Zeb made a flappy-hands sort of gesture. “Well, you were there.”
“I was.” Gideon had a little frown between his eyes. “And I heard—as we all did—Wynn say you told him Mrs. Bram was liable to bring a cuckoo into the nest.”
“Ididn’t. Or, at least, I didn’t mean to. Wynn asked me what I thought of the blasted woman, and I made a throwaway remark comparing her to a Walter Wyckham character. I honestly didn’t remember the character carrying another man’s child in the book, and in any case, Elise hasn’t had anyone’s baby so far, Bram’s or otherwise. I just said she reminded me of Lady Ravendark, and Wynn drew the inference that she’d produce a changeling. I’m not sure why he felt compelled to credit me for it, but now Bram is quite sure I was stabbing him in the back to get the money…” His voice faded as his brain caught up with his mouth. “And that’s what you think too. Oh my God. It is, isn’t it? That’s what you came to say. If you think that, after everything I told you this morning—oh, go to the devil. Sod off. I don’t need any more people in this house throwing accusations at me.”
Gideon didn’t go. He was watching Zeb’s face with anexpression that was hard to read.
“Don’t just stand there,” Zeb snapped, hot and miserable, his stomach churning at Gideon disapproving of him, again. “I told you why I don’t want the money, and I find it damned offensive you think I’m trying to get it anyway.”
“You did tell me why, and I believe you.”
“Then why did you say that?”
“Because you have an excellent case for taking it.”
“What case? It’s not mine to take! It oughtn’t be Wyckham money, and it certainly shouldn’t be mine!”
“But if it came to you, you could give it back.”
Zeb blinked at him. Gideon opened his hands. “Zeb, is that what you’re doing? Seeking the money to make reparations? Because if you are, I could understand.”
Zeb groped for a reply, simultaneously indignant and flattered. “I—no. I am not doing that. Perhaps I should be. Maybe that would be the best thing to do, even, but I literally, absolutely, do not want the money in my hands. Even temporarily, even to do good with it. No.”
“Why not?”
“In case it didn’t leave.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh,youknow.” Gideon’s face suggested he didn’t. “I mean—well, can you not imagine? You’d say yes, of course I would return the money to its originators, and then you get it. A hundred and fifty thousand pounds: imagine what you could do with that. You would imagine, wouldn’t you? And maybe you’d think, it wouldsurely be all right if I gave most of it away. Two-thirds, say. Or maybe half would be reasonable. And of course there’s taxes,thatshouldn’t come from my share. And it would take time to decide who to give it to, so naturally I should hold on to it until that was resolved. And perhaps giving it back wouldn’t be straightforward. Perhaps it would only be wasted by people who never did anything to earn it themselves. And it was all a very long time ago, and plenty of British fortunes come from similar origins, and is there any such thing as morally pure money? And in the end…well, it’s my money now.” Zeb took a deep breath. “Do you see?”
Gideon was frowning. “I suppose so, but do you really think you would do that?”
“I don’t know if Iwould—I hope not—but I can absolutely see Icould. Love of money, root of all evil, that sort of thing, and I don’t suppose I’m any less corruptible than other people.” He shrugged. “I’d rather not put it to the test.”
“I think you underestimate yourself considerably,” Gideon said. “But if that is the case—”
That was when they heard the scream.
It came from some way away, but Zeb could still hear that it wasn’t a shriek of surprise, any more than it was a fox in the night. It was a scream of pure human terror, a real throat-ripper, and it was followed by another, and another.
They both bolted out of the room. Zeb ran in the direction of the scream, down a corridor and right, which took him to a flight of stairs that split.
“It came from Mrs. Bram’s room,” Gideon said behind him.“That way.”
“You stay here, then,” Zeb said. Whatever god-awful chaos Bram and Elise had created would not go better in the presence of an unrelated witness: Bram got very heated about washing dirty linen in public.
He sprinted up the staircase Gideon had indicated and discovered a full-blown scene in progress on the next floor.
Bram, wearing a truly horrible smoking jacket over Indian silk pyjamas, was holding Elise, in a state of undress. She was clinging to him, sobbing. Zeb had never seen her cry before; judging by his expression, it wasn’t habitual for Bram. Colonel Dash was also there, with his tie off and collar open. Given his usual neatness, he might as well have arrived in pyjamas.
“Is everything all right?” Zeb asked, in the pointless yet obligatory way of these things.
Bram gave a huff of annoyance to indicate that no, of course it wasn’t. Dash said, “Lady seems to have had a shock.”
Elise took the great shuddering breath of a woman pulling herself together, jerked herself upright, and stepped back from Bram’s halfhearted embrace. “In my room,” she said, voice distorted. “It was in my room!”
“Whatwas?” Bram said.
