“Perhaps it is for the best,” he remarked, passing a hand over the shadow of whiskers at his chin.
“You astonish me. You were so insistent upon the need for a proper inquest last night.”
He shrugged. “What difference will it make now? The most important thing is that Julien is not made to suffer by any inference that he was involved since she collapsed at the dinner party. Besides, if Beatrice, as Lorenzo’s sister, is responsible for killing the others, then justice has been served. And if Pietro is involved, then he suffers as well. I have never seen a man so devastated by loss.”
“You saw him this morning?”
“Before breakfast. I thought he might need a little nourishment, but he would take nothing. Augusta tried, bless her. He is utterly shattered by Beatrice’s death. Still in shock, I think. I wouldn’t be surprised if he simply wasted away after this.”
His demeanour was subdued, quite unlike his usual vigour. Through all of our collective perils, he had stood his ground, fighting through them with the ferocity of one of the more predatory jungle cats. Even when Fate had shown herself at her most malicious, he had found some reserves to battle on. But he seemed a shorn Samson now, divested of his strength and oddly vulnerable.
I put a hand to his cheek. “Stoker—”
He covered my hand with his own and drew it gently away, pressing a kiss to the palm before dropping it suddenly. “Now is not the time, Veronica. This business seemed troublesome enough when it was only a flight of fancy we were discussing in Bavaria. But now it has come home to roost, literally,” he said with a touch of asperity. “And if we do not discover who has done this—”
“You really are worried about Tiberius,” I said in some amazement. I had thought Stoker’s prickliness since our reunion in Germany was due to our ongoing disharmony, but I realised he had taken the threat to Tiberius very much to heart.
His smile was rueful. “I cannot say I am enjoying the experience.”
“It is entirely permissible to form attachments to one’s kin,” I informed him. “In fact, most people do.”
“You haven’t,” he pointed out.
“Yes, well, my family are either megalomaniacal villains or royal wastrels who will not acknowledge my existence. Tiberius is worth twenty of any one of them.”
“I suppose he is,” Stoker said slowly. “But make certain he never hears that. I shan’t hear the end of it.”
“Too late,” said a cool voice.
CHAPTER
27
Tiberius’ footsteps had been soundless on the carpet runner. He beckoned. “In my office, if you please.” We made to follow him, but he paused and turned, fixing Stoker with a smug smile. “And do not think I shall let your feelings pass unremarked, little brother.” He swung round on his heel and led us to his office.
Stoker’s lip curled as he mouthed a series of imprecations towards Tiberius’ back. I resisted the urge to smile. We were once more upon the chase, quarry scented and hunt engaged, and I vowed as I settled myself across from Tiberius’ wide desk that we would prevail.
I was a little surprised at the office itself. His study was a grand affair, vast and hung with bottle green velvet and ornamented with sculptures and globes and enormous folios laid open for examination. The office, in contrast, was a workman’s room. The desk bore the scars of penknife and ink, and the blotter was full of random jottings, quick memoranda and aides-mémoire. Shelves filled the walls from floor to ceiling and each was stuffed with ledgers and boxes of files. An enormous marrow rested on the edge of his desk and the room smelt agreeably of leather and damp wool. A door led to the east terrace and next to it were a series of pegs upon which hungoilskin coats, a hat of great antiquity, and dog leads in various states of wear.
“Tiberius, if I did not know better, I would think you actually turned your hand to work,” I observed.
“I do,” he said dryly. “In fact, I am rather good at it, much to my dismay.” He gestured towards a large piece of slate hung by the door. It was covered in chalked numbers and a series of abbreviations that were as impenetrable as hieroglyphics to me. “I have calculated that with careful investment in new equipment and putting two more fields to the harrow, we might see an improvement next year of some seventeen percent.”
“I am thoroughly impressed,” I told him truthfully.
He grinned. “Now ask me about my stud activities.”
I laughed, but Stoker gave a growl low in his throat and Tiberius rolled his eyes heavenwards. “Shall I have them send in a raw steak for your dinner? You sound positively feral. Besides, Veronica knows I mean her no insult.”
I smoothed my skirts over my knees. “Tiberius, we did, as it happens, engage in a bit of detectival work last night.”
“I expected you would,” he said with a sigh. “I might as well have flapped a red flag in front of a Pamplona bull. Go on, then. What did you discover?”
Swiftly I related our discovery of Beatrice’s identity, as well as the fact that she had been the one responsible for making certain the Salviatis were within striking distance of Kaspar and Alexandre at the times of their deaths.
He listened attentively, toying with a paper knife as he did.
“Of course, we cannot say for certain if Pietro knew what Beatrice was doing or if he was a full partner in her scheme of revenge,” I concluded. “In fact, Stoker and I are rather divided in our opinions upon the matter. I believe he is entirely innocent of her machinations, but Stoker insists otherwise.”
