Silent In The Grave. Deanna Raybourn
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shook his head. “Unlikely, at best. Most of the criminals I have encountered have a dog’s nose for trouble. They sense when they are about to be found out. And they usually take steps to avoid it. Sometimes they flee, but other times …” His voice broke off and his eyes were distant, as though seeing gruesome conclusions to his other cases.
“That does not frighten me,” I said boldly.
Brisbane’s gaze dropped to mine. “It should. If you are not afraid, you will not take the proper precautions. That sort of stupidity could get you killed. Or at best, jeopardize the investigation so badly we never catch him. And there are other dangers as well.”
“Such as?” I asked with a sigh. I was beginning to feel less than welcome.
“Investigations are rather like snake hunts. Rocks are overturned, hidden places are prodded, and what turns up is often rotten, poisonous and better left undisturbed. Sometimes it is an evil that has nothing to do with the investigation, just something dark and vicious that should never have seen the light of day. But lives are changed, my lady.”
“You are being cryptic again, Mr. Brisbane. I have no secrets.” Of course, as soon as I said the words, I wished them back. Everyone has a secret or two, however innocent.
He focused those hypnotic black eyes on me for a long moment. “Very well,” he said, his voice light. “Perhaps you would like to try a little experiment.”
His expression was guarded, but there was anticipation there, something almost gleeful. It made me nervous. “What sort of experiment?”
“Oh, nothing painful. In fact, quite the reverse.” He smiled suddenly. “If you wish to be a part of this investigation, you must first provide me with information about Sir Edward, your household, your family. I shall simply ask you a series of questions. Nothing too frightening about that, is there?”
There was the faintest tone of mockery in his voice. I had taunted his courage before, now he was taunting mine.
“Nothing at all,” I said roundly. “When do we begin?”
He smiled again, that serpentine smile that Eve must have seen in the Garden. “No time like the present.”
He began to make a few alterations in the room. The tea things were dispatched to a far table, jostling a small clock, a set of nautical instruments and a tortoiseshell. In their place he put a single candle, a thick, creamy taper that he lit with a spill from the fireplace.
Then he reached for a lacquered box on the mantel. Out of it he scooped a handful of something that rustled, dried flowers or leaves, perhaps. These he hurled into the fireplace. The change was immediate. There was a fragrance, subtle and soothing, and the flames burned bright green for a moment. He turned to me then, brisk and businesslike.
“Remove your jacket, my lady.”
“I beg your pardon?” I clutched the lapels of my jacket together like a trembling virgin. He sighed patiently.
“My lady, I am no Viking bent on pillage, I assure you. You will understand what I am about in a moment. Take off your jacket.”
I complied, feeling like an idiot. If Portia had not made it very clear to me that Brisbane would never think of me as a woman, he certainly had. I struggled out of the jacket, regretting that I had instructed Morag to put out the new silk. It was tight and I knew I must look like a wriggling caterpillar trying to get it off. Finally I was free of it and Brisbane took it, tossing it onto a chair. Then, before I could remonstrate with him over the expense of the silk he was creasing, he grasped my ankles and swung them to the sofa.
“Mr. Brisbane!” I began, but he silenced me with an exasperated gesture.
He released my ankles then, but I could still feel the pressure of his hands through skirts, petticoats, boots, and stockings. He thrust a pillow behind my head, causing me to lie back in a posture I had most certainly never adopted in front of an acquaintance before.
“Comfortable?” he inquired, resuming his seat.
“Rather like Cleopatra,” I returned tartly. “What exactly is the point to all of this?”
“I told you, it is the beginning of our investigation.”
He busied himself taking a notebook and pencil from the drawer of the table beside him. “I know it seems unorthodox, but I need information from you, and I believe that the more relaxed a person is, the more information he or she will relate.”
“You believe. Is this your normal practice? Do you do this to all of your clients?”
“No, because most of my clients would not consent to it.”
“What makes you think that I will?”
“You already have, my lady. Besides, you are a rather special case.”
I felt a warm flush of pleasure. “I am?”
“Yes,” he replied absently. “Most of my clients are far more conscious of their dignity to permit such an experiment.”
The flush ended abruptly. “Oh.”
“But I have great hopes for you, my lady,” he continued. The flush began again, a tiny, creeping wave this time, but at least I did not feel quite so low. “I have read a great deal about the techniques used by the police and by those who practice psychology. Some of them seem quite suitable for use in my own work. It is just a theory at this point, but I have had some success in the past.”
Of that I was certain. I wondered how many other ladies’ ankles he had handled, and promptly dismissed the thought as unworthy of me.
“Begin then, before my neck takes a cramp,” I ordered him crossly.
He opened his notebook and made a few comments before he began his questions. When he spoke, his voice had gone soft and mellow, like sun-warmed clover honey. I wondered if he was conscious of it.
“My lady, I need a bit of background information from you. We need a place to begin. So, I am going to take you through some of what Sir Edward told me, and I need you to confirm or correct it.”
I nodded, feeling a little sleepy and as relaxed as if I had just had a glass of Aunt Hermia’s blackberry cordial.
“Sir Edward told me last year that he had been married to you for five years. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” I murmured.
“How did you meet?”
“His father bought the estate next to my father’s in Sussex. We knew each other from childhood.”
“Was the marriage a happy one?”
I fidgeted a little. My body felt restless, but my limbs were languid, almost too heavy to move. “Happy enough. We were friends.”
“There were no children?” he asked, his voice mellower still.
I shook my head sleepily. “Not from me. I could not have them.”
“Did he have children by anyone else? Natural children?”
I tried to shake my head again, but now it felt too weighty.
“Just lie back against the cushion, my lady,” he instructed from far away. I did as I was told, perfectly content to lie there forever.
He made a few notes while I drowsed against the cushions, thinking of Odysseus and the Lotus-eaters. I felt very thirsty, but it seemed far too much trouble to reach out my hand for my teacup. Then I remembered that he had moved it across the room and decided I would wait until he had finished.
“Sir Edward had little family left by the time of his death,” he commented.
“Only his first cousin, Simon. He inherited the baronetcy from Edward.”
“And you,” Brisbane prodded gently.
“I was not