was. I saw Portia on the terrace. She looked to be alone-I couldn’t see Cynster by the wall. I was there-it was easy to do…” He suddenly drew a huge breath. Lifted his head but didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “You have to remember I had
He stopped, looked down. Clasped his hands tightly. Stokes shifted his gaze to Drusilla.
She was staring at Ambrose. Her face was ashen.
When she lifted her gaze to Stokes, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell your brother you’d taken the flap?”
For a long moment, she stared at Stokes; he was about to repeat the question when Drusilla lowered her gaze to Ambrose.
Drew breath, and said, “I hate him, you know. No-how could you? But in our house, it was always Ambrose. He got everything, I was given nothing. Only Ambrose mattered. Even now. I love Mama, I’ve cared for her dutifully, I remain by her side-I even took the flap to protect her-
She kept her gaze fixed on her brother’s bowed head. “He inherited everything from Papa-I was left nothing. Even Mama’s estate will all go to him. I’m his pensioner-he can throw me out whenever he wishes, and don’t think he doesn’t know it. He’s always been quick to make sure I understand my position.”
Her face contorted. Vitriol had infused her; jealousy, suppressed and now loosed, poured from her. “The flap- taking it, keeping it, was my chance to pay him back. I didn’t tell him-I wanted him to feel fear, to squirm-more, to know someone had it in their hands to ruin him.”
Suddenly she looked at Stokes. “Of course I would have told him eventually. When next he thought to tell me how useless I was, how unflattering an ornament I was to a man of his future position.”
She stopped, then added, “I honestly didn’t think he wouldn’t realize… he only had to think to know only Mama or I would protect him by concealing the flap. And Mama would have told him straightaway. When he didn’t say anything, I thought he’d guessed I had it, but was too careful to broach the subject while we were here.” She met Stokes’s gaze. “It never occurred to me that he would think Portia had seen it and was witless enough not to remember.”
Silence filled the room. The ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece was clearly audible.
Drusilla dropped her gaze to the floor. Ambrose sat with head bowed. Lady Calvin looked from one to the other, as if she no longer recognized them-her own children-then she buried her face in her hands and softly wept.
The sound released others from the grip of the revelations; they stirred, shifted. Charlie stood as if he could no longer remain seated, as if he longed to leave, to get away.
Lord Netherfield cleared his throat. He glanced at Stokes. “If I may…?”
Stokes nodded.
His lordship looked at Ambrose. “You haven’t mentioned Dennis, the gypsy. Why did you kill the lad?”
Ambrose didn’t look up. “He saw me burning the coat. Then Stokes came and started questioning everyone.” He twisted his hands, then went on, “I didn’t mean to kill Kitty-I didn’t intend to. She drove me to it… it didn’t seem fair that killing her should ruin me. There was only Portia and the gypsy who could…” He stopped, then rushed on, a spoiled child excusing himself, “It was them or me-it was my
Lord Glossup rose, his well-bred features reflecting patent disgust. “Mr. Stokes, if you’ve heard all you need?”
Stokes straightened. “Indeed, sir. I’m sure we can…”
He and Lord Glossup discussed arrangements for holding Ambrose. The rest of the company dispersed.
All the ladies hesitated, then Lady O heaved herself to her feet. “Catherine, my dear, I think we should retire to the drawing room-tea would be most welcome. I daresay Drusilla will wish to retire immediately, but I believe the rest of us could do with a restorative.”
Portia rose; Simon laid a restraining hand on her arm. Lady O glanced back at them, saw, nodded. “Indeed-
There was just enough emphasis in her words, just enough gleam in her old black eyes to tell them she was determined to send Portia home with something else.
Simon merely inclined his head, acknowledging her message. Lady O humphed and stumped off, the other ladies in her train, Lady Calvin supported by Lady Glossup and Mrs. Buckstead.
“Come on.” Taking Portia’s arm, he steered her toward the far doors, those closer to the main stairs.
Stokes intercepted them. “One last thing-I have to consider whether or not to lay charges against Miss Calvin.”
Both Simon and Portia looked back at Drusilla, sitting alone on the chaise now that the others had all departed. She was staring at her brother; he was leaning forward, forearms on his thighs, his gaze fixed on his bound hands.
Portia shivered, and looked at Stokes. “What a dreadful thing jealousy can be.”
Stokes nodded, met her gaze. “She didn’t mean to harm anyone else. I accept she had no idea Ambrose was so murderously inclined.”
“I don’t think charges are necessary.” Portia lifted her head. “She’s brought censure enough down on her head-her life will not be easier because of what she’s done.”
Stokes nodded, looked to Simon.
He was far less inclined to be lenient, but was aware much of his reaction was because Portia had been the one most threatened. When he didn’t immediately speak, she glanced at him… he realized he had no choice. She would read him like a book if he gave rein to his impulses. He nodded curtly. “No charges. No point.”
She smiled slightly, then looked at Stokes.
The three of them exchanged glances, relieved, satisfied. Little needed to be put into words. Stokes was not of their class, yet they’d formed a friendship; they all recognized that.
Stokes cleared his throat, looked away. “I’ll be off at first light with Mr. Calvin. It’s best-lets people get back to their lives that much sooner.” He looked back at them. Put out his hand. “Thank you. I’d never have nabbed him if you and Mr. Hastings hadn’t helped.” They shook hands. “I hope…” Stokes colored slightly, but forced himself to go on, “the necessary charade didn’t do any real violence to your feelings.”
Simon glanced at Portia. She smiled at Stokes. “The revelations were quite interesting-I believe we’ll survive.”
She slanted a glance at him; feeling exposed, he fought to suppress a growl. Retook her arm. “There’s a bath awaiting you upstairs.”
With last smiles and farewells, they left Stokes.
James was waiting with Charlie in the hall.
“Thank you-both of you.” James beamed; he took Portia’s hands. “I haven’t heard it all yet, but even so-how very brave you’ve been.”
