Jack leaned forward, his eyes glittering with anger. “Now listen here—”
“Stop it, both of you!” Delia suddenly cried out. “Neither of you seem to care about the fact that the man I love was just brutally murdered.”
My brother and I exchanged a chastened look.
“Sorry, Delia,” Jack grumbled.
“We do care, darling,” I soothed, but she shook her head.
“I don’t give a damn about my reputation,” she said in a quavering voice. “I want to know who did it.”
“Of course,” I replied. “And we will find out.”
“Notwe,” Jack cut in. “The police.”
I pursed my lips. Now was not the time to argue with himabout that. As Jack pulled a hand down his face, he suddenly looked quite haggard. “That detective gave me his word that he would keep your identities hidden for as long as possible. And I’ve a contact at theIllustrated Police Newswho owes me a favor. That should help your names stay out of the papers until the killer is apprehended.”
“Fine. Thank you,” I added softly.
Delia gave a slow nod, but her gaze was unfocused.
“In the meantime, you should stay home as much as possible. Well, Delia should,” he amended. “I know you’ve never had much of a taste for society anyway.”
I narrowed my eyes at the derision in his voice, though he was quite right about that. We then lapsed into an awkward silence as the coach grew closer to Portman Square.
“God. Mother will have a fit,” Delia breathed.
“You aren’t to say a word,” Jack cautioned. “I will speak to her later today. Understand?”
I bristled. “I think we are quite able to explain ourselves.”
He arched a brow. “Yes, but do you really want to explain this?” I cleared my throat as the image of Mother’s disapproving gaze flashed through my mind. “I thought so,” Jack added at my silence.
I turned to Delia, but she was gazing listlessly out the window. I hated to see her in such a state. Only hours ago, she had been bursting with a zest for life that was infectious. I didn’t want this incident to snuff out the light inside her nor impact her promising future as a painter.
I took her hand in mine and gave it a comforting squeeze. She glanced back at me and managed a weak smile that was a mere shadow of her usual expression. As we grew closer to Portman Square, Jack directed the coachman to take us to the mews behind the house. No use in announcing to the neighborhood that we were returning home at close to five in the morning.
Jack got out first to help Delia down. He murmuredsomething to her, and she nodded before entering through the back door. Then he turned to me and held out his hand.
“I told her I wanted a moment to speak with you alone,” he said, no doubt reading the curious expression on my face.
“Oh,” I said as he handed me down.
“It’s about Father. I’m sure you’ve noticed his … condition.”
“I did. I understand he had a fall some time ago,” I said pointedly.
Jack pursed his lips. “Yes. About four years or so. He missed the last few steps coming down the staircase and broke his ankle. It was slow to heal and hasn’t been the same since. Then he started having trouble with his memory. More than the spottiness that comes with age. Sometimes he’s just like his old self. As sharp as a knife. But other times it’s as if he’s lost in the past. And it’s only been getting worse,” he added.
“Well, what do the doctors say? What can be done?”
Jack’s gaze turned sympathetic. “Nothing, Minnie.”
“But Aunt Agatha is older, and she is as sharp as ever,” I said, as if this was an argument I could win.
“Yes, because Aunt Agatha has had nothing to worry about other than which spa town to visit for the last forty years,” he snapped.
I crossed my arms and huffed, though it was a fair point. “I just don’t understand why no one bothered to tell me any of this. Not even when Aunt Agatha came to Corfu.”
