Silent In The Grave (10 page)

“You are right, of course,” he said, his voice light and mocking, as it had always been. “I should be saving my strength to make a good end.” He hesitated, then reached out his other hand to me. “I have something to tell you, dearest.” His face was thin now and sharply planed, like that of a fasting monk in an old Spanish painting. “I do not mean to linger forever. When the time comes, I will know it, and I will act.”

I stared at him. “You cannot mean it, Simon. You would not—it is a very great sin. You would not be buried in consecrated ground.”

He smiled again. “Dear girl, what do I care for that now?” His grip tightened on my hands, forcing me to hear him. “It grows harder to breathe, my sweet. I feel sometimes as though I were living under water, desperately trying to draw one clear breath. Can you understand that?”

I nodded slowly.

“Then you must understand why I will do this thing while I have strength to do it. But I could not act without telling you first.”

“Oh, Simon. Must you really?”

His expression was gently rebuking. Of course he must. Who was I to judge what sort of pain he was in? Or what would become of him if he destroyed himself? Like all good Christians, I had been taught that suicide was a sin, that it was unforgivable. But I had long since stopped believing in a God that could not forgive, and I knew I was not arrogant enough to prevent Simon from ending his pain.

“When? How long?”

He rubbed at my wrists, a slow, gentle rhythm that felt strangely calming amidst this new heartbreak. “I do not know yet. I should like to see the summer.”

I nodded. “I will bring roses to you. And strawberries.”

He looked at me for a long minute, his flecked grey eyes searching my face, memorizing it.

“I have always wondered what it would be like to kiss you,” he said finally. “I always wondered what Edward felt.”

Wordlessly, I leaned forward. I pressed my lips to his, surprised to find his warm and soft under my own. It had been years since I had kissed a man, and Simon’s lips were nothing like Edward’s. Simon’s were searching and tentative, slowly exploring and remembering mine.

He put his hand to my face and I pulled back, shaken. I had not thought that kissing Simon would be unlike kissing my own relatives. But it felt vastly different, and I realized how vulnerable a woman becomes when it has been a very long time since she has been loved.

Simon lifted my hand to his lips and I saw there were tears in his eyes.

Neither of us spoke. I kissed him again, this time on the brow, and left him. I went to my room and sat on my bed in the dark, thinking of many things.

I suppressed the flash of impatience I felt to get to my letter and summoned a smile. I saw Val only rarely these days. He was far too busy with his friends and amusements to spend much time at Grey House. Perhaps a few minutes with him would prove enjoyable.

“Of course. Come to my study. Aquinas will have had the fire lit.”

He followed me, obedient as a spaniel, and settled himself next to me on the elderly sofa. He took up a pillow and began wrapping the fringe about his fingers. He had always been a fidgety child, though we had all hoped he would outgrow it. Clearly he had not, and his nerves were affecting mine, I realized as I caught myself twisting at a button. There was no imagining what difficulty he might have gotten himself into, and I was beginning to fear the worst.

I folded my hands quietly in my lap. “What is it, Val?” I said finally, my voice a little sharp. I smiled to soften it. “You can talk to me, you know.”

He did not return my smile. His eyes, the wide, green March eyes, were clouded with unhappiness and there was the slightest start of a worry line on his brow. “I do know. I would hope that Father will not hear of this, though.”

In spite of his sulkiness, I felt my irritation ebb. So that
was
it. He had gotten himself into a bit of trouble over a girl or money and did not want Father’s wrath crashing down upon him. Surely it could not be too disastrous if Father’s fury was the worst he had to fear.

“He shall hear nothing from me,” I promised him. “Now, tell me everything.”

He eyed me doubtfully, but plunged into his story.

“I was at the club last night. Playing cards.”

My eyes narrowed. I did not much like where this was going. Valerius had always been notoriously unlucky at cards, a fact that our brother Plum had been only too happy to exploit when they were boys. Val’s pocket money no sooner came in than it was promptly paid out to Plum to settle some debt or other. For years Val had kept him in paints and canvases. I would have thought that living with such an extortionist would have taught Val a lesson, but apparently it had not. And although I was content to permit Val to live at Grey House, I was not prepared to subsidize his gaming losses.

“It is not what you think,” he put in hastily. “I won.”

I blinked at him. “Did you really? How extraordinary.”

His face relaxed for the first time. “I know. It was quite a lot of money, in fact. But there is one thing that I won that I am not entirely certain…that is, I wondered if you might like…oh, blast, just come to my room and see it for yourself.”

Mystified, I followed him up the stairs and to his room, puzzled as to what he could have possibly won that would cause him so much difficulty.

He paused at the door to his room, steeling himself. “Now, do not be alarmed. I assure you, there is nothing to fear.”

“Valerius, good heavens! What have you got in there? A lion from the royal zoo?”

I pushed past him to open the door and stopped in my tracks. Leering at me from its perch on the footboard of the bed was the largest, blackest bird I had ever seen. Not daring to turn my back on it, I called softly over my shoulder.

“Is that—”

He closed the door behind us. “A Tower raven, yes. Reddy Phillips apparently stole him for some sort of joke, and I won him last night at the tables.”

He moved next to me, keeping a careful eye upon his avian guest.

“You must be mad! That bird is Crown property! Do you have any idea…”

Val put up his hands in defense. “I do, I assure you. I mean to return him to the proper authorities, but I do not want to get Reddy into any trouble. Until I work out how exactly to do that, I wondered if I could keep him here.”

“Out of the question,” I said, whirling on him. “How could you do something so utterly and appallingly stupid? What were you thinking?”

To his credit, Val looked properly abashed. “I know. But I really did not think I would even win the hand. You know how badly I play. Reddy was so certain he had the cards, and you know, I was, too. I only threw in the last of my money because I wanted to see if he would really put the bird up. And then he did. No one was more shocked than I when I won. I thought Reddy would have an apoplexy.”

He was smiling and I fixed him with my sternest elder-sister look. “I never liked those Phillipses. Jumped-up tobacco merchants, all of them. And you are no better. Have you not thought of what this could mean to Father? And to poor Bellmont? It could ruin him in Parliament if anyone discovered that his youngest brother had received stolen property—the queen’s stolen property no less! Just having that thing in your possession is a felonious act.”

The bird, which had been gazing at us with interest, suddenly hopped from the footboard and skimmed across the carpet, coming to rest near my feet.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly.

I pointed a shaking finger. “It speaks.”

Val nodded mournfully. “Yes. Apparently only a handful of them do.”

“How on earth did Reddy Phillips get hold of it?” I asked, watching the raven’s sharp black eyes watch me.

“His uncle has some sort of post in the Tower. Reddy paid him a visit and managed to smuggle this poor fellow out. He’s not one of the public ravens, you know,” he finished more cheerfully.

“Not one of the public ravens?” The bird had moved forward again, bobbing toward my shoes, pecking delicately at the carpet.

“Yes, some of them are kept in reserve, solely for breeding. This was one of them.”

“And how is it that they have not yet discovered one is missing?” I asked, watching in horror as the creature plucked a long piece of wool from the carpet, unraveling the border.

“Reddy had another raven to put in its place. Apparently the Tower fellows did not much like him and pecked him to death shortly afterward. They buried that raven and still don’t realize this one’s gone missing.”

“Of all the bloody stupid things to do,” I murmured. Matters had gone from complicated to disastrous. “I suppose Father could explain it to Her Majesty, but they haven’t spoken in years. I daresay she’s still angry with him about that Irish business. He will be furious with you, and I cannot think that the queen will be much pleased, either.”

Val gripped my hand. “You promised! Julia, you cannot tell him. We have not rowed for nearly six months. He has just consented to let me attend anatomy lectures at university. If you tell him, it will ruin everything. Besides, I did not steal the thing. I want to restore it.”

He had a solid argument there. Reddy Phillips was the one who should be whipped.

“Can’t you just go to the Tower and say that you found it, walking around outside the wall?” I asked, watching the bird inspect the hem of my draperies.

Val shook his head. “The Tower ravens are all clipped. They cannot fly outside the wall. But if you give me a few days, I am certain I can think of something. Please, Julia.”

I looked into his earnest eyes, so like Father’s, and knew I would not refuse him.

“Very well. But he must stay here, in this room. Pull up any furnishings he might eat, and see to it that you clean up after him.”

Val clenched me into a suffocating embrace. “You are a queen amongst women,” he said fervently.

“Victoria Regina” came the croaky little voice from the floor.

I put Val firmly away from my person. “And above all, keep him quiet.”

“I will, I will, I promise you.” He moved into the room and closed the door behind him.

And through the door, clear as a bell, I heard the croaky little voice say, “God Save the Queen.”

“Leave me the new silk, as well as that heap there,” I told Morag, pointing to a pathetically modest pile on my bed. “You may have the rest to sell or make over for yourself.”

She stared at me suspiciously. “Are you feeling quite well, my lady?”

“Quite,” I returned briskly. “Pack the rest of these up and remove them. I shall need the space for my new things.”

She bobbed her head and set to work, still throwing the odd glance at me over her shoulder. I did not care. While she packed away my mourning, I went to my writing table and dashed off a letter containing very specific instructions to Portia’s dressmakers, the brothers Riche. In a very few minutes I finished the letter and dispatched it with a footman, feeling absurdly pleased with myself.

That mood lasted until I read the letter from Doctor Griggs. It was a thorough disappointment, from start to finish.