Chapter 8
We had nearly reached the pavement outside when Jack caught up to us.
“All right,” he prompted, once we had all piled into the coach. “Care to explain yourselves?”
Before I could respond, Delia blurted out our entire evening.
When she got to the bit about the party, Jack shot me an accusing look. “You let her go to Lord Linden’s house? The man is a notorious scoundrel!”
“Well, how was I to know? It’s not as though his reputation has reached Corfu,” I said.
Jack grumbled something under his breath and bade Delia to continue. When she had finally finished, Jack muttered a curse, then fixed his dark gaze on me.
“And I suppose it was your idea to call the police?”
I balked at his derision. “What else was I supposed to do?”
“Anything, Minnie,” he insisted. “Anything else.”
“Right. And when the police came to call after realizing that Delia and I were among the last people to see Charles Pearson alive, you expected the two of us to simply lie?”
“It never would have come to that,” he said with his typical high-handedness. “And now we have a much bigger problem: keeping your connection to a murder out of the papers.”
“Really, Jack,” I scoffed. “That is what you are worried about?”
“Well, perhaps not so much you,” he said with a sardonic lift of his brow. “But Delia is a young, unmarried woman with her whole life ahead of her. There is no need for her future to be ruined over this.”
Delia inhaled sharply beside me, and I shot him an irritated look. “You are being needlessly dramatic.”
“Am I?” he challenged as he leaned forward in his seat. “You haven’t lived here in well over a decade. You have no idea what the papers are like. Especially for a man in my position—”
“Come off it, Jack,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“I am up for re-election next year,” he snapped. “And my challenger would love nothing more than to exploit a piece of gossip about anyone connected to me.”
“Of course,” I said. “Everything always comes back to your precious political career.”
Jack leaned forward, his eyes glittering with anger. “Now listen here—”
“Stop it, both of you!” Delia suddenly cried out. “Neither of you seem to care about the fact that the man I love was just brutally murdered.”
My brother and I exchanged a chastened look.
“Sorry, Delia,” Jack grumbled.
“We do care, darling,” I soothed, but she shook her head.
“I don’t give a damn about my reputation,” she said in a quavering voice. “I want to know who did it.”
“Of course,” I replied. “And we will find out.”
“Not we,” Jack cut in. “The police.”
I pursed my lips. Now was not the time to argue with him about that.
As Jack pulled a hand down his face, he suddenly looked quite haggard.
“That detective gave me his word that he would keep your identities hidden for as long as possible. And I’ve a contact at the Illustrated Police News who owes me a favor.
That should help your names stay out of the papers until the killer is apprehended. ”
“Fine. Thank you,” I added softly.
Delia gave a slow nod, but her gaze was unfocused.
“In the meantime, you should stay home as much as possible. Well, Delia should,” he amended. “I know you’ve never had much of a taste for society anyway.”
I narrowed my eyes at the derision in his voice, though he was quite right about that. We then lapsed into an awkward silence as the coach grew closer to Portman Square.
“God. Mother will have a fit,” Delia breathed.
“You aren’t to say a word,” Jack cautioned. “I will speak to her later today. Understand?”
I bristled. “I think we are quite able to explain ourselves.”
He arched a brow. “Yes, but do you really want to explain this?” I cleared my throat as the image of Mother’s disapproving gaze flashed through my mind. “I thought so,” Jack added at my silence.
I turned to Delia, but she was gazing listlessly out the window. I hated to see her in such a state. Only hours ago, she had been bursting with a zest for life that was infectious. I didn’t want this incident to snuff out the light inside her nor impact her promising future as a painter.
I took her hand in mine and gave it a comforting squeeze.
She glanced back at me and managed a weak smile that was a mere shadow of her usual expression.
As we grew closer to Portman Square, Jack directed the coachman to take us to the mews behind the house.
No use in announcing to the neighborhood that we were returning home at close to five in the morning.
Jack got out first to help Delia down. He murmured something to her, and she nodded before entering through the back door. Then he turned to me and held out his hand.
“I told her I wanted a moment to speak with you alone,” he said, no doubt reading the curious expression on my face.
“Oh,” I said as he handed me down.
“It’s about Father. I’m sure you’ve noticed his … condition.”
“I did. I understand he had a fall some time ago,” I said pointedly.
Jack pursed his lips. “Yes. About four years or so. He missed the last few steps coming down the staircase and broke his ankle. It was slow to heal and hasn’t been the same since.
Then he started having trouble with his memory.
More than the spottiness that comes with age.
Sometimes he’s just like his old self. As sharp as a knife.
But other times it’s as if he’s lost in the past. And it’s only been getting worse,” he added.
“Well, what do the doctors say? What can be done?”
Jack’s gaze turned sympathetic. “Nothing, Minnie.”
“But Aunt Agatha is older, and she is as sharp as ever,” I said, as if this was an argument I could win.
“Yes, because Aunt Agatha has had nothing to worry about other than which spa town to visit for the last forty years,” he snapped.
I crossed my arms and huffed, though it was a fair point. “I just don’t understand why no one bothered to tell me any of this. Not even when Aunt Agatha came to Corfu.”
“I can’t explain Agatha, but you know what she’s like,” Jack said.
“She swans in for a fifteen-minute visit every few months so she and Mother can snipe at each other. If she came on one of Father’s better days, she may not have even noticed anything amiss.
And it isn’t as though Mother would have willingly told her. ”
I had to admit that did sound entirely possible. “Fine. But what about the fall?”
Jack sighed and looked off towards the end of the mews. “It wasn’t long after Oliver passed, and Mother didn’t want to worry you further. She thought we would just tell you when you returned home, but then …” He trailed off.
I swallowed and lowered my head. After Oliver died, nearly everyone I knew assumed I would pack up and leave Corfu as soon as possible.
For over a year, every letter from my family asked about our travel plans, but I kept putting it off.
There was too much to deal with on Corfu: Oliver’s export business had to be closed down; then I didn’t want to disrupt the children’s school, or take them away from their friends.
Eventually, I ran out of excuses, and people stopped asking.
“Yes. I’m sorry about that,” I murmured. “I suppose I was … afraid. For a long time.”
Jack turned back to me, confused. “Afraid of what?”
You must promise me, Min. Promise me you won’t go back there.
Oliver’s ominous warning echoed in my head, but I couldn’t get into all that. Not now, anyway. “I don’t know. Everything?” I said this with a hapless little shrug that seemed to be answer enough for Jack.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here now,” he said as he reached out and patted my shoulder.
“Me too,” I replied, surprised by how much I meant it. “Is it all right if I come for Tommy later this afternoon once I’ve had a bit of sleep? He spent the night at your house,” I added at his questioning look.
“Did he? I didn’t realize …”
I reared back a little. “You mean you haven’t been home yet?”
“No,” he said, a touch defensive. “I had a committee meeting and then drinks at Bedivere’s. My club. And I occasionally stay there for the night, depending on the hour, so I don’t disturb the household. Everyone knows to try there first if it’s late.”
“Really,” I said, unable to hide the skepticism in my tone, to which he responded with a scowl, effectively ending this little interlude of brotherly affection.
“I have no need to explain myself to you,” he replied tightly, as he tugged on his gloves and turned back towards the coach. “Now get some sleep,” he called over his shoulder just before he climbed in.
I let out a sigh and watched as the coach rumbled down the cobblestoned mews.
That was how things had always been with Jack.
We seemed to be forever seesawing between undisguised contempt and fleeting moments of understanding.
I knew I should try harder to at least be cordial with him.
We weren’t children any longer, and I could now accept that our strained relationship wasn’t entirely his fault.
But I had a few more pressing things to deal with first. And time was of the essence. So, for now, Jack would have to wait.
I hurried into the house through the back entrance, but Delia was nowhere in sight.
I heard the faint sound of feet shuffling and pans clattering in the direction of the kitchen, indicating that the staff was already up and about.
I ducked down the hall and headed for the back staircase, as the very last thing I needed was to run into Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, or heaven help me, Morris, and try to explain what I was doing awake and in evening dress.
Luckily, I made it back to my bedroom without spotting another soul.
As I shut the door behind me, I was struck full on by the weight of exhaustion.
I stumbled through dressing for bed and managed to climb under the covers.
Then I slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep the moment my head hit the pillow.