Silent in the Grave Read online

  The rest of the room had been furnished with his favorite things, framed sketches of his travels, a portrait of his parents, a little china statue of a dog that he had had for so long its tail had been broken off and glued back at a ridiculous angle, more than once.

  He smiled at me and I bent to kiss his cheek.

  “Ah, violet. My favorite scent,” he commented.

  I felt a little lance of guilt. “I am sorry. I should have sent up a pot of them in March. Never mind. I will have Whittle grow some for you in the hothouse.”

  He grinned at me. “Can he do that?”

  “Heavens, I don’t know. That is Whittle’s business. If not, I shall buy you some silk ones, French, and douse them in my perfume.”

  “Lovely. What have you been about?” he asked as I settled myself on a cushion at his feet.

  “Being flayed by the Ghoul,” I informed him with a doleful air. “I have just realized that I am expected to keep to my mourning forever. She’ll never lie down for me putting on colours again. I shall write on black-bordered paper and drape myself in veils until everyone forgets what I look like.”

  Simon smiled. “Poor darling. Don’t be too disheartened. I’m sure some helpful March relation will die soon and take her off your hands. Loads of lung complaints going around this spring.”

  “One hopes. Not that I wish any ill on any of my relations, of course. But Aunt Ursula has inflicted herself on us for quite long enough. It is someone else’s turn.”

  “Lucky for you that I am a Grey and not a March. She won’t return when you are mourning me,” he said, his eyes glinting humorously.

  “Oh, Simon, don’t,” I begged. I had been thoughtless, speaking of such things to him. I reached up and took his hand, willing myself not to feel the bones, brittle and sharp beneath the thin, papery skin. I noticed he had moved his gold signet ring from his smallest finger to the ring finger. Still, it twisted loosely and I wondered how much more weight he could lose before he slipped away altogether.

  He touched my hair lightly, pushing it back from my face.

  “Ah, I did not mean to upset you. But Griggs was here last week, you know. The man is a fool, of course, but he says it cannot be much longer, and I must believe him.”

  I felt my eyes fill with tears and I turned my face away so he should not see them.

  “Julia,” he said softly. “You must have known. I have been sick for so long, I think I will welcome it. I cannot remember what it was to breathe without this weight on my chest.”

  I nodded. “I know. I am dreadfully selfish. I am thinking of what it will mean to me to lose you. I never think of what it means for you to be here, like this.”

  He smiled, really smiled for the first time in months. I had missed Simon’s smile. It had always been his most engaging feature.

  “My poor girl. Promise me this—you will not wear black for me. I have always liked you in colours. Bright, shocking colours. Wear scarlet for me.”

  I shook my head. “I do not think I could manage scarlet. Edward always said I looked best in pale colours.”

  His face coloured sharply and his breath came quickly, wheezing. “Edward was a fool about many things, not the least of which included you,” he said savagely.

  “We were happy enough,” I said feebly, stroking his hand. He gentled then, but I could feel his anger seething just below the surface.

  “He never should have married you,” he said finally. “That was selfish. He could not appreciate you.”

  I said nothing for there was nothing to say. We sat in silence for several minutes. I kept stroking his hand, listening to his breathing as it slowed and the wheeze quieted.

  “You should not excite yourself,” I said after a long while. “Especially about the past. None of it matters now. None of it can be changed.”

  He turned his hand in mine, grasping my fingers in his. I thought of how familiar his hand was to me. Simon had been orphaned at two and raised by his aunt and uncle, Edward’s parents, at Greymoor. He had been a frequent guest in our home, sometimes invited, sometimes not. It had been a bold Simon who discovered the gap in the hedge that provided us with a shortcut between the properties, a gap we were careful never to show to Father, who would have had it repaired instantly.

  And it had been Simon who braved the first introductions, interrupting our game of cricket on the broad lawn that swept from the abbey down to the river. Edward, his elder by some years, had loitered rather shyly in the background. We rode and swam and played games together, and if sometimes Simon went home with a glorious marble that didn’t actually belong to him, no one really minded. We knew that Simon, unlike Edward or us, with our regular allowances, was desperately poor. We were happy to let him keep the odd book or slingshot—or at least most of us were. My hot-tempered second brother, Benedick, once chased him home and thrashed him for pocketing his favorite tin soldier, the figure of Wellington mounted on Copenhagen from his Battle of Waterloo set. But then Father had felt it necessary to thrash Benedick for hitting a smaller boy and had confiscated poor Wellington, locking him into his desk drawer, where he lay for years. Father kept him as a reminder to Benedick that a gentleman must always guard his temper—a lesson Benedick never entirely learned. And naturally, because of the Wellington incident, Benedick and Simon never quite warmed to each other. Of course, it did not help that anytime Benedick’s temper threatened the rest of us would circle him, chanting, “Remember Wellington,” which only served to provoke him further.

  After that, Simon thought of Benedick as an unrepentant bully, and Benedick branded him a weasel, the worst insult in the March lexicon. But I liked Simon, mostly for his quick wit and ready smile, and marrying Edward only cemented the bond. In time he had ceased to be company, and I had begun to think of him as another brother. I could not imagine losing him any more than I could fathom losing one of them. I had known for months that he was dying, but I was only just beginning to really understand it. In some ways, his death would be more wrenching than Edward’s. Edward had been my husband. Simon was my friend.

  “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.

  THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER

  There were three ravens sat on a tree,

  They were as black as they might be.

  With a down derry, derry, derry, down, down.

  The one of them said to his mate,

  “Where shall we our breakfast take?”

  —Traditional Ballad

  My encounter with Val the next morning was hardly less alarming. Aquinas had just delivered the morning post. Among the usual heap of letters and advertisements, I spotted an envelope with familiar handwriting. Doctor Griggs. I slipped the letter into my pocket and was just about to lock myself into the study to read it when Valerius cornered me, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

  “Good morning, Julia. I wonder if you might have a moment?”

  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.”r />
  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.”

  THE TWELFTH CHAPTER

  Why so pale and wan, fond lover?

  Prithee, why so pale?

  —Sir John Suckling

  “Song”

  It was another hour before I managed to seclude myself in my study to read the letter. There were menus to discuss with Cook, laundry orders to give to Magda, and my wardrobe to peruse with Morag. In a fit of industry, Morag had decided that my mourning clothes were beginning to show some wear and that I should order some new ones. This was blatantly false—I had just purchased the black silk and the ensemble with swansdown trim. I strongly suspected she was short of funds and wanted something to sell at the market.