Chapter Fifty-six
Listening carefully at the door, Southerby finally smiled to himself. A brief nod. The faintest exhale. Then, straightening his cuffs, he pushed down the door handle and stepped inside. The sudden rush of cooler air made the fire hiss, and both women turned.
“Lady McDonald. Lady Westland.”
Augusta’s eyes shot to the unexpected intruder. “Who the devil are you! And where is my Butler?”
With his most disarming smile, Southerby swept an elegant bow, “Valentine De Luca, Earl of Southerby, at your service, madam. And please, forgive the intrusion. I am newly arrived in the area and, while securing lodging at an Inn, I came upon Lady Westland’s maid.
An unexpected, yet happy coincidence, or so I thought, until the poor girl dissolved into tears.
Well, I need not bore you with details, but one thing led to another, and here I am — charged with delivering a letter — of considerable import, I believe. ”
“Oh! Lord Southerby… what an unexpected pleasure, and, um, how kind,” said Sylvie, rising quickly to receive him. “So silly of me to have forgotten it after coming all this way.”
Taking her offered hand, he bowed graciously over it.
“Indeed, very kind,” said Lady McDonald, her expression taut beneath its veneer of civility. She extended her hand, her rings glinting in the firelight. “I believe the letter is addressed to me. If you please.”
Taking a letter from his inner pocket, he made as if to hand it over, then, studying the front, hesitated. “Mm. Forgive me, Lady McDonald… but are you quite certain you are the rightful owner?”
Augusta’s nostrils flared. “I beg your pardon?” she snapped.
“Lord Southerby… ” breathed Sylvie nervously.
“The thing is,” he said with maddening calm, “in between the maid’s tears and sniffles, she imparted rather more than she intended.
Quite unwittingly, of course. The poor thing was quite overcome with worry that she had forgotten to pack this letter, which, I understand, was meant to accompany a sapphire pendant — of notable size and — uncommon beauty. ”
“Hardly,” said Augusta sharply. “Tis a mere trinket. An old family piece whose only value is sentimental. Lady Westland has been kind enough to return it to me. Though how that concerns you, I do not know?”
Southerby tilted his head, studying her like a specimen. “Mm? An old family piece, you say? Curious. I wonder… would we describe the infamous Westland Sapphire as a mere trinket?”
“Westland Sapphire!” gasped Sylvie, genuine astonishment widening her eyes.
Augusta McDonald stiffened, her eyes burning with indignation as she stared back at her accuser.
Unperturbed by the lethal glare, Southerby turned to Sylvie. “The Westland Sapphire was the late Marchioness’s favourite piece… gifted by her husband on their wedding day. She was rarely seen without it.”
Blinking in dismay, Sylvie looked helplessly between them. “Is… is this true, Lady McDonald?”
“And is it also true,” Southerby pressed, turning smoothly back to Augusta, “that Isabelle Westland was last seen wearing it the morning of her accident?”
“I don’t know what mischief you are about, Lord Southerby,” Augusta said icily, “but I think it’s time you leave.”
“As you wish, my lady,” he replied pleasantly, sliding the letter halfway back into his pocket.
“Probably best if I deliver Mr Sheers’s account of how he came to possess the Westland Sapphire directly to your nephew.
I’m sure Lord Westland will be most intrigued.
Good day to you, Lady McDonald. Lady Westland. ”
Having to feign neither shock nor surprise, Sylvie’s eyes widened as Southerby turned and strolled unhurriedly towards the door. A little panicked as to whether she should follow or stay, she quickly turned to Augusta.
* * *
Gripping her cane so tightly, Augusta’s knuckles were whitening, her lips momentarily contorting into a malevolent snarl.
“Wait,” she snapped, the word cracking through the air like a pistol shot. “Let us not be hasty, Lord Southerby. As a gentleman, I ask you not to exacerbate this misunderstanding… for Lady Westland’s sake.”
Southerby paused, hand on the door, then slowly turned, looking directly at Augusta. One brow lifted, cynically. “For the Lady Westland’s sake?”
“She came to me in confidence,” Augusta bit back. “I am not at liberty to betray her trust.”
“Is that so?” murmured Southerby glibly, but the smile that followed was pure challenge as he held Augusta’s gaze.
Silence, the kind that bends and strains, hung in the air. Sylvie held her breath.
The first to avert her eyes, Augusta exhaled sharply, as though the air itself offended her. Reaching for the decanter, she poured a generous measure of scotch and threw it back in one motion. “Then, let us dispense with any pretence or games, Southerby. What do you want?”
“Want, Lady McDonald?” replied Southerby as he sauntered back towards them, settling with feline grace into the chair beside Sylvie. One leg crossed over the other. Hands folded. Smile faint, polite, dangerous. “I simply want you to furnish me with the truth, Lady McDonald. Nothing more.”
“The truth? Hm, fine, I’ll tell you the truth.
” She leaned forward, eyes blazing with contempt.
“Isabelle wore that damned sapphire every day… her shining emblem of devotion… to convince all others of their love. Yet in truth, it hung heavily around her neck as a reminder that she was merely another one of his easily acquired possessions. And yes, she wore it that morning, as she always did. To placate him, so as not to invoke his suspicion. To hide her guilt.” Shaking her head in disapproval, she took another drink.
“Suspicion?” murmured Southerby.
“She was leaving him — taking Angus with her. I warned her. I begged her. I even tried to reason with Charles, but he was already lost to the sickness. The rage. So, condemn me if you will, but when I found her body lying in the dirt — my sister, strangled by the man she loved — I gave the cursed thing to the boy who had valiantly tried to save her. The groom. So, now you know the truth, I’ll take that letter. ”
“How awful, your own sister’s lifeless body… in the dirt…” murmured Sylvie in utter despair as she turned to Southerby, who was also nodding his understanding as he retook the letter from his pocket.
Yet, instead of handing the letter over, he laid it on the arm of the chair and gently placed his hand on top. “Forgive me…” reflected Southerby sympathetically, “I did not know it was you who found her.”
“Yes, well…” sighed Augusta.
“Curious,” he murmured. “You have always held fast in your denial of such.”
Her eyes snapped to his. “Reliving such horror serves no purpose… other than to remind and torment me.”
“Indeed…” he said gently, inclining his head in understanding, “such horror… and yet,” he paused, letting his last word linger in the air as his eyes slowly raised to find Augusta’s.
“And yet, upon finding your sister’s body, your first act was not to call for help — but to relieve her of her necklace? ”
“I was in shock!” hissed Augusta, refilling her glass with a shaking hand. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. What Charles did was… was…”
“Was?” Southerby coaxed.
“Unimaginable, is what! He was out of his wits, completely irrational!”
“I see,” said Southerby smoothly. “So, Charles, crazed and out of his mind, in a blind fury that his wife would dare to leave him, rushed off in pursuit to stop her?”
“Exactly!” snapped Augusta. “Nothing I said could calm him. I even tried to stop him by blocking the door, but he just pushed me aside and stormed after them.”
“Hm?” murmured Southerby as he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. The door immediately swung open. A cool rush of fresh air entered soundlessly, as did Eddie, who swiftly crossed the room, placed a wooden box in Southerby’s hands, then vanished as quickly as he had appeared.
Startled, Augusta spluttered, “What… what is this!”
Sylvie, recognising the object instantly, pressed her lips together to quell a gasp of alarm as Southerby set the box carefully across his knees.
“Humour me a moment, if you will, Lady McDonald, I just want to check…” he said mildly, lifting the lid so that its contents were hidden from Augusta’s view.
With his attention now focused on the box, his hands moving swiftly within, he murmured absently, “I confess, I’m struggling to understand how a man —irrational, out of his wits, as you say — had the time and clarity to retrieve a key from the butler’s quarters, unlock a display cabinet on the second floor, remove a pistol and load it …
all unseen. It’s rather a labour, even for one of sound mind. ”
Then, with a small, satisfied noise, he withdrew one of the ornate silver duelling pistols and raised it. “Ah. There we are. How long did that take?”
“What the devil!” screeched Augusta, throwing up a hand to shield herself.
“This?” asked Southerby, playfully brandishing it around. “Why, it’s the pistol that shot Charles. Surely you recognise it? It is quite distinctive.”
“For god’s sake, man! Put that thing down, it’s dangerous!”
“What, this old thing?” he continued flippantly.
“Lord Southerby, please!” gasped Sylvie.
“Yes, yes,” pleaded Augusta, “it’s temperamental, liable to misfire. Put it down at once! Are you completely mad!”
Stilling instantly, Southerby slowly lowered the pistol and laid it on top of the case.
“Mad? Like Charles Westland?” He regarded her with something between pity and amusement.
“No, you see if Charles truly were a raving lunatic, hell-bent on catching his fleeing wife and child, do you imagine he’d trouble himself to sneak one of his own unreliable pistols from the cabinet — load it, lock the cabinet back up, and return the key to the basement? No. I think not.”