A Dreadful Splendor (20)

I sighed. “I’d say the real tragedy is the man who is in denial of his fiancée’s suicide.”

The girl gasped.

His voice came from the doorway, but it filled the room. “And does this perspective diminish your attention to the task at hand, Miss Timmons?”

The girl and I traded identical expressions of mortified shock.

Mr. Pemberton came into the room, stopping just short of where I was standing.

I forced myself to face him. “Of course not,” I replied. “I’m sorry, my lord. It was not my intention to appear so insensitive.”

“No, I’m sure you usually hide it better than that.” His gaze did not flinch, those blue eyes settling on mine.

He turned to the girl. “Thank you, Flora. That will be all.”

She rushed through a curtsy and practically sprinted out of the room, taking any distraction with her.

It was curious how much smaller the room seemed. I fought the urge to step back from him and held my ground.

“I have exhausted every means to bring justice to Audra,” he said, his tone sharp and unforgiving. “I’m allowing you to stay because your unique gift may be of assistance capturing the person responsible for her death. But if you feel differently, I suggest you take your leave of Somerset Park at once. I can easily arrange for the parish constable to collect you.”

Would he always end our conversations with a threat? Even though my blood boiled and a million retorts sat on my tongue, some in English, some in French, I stayed silent. The book was like a shield against my chest, reminding me of what had brought me here. Constable Rigby would not rest until he had a noose around my neck. Mr. Lockhart was offering me a chance at freedom, but Mr. Pemberton held another charge over my head. Neither could know of the conflict I faced; I had to come up with a solution that could somehow give both men what they wanted. I had no choice but to stay and see this through.

Leaving now would be as suicidal as Audra jumping off the cliff.





Chapter Eleven




Lady Audra Linwood

Diary Entry

Somerset Park, October 11, 1851

Dearest,

Father is lying to me. I can see through his charade. In truth, I have known for months. He is dying.

He tries to stand taller when I enter the room, but I see how he wilts over, his smile dropping, when he thinks I’ve turned away. His body is fighting every day, and it is losing.

Mr. Lockhart comes more often now. He is here at least three times a week, but Father usually retires early, leaving the two of us and William to dine together. William’s good spirits are a great comfort to me these days, and I know he loves Father just as much as I. I would never dare say this out loud, but I am grateful for the tragedies in his own life that brought him to Somerset—to me especially.

Mr. Lockhart treats me like an adult, and his visits ease my heart. Tonight, I asked him outright about Father and what he is hiding from me.

Mr. Lockhart is a terrible liar. I can always tell; he will either take a sip of wine or touch the tip of his beard. But tonight, he confirmed my suspicions. He told me without breaking my gaze.

William was speechless. He could only stare at the fire. I thought he was in shock, but then he reached for my hand under the table. I squeezed back.

The inevitable weighs heavily on all our minds, Dearest. What is to become of my home? Of me?





Chapter Twelve




“Arrange for the parish constable to collect you,” I huffed under my breath as I walked up the stairs. It was hardly my fault the man was so blind and insolent that he couldn’t accept his bride’s suicide.

Mr. Pemberton was proving to be as enjoyable as a pebble in my shoe . . . on a long walk . . . in the rain . . . on a cold day.

I spent the rest of the morning and a better part of the afternoon pacing the room, too embarrassed to go down for lunch. I couldn’t face Mr. Pemberton again so soon. Instead, I used that time to consider the information I had gathered since arriving in this house. Audra had somehow slipped out of a room in which the door was guarded, and the window was still locked from the inside. I was less concerned about what had happened to her afterward. That part was indisputable.

She could only have left through the door. I clicked my tongue at the obvious answer. Mrs. Donovan, the one guarding the door, was lying. There was already a deeply ingrained belief throughout the staff that the family was cursed. I knew how such a belief could warp sensibilities.

The fire crackled. Then something occurred to me that should have been my primary concern from the first time I met Mr. Pemberton. The very person who assisted Audra was someone close to this family—someone who may still be living under this roof. Even if their original intention had not been malicious, they would be desperate to keep their secrets. If I started asking questions, I could possibly make myself a target. I would need to be careful in the way I gained information.

From my window I studied the grounds. There was a fog bank in the distance, covering what I guessed was the cliff edge. I wondered how near the ocean was—certainly close enough to smell the salt air.

Maman’s voice echoed. Stay out of la mer, ma petite chérie.

Stay out of the ocean.

The fire had warmed the room, but the air seemed too stifling now. It was foolish for me to be inside. The secrets of this house were heavy, and it felt like I was breathing them all in. I opened the top drawer of the dresser and took out my gloves and hat. The drawer looked so empty with only my few belongings.