Page 82 of A Devilish Element
“Jem, I’m not suggesting anything, merely noting the deviation from the sequence. No doubt you can provide me with the statistical probability of that anomaly.”
On another day at another time, perhaps. Currently, he couldn’t fathom how one and one even made two.
“Please tell me this isn’t some harebrained jape.”
“His death is not a ruse, Jem. He is not about to spring up and shout ‘Surprise!’”
“You would say that, even if he were, so as not to spoil the punchline.”
Bell bowed his head and nodded at his chest. “Go next door and confirm it for yourself if you need to. I assure you; he’s gone. Maybe you need a few moments before I set to work, to say whatever you need to say to him.”
He wasn’t sure he had anything to say to the man, nevertheless Jem left Bell in favour of the body in the inner sanctum.
-26-
Eliza
Jane did not settle to her task when they reached the library but took to pacing back and forth instead. While she wore a hole in the hearth rug, Eliza set about finding paper and pen so that when she was ready Jane could compose her thoughts and write to the earl. This necessitated a quick rummage through the desk to secure parchment and ink.
“What am I to do, Eliza? I don’t know what to think or feel or anything.” Jane’s wan features were horridly blotchy, and her lips red from being bitten. The moment of anger she’d summoned following Linfield’s demise had faded into a simmering sort of indecisiveness. “It’s all so horribly sudden. It doesn’t make any sense. We’d finally seen eye to eye and now… now he is no more. I want to be sad about it, but don’t feel much of anything. Not even relief. I should feel something, shouldn’t I?”
“Perhaps it is still sinking in,” Eliza suggested as steadily as she was able. God’s blood, she had no love for Lord Linfield, he had struck her as a snake from the start, and he hadn’t shown his wife any great care. In fact, she’d wondered multiple times if he was trying to relieve his new bride of her wits. And… and he’d made that display before dinner purely to spite her, she was sure. On the other hand, he had not deserved such an abrupt and violent end. Nor to be deprived of his life in his own home. And for what? That was the part she could not fathom. What did anyone gain from his demise? The reasons and possibilities seemed endless and hopelessly theoretical. Not a single avenue of any substance stood out.
She drew out the chair for Jane to take and handed her the pen.
“What should I say?” her friend asked, settling uneasily on the edge of the seat.
Heavens, could she not manage one dratted thing for herself? Could she not comprehend that Eliza’s mind was in as much of a whirl as her own?
“Say that you’re not sure of the cause, but that he has passed away. That Doctor Bell is taking care of matters, and you’ll await the earl’s instructions as to funeral arrangements. They may wish him to be interred on the family estate. I would not mention the baby yet. Perhaps save those tidings for a missive to his mother once this news has had time to settle.”
“Yes.” She set ink to paper, writing the required words swiftly and sanding them dry. “Eliza, I have no black clothes.”
“They can be procured. The servants will see to the mirrors being covered and other household arrangements. Really, there’s nothing you can do, Jane, save hold yourself together as best you are able.”
“Yes, of course, but shouldn’t I attempt to find out what has happened?”
“I should leave that to Doctor Bell.”
Jane levelled her with a surprisingly astute glare. “Truly? Where is my friend, Eliza Wakefield? What have you done with her?”
There were times to challenge the patriarchy, and this wasn’t one of them.
“You think we should stand back and allow Doctor Bell to investigate?”
“He’s the best qualified to determined how Linfield died. If it was a burst ulcer, he will tell us so, and if it was something else… that too.” Although she sincerely hoped he’d spare Jane the details. She was far too tender and squeamish for a forensic discourse on the state of her husband’s innards.
“Well, that’s assuming we can trust him, and he isn’t the one responsible.”
“Responsible?” Bell was the least likely murderer among them. He was the only one of them she couldn’t attribute a motive to.
Jane vacated her seat at the desk and began her pacing once more. It made Eliza weary watching her, so she folded the letter and set about locating some sealing wax. “I honestly trust him more than any other here.”
“More than me?” Jane challenged, then bowed her head when Eliza met her gaze, for, yes, she did trust Bell more. There was something about him, something steadfast and reliable. He wasn’t one to be easily swayed, and while his manner was frequently atrocious, it was equally atrocious regardless of whom he was speaking to.
“I thought we were friends, Eliza Wakefield. How can you suspect me of that? How could you think that I—”
“Do not challenge me on the grounds of friendship. You’re the one who meant to spend the night with another man in your bed. A man you knew I particularly liked.”
