The Art of Inheriting Secrets(105)

“How bad do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” he said heavily, looking upward, but the dark was thick enough to hide any real evidence. “Bad.”

My vision of the kitchen with its big farmhouse table and family and friends gathered around it floated over my imagination, and I felt the loss of it in a kick. “Why did it have to be at this end, not the other?”

He shook his head. “Random fate.”

“Do you believe that?”

“What? In fate? I don’t know. I don’t know why things happen, Olivia, but I know it’s up to us to make sense of them. Just”—he slid an arm around my shoulders—“don’t try tonight. Let’s go back to your flat and get some rest. It will be easier to manage in the morning.”

“Everyone is going to know we’re together after this,” I said.

“Yes.”

“You don’t mind now?”

“Olivia,” he said firmly. “You’ve suffered a blow, and you’re exhausted. I don’t want to fight with you. Let’s go back and get some rest.”

Irrationally, his calm only made me want to fight the more, but I had no energy or words left in me. More loss. “Fine,” I said churlishly and let him lead me back to the flat.

The sound of knocking hauled me from sleep. I had no idea what time it was or how long I’d been asleep, but there was muted light in the room, maybe afternoon-rain light. In the other room, I heard Samir and another man talking, and after a moment, Samir appeared at the door. “Olivia, you’ll want to hear this.”

I flung back the covers and made sure I was relatively decent, pulling a brush through my hair and slipping into a bra before I padded out into the other room. An official in a police uniform stood there, and when he turned, I saw that it was Inspector Greg, who’d been at the dig. “Inspector,” I said, frowning in confusion. “Have you already found criminal intent in the fire?”

“I’m afraid this is unrelated, Lady Shaw. The garden club was in the rose garden this morning, and one whole section of the garden washed into the stream. Bones washed up.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Bones?”

“Bodies,” he clarified. “This time, we’re fairly sure it’s the girl who disappeared.”

“Sanvi?”

He looked at his notes. “Yes. Sanvi Malakar.”

“My aunt,” Samir said.

“We recovered some personal effects,” he said. “I believe your father has been contacted for identification.”

He nodded. “And the other body?”

“It’s not quite as clear, but there is some speculation that it could be the Earl of Rosemere, Roger Shaw. Your uncle.”

I sank onto a stool, mind reeling. “They were buried together?”

“It appears that might be the case.”

“Any signs that suggest the cause of death?” I asked.

“Both bodies show signs of fire damage,” he said. “That’s all we know.”

“Fire?” I said and looked at Samir, who had the same thought I did. The bedroom that was so damaged. My heart skittered at the implications. The possibilities.

My mother.

“What do you need from me?” I asked the detective.

“Nothing for now.”

“Where were the bodies found—do you know? What part of the garden?”

“All I know is that it was nearby a wall and a stream. The landslide knocked the wall down.”

I nodded. I knew exactly where it was. The hill where the giant orange rose bloomed. The rose that my mother had painted over and over and over, for decades.

When the detective left, Samir said, “Are you all right for a little while? I should go see how my father is doing.”

“Of course. I’m fine.”

He lifted one heavy brow.

I shook my head. “Not fine as in ‘all is well’ but fine in the sense that you don’t have to worry about me. I have some things to do. Some things to think about.”

“Such as?”

“Everything. What I’m doing here.”

“You’re just tired. Don’t give up.”

“My mother did have something to do with Sanvi’s disappearance,” I said heavily. “You mother said so, and I was deeply offended. But she was right.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Olivia,” he said, a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You’re overwhelmed—the earl and the fire and now this. You can’t make any decisions right now.”

“I made the decision to come here when I was overwhelmed.”

“And?”

“Maybe I’ve been making one terrible decision after another. Maybe I’m still doing that. Alexander said yesterday that I’m in over my head, and he’s totally right. He offered me a huge sum for the estate.” I looked up at him. “Maybe I should take it.”

“You’re not seriously considering selling? He’ll never give the house what you will.”

“The house is not salvageable!” I cried. “Not now. All that progress we made is just—poof!” I snapped my fingers. “Gone.” I peered up at him in despair. “Don’t you see? It just can’t be saved.”