Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(82)

He hesitated, then sat back on his heels.

Checking the hallway for eavesdroppers once more, she went on. “The ones I wouldn’t tell you about. The Cowls. The ones who . . . who hire me for spellbreaking. I didn’t know it, but Ogden is one of them. And they are behind the theft of the opuses.”

His brows drew together.

She wiped her God-forsaken eyes again. “Every time they needed me to do something, they sent me a letter—it was always through letters—and told me about all the good I was doing. How I was helping someone in need. How I was stopping a wrong going unpunished. How I was balancing out the world. Freeing innocent boys, helping farmers, keeping families in their homes . . .” She laughed again, but it ripped up her throat in a most unpleasant manner. “And I did as they asked, blindly. For a decade, I did it all so blindly. But in the last year, it’s been so frequent. More and more. And then I found their seal in Ogden’s room. And when I went to Juniper Down, I realized every spell I’ve broken for them is connected to one of the thefts, one of the murders. I was the key that unlocked all those doors. I helped kill all those . . . people . . .”

She covered her face with both hands, the guilt unbearable. If only the floor would open up here and swallow her whole. Dying in a basement didn’t sound completely terrible at the moment.

She thought she heard new voices in the house. Had the police arrived?

She felt him shift. “Elsie—”

Ripping her hands away, she said, “You must tell them. Now. The police. I swear to you as the sun rises in the morning, Ogden is the criminal behind all of this. Please!”

Her voice rose with every word, until even the servants down the hallway were looking at her like she was a specter risen from the grave. But Bacchus, bless him, was taking her seriously—he left, and she hoped it was to carry out her request.

She stared down the servants. “Are you deaf? Cuthbert Ogden of Brookley is a killer! Tell the police!”

They scattered.

Closing her eyes, Elsie leaned her head back against the wall. Her wrists itched something fierce, and the annoying sensation flowed up her arms as though carried in her veins. She tried to scratch, but her sleeves were so damn tight.

She sat there for a while, listening to the back-and-forth of servants, the occasional wail. The duchess came by once, asking after her. Elsie managed a half-hearted assurance, and the woman let her be. The itching started to recede.

Would the police require a testimony? Would they use another truthseeker? She’d have to confess her spellbreaking to make her story work, wouldn’t she? Or was there some other way around it? She needed to think, but she’d been thinking so much lately. Her brain was exhausted.

Grabbing some wainscoting, Elsie heaved herself to her feet. She needed to go. She needed to protect Emmeline. Heaven help her, she would be so frightened if she was in that house when the police arrived—

Several policemen chattered among themselves in the dining room, pointing at the body and the damage, taking notes. Someone had informed them of the situation on the way over, perhaps. Could she slip out without being seen? It would be hard to find a cab back home, since she hadn’t told the previous one to wait for her. She hadn’t told the driver anything, merely left his coin on the seat and bolted for the house—

“Elsie.”

She jumped, hand flying to her breast. “Bacchus, you blend with the shadows.” She’d had enough frights for one day.

He offered her that subtle near smile. “Let’s pull you away from all this.”

Elsie eyed the policemen in the dining room. Two blocked the sight of Nash’s body.

“I’m not turning you in,” he assured her, and took her hand, guiding her down the hallway. The noise of the investigation slowly quieted behind her. A relief.

He stopped by a massive staircase to the first floor. Turned toward her and took both her shoulders in his hands. “You never answered me. Are you hurt?”

“No. Not really.” Her gaze fell to the floor.

He let out a long breath, forceful enough to stir her mussed hair—she couldn’t recall where her hat had gone. “That’s twice now.”

“I wouldn’t have broken in if that butler weren’t such a daft—”

“I mean twice that you’ve saved my life.”

She lifted her gaze almost unwillingly. His hands on her shoulders were too warm, and a flush crept up her neck. She cleared her throat. “Well, if you want to focus on that part of it.”

He chuckled, which almost helped her relax.

“Bacchus,” she pressed, “you did hear me, didn’t you? I’m part of this.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

He lowered his hands, but only so they held her upper arms instead of her shoulders. “Did you at any point know or suspect that you were part of it?”

She paled. “Of course not!”

“Then you’re fine.”

“But the police—”

“I told them Abel Nash confessed Ogden’s name before his demise. I told the others that I’d invited you to dinner and you must have seen Nash sneaking in. The police shouldn’t question you outside of a recounting of the events that occurred tonight. As long as they match my retelling, you’ll be fine.”

Elsie gaped, a numbness she hadn’t noticed lifting from her limbs. “But a truthseeker—”