gaping hole that everyone tiptoed around, terrified of falling into, and yet was drawn to by a sort of emotional vertigo.
When Elsa excused herself she was uncomfortably aware that Cahoon followed her immediately, almost treading on the hem of her dress as she went into her bedroom. Bartle was waiting for her and Cahoon ordered her out, closing the door behind her.
Elsa felt a quick flutter of fear. She backed away from him, and was furious with herself for it. She stopped, too close to the bed. He could knock her onto it easily, but if she moved sideways it would of necessity be toward him. She refused to speak first. It was what he was waiting for: the sign of yielding, the impulse to placate him.
“You are making a fool of yourself, Elsa,” he said coldly. “If you want to ruin your own reputation, I don’t care. But you are still my wife, and I won’t have you behave hysterically once we leave here. If you can’t control your imagination and have some dignity, then you will have to be looked after, perhaps in some appropriate establishment where you will not damage either of us.”
He meant it. It was not just an expression of temper, it was a threat. She saw it hard and real in his eyes. She found her knees were shaking, and it cost her an effort to remain standing straight and looking at him.
“You mean a madhouse, like Julius,” she murmured. “That would be convenient for you. Then you can have an affair with Amelia Parr without my getting in the way.”
“You are not in the way, Elsa,” he replied. It was damning. Nothing else could have obliterated her so completely. “Leave the murders alone, or you will find out a great deal more about Julius than you wish to know.” His eyes gleamed, as if somewhere inside himself he were laughing savagely at her absurdity.
In that moment she made up her mind to fight him. If there had been any irresolution in her before, it had vanished. She was ashamed that it had taken her so long. This had nothing to do with Julius; it was for herself, to be the person she wanted to be, not the one too absorbed in her own needs and fears to think of anyone else, or see the possibility that Minnie’s bravado hid the fact that she felt pain as well.
She drew in her breath to tell Cahoon, and then realized how foolish that would be. What if Julius was not guilty, but had been made to look it? Wasn’t that what she was trying to believe? But by whom if not Cahoon? Was it because he hated Julius for loving Liliane, and not Minnie-because he felt the insult and the pain on her behalf?
No, there was another clearer and much more understandable motive. It was glaring, now that she could see it. Cahoon wanted to put her away so he could marry Amelia Parr. If she were innocent, the good wife she had so far appeared to be, then he had no excuse to set her aside. And he would never damage the reputation he had won with such care. He wanted that peerage desperately. He was like a starving man dreaming of food; only in his case it was respectability, belonging, the acceptance he had longed for and that had eluded him all his life.
He must make Elsa appear so bad in the eyes of society that no one would blame him for putting her aside. They must feel that if they were in his place, they would have felt no choice but to do the same.
If she fought for Julius now, when he seemed undeniably guilty of murder and madness, not once but three times, then it would be simple to convince them she was also having an affair with him. She would have betrayed her husband and his daughter-exactly the sins she had denied herself. But who would believe her?
That meant that she must either not fight, or if she did so, then she must win!
“Really?” she said, keeping her voice level with an effort so intense her fingernails bit into her palms, and she was glad of the folds of her skirt to keep them hidden. “That would surprise me. I don’t think we will find out anything at all. I think we are going to keep it all very quiet. You wouldn’t want to have taken so much trouble to woo the Prince of Wales and then cause such a scandal that he had to drop you in the end, would you?”
His face darkened and he took two steps toward her. He was so close she could feel the heat of him and smell cigar smoke and the faint odor of his skin. She did not move, although it was hard to keep her balance and not flinch. She had meant what she said as a half-submission, half-evasion. He had taken it as a threat. She was not being clever.
He swung back his hand and slapped her across the cheek, sending her staggering. The bed caught her behind the knees and she fell onto it on her back, helpless.
He leaned over her, one hand on either side, and bent down so his face was only a foot above hers. “Don’t fight me, Elsa,” he said between his teeth. “I am not only stronger than you are, I am cleverer, wiser, and braver. I am also your husband, which makes me right according to the law. They won’t hang Julius, they will simply lock him away. Don’t interfere.”
There was nothing she could say, but she did not avert her eyes from his.
He waited for her to answer, still leaning over her.
“Do you intend to remain there all night?” she asked. Her face hurt and she felt it burn hot. Deliberately she relaxed her body. “You will get tired before I do,” she added.
He straightened up abruptly and walked out, slamming the door behind him. She got up quickly and locked both the dressing roo door, which connected with his room, and the door to the passage.
Then she lay down on the bed, shaking so violently she felt as if the whole frame must be juddering with her.
She had no idea how long it was before she finally sat up again, calmer, and began to think. She had left herself no option but to fight.
At last she had made a decision. It might be the wrong one, but it was better than losing because she had never found the passion or the courage to try.
Minnie had discussed enough of the truth to be killed in order to silence her. Apparently a broken Limoges dish had been important.
Cahoon had described it: white and blue with a little gold. At the time she had imagined it quite clearly; a pedestal dish, with gold lattice around the border and a picture in the center of a man and woman sitting very casually on a garden seat. The blue was in their clothes. She thought of it like that because that was the only Limoges that she could remember seeing. Of course this one could have been any shape or design.
Then she remembered, with a feeling like ice in her stomach, where she had seen it. It was in Cahoon’s cases that he had brought with him, here to the Palace. That was how he knew about it! He had not deduced anything at all.
Perhaps it had nothing to do with the woman’s murder, but he had seized the opportunity to place the blame on Julius, somehow using that dish.
But how? It made no sense. The dish was in the Queen’s room.
Did Pitt know anything about it? Certainly he would not know that Cahoon had brought with him one exactly the same. Tomorrow Elsa would tell him. Of course Cahoon would never forgive her, but she had declared war on him anyway; there was no retreating now. If she did not win, she might be blamed for something unforgivable, put aside as an adulteress-or worse, somehow tied in with the murder of the street woman.
There was no one she could turn to for help. They were all fighting their own battles: Liliane to protect Hamilton from the destruction he seemed determined to find in the bottom of a bottle. Why?
Was it because Liliane was still in love with Julius?
Olga wanted to win Simnel back from a dead woman whose fire and laughter she could never equal, and whose selfishness, appetite, and occasional streaks of cruelty she would never sink to.
And Simnel, Julius’s brother, who should have been fighting to save him, protect him, was too eaten up by envy to allow himself that loyalty.
If only she could speak to Julius himself. If she could ask him, listen to his answer, surely she would know whether to believe him or not. No one had asked him, they all believed Cahoon’s word. For that matter, had Pitt asked him?
He was locked in and only the servants had keys so they could take him food. Tomorrow the police would come; then she would never see him again. There was only one possible decision: She must wait until the household was asleep, then go downstairs and find the keys, even if she searched by candlelight and it took her half the night.
She waited until two o’clock in the morning. She was exhausted but unable to sleep, although she dared not lie down in case she did drift into unconsciousness and waken when it was already light, and so miss her only chance.
She tiptoed down the stairs, feeling ridiculous, as if she were committing some crime. Then she realized that
