They spent the afternoon riding around Edinburgh in an open carriage, enjoyed the busy port at the Firth of Forth, breathing in the salty air and the pungent smell of fish. So many people were out and about, many walking.
When they arrived back at Abbotsford Crescent, Young Agnes gave Grayson a message. “Aye, sir, Mr. Terduck sent a young boy, left me this message.”
Grayson read:
Grayson, I know I am in imminent danger. Something is here again, this time destroying all the furniture in my library, hurling pieces of wood at me. It’s rage, Grayson, and I know it’s Mary. I’m sending one of the palace runners, Thomas, to fetch you. Come quickly!
Cibalto
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sunday afternoon
Fifteen minutes later when Grayson arrived at Cibalto’s house, he found the front door unlocked. He went inside, paused in the dismal entry hall to listen. It was silent.
“Cibalto? Mrs. Brush?”
No answer.
Grayson started to run toward the study but then he stopped cold. He heard low moans. He followed them into a small cheerless kitchen. He found Mrs. Brush on her side on the floor. He dropped to his knees beside her, felt the pulse in her neck. Thankfully, it was strong. “Mrs. Brush, can you hear me? What happened?”
She opened pain-glazed eyes and blinked up at him. “Mr. Sherbrooke? Me heid, ’tis loupin’—ah, it pains me somethin’ fierce.”
Grayson grabbed a clean cloth covering a bowl of vegetables and laid it gently on Mrs. Brush’s face. He fetched a pillow from a kitchen chair and lifted her to slip it beneath her head. She sighed. “Am pure done in, sir.”
“I know. Close your eyes, Mrs. Brush. When you can, tell me what happened.”
She swallowed, whispered, “Och, aye, me heid’s mince, but I think I was makin’ haggis for the master’s dinner, an’ when I turned to fetch the tatties and neeps I suddenly felt like me heid was splittin’ open, but it was from the inside, ye ken? Not a blow—there was no one there, sir, I swear it to ye.”
Mary? Had she come to kill Cibalto? But why knock Mrs. Brush down? How could she be a threat?
“Mrs. Brush, lie still. I will go see to Mr. Terduck.”
“Hurry, Mr. Sherbrooke, maybe the beastie is here to kilt him.”
When Grayson opened the door to the library, he saw Cibalto sitting on the floor, his back against his overturned desk. Lamps, chairs, the lovely brocade sofa, all were turned over and broken. It looked like a cyclone had struck in the magnificent library. Odd, but none of the books were on the floor. Only every stick of furniture was destroyed.
Again, Grayson dropped to his haunches. “Cibalto?”
Cibalto slowly opened his eyes. “I’m glad you came, Grayson, but I believed you would be too late. I saw a flash of light, and I knew it was Mary here to kill me. A lamp flew at my head. I knocked it away with my arm and crawled behind my desk and covered my head with my arms. But then my desk was struck again and again. I heard chairs and the other two lamps and my precious sofa, my wife’s precious sofa, being torn apart by enraged unseen hands. Then there was silence. Still, I waited. When I finally found my courage, I crawled out to see the devastation. As you can see, everything is in splinters except the books. For whatever reason, Mary didn’t touch the books this time.
“I swear to you, Mary was here, Grayson. I sensed her, strong she was, enraged at me. But why didn’t she simply kill me outright?” He stopped, looked helplessly up at Grayson. “Is she torturing me, scaring me to my bootheels while she waits for the night bleeding red onto the moon? And how will she make that happen? But she will, I know it. She’ll kill me.”
Grayson sat back on his heels. Nothing made sense, from the attack on Mrs. Brush to the destruction of Cibalto’s study. But why, if she’d wanted to, didn’t Mary simply strike him on the head with a heavy lamp? It would be over, she would have her revenge. But revenge for what? And why this destruction? And why strike down Mrs. Brush? Every time Grayson thought he had a glimmer of what was going on, something happened that didn’t make sense.
Grayson helped Cibalto to his feet, watched him brush off his breeches. He said, “Mrs. Brush is on the floor in the kitchen. Something struck her head. Not a person, she said, it seemed she felt the blow inside of her head. I think she’ll be fine, but best have a physician examine her.”
Cibalto leaned back against his desk and closed his eyes. “I’ve come to believe only you can discover what became of Mary’s twin daughters. Only you can locate their descendants. Then perhaps she won’t kill me.”
Grayson looked at Cibalto’s pale face, but his voice was passionate. He was convinced about what he said.
“How on earth do you think I can find them rather than you? It’s a matter of research, and you are ideally suited. I am not. You want facts and I write fiction, so why are you saying this, Cibalto?”
“Dreams, dreams, I am always dreaming. I know it is Mary sending me dreams, horrible dreams, and I’m dying and I hear her laughing. She shows me Rizzio screaming as he’s being stabbed, and I see a knife and it’s covered with blood and I know it’s not Rizzio’s, it’s mine. And then there are dreams pushing me toward you, Grayson. And I know it is Mary. She wants you, only you. It seems you’re the only one she wants to connect with. And connect with her you must. You must explain to her that I am innocent of any wrongdoing. You must, somehow, convince her and get her to leave me in peace.”
So much, too much really. Grayson shook his head, said, “Give me your physician’s direction and I’ll have him come to see to Mrs. Brush.”
Cibalto slowly rose and brushed himself off. “Yes, yes, thank you, Grayson. I’ll ask Bean to find me some lads to clean up this mess.”
