Chapter 15 #3
I put the tray on the low table before the sofa and held the half-empty plate of biscuits out to Hyperia.
She took two, as did I.
“Back to the ballroom?” she asked.
“Might we sit for a moment?” I needed time to assemble my meager store of outward calm. “What’s that?”
A single sheet of white paper lay folded on the blotter of my escritoire. I stuffed a biscuit into my mouth and retrieved the note, which was sealed with pale wax and addressed simply to Lord Julian.
I read the contents aloud: “‘Lord Julian, If you or Bryson Carstairs overstay your allotted time at the Keep, you will regret your presumption. I know what he did, and his perfidy will never be forgotten.’”
Hyperia scowled at the letter. “Nasty business. How would you feel if you were permitted a few days a year at the Hall, then ordered off the property at the whim of some nameless tormentor who held you responsible for an unrecalled trespass?”
“I would feel desperate.” I sat on the sofa, dogged by the sense that I was trying to make sense of pieces from more than one puzzle.
“I do feel desperate. Desperate to get the noncombatants to safety, desperate to reveal the identity of the blackmailer, desperate to get to the bottom of the whole snarled mess.”
Hyperia poured a cup of tepid tea and took a sip of the plain brew. “You don’t believe we’re dealing with something as simple as Lady Clotilda carrying a grudge?”
“I suspect her ladyship is carrying a torch rather than a grudge. If Dunsford ever proposed to her out of simple affection and esteem, rather than to get his paws on her forest, or to secure a hostess for the Keep, or some other excuse, he might be surprised at her answer.”
“Pride,” Hyperia said. “Pride does matter. Will you show this note to Bryson?”
I did not want to. Did not want to see my mother, my intended, and my tiger caught up in the hostilities.
Did not want to return to the ballroom. Did not want to sit through interminable games of backgammon with some half-soused squire who managed to beat me despite his copious consumption of spirits.
“I am compelled to show the note to Bryson,” I said. “I must ask him if he’s mentioned extending his stay to anybody. The words on that paper imply that our discussion grew wings.” I’d told Algernon of my request, and he could certainly have left the note, but to whom had Bryson spoken?
“We’re at the darkest-before-dawn moment, aren’t we?” Hyperia said, resting her head on my shoulder. “I don’t care for this part.”
“I don’t care for the part where my mother is retching over a basin, Atticus is in fear for his life, and I’m half frozen and stumbling around the woods after dark. You do realize that you are the only remaining potential victim of mischief besides Bryson himself?”
“That hardly seems fair.” Hyperia lifted her head. “If Bryson is guilty of some crime, why not push him into the stream? Why not poison his glass?”
I considered the question, which had the quality of an obvious-in-hindsight piece of evidence.
“The broken ice might have been meant for Bryson, who as a boy liked to skate patterns into new-fallen snow, according to Algernon.” Something else about my discussion with Algernon was stuck in my mind, but beneath the surface of visible thought. Something he’d said in passing…
“This puzzle is too complicated, Jules. Everybody on the estate would know which son is the best skater. Everyone knows about the bridge getting icy. Everyone lives in one another’s pockets. The situation involves too large a cast and too much history we will never learn.”
“Much like the war in Spain. Spanish Royalists, Spanish Bonapartists, Spanish independence guerrillas, German mercenaries, American adventurers, French deserters, French Bonapartists, agitators of every stripe, the country folk just trying to bring in a crop or raise a herd, and that’s before we add any British or Portuguese elements… ”
“We came very close to losing you, didn’t we?” Hyperia asked.
“Wars result in casualties. I was careful. Harry was far more dashing and probably achieved more spectacular results than I did, but we’ll probably never know.”
My brother’s name cast a pall over the discussion. I considered apologizing for bringing him up and considered returning to the ballroom, but my situation with Hyperia mattered to me. Bryson’s blasted predicament could wait a few more moments.
“You can speak of him,” Hyperia said. “Harry has haunted me long enough. You now know as much of the past involving Lord Harry and me as I do. I have regrets, Julian, but show me an honest adult, and I will show you another person who can say the same.”
“I have regrets as well,” I said. “Too numerous to mention.” I did not regret following Harry out of camp, but I wished I’d braced him about an increase in his brooding, about a distance he appeared to be keeping from me, about a case of fraternal unease that hadn’t borne a specific name.
“Dancing might help.” Hyperia rose and took my hand, drawing me to my feet. “A bit of reconnaissance is bound to banish the blue devils. Assign me somebody to watch, and that will lighten your load.”
Divide and conquer. “Keep an eye on Lady Clotilda and the young women. I will watch the bachelor contingent, including the baron.”
“He’s difficult to label,” Hyperia said, using the mirror over the sideboard to inspect her appearance.
Her hair was in a fetching half-up/half-down coiffure that left thick curls lying against the side of her neck.
Her dress was an unusual aquamarine ensemble, and some understated gold jewelry added a touch of sparkle.
A wave of liking for her—profound fondness, mostly devoid of sexual appreciation—swept over me. She’d succumbed to Harry’s bamboozlement. She regretted her choice. She was prepared to soldier on, and we had a mystery to solve.
“If I lost you,” I said, “particularly to something like a slippery bridge, a jealous suitor, or an icy pond, I would be inconsolable.” I might draw breath for many years afterward, but the best, bravest part of me would expire with her.
“Likewise.” She stepped into my embrace and offered me a fortifying hug. “See that you aren’t the malefactor’s next victim, Jules. You already had your turn.”
Which left only Hyperia or Bryson to be menaced.
We returned to the ballroom by separate entrances, and I did indeed watch the behavior of the bachelors and the baron. I also kept a close eye on Hyperia and the duchess. By the time a group assembled to go wassailing in the orchard, I was nearly ready to drop from exhaustion.