“I know,” I said as my throat tightened with emotion. “But I think you are safe.”
She let out a breath, then met my gaze, her eyes full of sorrow. “Then who did it, Minnie? I’ve been racking my brain for the last few days, and I truly can’t think of who would do such a horrible thing.”
I think a lot of people had a reason to kill Charles Pearson.
As Madame Fontaine’s ominous words echoed in my head, I wondered how well my sister had really known this man. Or had she simply ignored the parts she didn’t wish to see?
“Try not to upset yourself,” I said as I rubbed her shoulder, knowing full well my words were cold comfort. “I am looking into it, and based on what I’ve learned so far, I don’t think it was anyone you would have known.”
She frowned in confusion. “What does that mean?”
“Do you know anything about an antiques auction in Belgravia that Charles attended?”
Delia considered the question and shook her head. “I know he attended auctions on occasion, but I don’t know about anything specific. Why?”
“I think his murder is somehow connected to his antiques business.”
Delia screwed up her face. “But … that was just a little hobby for him. It wasn’t anything that someone wouldkillhim over.”
I wondered if that was her own observation of his work or the way Charles had explained it to her. It was certainly in his interest to portray it as more of a lark, so he wouldn’t look like a fortune hunter. “I’m not sure. As I understand it, he was quite serious about it.”
Delia chewed her lip, then let out a harsh breath and pressed her palms against her eyes. “God, I feel like such a fool. I didn’t know him at all, did I?”
I wrapped my arms around her in a fierce hug. “He showed you the parts of him he wanted you to see. How could you know what he was willfully hiding?”
As I said the words, I realized I wasn’t only speaking of her and Charles, but of myself and Oliver. He had been hidingsomethingfrom me on Corfu. I could accept that now. And while I still held out a sliver of hope that his intentions had been noble, I was deeply hurt that he had kept anything from me in the first place. Now I was forced to question the motivations of the man I had loved for so long. It felt like trying to put together the pieces of a puzzle I couldn’t quite see and was afraid to complete.
Delia sniffled against my shoulder. “I suppose you’re right,” she said glumly.
“I am,” I insisted, possibly for my benefit as much as her own. “Now, let’s go downstairs.”
She nodded and allowed me to lead her towards the door. But just before we left, I cast one last look at the painting. How strange that one could feel such sustained grief over the loss of another, even after learning of their deception. It was not just the loss of a person, though, but of an idea. An image you both had a hand in creating. Perhaps that was why it hurt so much, and was so difficult to leave behind.
I tucked Delia into bed and promised to have a tray sent up for her. I briefly considered searching for my mother, but decided against it, as my nerves already felt frayed and I had no wish to fall into a quarrel with her. So, instead, I slipped away from the house. But before I could head home, I needed to stop off at one of those ghastly shops that catered to mourning clothing. I couldn’t borrow anything from Delia without revealing my intention to attend the funeral, and as the black gowns I did own had been made for the Grecian climate, I hadn’t bothered to pack any. So off I went to Regent Street, where I purchased a ready-made black cashmere gown, as it was warm and I absolutely abhorred crepe. The saleswoman then tried to sell me an extravagant hat decorated with black silk roses and a long black veil, but I opted for a simple but elegant black velvet toque. I didn’t reallyneed another hat, but the crowd tomorrow would be well-heeled, and this would help me blend in. That the hat also happened to be very flattering was merely a happy coincidence. With my purchases in hand, I returned to the flat just as Mrs. Ford was setting the table for our supper.
I spent the rest of the evening in Tommy’s entertaining company and let him lead the conversation. He had found another book on the natural sciences in my late uncle’s collection, though he insisted a trip to the reading room was still necessary, and he regaled me with a number of facts about reptiles, both interesting and horrifying. After we finished Mrs. Ford’s delicious bread pudding, I helped Tommy wash and dress for bed before reading three chapters fromTreasure Island. By the time I reached the part where Long John Silver confronts Captain Smollett over who should get the buried treasure on Skeleton Island, I could barely hide my yawns.
“Mama,” Tommy said, “perhaps you should go to bed.”
“Yes. Thank you, my dear. It has been a long day.”
Tommy’s eyes were heavy-lidded as well, and he nodded in agreement. “You’re always away,” he murmured sleepily as he sank down onto the pillow.
I pressed a hand to his cheek as guilt bloomed in my chest. “I’m sorry. Something’s come up. But it will be over soon.”
He sighed a little and closed his eyes. “It’s Mr. Dorian again, isn’t it?”
I reared back in surprise. I had never said a word to Tommy about what had happened on Corfu, but perhaps it was woefully naïve of me to think he hadn’t noticed anything all on his own. “It’s … it’s nothing you need to worry about,” I said weakly, knowing that would do little to quell his interest.
But Tommy didn’t reply. He was already fast asleep.
The morning of the funeral, I escorted Tommy to my brother’s home so he could visit with his Everly cousins.
Dolly met us in the entryway. “Go on upstairs, Tommy. The children are waiting for you in the nursery,” she said with a smile.
“Have a good time,” I called after his swiftly retreating form. “Thank you for doing this,” I said to Dolly once we were alone.
“He is welcome here anytime,” she replied. “How is Delia? Jack said she hasn’t been feeling well.”
