The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) (26 page)

Deathly silence filled the room. Chris, Olivia, and Officer Dawson all stood staring down at the noblewoman as she took a deep, shaking breath. One of her hands had gone up to her throat when Olivia had told her. It still hadn’t moved.

“No,” the Duchess repeated. She took another very long, deep breath, and it, too, shuddered. “That’s simply not possible. The girl is lying. I know Viktor. I—
knew
Viktor. He never would have had relations with his girls. They were too unspoiled, that—that was part of what appealed to him, the
art
―” She shook her head firmly, but her breath still trembled. “He wouldn’t have.”

“Duchess.” It was Officer Dawson who spoke, not Olivia. She had her hands folded behind her back, and stood at attention, like she was a soldier rather than a police officer. Her eyes didn’t quite meet the Duchess’s. It seemed a gesture of respect. “I believe the girl was telling the truth.”

“Mn, I’m sure of it,” Olivia agreed. “Truthsniffing can’t exactly pick out a lie, but that level of certainty is hard to fake.”

“That’s not
possible
,” the Duchess snapped. It might have been a terrible sound, if not for how her voice cracked messily on the last syllable, turning the commanding statement into something pathetic and sad. The Duchess’s shoulders shook, just once, and she swallowed the sob that tried to follow, thunder after lightning. “He would never. He—I―”

She cut herself off there, and said nothing else.

Chris believed her.

He might not have been a truthsniffer like Olivia or Officer Dawson, but he was the son of a heartreader and it had taught him empathy. This wasn’t the face of a liar. This was a woman who’d been betrayed. Until the end, she’d trusted her husband, and he hadn’t been worthy of it.

The room was quiet. Then Olivia spoke.

“Oh, please,” she said, a little too loudly. “You had to have known. How could you not have
known
?” She began to pace, the bracelets on her wrists and ankles all jingling merrily, a stark contrast to how she stalked about. “Vanessa made it clear
she
knew. She knew before she even met him! Everyone knew. Everyone
warned
her. If you want this patron’s money, you don’t just have to impress him. You have to fuck him!”

Chris jolted at the word, his weaving immediately skidding to an abrupt halt on the page. He snapped his gaze to his employer, eyes wide in shock.

“
Faraday
,” Officer Dawson said sharply. Her face echoed the sick feeling in his stomach. “That’s enough.”

Olivia ignored her. She marched forward, one finger held out like a weapon, and she stopped only a hair’s length from the Duchess’s grief-stricken face. “Listen to me,” she hissed. “I don’t know what it is you think you can
hide
, but I know what you’re doing. I can
smell
it.”

“
Faraday.
”

“You can tell me you’re a sweet innocent lamb all you want, Duchess, but I know you’re hiding something. When I find out what it is, you’re going to wish you never―”

“Olivia!” Chris cried, unable to quiet himself any longer. The look on the Duchess’s face wrung his heart. “
Please
!”

Olivia’s shoulders tensed, but where Officer Dawson’s protests had bounced off of her, for some reason, Chris’s had an effect. She shook her finger at the Duchess once, for good measure, and then turned away with a disgusted growl in the back of her throat. “Fine,” she growled. “It makes my poor soft-hearted assistant sniffle to see you get what you deserve. Have your moment of feigned horror.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I need to talk to my people.
Alone.
”

The Duchess said nothing. She climbed to her feet, and Chris watched her pull all of her grace and poise around herself like a robe as she stood, her proud, tear-filled eyes staring straight ahead. Without a word, she swept out of the parlour.

Silence reigned in her absence for less than a full heartbeat, and then Officer Dawson was on her feet, storming over to Olivia and grabbing her by the shoulder. “
Too far!
” she challenged as she spun Olivia around to face her. “Too damned far, Faraday! Mother Deorwynn and Father Calhoun, that woman―”

“Is lying,” Olivia said firmly. Calmly―eerily so. Olivia’s spitting rage from moments before seemed to have evaporated, leaving her implacable and collected. She folded her arms before her, meeting Officer Dawson’s challenge with one of her own.

Dawson accepted it. She set her jaw. “If I made arrests based on every truthsniffer’s hunch, there would be a lot of innocent people in our prisons. You’re being irrational. You have nothing solid, nothing real, just a feeling and a chip on your shoulder, and―”

“And she’s
lying
,” Olivia repeated, even more firmly. The force of her words quieted Officer Dawson, and Olivia gave her a tight smile. “You know it, too. You
feel
it, Maris. You feel it like I do. She’s all wrapped up around one little nugget of truth, hiding it from us. Don’t you
feel
it? Don’t you
smell
it?”

Officer Dawson shook her head, just once, stubbornness settling onto her shoulders. “One secret doesn’t make someone a killer.” Officer Dawson shrugged, but though she pretended not to care, Chris could tell she did. “I sense something.” But before Olivia’s triumphant smile could evolve into words, Officer Dawson’s voice raised and took on a commanding tone. “And that something could be anything. You don’t have
any proof.
”

Olivia’s smile vanished and she threw her arms into the air in exasperation. “Oh, come on
!
What could she be hiding that she’d
keep
hiding, even after being accused of murdering her husband? That must be a hell of a secret!”

“You’re the Deathsniffer. Isn’t it your job to find out?” Officer Dawson shook her head. “You’re better than this, Faraday. You are! You have one of the best records in Darrington, and we both know that. Why are you playing the idiot rookie, freshly categorized? You use your hunches to find
evidence
. You don’t demand arrests based on nothing else. What’s going on?” When Olivia said nothing, the officer shook her head, sending her tight orange curls bouncing in all directions. She took a step closer and shot a quick glance towards Chris. “Does this have something to do with Constance?”

Chris tried to shrink back into himself, but it was no use. That quick glance had reminded Olivia Faraday that he existed, and he immediately found himself the sole recipient of her piercing eyes. Those eyes flashed, and her lips went thin and white in an instant. “Are you taking notes on all of this?” she demanded.

He didn’t know what the right answer was, so he gave her the truth, shaking his head meekly.

She snorted. “Am I paying you to stand around and look handsome?” She jabbed a thumb towards the door. “Go make yourself useful.”

His eyes flickered where she indicated, and then back. He swallowed. “I―ah, what exactly am I supposed to―?”

“Find. Something,” she snapped. “And please make it better than what you turned up the
last
time I sent you off. Useless twit.”

If he’d expected defence from Maris Dawson, he was disappointed. She watched him with an even and unreadable gaze as he slunk dutifully out of the parlour and closed the door behind him. Only after he dropped his hand from the latch and a moment passed did he hear their voices pick up from inside the parlour again, too quiet for him to make out.

His shameful contrition instantly melted and reformed into bitter anger. He tucked his notebook beneath his arm and stalked across the foyer, clenching his fists at his sides. Gods, he thought, climbing the stairs, how was this fair? He’d done nothing but dare be in her presence, which was what he was
supposed
to do. And the insult to his work? He’d found the spot of blood. He’d found the curious note. He’d gotten more out of Ana and Mister Grey than Olivia ever would have managed, and even now, Fernand was looking into sumfinders and Old Debts on his behalf.

What had Olivia contributed to the investigation? Truthsniffing seemed very much like stumbling about and hoping for answers to miraculously appear. Her precious damned intuition seemed to amount to little more than an unshakeable belief that the Duchess was guilty. Five days since the Duke had died, and they had nothing but Olivia’s unique brand of madness.

He didn’t see Analaea val Daren until he tripped over her.

No matter how superior and how angry one felt, it was universally humbling to go flying down a hallway and hit the floor with all the grace of a burlap sack full of cabbages. His notebook skidded across the marble. The
shock
of his hip slamming against the ground felt like pain, but when it passed he realized only his pride was wounded.

“Mister Buckley!” Ana exclaimed as he tried to gather up any remnants of dignity and climb back to his feet. She was at his side in an instant, holding his arm and helping him up. His face burned, and he shook her off as soon as he could without offending her. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she said. “Mother always tells me someone will hurt themselves tripping over me when I sit there, but…Maiden Maerwald, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine,” he said, his voice gruff with embarrassment. “I should have been watching where I was going.” He bent and retrieved the notebook; it seemed no worse for the wear.

“No,
really
,” she insisted. “I’m so sorry.” He felt her at his side and swallowed his pride enough to look at her. She stared up at him with large, concerned eyes. Today, she was again the pretty waif by the window ledge. No trace of tears marked her cheeks, and she’d taken time and care with her simple gown, cosmetics, and hairstyle. She was also clearly waiting for something from him. He had no choice but to force a comforting smile.

“Well, you are completely forgiven, my lady,” he said with a hint of a bow, pulling the notebook close against his chest.

She breathed out in relief and a smile touched her thin lips. Her gaze followed his hands to where he clutched the notebook and she looked up in askance. “Is that where you keep your notes for the Deathsniffer?” Then, before he could answer, she frowned and looked about the empty hallway. “What are you doing here?”

Chris covered the notebook with his hands; if she asked to see it, he didn’t want to have to refuse her outright. “Miss Faraday sent me to ask some questions to the staff,” he replied, and after a moment’s thought, decided he was still angry enough to say something stupid. “She also wanted me to see if I could find anything suspicious.”

Something dark fluttered under the surface of Ana’s face, but it was there and gone in less than an instant. “Oh,” she said, her disinterest stiff and forced. “I suppose you must be very busy with that.”

The statement was more leading than the mere words would imply, and Chris immediately recognized an unspoken question—an invitation, even. Analaea val Daren was trying to ask him if he had some time to spend with her. Strange, to say the least. But then, he supposed they
had
formed a brief connection the last time they’d spoken. “Not terribly,” he replied. It wasn’t as though he had been intending to do as he’d been directed, anyway, and the thought of directly disobeying Olivia’s orders was appealing.

Ana’s eyes lit up and she broke into a sunny smile. Chris smothered a thoughtful frown. The difference in the girl from the three previous times he’d spoken to her was remarkable. She averted her eyes and a pretty blush touched her cheeks as she asked, “Are you hungry?”

Yes
, his stomach clamoured in reply. The scent of fresh bread from the hospital dining room still haunted him. They’d hurried here immediately after Vanessa had revealed the truth of her relationship with the Duke, leaving the promised eggies and marmalade behind. But he kept his voice and face pleasantly neutral as he laughed and replied, “Ah, well, I wouldn’t want to insinuate myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t be!” Ana insisted. “I was just thinking of how I was going to have some scones and jam and tea brought up, and there”―she faltered, and then gathered herself―“and there’s something I want to show you. So, please, if you would join me?”

The cryptic promise was too tempting to resist. As was, he had to admit, the mouth-watering thought of scones and jam. “Well, I suppose if you were already having it brought up…”

The young woman clapped her hands and took him by the arm. She led him down the hall and up a flight of grand oaken stairs. She stopped a scurrying maid in the hall and informed her of her wishes, sending the girl off to the kitchen as the two of them continued along their way. Chris watched her from the corner of his eye, taking in the way her steps bounced, the way her eyes were free of all the blotchy veins of shed tears how there was an odd, determined set to her jaw. There had been a change in her since he had spoken to her in the parlour yesterday.

“Where is Mister Grey today?” he asked, trying to make conversation while she steered her through the cavernous hallways of the Old Blood estate.

“Ethan? Oh, he had to get his paintings from the gallery, today. His showing is over,” she said with a sad sigh. “I saw him this morning, and he wasn’t his usual self at all. He was upset about the gallery closing early and he was so short with me.” She shook her head. “He gets like that, sometimes. I give him time to himself, and then he’s fine again, but it always worries me. I don’t understand why he does it when he knows I’m always here to support him.”

“Is that what the two of you fought about on the night his gallery opened?”

Her face darkened. “No. That was…something else. Something…something I should really talk to him about, if I can just only get the courage…” And then she stopped suddenly, tugging at his arm. “Here we are,” she said. She released his arm, and then opened the door in front of them, pushing herself in.

He followed her, and immediately recognized which room they were in. “Ah, my lady.” Heat flooded his face as he looked around the interior of her bedroom.

“Ana,” she insisted, already sitting down in one of two chairs at a quaint little table in the corner. “Please call me Ana. Won’t you come sit?”