The Vanishing at Loxby Manor by Abigail Wilson (grave mercy .TXT) 📕

“Five stone chairs?”

He seemed a bit confused as he motioned to the ground. “Five members . . . Five seats.”

“Then tell me, who is the fifth member?”

He stopped midstride, inching around to face me. “You don’t know, do you?” There was a breath of wind that swirled betweenus, then he gave a lifeless shrug. “Surely you realize we’ve had several members beyond our little group of four. For example,there’s a benefactor who funds a great deal of the society. I’ve never even met the gentleman.” A visible shiver stole acrosshis shoulders, and he motioned behind him. “The statue is just ahead. Let us be done with our nightly pursuit. I don’t likeleaving Priscilla and my mother unprotected at the house.”

I edged in near as we made our way to the remains of the abbey wall, the black depths of night inching closer, fed by theendless crumbs of my imagination. Then out of the gloom, the faceless statue took shape before us. The gruesome details ofthe monk’s tale came to mind as the vision I’d seen from my window gave its indeterminate glare an all-too-eerie life.

Hugh offered me a harried look before sidling forward. One by one he used the broken stones and mossy outcroppings on thewall as a ladder of sorts to access the backside of the statue. He spoke over his shoulder as he went to work tugging on thestones. “There’s a secret compartment somewhere in here.”

There was a moment of charged silence before I heard the scrape of stone, and he slid a fold of the statue’s cloak to theside. Almost in response, the night came alive, the leaves quivering in the darkness as the wind prowled its way into theremains of the abbey. I took a wild glance over my shoulder, my heart thundering, but the shadows remained motionless, theclumps of mist blurring the lines between the blackened stones and the ground.

Hugh, too, seemed affected, his gaze scurrying about the remains of the abbey. He hesitated as he recovered a brown envelopeand returned to my side.

“Here it is.” It was strange how his voice sounded out of place among the fervent hush of nature. “I have to be honest, I was a little worried these wouldn’t be here, but we’ve all been faithful up until now.”

I thought of the torn pages from the Gormogon book at Loxby’s library. “Wouldn’t destroying this information set you all free?”

The feathered moonlight crept in and out of the clouds, revealing the scowl on Hugh’s face. “Unfortunately each of us toldone other person—our secret bearer—and all was reported to the benefactor.”

“Oh.” My attention fell back to the envelope. “Then go on and open it. We have to know what we are dealing with.”

He slanted me a look, his brown eyes like black marbles in the darkness. “Quite so.”

His fingers shook as he broke the wax seal and drew out a stack of papers from the inside. “The first one is Tony’s.”

“I fear we must read them all.”

Hugh gave a painful nod, his eyes never leaving the paper. “It says here Tony fathered a child out of wedlock. The societypaid the mother to disappear.”

My heart ached. Could I really bear to hear the mistakes of my childhood friends?

Hugh went on, “Lord Kendal is next.” His eyes widened as he read. “It seems it was he who forced the duel with Piers so longago. Kendal knew just what would set Piers off and he planned the encounter for just such an end. After Piers failed to arrive,he went so far as to pay some men to spread the rumors about Piers’s cowardice.” He lowered the stack of papers. “Kendal gavePiers no choice but to leave town.”

It felt like an iron ball dropped into my chest, and I nearly ripped the pledges from Hugh’s hand. “But why would he do that?”

Hugh shook his head, a wraithlike swishing side to side. “Charity . . . I didn’t know. It simply says here he was compelledto do so.”

Hugh shuffled on to the next. “This one’s mine.” He smashed his eyelids closed for a long second. “It’s no secret my familyhas had a gambling problem. My father managed to lead us up the River Tick five short years before his death.” He thrust outthe paper. “Do you wish to read the details? I’ll not stop you from doing so, but I cannot.”

“No, keep going.”

“Here is Avery’s.”

I held my breath as Hugh scanned the contents. “I still don’t understand the whole thing. It says Avery witnessed his mothergo into the stables with his father on October 21, 1811. He heard a scream, and he entered to see his mother holding a largesilver candlestick. Mr. Cavanagh had collapsed on the ground.”

What?

If I’d had a dry place to sit, I would have. Seline had told me her father was blinded by a horse, not by Mrs. Cavanagh. Allmy prior fears raged to the surface. Is this why she approached me, demanding to learn what Avery had revealed to the society?To protect herself? Was she intending to kill her husband? My mind raced for answers. Every one of the victims had been hitover the head—just like Mr. Cavanagh—but something didn’t add up. Avery was terribly close with his mother. If she was thecause of his father’s dreadful accident, why would he be trying to protect her?

Hugh touched my arm. “What is it?”

“I just don’t understand how all this relates to Seline’s murder, or Miles Lacy’s for that matter.”

“Well, if you’re right, Seline wasn’t the target, and it was really an attempted murder on me. I was the one trying to leave the group, after all.” He started to refold the pledges when something caught my eye. “Wait, there’s more. You didn’t read those last few pages.”

His mouth scrunched up at the corner. “It’s simply the record of donations to the secret society.” His arm fell lifeless athis side. “The proof I need to leave the society. Names, dates. It’s all here.” He shook the paper. “All the money listedis bound for a resistance group in France, one