A Dangerous Collaboration (A Veronica Speedwell Mystery) by Deanna Raybourn (english novels for students .txt) 📕

Caspian gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Perhaps ghosts know how to pick out a tune,” he ventured.

“Don’t be stupid,” Mertensia snapped. “We have had enough talk of ghosts for one night.”

“Yes, but we have made a start,” Malcolm said. There was a boyish earnestness to him that was oddly touching.

“You want to do this again?” I asked.

“I do. I believe we have only scratched the surface. My God, if Helen has managed to make contact with her so quickly and so comprehensively, imagine what Rosamund could tell us.”

His eyes were almost feverish, and his sister stared at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. “You cannot be serious, Malcolm. It’s the rankest chicanery.”

“How dare you—” Caspian leapt to his feet, his fists balled at his sides.

Mertensia rose, standing toe-to-toe with her nephew, lacking a few inches but nothing in courage. “I do dare,” was the stout reply.

“Mertensia, Caspian, we have guests,” Malcolm reminded them.

“Guests?” Mertensia whirled to look at her brother. “I hardly think so. Tiberius has been coming here since he was a boy, and as for the others, what secrets have we now? We are beyond polite conventions, brother. We have been since you asked them to search for a dead woman.”

The gentlemen had risen as soon as Mertensia got to her feet. Only Helen and I remained seated, but she rose now, gathering the cat to her breast. “Malcolm,” she said in her usual gentle voice, “I will try again tomorrow if you insist. But I am not certain it is wise. Perhaps Mertensia is right. Perhaps it is best to let the dead bury the dead.”

Malcolm’s mouth set in a mulish line. “Do you know what the past three years have been like? No, none of you can imagine,” he said, looking from each of us to the next. “I have been as one insensible, sleepwalking through my days. I cannot put her memory to rest because I do not know what became of her. I have been driven halfway to madness, and you would have me stop now?”

“But what if the truth is too terrible to bear?” Mertensia asked in a voice of surrender.

“There is no truth so terrible as the unknown,” he replied.

“Very well,” she said. “I am against this. I do it under protest, and I think it unwise. But I will do it for you.”

He reached out and clasped her hand. He turned to their sister-in-law. “Helen, I do insist that you try again tomorrow. After dinner, we will attempt once more to contact Rosamund.”

“As you wish,” she murmured. “I will do my best.” But I noticed that the hand that stroked the cat trembled and the smile she offered her brother-in-law did not meet her eyes.

•   •   •

We neglected the sandwiches, but the beef tea and hot whiskies did not go unappreciated. When we had drunk our fill, the party began to break up, with Helen retiring first, followed swiftly by her son and Mertensia. The rest of us filed out a few minutes later, each taking a lit taper from the housekeeper, who stood stationed by the foot of the stairs. Stoker disappeared up the spiral stairs while Tiberius gave me a low bow, his expression thoughtful as he closed his door. I took the opportunity to slip back into the corridor, following the housekeeper’s shadow until she reached the dining room.

“Mrs. Trengrouse?” I called.

She whirled, her face as white as the taper I held aloft. “Miss Speedwell. What can I do for you?”

“I rather wondered if I might do something for you,” I began. “Anything that affects the family must affect the rest of you who live here. And the burden of keeping everything running smoothly falls upon your shoulders.”

“That is true, I suppose,” she told me in a low voice. “I have the devil’s own time keeping the maids from losing their wits. They are silly girls, every last one of them.”

“Naturally they are influenced by such a tragic story.”

“The tragedy is that he fell in love with her at all,” she said suddenly.

I canted my head. “Is it?”

She spread her hands, sturdy, capable hands that were no doubt more accustomed to keys and chatelaines than handkerchiefs and vinaigrettes. “I should not have spoken,” she began.

I put an impulsive hand to her arm, the black bombazine rustling under my touch.

“Were they ill suited, do you think?”

“What difference does it make now?” she returned sadly, her tone one of resignation.

“I thought her relationship with Mr. Malcolm might shed a little light upon why she might have run away. You must admit, it is unusual for a bride to flee her own wedding.”

She hesitated, then beckoned me into the dining room. She poured us each a tiny measure of brandy and handed me a glass. “I think we might be excused a medicinal dose,” she told me. I smothered a grin, wondering how often the allegedly teetotal housekeeper indulged in such a remedy. She tossed off the drink, putting a hand to her mouth when she was finished. I sipped mine and waited for her to speak. She busied herself a moment, locking the brandy away again in the tantalus before turning back. She plunged ahead as if she had made up her mind to speak hard truths and wanted the task done as quickly as possible. “I would never say a word against Miss Rosamund,” she told me sternly. “But she and Mr. Malcolm were as different as chalk and cheese.”

“Some say opposites attract,” I reminded her.

She leveled a glance at me. “I know a thing or two, Miss Speedwell, and I recognize a lady with experience of the world when I see one. Have you ever found that opposites attract?”

“No,” I admitted. Emboldened by her frankness, I pushed further. “In what ways were they not suited?”

Mrs. Trengrouse shook her head. “It is difficult to explain if you haven’t known Miss Rosamund. She was unlike any woman I have ever met.”

“How