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

look. “I hear as you went to the village proper today, miss, besides Polglase cottage. And had your palm read.”

“How did you—” I broke off, suddenly seeing the resemblance to the village witch and remembering how she had scolded young Peter with an air of familiarity. “You are related to Mother Nance. Granddaughter?”

“Great-niece,” she said with a grin.

“And I suppose that is how she gets her intelligence of everything that happens at the castle? You keep your ear to the ground and feed her information so when the Romilly guests come, she seems omniscient?”

“Aw, ’tis just a bit of fun, miss! She earns a little extra coin and she always sends a few coppers my way for it.”

Her look was puckish and I could not hold a grudge against this enterprising pair. “You told her that Mrs. Helen was afraid of ghosts, didn’t you? And that’s how she knew to offer her a protection charm?”

She grinned. “It weren’t no protection charm, miss. Just a bit of old coin Mother Nance has had banging around since God were in leading strings. But Mrs. Helen feels ever so much better for having it, don’t she?”

I thought of Helen’s desperate clutching of the charm. “I suppose so.” I glanced down the corridor, making certain we were alone. “Daisy, did you ever tell Mother Nance anything about Miss Rosamund? Was there anything you observed about the lady that you found curious?”

Her mouth tightened. “I don’t like to say, miss. ’Tisn’t fit for proper ladies to speak of.”

“I am no proper lady,” I assured her. “Now, tell me. Your master’s life may depend upon it.”

Her eyes rounded. “The master? I can’t see how that may be, but all right, miss. Yes. I did note something.” She glanced down at the pristine sheets in her arms. “I changed her sheets every day, I did. I washed all her linen myself, bath and personal. And in the three months that she were here, she only had her monthlies once.”

I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Her monthlies, miss. She bled the first month she came, but never after that.”

“Rosamund was going to have a child,” I concluded.

“Yes, miss. She were sick a time or two in the morning. Nothing half so bad as I’ve seen with my sisters,” Daisy advised. “But sick nonetheless. I cleaned it all up and she gave me a shilling to keep quiet about it. And quiet I was,” she added firmly. “I never told Mother Nance, although she might have made a few shillings herself out of childbirth charms. But it made it all the more tragic when she disappeared, miss. It weren’t just her that vanished, it was the master’s child,” Daisy said, shaking her head sorrowfully.

But I had a different thought entirely.

•   •   •

After my talk with Daisy, I repaired to my room to wash off any dusty traces of the search, extracting cobwebs from my hair and rubbing a smudge from my cheek. Suitably freshened, I found Tiberius in the billiards room with Stoker. They were not playing but sitting, sunk deep in the leather armchairs, smoking and saying nothing.

I went and sat on the hassock at Tiberius’ feet, ignoring Stoker entirely. I leant forward, placing my hands in Tiberius’. “Did you know?”

His brows quirked up inquisitively. “Did I know?”

I tightened my grip, my gaze never leaving his. “Did you know?”

He did not speak for a long moment, and when he did, he paid me the compliment of the truth. “I did.”

“How? Was it in the telegram she sent you before she married him?”

He gave a slow nod. Stoker stirred but did not interrupt.

“By the time I received the telegram, she was already missing and my child with her,” Tiberius said. Stoker’s eyes were bright with inquiry but I continued to ignore him.

“Tiberius, you have not been forthright with us. Tell us now why you have come here.”

His expression hardened. “Malcolm married the woman I loved and for whatever reason, he failed her—failed her so badly that she fled. Or took her own life. Or was murdered. If someone has hounded Malcolm to death for it, then I would like to know who so that I may take them by the hand and convey my thanks.”

I had never heard him speak so bitterly, and it was a moment before I could form a reply. “You surprise me, my lord,” I said gently. “I hadn’t realized you shared Stoker’s capacity for rage.”

“Share it?” he mocked. “My dear lady, I taught it to him. Now, I should like very much to discover the truth of what has happened to Malcolm.”

“And Rosamund,” Stoker put in steadily.

The brothers squared off in a posture that was no doubt familiar to them from their boyhood days of brawling. “Yes. I do want to know precisely what happened to her.”

“Well, I am glad you are man enough to concede you have an ulterior purpose.”

Tiberius’ handsome mouth curled. “Brother mine, I thought you learnt long ago—even my ulterior purposes have ulterior purposes.”

Stoker returned the smile. “Such as murdering Malcolm Romilly?”

I blinked at him. “Stoker, what on earth—”

“I searched Tiberius’ room when you were talking to Daisy. He has a revolver hidden in his bag. He does not habitually travel with one, and a sleepy isle off the coast of Cornwall is not exactly a thiving hive of dangerous criminal activity. Therefore, why would he choose to arm himself this time, I ask myself. Why come here at all and suffer the tortures of Rosamund’s disappearance resurrected? Unless he decided to take matters into his own hands.”

“Stoker, you cannot—”

“Accuse my own brother of plotting a murder? Of course I can. In fact, I accuse him of carrying it out.”

“You bloody fool,” Tiberius began with a thin smile.

“Am I?” Stoker crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll stake my life on you being up to your lordly neck in this business and take my chances.”

They stood toe-to-toe for a long, breathless minute. There was no sound except the ticking of a particularly