A Dreadful Splendor (61)

I wobbled in the tight shoes. Flora noticed and offered up a weak grin of encouragement. “Your hair is so lovely no one will notice,” she said.

When I entered the sitting room, Mr. Pemberton and William were in opposite chairs, neither paying attention to the other. They both stood when I entered. I wasn’t sure how I made it to the nearest chair as my legs had gone numb.

“Nice to see you at last,” William said, though his unpleasant tone conveyed otherwise. Although his gaze was focused over my shoulder. I turned to see Flora in midcurtsy. She handed me the white shawl, gave another curtsy, and then left the room.

Sitting back down, William said, “Tragic news has befallen Somerset Park this morning. I fear we may be unable to guarantee your safety while you stay here.” He was cleanly shaven, and his clothes were pressed, but the hardness of his eyes hinted at a darker meaning. I wasn’t sure if he meant safe from the police or whomever had attacked Mrs. Donovan.

It seemed whatever comradery we may have shared in Audra’s room was forgotten. I wondered if the drink had dulled the memory of our exchange.

Mr. Pemberton scoffed under his breath. “No one is leaving,” he said. “Least of all Miss Timmons.” He twirled the small gold ring.

I recognized his anxious gesture. And this, in turn, made me more nervous.

The muted light of the grey morning gave an ashen hue to everything in the room; even the golden wallpaper seemed pale and washed out. The moldings that adorned the ceiling and cornices looked cracked and ready to drop on our heads at any moment.

Dr. Barnaby arrived with a weary hello. He sank into the chair next to mine. His light brown hair was practically standing on end, and there were shadows under his eyes.

“How is she?” William asked. “When can I see her?” There was an impatience to his tone.

Shaking his head, Dr. Barnaby said, “I gave her a sedative to help her rest. She was hysterical earlier.”

William grimaced. “Did she say why she was outside in the middle of the night?”

“She received an anonymous letter to meet someone outside with the promise of secret information about Audra. You know how devoted she was to her. Foolish as it was, she went on her own.” He let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “They must have come up behind her. She doesn’t remember seeing anyone before the attack. There’s a terrible lump on the back of her head to substantiate this. It’s a curious-looking injury too; I’m not sure what kind of tool would have left such a uniquely shaped wound.”

“An anonymous letter?” Mr. Pemberton repeated. “That’s impossible. All the mail goes through Bramwell. If there was no return address on the envelope, it would have alerted him.”

“Are you saying Mrs. Donovan is lying?” William’s tone was fierce.

Dr. Barnaby put up a hand. “The note was pushed under her bedroom door after midnight. She said a knock woke her.”

“Then it was someone who has access to the house,” William said. His chin inclined toward me.

I stayed quiet and preferred to study the design on my cuffs. My toes throbbed in the small shoes.

“Even you, Doctor,” William said. A snide expression settled on his features. “You still have your own private key, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Honestly.” Dr. Barnaby sighed. “You’d make a terrible police detective. I was delivering a baby in the village until five this morning. I had only gotten home when the stable boy rapped on my door.”

Mr. Pemberton gave his friend a sympathetic glance. “Even so,” he told him. “The parish constable will want to speak with all of us when he’s finished with the staff.”

I put a hand on my throat, imagining the noose. Parish constable or not, coppers always made me uneasy. Especially when I had a pair of muddy boots hidden in my room.

William put his attention back on me. “I heard from a reliable source that you and Mrs. Donovan had an angry exchange last night. Perhaps you wanted to give her a proper warning. Is that how they handle things in your part of London?” He leaned forward in his chair, glaring at me.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked. It was more maddening to have William skirt around the accusation than coming right out to say it. Coward.

“You don’t deny you were arguing with Mrs. Donovan last night?”

I didn’t reply. I had no desire to share any information that might incriminate me.

“Your silence practically admits your guilt,” William said, almost triumphant.

Mr. Pemberton’s voice was strong but controlled, a jarring contrast to William’s emotional accusations. “If you’re insinuating that Miss Timmons had anything to do with Mrs. Donovan’s attack, you can provide sufficient evidence or leave at once. And if you’re thinking of relaying this inane theory to the constable, you should know that I’ve made him aware of your nightly drinking rituals. Alcohol disorients the mind; a drunkard’s testimony alone can hardly be considered reliable.”

His defense resulted in an unexpected boost of courage. I dared to hope it was genuine.

William’s lips pressed into an angry line.

Dr. Barnaby leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of breakfast while we wait for the constable,” he said. “Or at the very least some strong coffee.”