“Perhapsyoucan tell us,” Ashley said, not taking his eyes from Sir Henry.
“Ash.” The major’s voice had taken on a note of authority. “Sit down. Miss Verney, please do seat yourself again. Lady Emily was shot at this morning up on the hill.”
Barbara Verney pressed both hands to her mouth.
“Fortunately,” the major said, “apart from a badly grazed hand and badly shocked nerves, she is unharmed.”
“And you think I did it,” Sir Henry said almost in a whisper. “Egad, you still think I killed Greg Kersey. And you think now I tried to kill Lady Emily. Do you believe I make a career of shooting people, even when they have done nothing to offend me? I will meet you for this, Kendrick.” He drew an audible breath through his nose. “But this is not for a lady’s ears. Come, Barbara. I will take you home and deal with this later.”
“No,” she said, her voice shaking. She sat down. “Let us deal with it now and without foolish talk of duels. Lord Ashley is upset, Henry. Lady Emily is his guest here, and we all know that even besides that point he has an affection for her. And all he did was ask you a question—which you refused to answer. I believe ’tis time for some plain speaking.”
“Bravo, madam,” Major Cunningham said. “Sir Henry, sit down, if you please. Sit down, Ash. Perhaps you would prefer that I leave?”
“No,” Ashley said quickly. “Stay, please.”
“You must tell Lord Ashley what you believe, Henry,” his sister said.
“It concerns your late wife,” Sir Henry said stiffly. “Perhaps you should hear it alone.”
“No,” Ashley said. He had seated himself again. Sir Henry did not sit. “Whatever you have to say can be said in Major Cunningham’s hearing.”
“’Tis my belief,” Sir Henry said, “that Gregory Kersey’s death was not accidental. He might have taken his own life. He had a gun with him and it had been recently fired—as had all our guns, of course. He had motive—perhaps. But I believe ’twas murder.” He drew a deep breath. “I believe Alice killed him.”
“What?”The word came out as a whisper. Everything had blackened about the edges of Ashley’s vision.
“But why?” Major Cunningham’s voice, sounding strangely calm, broke into the ensuing silence.
“He was to marry Katherine Binchley the very day he died,” Sir Henry said. “He had the special license and had made the arrangements for the ceremony to be performed quietly in a different parish.”
Ashley could do nothing but stare at him.
“And you believe that Lady Ashley—Miss Kersey—killed her brother merely because she was about to be supplanted as mistress of Penshurst?” the major asked. “It sounds a trifle extreme, does it not?”
“Not for that reason.” Sir Henry was looking at Ashley. “I believe you understand, Kendrick. She told you all—except perhaps the incriminating details I have just mentioned.”
But he did not understand at all. Not at all. He felt as if he must have walked into some bizarre dream.
“Tell me,” he said.
Sir Henry looked acutely uncomfortable. He glanced at Major Cunningham and at his sister.
“I know already, Henry,” she said. “I guessed and you did not deny it, remember? You need not worry now about my sensibilities.”
“She was upset at the whole idea of his marrying,” Sir Henry said. “She was fond of him.” He cleared his throat nervously. “She was overfond of him.”
“Egad,” the major said.
But Ashley’s eyes had closed. Into his consciousness rushed a detail that perhaps he had kept at bay ever since meeting Sir Henry Verney. Ashley had reminded her of her lover, Alice had told him on the morning after their disastrous wedding night. That was what had attracted her to him. He had reminded her of her lover—Sir Henry Verney. But Verney looked nothing whatsoever like himself. And one of Emmy’s signed messages just yesterday echoed loudly in his mind, as if she had spoken aloud.Like you,she had indicated. She had been pointing to the portrait of Gregory Kersey, set in a twin frame with Alice’s portrait.Like you.
“She was an unhappy woman when Gregory started paying court to Katherine,” Sir Henry said. “As unhappy about it as I was.”
“But you were her lover,” Ashley said without opening his eyes.
“Katherine’s?” Sir Henry said stiffly. “No. I behaved with honor toward her.”
“No,” Barbara Verney said. “He means Alice’s, Henry.”
“Alice’s?” Sir Henry looked shocked. “I was Alice’s lover? Isthatwhat she told you? Egad. ’Tis not true, as I live.”
