Possibly.
Having withstood one provocation, it seems criminally unfair that I be made to resist another, and the surprised look Sebastian darts in my direction suggests that I have transgressed in some way.
Was my peep of distress audible?
I very much fear it was audible.
Eventually, supper ends, and we adjourn to the drawing room. In a break with tradition, the men join us rather than remain behind to discuss weighty matters over port. Keeping the incessant prattle going is a group project requiring the entire company, and as soon as he finishes pouring cordial for his daughters, Mr. Holcroft casts about for more fodder, stumbling over his words before observing that the weather is chilly for July.
Fervently, his wife agrees, noting that the fire in the hearth could be more robust, and Mama draws everyone’s attention to the tapestries, whose artistry cannot be denied. A gentle inquisition follows regarding their history, which the elder Holcrofts answer gratefully.
The interrogation lasts twenty minutes and is almost interesting enough to take my mind off the absorbing question of the sisters’ culpability. But not even a harrowing tale of an early-morning conflagration from which the tapestries were barely rescued can divert me. Try as I might, I simply cannotstop myself from examining them thoughtfully, my eyes darting from Eleanor to Sarah to Mrs. Dowell.
They all seem guilty.
They all seem innocent.
Honestly, I have no idea.
You wish to remain ignorant.
Chester asks my brother if he plays chess, which earns him a glare from his mother, who appears displeased at the notion of the large party breaking up into smaller pairings. On this front, at least, she has nothing to fear, as Russell cannot be bothered with a complex game of strategy, but Mrs. Dowell takes the query as her cue to leave, announcing that she has fallen behind in her correspondence.
“I owe my husband and his mother letters,” she explains, a slight frown marring her brow as she contemplates the duty, and my shoulders tighten as if struck.
Letters!
She dares to mentionlettersin my presence.
I do not know who is teasing me, but some trickster rogue is indulging a laugh at my expense and I do not have the wherewithal to endure yet another taunt, especially not one so on the mark. If she had announced her intention to retire to her bedchamber to read, I might have stayed strong.
But letters!
The universe itself is determined to undermine me.
Powerless against the greater force, I realize that the universe has also shown me the way to investigate my suspects without embroiling the staff.
Writing samples!
All I need are examples of each woman’s penmanship.
How to get them?
I have no idea!
And yet I still stop Mrs. Dowell from leaving by saying, “We should all play—not chess, of course, for that is limiting. But a game we can play together.”
It is a disastrous remark.
Even before Mrs. Holcroft turns to me with avid interest, I know it will be my downfall. By halting Mrs. Dowell’s departure, by keeping all the sisters in the drawing room, I am affirming my commitment to the steward: Iwillfind your killer. No law compels me to act in this manner, it is true, but I am bound by something more fixed than the English legal system: moral scrupulosity. Even if the truth comes at the expense of my own happiness, I must pursue it.
Possessing an inviolable core of decency is the very devil!
Sebastian will understand.
He is also a highly ethical creature who is compelled by decency to follow a rigid code of morality even if it costs him personally. Upon discovering his own cousin’s corruption, he promptly reported him to the authorities, thereby ensuring Mr. Carruthers was struck from the rolls.
But comprehending the necessity of an action is not the same as forgiving it, and I cannot believe Sebastian would blithely accept the apprehension, conviction, and punishment of his sister as an ethical imperative. If the situations were reversed and he oversaw the destruction of Russell in the name of some abstract principle about justice, I would not be able to look at Sebastian without feeling sad and disgusted and angry.
