“Flatulate,” I said plainly. “Or worse.”
“Nonsense. You wouldn’t do anything so frightfully common, would you, Puggy-Wuggy?”
She blew him kisses, which he ignored. “There, you see? He is a perfect lamb. Order up something decadent from the kitchen and have Aquinas open some champagne. We will be very naughty and you can weep out all your troubles and I will console you.”
I did as she bade me. I ordered food—Cook sent hot, tiny, crispy prawns, bathed in sizzling butter. There were other scrumptious things as well, fruits and pastries, and when Aquinas brought the champagne, I noticed he was careful to bring the finest bottle in the cellar. He withdrew, tactfully closing the door behind him, and Portia and I happily commenced to a Lucullan feast. Or at least, Lucullan by our standards.
I told her everything as we ate. Well, nearly everything. If I am honest, it was nothing like everything. I gave her a carefully edited version of the truth, juggling secrets like so many conjurer’s balls. In the first place, I did not reveal the secret of Brisbane’s parentage. I simply skimmed rather neatly over Brisbane’s retrieval of the box, telling her of his pugilistic endeavors at the Gypsy camp, but purposefully leaving out his fluent conversation with Jasper. Naturally I did not mention the kiss—if it could be called a kiss. That seemed a tepid, bloodless sort of word to describe what we had done. But it was private, and I could not bear the thought of recounting to her, chapter and verse, what it had been.
I also neglected to mention Magda’s fatal grudge against Valerius. Portia inferred, because I heavily implied, that Magda’s trouble had been with Edward and that the arsenic had been intended for him. She assumed that Magda neglected to use the poison before Edward died by another’s hand and I did not correct her.
I also omitted the bloody shirts and Val’s presence at Carolina’s grave the night Magda was banished from her camp. I had not spoken to him myself yet, and I did not feel it quite sporting to spill his secrets to another member of the family. I owed it to him to hear his side of the story before I threw him to the wolves. Besides, I was desperately afraid Portia would run straight to Father, and that was a complication I could do without.
So I presented her with a bowdlerized version of events, stressing the tangle surrounding Edward’s death and my own sadness at Simon’s impending loss. Puggy snored, but Portia was very attentive.
She sympathized over Simon for a moment, then steered the conversation back to the investigation.
“You must keep yourself busy, Julia,” she advised. “I know that Simon’s passing will grieve you, but it comes as no shock. He has been unwell for so long, and surely it is a blessing in itself that he is shortly to find release.”
I murmured something in agreement.
“So,” she went on briskly, “you must have a thought to life after Grey House. You must bring this investigation to an end as quickly as possible and move on with your life.”
I drained my glass, licking the last drops of champagne. Delicious. I poured another. “I know. I do have plans, you must believe me. I wish to travel, perhaps even to write a book. I thought of selling Grey House, as well. It’s really far too big for me.” I stared at the fizzy gold bubbles of the champagne racing one another to the top of my glass. “But I feel that if I do not know the truth about Edward, however painful, that I cannot move forward. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, of course.” She popped a prawn into her mouth, then selected one for Puggy. “And what of Brisbane? Shall you see him again when all this is finished?”
I shook my head and immediately regretted it. Champagne always left me dangerously light-headed. “I do not see why I should. I mean, I think it highly unlikely. I would have no need of him in a professional capacity, and socially…”
I let the thought hang there unfinished. It was provocative, really, the notion of meeting Brisbane in a social setting, with none of the complications of an investigation. “No, I think our paths will not cross again.”
“Pity. I think you rather like him.”
My first instinct was to deny, but I realized the futility before I even said the words. Ever the elder sister, Portia liked to think that she understood me better than I knew myself. I merely smiled at her.
“What if I did? I have found him enigmatic and tempestuous. You yourself said he was too much of an adventure for the likes of me.”
Portia snorted. On any other woman, it would have been vulgar. On her, it was roguishly charming.
“Too much for the little mouse you were then, creeping about in your blacks and greys. Look at you now,” she said with a sweep of her hand toward my vivid violet gown and its daring neckline. “You’ve come quite a long way since then, my pet. All bold colours and alabaster décolletage. Too delicious. And as for Brisbane being enigmatic and—what was the other?”
“Tempestuous,” I supplied, thinking of the faint black-plum bruise on my back, a bruise just the shape of his hand.
“Tempestuous. Most interesting qualities, Julia, and you would call them liabilities. Tell me, what did he look like at the Gypsy camp? Was he really naked to the waist?”
She leered at me over the top of her glass and I could hardly speak for laughing.
“Ninny. He looked like a man, what do you expect?”
“Descriptive details, please! It’s been ages since I saw one, and I likely never will again, at least if Jane has anything to say in the matter. Now, reveal all!”
I settled back against the cushions and described in lurid detail.
“Goodness,” she said when I had finished. “Are you certain you are not embellishing? You always were prone to exaggeration as a child.”
I shrugged. “It is all in the eye of the beholder, is it not?”
She was thoughtful as she reached for a raspberry tart. There was a scratching sound at the door then and we exchanged looks of surprise.
