“I can’t explain Agatha, but you know what she’s like,” Jack said. “She swans in for a fifteen-minute visit every few months so she and Mother can snipe at each other. If she came on one of Father’s better days, she may not have even noticed anything amiss. And it isn’t as though Mother would have willingly told her.”
I had to admit that did sound entirely possible. “Fine. But what about the fall?”
Jack sighed and looked off towards the end of the mews.“It wasn’t long after Oliver passed, and Mother didn’t want to worry you further. She thought we would just tell you when you returned home, but then …” He trailed off.
I swallowed and lowered my head. After Oliver died, nearly everyone I knew assumed I would pack up and leave Corfu as soon as possible. For over a year, every letter from my family asked about our travel plans, but I kept putting it off. There was too much to deal with on Corfu: Oliver’s export business had to be closed down; then I didn’t want to disrupt the children’s school, or take them away from their friends. Eventually, I ran out of excuses, and people stopped asking.
“Yes. I’m sorry about that,” I murmured. “I suppose I was … afraid. For a long time.”
Jack turned back to me, confused. “Afraid of what?”
You must promise me, Min. Promise me you won’t go back there.
Oliver’s ominous warning echoed in my head, but I couldn’t get into all that. Not now, anyway. “I don’t know. Everything?” I said this with a hapless little shrug that seemed to be answer enough for Jack.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here now,” he said as he reached out and patted my shoulder.
“Me too,” I replied, surprised by how much I meant it. “Is it all right if I come for Tommy later this afternoon once I’ve had a bit of sleep? He spent the night at your house,” I added at his questioning look.
“Did he? I didn’t realize …”
I reared back a little. “You mean you haven’t been home yet?”
“No,” he said, a touch defensive. “I had a committee meeting and then drinks at Bedivere’s. My club. And I occasionally stay there for the night, depending on the hour, so I don’t disturb the household. Everyone knows to try there first if it’s late.”
“Really,” I said, unable to hide the skepticism in my tone, to which he responded with a scowl, effectively ending this little interlude of brotherly affection.
“I have no need to explain myself to you,” he replied tightly, as he tugged on his gloves and turned back towards the coach. “Now get some sleep,” he called over his shoulder just before he climbed in.
I let out a sigh and watched as the coach rumbled down the cobblestoned mews.
That was how things had always been with Jack. We seemed to be forever seesawing between undisguised contempt and fleeting moments of understanding. I knew I should try harder to at least be cordial with him. We weren’t children any longer, and I could now accept that our strained relationship wasn’t entirely his fault. But I had a few more pressing things to deal with first. And time was of the essence. So, for now, Jack would have to wait.
I hurried into the house through the back entrance, but Delia was nowhere in sight. I heard the faint sound of feet shuffling and pans clattering in the direction of the kitchen, indicating that the staff was already up and about. I ducked down the hall and headed for the back staircase, as the very last thing I needed was to run into Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, or heaven help me, Morris, and try to explain what I was doing awake and in evening dress.
Luckily, I made it back to my bedroom without spotting another soul. As I shut the door behind me, I was struck full on by the weight of exhaustion. I stumbled through dressing for bed and managed to climb under the covers. Then I slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep the moment my head hit the pillow.
I awoke, feeling bleary-eyed and disoriented, some hours later and glanced at the small bedside clock and groaned. It was half-past noon already. I fought the urge to continuesleeping, as I would surely pay for it later that evening. Slowly, I sat up while the events of the previous night and morning filtered through my woolly brain. And yet, despite all that had occurred—all that I had witnessed—it was one memory in particular that brought an immediate frown to my face.
I had seen Mr. Dorian, of all people. I did take some comfort in the fact that I had been wearing a very fine gown, then immediately chastised myself for caring in the first place. After all, this was a man who had not even seen fit to say good-bye to me before leaving Corfu and made no attempt to contact me afterwards.
And I suppose it’s only a coincidence that your initials happen to match the dedication in his latest book?
I grimaced as I recalled the inspector’s insinuation. Regrettably, I had also made the same inference at first. But even if that was the case, that blasted book dedication was probably Mr. Dorian’s idea of a joke. Or maybe he had simply run out of people to dedicate books to, so why not include the silly little widow who typed up the blasted thing? Just as I felt my cheeks heat, I gave myself a shake. No. I refused to dedicate any more time or emotion to that man. I certainly had not known he would be at that party, and would have avoided the place if I had.
Would you?
I ignored the sly voice in my head as I threw back the coverlet. However, the room was shockingly cold, and I immediately retreated back to the bed. Goodness, was this room always so frigid? But then I looked towards the hearth and found the fire had entirely gone out. Well, that explained it. I tugged on the bellpull and then headed for the wardrobe. There must be something I could throw on. As I recalled, I hadn’t taken very much with me when I left for Greece on account of the vast difference in climate and had to purchase a whole new wardrobe when we arrived in Athens.
I tugged open the heavy wooden door of the wardrobe, which always had a habit of sticking, and was hit anew with the scent of dried rose petals. It was mostly empty now, as I’m sure Delia had raided the best bits long ago. A sad-looking pair of shoes remained, along with a few plain skirts and shirts that I couldn’t blame her for not taking. But there on a hook hung a heavy wool cardigan that would do quite nicely. I grabbed it and pulled it on, then found a pair of thick cotton socks to match. Now that I had on an extra layer, I shuffled over to the washstand to wipe my face and clean my teeth. I had just finished when there was a scratch at the door, and it opened.
A young, brown-haired maid bustled in with a tray. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. We forgot you were in here, and no one tended the fire this morning,” she said in a great rush.
“Entirely understandable,” I said, as she set down the tray on a table, then set about lighting the fire.
“Mrs. Reynolds gave us all a good dressing-down just now,” she said with a sheepish glance over her shoulder. “It won’t happen again.”
The corner of my mouth lifted. As I recalled, the housekeeper could be rather terrifying when she was in a lather over something. “I will speak with her. It’s really no trouble. And I will not be staying another night,” I insisted, mostly for my own benefit.
