Page 3 of A Murder in Bloomsbury

“It is painfully accurate,” Miriam managed between gasps. “The expression when he lectures—you’ve captured it perfectly.”

Linnet beamed and signed again, her fingers quick and sure. “He barks but never bites.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” I signed, my smile faltering. Edgar’s threats were never idle, particularly where Linnet was concerned. He had made it abundantly clear that he considered her deafness a stain upon the family name. Only my inheritance stood between her and a lifetime of institutional confinement.

I still remembered that day from four years ago when I’d brought her home from Braidwood’s. She was fourteen, pale as the January sky, her valise clasped like a shield. Edgar had reluctantly signed the papers to allow me to have physical custody of her after a very good friend had interceded on my behalf. With Aunt Augusta’s bequest, I had at last the means to make my own way. That day, I’d vowed that no one, not Edgar nor any sanctimonious law, would ever send her away again.

As if summoned by thought alone, the breakfast room door swung open and our butler appeared, his face carefully neutral in the way that indicated displeasure.

“The Earl of Westmere, my lady.”

Before I could respond, Edgar pushed past him into the room, bringing with him an air of outraged propriety that could have extinguished candles.

“Larkspur.” He did not greet Miriam or acknowledge Linnet at all. “I must speak with you. Privately.”

“Good morning to you as well, Edgar.” I remained seated, a small act of defiance that I knew would irritate him. “As you can see, we are at breakfast. Perhaps you might call at a more civilized hour?”

His face darkened. Edgar had inherited our father’s rigid jaw and imperious manner, but none of his intelligence. Where Father had been coldly calculating, Edgar was merely cold.

“It is half past nine. A civilized hour by any standard.” He glanced at Linnet, who had returned her attention to her sketchbook with studied disinterest. “I see you persist in allowing her to remain at table as if she were capable of proper company.”

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. I set down my teacup with deliberate care.

“Linnet is deaf, Edgar. Not witless. And she is certainly more pleasant company than you’ve proven yourself this morning.”

“She is an embarrassment,” he said flatly. “To herself and to this family. She would be better served in an institution designed for her condition. There are places⁠—”

“Asylums.” The word came out sharp as a blade. “You mean asylums, Edgar. Do not dress it up in pleasant language. You wish to lock our sister away because her presence inconveniences you.”

“I wish to protect her!” His voice rose. Miriam shifted slightly, positioning herself between Edgar and Linnet. “She cannot speak, cannot hear, cannot function as a normal young woman. What future does she have here, Larkspur? You fill her head with your radical notions, parade her before your questionable friends⁠—”

“My friends,” I interrupted, standing now, “treat her with more respect and kindness than her own brother has ever shown.”

“Your friends are precisely the problem.” Edgar’s hands clenched at his sides. “Your salon is the talk of the town—and not in any manner that brings credit to our name. Revolutionary rhetoric, seditious pamphlets, women who fancy themselves philosophers and reformers⁠—”

“Women who fancy themselves human beings with minds worth cultivating,” I shot back. “I realize that concept troubles you, but I assure you, it is not so radical as you imagine.”

“It is unseemly. It is dangerous. And it reflects poorly on all of us.” He turned his glare on Linnet, who sat very still, her fingers resting on her sketchbook, her gaze now firmly on him. She could read the contempt on his lips clearly enough. “Particularly on those who are already vulnerable to gossip and speculation.”

My blood turned to ice. “Are you threatening her?”

“I am protecting this family.” His eyes slid away from mine. “Anne and I dined with a clergyman last evening. He spoke very highly of an institution in Kent—well-appointed, respectable, specifically designed for young women with...afflictions. He suggested that perhaps⁠—”

“No.” My voice rang out like a pistol shot. “You will not take my sister from this house. You will not place her in any institution, no matter how well-appointed that institution is. And you will cease using her as a weapon to control my behavior.”

“I am head of this family⁠—”

“You are head of your own household,” I corrected. “I have my own fortune, my own home, and my own authority over those who reside here. Linnet is my sister, and she is under my protection. If you attempt to interfere, I will make your life very difficult indeed.”

“You have no power to⁠—”

“I have money, Edgar. And friends. And a tongue sharp enough to make you wish you’d never crossed me.” I smiled, showing teeth. “Shall I enumerate the ways I could make your name a source of amusement rather than respect in every drawing room in London? Because I assure you, I have given it considerable thought.”

We stared at each other across the breakfast table.

Miriam delicately cleared her throat. “Perhaps, Lord Westmere, it would be best if you took your leave. Before anyone says something they might regret.”

The “anyone” was clearly directed at Edgar. He seemed to realize he had lost this skirmish, because his jaw tightened and he turned sharply toward the door. But when he arrived there, he turned back. “This is not finished, Larkspur.”