I strode to him and thrust the volume of Keats into his hands. “Here. May it do you more good than it has me.”
Stoker was still laughing when he shut the door.
CHAPTER
15
As soon as Stoker shut his door with a decisive click, Merry turned on his heel and fled into his room, no doubt barricading it against dangersome females, I thought darkly.
I tugged my dressing gown about myself even more tightly as I hurried down the back stairs. This time, as I passed the Salviatis’ door, I heard voices again. Where before they had been low and almost inaudible, now they were raised, quick and impassioned. They were quarreling, I realised, and I stepped a few inches nearer. I paused, darting behind a handy statue to effect concealment.
Suddenly, a hand clapped over my mouth and a voice whispered in my ear.
“It’s only me.” The hand lifted away and I hissed one of Stoker’s favourite oaths.
“J. J. What in the name of a dozen devils are you doing skulking about the family wings?”
“Looking for a story, unlike you,” she said, giving a salacious wink. “Am I to understand the delectable and Honourable Mr.Templeton-Vane will not oblige you with his attentions?”
“That is none of your affair,” I told her.
“Come now, you can confide in me. What’s the trouble? Have you quarrelled? Do you snore? Are you indelicate in your attentions?”
“I am prepared to be indelicate with my fists if you accost me again,” I muttered.
“Temper! You are in a foul mood. I shall have to tell Stoker it is in all our best interests for him to attend to your needs. Unless you think prayer might help. That young parson is quite personable.”
“Leave Merryweather alone or else,” I began.
She raised her chin. “Or else what?”
“Or else I shall tell Mrs.Brackendale that I discovered you sniffing around the family rooms, no doubt looking for silver to steal.”
“How dare you! I’ve never stolen anything in my life,” she whispered angrily. “But I need a story, Veronica. Help me.”
“Not likely,” I told her, clipping the words.
“Tiberius does not come to Cherboys, ever,” she said. “That is a deviation from his normal habits. Deviations are where the stories are, and I can smell this one. Do not think I won’t find out what he is about, Veronica. And when I do, I will write about it.”
“Sharpen that quill and you just may prick yourself,” I warned her.
She snorted. “I am content to take my chances.” She glanced at the statue in front of us, scrutinising the impressive backside. “What is this meant to be anyway? It is just a big fellow being strangled by snakes.”
“It is Laocöon. A Trojan priest who tried to warn his people not to accept the horse left by the Greeks. Poseidon sent sea serpents to kill his sons and Laocöon was killed in the attempt to protect them.”
“He has an exceedingly nice bottom,” she observed. “Almost as nice as Stoker’s.”
The gleam in her eye told me she was being deliberately provocative in hopes of a reaction. I summoned my dignity, refusing to give her what she wanted.
“Mind your manners, J. J. And stay away from the Templeton-Vane men. They are troublesome in ways you cannot imagine.”
“Aren’t they all?” she asked with a rueful twist of the lips. “Aren’t they all?”
“J. J.,” I began, but she held a finger to her lips. She pointed to the door of the Salviatis’ suite.
“At it hammer and tongs,” she whispered. “I’ve been listening in the linen room. It’s been going the better part of an hour now.”
That bit of news trumped my annoyance with J. J. “Good heavens. They were quiet enough a moment ago.”
