“It was,” I agreed. “But not so wrong that she should have paid with her life. Nor should she have answered to you for her misdeeds. It was Malcolm Romilly’s business.”
“And I was his avenger, righting the wrongs that had been done to him.”
“Still, it was not your place to make that choice.”
“My place?” Her laugh was harsh. “I would have had no place if she had lived. She threatened to turn me out. I went to her the night before she were married. I knew she had quarreled with Miss Mertensia about the garden, playing lady of the manor. I went and asked her to be a little kind. She could afford to be generous, I told her. She had everything, the master, the castle, the name and position. She laughed at me and told me to mind my business, and I saw red then. I told her Miss Mertensia’s happiness were my business and always would be and that’s when she said it wouldn’t be for much longer if I kept my uppity ways. She said I had got above myself and needed to learn my place and behave better. And that’s when I lost my temper. I said I knew she was going to have a child and that the church might put it right but that she had no call to speak to me of proper behavior.”
“She cannot have liked that,” I mused.
“She did not. She turned on me then and said if I didn’t keep her secret, she would see me put off the island on the first boat, and that’s when I realized it couldn’t be Mr. Malcolm’s child. Until then, I thought they had just anticipated their vows, you see. Many’s the couple that does, especially around here with the priest coming only once a month to see to marryings and buryings. But she would not have turned sowhite and begun to shake if the child were his. I remembered then that I had caught her once with Lord Templeton-Vane, nothing shocking, mind. But I had come upon them once and she was looking up at him with such an expression on her face as no woman has ever used except to a man she loves. I knew then what she meant to do to Mr. Malcolm. She meant to put a cuckoo in the nest, to give this place to her love child, to disgrace this family,” she finished bitterly. “And I knew I had to take care of my little ones once more and put an end to it.”
“You played the ghost after the séance, didn’t you?”
A tiny smile played about her lips. “Mr. Lucian taught me a little of music when he was a lad, first learning his chords. I knew it wouldn’t take much to bring everyone rushing in. I needed only a moment to nip into the passage and through the library. I thought to take Mr. Malcolm by surprise, to make him wonder if her ghost had really been summoned. He might give it all up then, I hoped.”
She faltered then, her eyes opaque with fear.
“Did you see her?” I asked.
She shook her head, one single sharp shake. “No, miss. But I know she were there. Later that night, I went into the music room and I felt a presence. I knew she had come.”
I might have told her then. It would have been a kindness to tell her the truth, that I had been the presence in the music room. But kindness is not the foremost of my virtues. And so I kept my silence and let her believe that the spirit of Rosamund Romilly had been conjured that night.
I leant forwards, my voice coaxing. “Mrs. Trengrouse, what did you do with Rosamund after she was dead? If you tell us and she is given a proper burial, perhaps his lordship will speak on your behalf,” I suggested. I had little confidence that Tiberius would do anything of the sort. In fact, I rather suspected he would cheerfully knot the ropehimself if it meant revenging himself on the woman who murdered the love of his life. But that bridge was yet to be crossed.
I gave her an expectant look, but she waved me off. “I am tired now, Miss Speedwell. I am glad the master is safe, and it is time for me to sleep.” She nodded towards the bottle Mertensia had left and I poured out a spoonful of the mixture as she directed. I waited until the housekeeper had drifted off before I left, smoothing the coverlet over her in a gesture of charity.
Mertensia was waiting outside the door when I emerged.
“You have dismissed the guard?” I asked, looking to the empty chair where Caspian had sat, shotgun broken awkwardly upon his knee.
“We have no need of that now,” she said simply.
I handed over the bottle I had taken from the night table. A tiny skull was etched at the corner of the label. “Nor ever again, I should think.”
She gave me a steady look. “Will you tell them?”
I shook my head slowly. “It is not my place.”
“I had to,” she said fiercely. “You heard what Malcolm said about the scandal. He is nearly unbalanced as it is. I do not know if he will properly recover, but I can promise you that being dragged through the mud of every cheap newspaper in England will destroy him. It was the only way.”
I said nothing and she squared her shoulders. “I gave her a choice,” she said. “She needn’t have taken it if she didn’t like. I would not have forced her. But she wanted to atone and this was the only way.”
“It is an easier death than she deserves,” I pointed out.
“But it will give Malcolm a chance at a better life,” she countered, and I could not fault her logic.
I turned to leave her then and she put a hand to my sleeve. “Thank you.”
I nodded to the closed door. “Go and sit with her. Even a murderess should not die alone.”
•••
On my way to the drawing room, I stopped at the castle’s chapel, a tiny chamber consecrated for prayer from the first days when Romillys had lived upon St. Maddern’s. It was ten paces across and a perfect square, with a tiny altar set before a stained glass window depicting the patron saint of the island. I knew he had other names—Madern, Madron—and that he was a hermit devoted to his gifts of healing. I did not believe in religion, old or new, but on the slimmest chance that the old saint watched over his island, I offered up a fervent wish that he would employ his talents for healing once more and visit his kindness upon the Romillys. Heaven knew they were sorely in need of them. It was restful with a single pew cushioned in scarlet velvet and tiles of black and white marble underfoot while the ancient fragrance of incense hung in the stillness of the air. The ceiling was vaulted and laced with carvings of the fruits and fish of the island, a reminder to those who worshiped here that they enjoyed a rare and wonderful abundance. And as I turned to leave, I saw another figure, tucked behind a bit of carving upon the lintel of the door, so discreet that it would have been easy to miss her—a mermaid, the pagan ancestress of the Romillys, remembered here in this most Christian of places. I wondered if she, too, watched over those who lived upon her island, and I hoped so. I bowed my head to her as I left.
CHAPTER
21
