Sebastian had written‘Where is God?’ in such haste and fury that the ink from his pen nib had sputtered, casting drops of ink across the page like spots of black blood.
Isabel stared down at the page and traced the words with her finger—the cry of a man who had been forsaken. The words burned with his anguish and her fingers contracted. This little book held nothing but unhappy memories for the man who had consigned it to the flames. She hastily rewrapped it and laid it back in its hiding place and hoped Sebastian never knew of its existence.
The girl lay back on the pillows, watching her.
Isabel straightened her apron and said, ‘I have tired you. I’ll let you get some rest.’
Connie shook her head. ‘No, it has been nice to talk to you. I am so looking forward to going to Brantstone but I have so many questions to ask you. I’ve never even visited a grand house before.’
‘Then you really must get some rest and regain your strength,and we will talk later. We must get you well, if you are to be at Brantstone in time for the ball.’
The girl’s eyes shone. ‘A ball? A proper ball? How wonderful. I shall certainly be well enough for that.’
As Isabel turned to go, Connie caught her hand. ‘Thank you for being Sebastian’s friend.’
Isabel laid her hand over the girl’s. ‘And yours, I hope.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sebastian removed his gloves and handed them to a footman, conscious that Bennet waited at the bottom of the stairs, hopping from one foot to the other.
‘Is something troubling you?’ he enquired of his batman.
‘May I have a word in private?’ Bennet’s eyes darted towards the footman.
‘Can it wait? It’s been a long journey and I would love a cup of tea.’
He would have liked an ale but he was learning.
Bennet didn’t answer and Sebastian sighed. ‘Very well. In my study, Bennet.’
Bennet closed the door behind them after a quick glance up and down the corridor. This nervousness in his long-time comrade made Sebastian uneasy.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
Bennet swallowed. ‘You know as how we think his late lordship was murdered? Well, I think there may have been another murder, before his.’
Sebastian straightened. ‘Good God, who?’
‘Thompson, the groom… His girl, Amy.’
‘Didn’t she take her own life? Drowned herself in the lake?’
‘Not according to Thompson. He said when they pulled her from the lake she had a head wound like she’d been hit on the back of the head. He told me she was happy. The man who was the father of her child was going to see her right. She didn’t have a reason to take her own life.’
Sebastian turned and walked over to the window. He stood looking out over the gardens to the lake, his hands behind his back. Two possible murders within a few short months of each other. Coincidental? He thought not.
His reverie was short lived as the door burst open and Fanny came flying in with cries of, ‘Cousin Sebastian, you’re back! It’s a disaster.’
Sebastian turned to face the girl who stood sniffing in the middle of the room, her eyes red-rimmed from weeping. She twisted a sodden kerchief in her hand, her full lips trembling.
‘What’s a disaster?’ he enquired.
Fanny gave a shuddering sob and subsided against the shoulder of her brother, who had followed her into the room.
‘The musicians we had booked to play at the ball have cancelled,’ Freddy said.
‘What are we going to do?’ Fanny sobbed into her brother’s coat.
