“A pity it has ended in tragedy,” he remarked.
“Such a lovely young lady,” Elspeth said wistfully. “It seems a crime when a thing of beauty dies.”
“Indeed,” Tiberius said. “I will send word when Pietro decides what arrangements he wishes to make. I presume he will want to take her back to New York, but perhaps he will have her buried in Italy with his family. I cannot image he will wish to remain in America without her, but of course, he is far too upset to make any decisions at present. Good night.”
We all made the proper noises of farewell and the Greshams were given their wraps as one of Tiberius’ carriages came around to the forecourt to collect them. Elspeth stepped out the door with alacrity, as though she could not take her leave quickly enough.
But at the last moment, Timothy Gresham paused and turned back, looking up at Cherboys with an inscrutable expression. Then, with a shudder and a shake of the head, he followed his sister into the night.
CHAPTER
24
Upon the departure of the Greshams, I went directly to my room to change. I removed my evening gown and dressed in my simple day dress of dark blue cloth, both for its sober colour and the fact that the fabric would not rustle. I pinned a ribbon of black silk to my sleeve, the best I could do in a nod to mourning without a proper black dress. I kept my evening slippers. They were fitted with thin soles that would be silent upon the floor. Noise is unwelcome both in a house of mourning and in detectival pursuits.
My preparations completed, I sat in a little armchair, reading Ovid as I listened to the various comings and goings in the next room. I heard Tiberius’ low rumble, followed by Pietro’s impassioned protestations. Eventually, his gulping sobs gave way to the sound of movement. Through a crack in the door, I saw Pietro leave, supported by Tiberius.
“I have had Collins prepare a room for you just down the way. I know you would not like to be far from her, but you must rest,” Tiberius was telling him.
I waited until I heard a door along the corridor open and shut before slipping out of my own room and moving on noiseless feet to the door of Beatrice and Pietro’s suite. The corridor was deserted.
I eased open the door. Inside, a candelabra had been left burning. Beatrice had been laid out with care, her garments smoothed and a thin sheet of fine linen draped over her.
Next to the bed, Augusta knelt in silent prayer. I paused as she finished, rising from her knees and giving a little start as she noticed me. She reached for my hand.
“I did not mean to disturb you,” I began.
She shook her head and squeezed my hand tightly before dropping it. “I do not think anything could disturb me more than this,” Augusta said with a vague gesture towards Beatrice’s recumbent form. “I wanted to sit with Pietro as long as he remained. I didn’t like to leave him alone.”
She said nothing more, but I understood her implication. His grief had been extreme, violent even, and there was simply no way to know what he might do.
“Tiberius will remain with him,” I assured her. “He has secured a bit of laudanum to help him sleep.”
“That is a mercy at least. That poor man.” She turned again to the figure on the bed.
“She looks peaceful,” I murmured. “And so terribly young.”
Anger veiled Augusta’s features for a moment, but when she spoke her voice was limned only with sadness. “Folk will think it is not such a tragedy as she was already ill. But someone has played God here. A dangerous practice,” she added, primming her mouth.
She smoothed her skirts briskly. “Mrs.Brackendale said the maids will come and wash her and lay her out properly. Beyond that, I imagine Pietro will have to decide.”
“I would like to sit with her a few moments,” I ventured.
Augusta’s smile was mournful. “Of course, my dear. You are nearer in age to her than I. This must be particularly difficult for you. A reminder of the fate that awaits us all.” To my surprise, she dropped a swift kiss to my cheek in passing.
The door shut softly behind her and I conjugated twenty verbs in the Corsican dialect before I moved. I wanted to make quite certain I would not be disturbed. I had searched the MacIvers’ suite earlier, but not that of the Salviatis, and I regretted the omission deeply. Whether Beatrice’s death was a dreadful accident or a pointed attack directed at Pietro—for the loss of his bride was clearly a far more terrible eventuality than his own murder—a search of their possessions might prove informative.
I twisted the key in the lock, hoping to purchase a little more time for myself should anyone else appear to pay their respects to the fallen contessa.
I had just moved to the bedside table when I heard a noise in the dressing room. An intruder! In my haste to change, I had forgot to slip a set of minuten into my cuffs. My evening corset did not permit the addition of a blade, and I had neglected to strap a knife to my calf. I did not even have my trusty cheese wire tucked in my pocket since Stoker still had possession of it.
I should have to find a weapon closer to hand. I hefted the nearest candelabra, mercifully unlit, and stood behind the door, arm upraised. I do not know how long I might have maintained the posture—the candelabra was solid silver and excessively weighty—but almost immediately a shadowy figure slid out from the doorway of the dressing room. I brought the candelabra down, but before it could connect, the figure spun. A steely grip banded my wrists and I dropped the candelabra to the thick carpet as I was shoved against the wall, pinioned from shoulder to shoe by a body that was as unyielding as iron and as familiar as my own.
“Stoker,” I hissed. “What in the name of seven devils are you doing here?”
“Waiting to examine the body. I thought the rest of them would never leave—”
He stopped suddenly, as if only just then realising how entangled we were, limbs and breaths commingled in a posture that resembled ourmore passionate embraces. My thigh was trapped between his, my wrists bound by his palms and pinned to the wall. I was as helpless as one of my own specimens, and to my astonishment, I felt a rush of sudden—
