actually she was. It was probably an offense against some law to unlock the door of an imprisoned man. It was certainly a gross abuse of hospitality. If anyone knew, then she would pay dearly for it. She would be disgraced, socially nonexistent from now on. She hesitated only for a moment in her step. What had she to lose? Physical comfort, that was about all.
But what if Julius really were everything Cahoon said of him?
Then he might attack her, take the keys and escape. He must know they would never give him a trial, fair or otherwise. It would be his only chance not to spend the rest of his life locked away in an asylum.
Was she tempted to let him go, deliberately? Yes! The thought of him imprisoned forever was hideous. He would be there until he really was mad, and there could never be any escape. The weight of that thought was like a descending darkness, shutting everything out.
But how far would he get? Not even out of the Palace. There could hardly be a better-guarded place in England.
It took her over an hour to find the keys, she had to search almost every cupboard in the kitchens, scullery, still room, and pantries, using separate keys to unlock cupboards where more keys hung in rows. Then she had to put them back in exactly the same place. Even then she was not certain she had the right ones until she tried them.
She must be insane herself, breaking into Julius’s bedroom in the middle of the night. If Cahoon found her, she would have given him the perfect excuse to have her shut away too.
Still, she did it.
Her hands were quite firm, though a little clammy. Her stomach churned. Then she was inside. She closed the door softly, locked it, and put the key in the tiny pocket in her gown. She listened and could hear nothing, except the pounding of her own heart and her breathing.
Gradually it subsided, and she thought she could hear his breath as well.
“Julius.”
Nothing. She could neither see nor hear.
“Julius!”
Movement. A stirring in the bed. Now she felt ridiculous. How on earth could she explain being here? Nothing of love had ever been said by either one of them. Perhaps anything between them was entirely in her own imagination. Probably it was. He would be in his nightshirt, and she had come into his bedroom in the middle of the night, alone. If Cahoon walked in on them, it would ruin them both.
It would be exactly what he wished. Had he even planned it? Then she had played into his hands perfectly. How unbelievably stupid!
She moved to go back again, her hand feeling for the key.
There was a rustling from the bed, movement in the dark.
“Elsa?”
Too late. She couldn’t go now. If she opened the door the faint light in the passage would show her face. Have the courage of her beliefs. If she felt anything, grasp for it, fight for it.
“Julius, I have to talk to you.”
“How did you get in? If they catch you, you will be ruined.” There was fear in his voice. “You can’t help me. Please go, before Cahoon finds out.”
“They won’t try you,” she said, standing still because she did not know which way to step in the dark. “They’ll just say you are insane, and put you into an asylum, somewhere from which you’ll never escape, and no one will ever see you.”
He was silent. Had he not realized that?
“I’m sorry.” She tried to keep her voice from trembling, and failed. She ached to see his face, and yet perhaps not doing so was the only way she could keep control of herself. “Julius?”
“Yes?” His voice was hoarse, uncertain. The darkness also gave him a degree of privacy. She was grateful for that. She remained standing where she was. She ached to hold him in her arms, give him at least the desperate shred of comfort that touch afforded. But there had never been anything between them to suggest he would welcome it. It would be intrusive, absurd. If his feelings for her were in any way different from hers for him, then it would be offensive, embarrassing, awful in every way.
“You didn’t kill Minnie, did you?” she said.
“No,” he responded immediately. “I don’t know who did. I assume it was whoever killed the prostitute. I can’t think of any other reason.
Poor Minnie.” There was real hurt, and pity in his voice. “She was so sure she was learning the truth. I didn’t realize it until she kept saying so at dinner. Obviously someone believed her.”
The thought held the kind of coldness that made her feel sick. It was one of the other three men. It could be no one else. She knew them all; in ways liked them, except Cahoon; but she had once thought she loved him. There had been moments that were tender.
What was the difference between being in love and thinking you were? Was being in love about what survives after time and tempta-tion, misfortune, change, the need to forget and forgive have all been faced?
“Do you know where Sadie was killed?” she asked him.
“Wasn’t it in the cupboard where she was found?” Julius sounded puzzled.
“Apparently not. Cahoon says it was in the Queen’s bedroom.
That’s how the monogrammed sheets got bloodstained.”
“What monogrammed sheets?” His voice was a little high. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Queen’s sheets. They don’t belong in the guest linen cupboard.”
“Where were they?”
She realized she did not know. “He didn’t say. Do you know about a Limoges dish that was broken?”
“No. I haven’t seen any Limoges. Mostly it’s Crown Derby, Wedg-wood, and a few pieces of Meissen. Who broke the Limoges?” His voice was steadier, but he still sounded totally confused.
She was frightened by how little she understood. Even to herself she seemed to be speaking total nonsense.
“I don’t know, but Minnie was asking about it. It seemed to matter to her a lot. Cahoon says it was in the Queen’s bedroom. That’s how they knew the woman was killed there.”
“How does Cahoon know it was there?” he asked quickly. She heard the bedsprings as he moved his weight. She could see nothing, but she was certain from the very slight sounds that he had stood up.
Was he coming toward her in the dark? She was afraid. Or was it that she wanted him to? “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe. . maybe the Prince of Wales told him.”
“If the Prince of Wales could have killed Minnie, I would wonder if he was guilty of the first one too,” he said with heavy irony. He was on the edge of laughter, and of grief beyond control.
“Julius!” The moment the word was out, she knew the tone of it would betray her: It was desperate with emotion. He had to hear in it all that she felt for him.
“I know. He couldn’t.” His voice was tight now, choked with the effort to keep some dignity, some grip on the fear inside him. “It has to be Simnel or Hamilton.”
“I wish it could be Cahoon.” She meant it, and this was no time to pretend a loyalty they both knew she did not feel. “But he wouldn’t kill Minnie. In his own way, he loved her. She was probably the only person he did love. But apart from that, he wasn’t in Cap Town when the woman was killed there, and it seems the crimes were exactly the same.”
“Elsa. .” he stopped.
“What?”
“I don’t know who did it, and I can’t prove I didn’t. I know she was sleeping with Simnel a year ago, and if not now, then only from lack of opportunity. I didn’t care. I long since realized I didn’t love her. I’m guilty of that. . of not making her happy. If I had, perhaps she wouldn’t have turned to anyone else.”
“You don’t have to make love with someone else because your husband doesn’t want you,” she said quietly. “That doesn’t make it right. Especially if the other person is married also. Even if they aren’t, it’s a betrayal. How could that other person then trust you?”
The silence pounded like a heartbeat. There were not even any creaks of settling wood to disturb the night.
