Page 12 of The Secret of the Three Fates
I’d repeated my story a thousand times already to Captain Lennox, omitting a couple key facts—details that would do no one any good to know. Firstly, not a soul knew of the note the dead medium had left for me. And secondly, I wasn’t about to let anyone know about the identification discs I’d found on her body, which remained safely tucked into the damp bodice of my evening gown.
“Are you certain?” Mr. Sharpe asked in a hushed voice. I turned to see if I could make him out.
Captain Lennox took a weary step backward, leaning against the shelf and rubbing at his hip with a grimace. The subtle change in his position finally revealed Mr. Sharpe’s profile to me, and I could not help but gape—half in disbelief, half in horror—as the years slipped away. Once again, I was that uncertain young debutante, head full of books and hopes and dreams. Living in New York, brought up to be her father’s crowning achievement before being sold off in marriage for the most advantageous match.
It would have been considered an ideal situation to most girls of my acquaintance had mymost advantageousmatch not been a grown man already in possession of a wife. My blood turned to ice as I stared at Mr. Sharpe’s profile, not wanting to believe the truth. Itcouldn’ttruly be him. Elijah. Elijah Keene. I hadn’t thought his name in over a decade. Not since my exile from New York.
And yet my eyes and heart were certain of it, even if my mind could not make the leap. Elijah had been the one person whoknew the truth about my former lover. Knew the truth and hid it from all of New York society until I was well and truly ruined.
I tucked the blanket tighter around me, arguing with my own mind. The last I’d seen Elijah had been at the Vanderbilts’ ball, the night of my great disgrace when I’d been caught in flagrante delicto—to put it mildly—with my supposed fiancé. But there was no reason forElijahto behere,not when there were plenty of wealthy young socialites to swindle back in New York.
My thoughts were cut short as Captain Lennox shifted again, blocking my view of Mr. Sharpe—Elijah—whoever he might be. “I am as certain as I can be without further examination. From all accounts it looks to be suicide. The inspector will be able to say more when he arrives in a few hours. I’m sorry for it, Sharpe, I know it’s the last thing you need right now.”
“Fuck.” Sharpe muttered beneath his breath.
My sentiments exactly.
I quietly wrapped myself in the blanket and headed to the door. No good would come of remaining any longer. Elijah Keene or not—Mr. Sharpe’s identity was another problem for another day. I’d settle for a bath, and then tomorrow I’d find out what really happened to Lucy. Because I did not for one moment believe it was suicide.
CHAPTERSIXAn Unpleasant Surprise
EARLYthe next morning, I was sitting in the courtyard with a large cup of black coffee, letting it wind its way down my throat before checking my pin watch. It was a little past six, and I was shockingly rested considering I had approximately three hours’ sleep to my name. But even those precious few moments were marred by terrible nightmares. The sort I could not recall beyond the vague sense of searching, and the peculiar metallic tang of blood in my mouth.
I was certain that the reappearance of Elijah Keene, like a specter from my past, caused the return of my nightmares. I did not want to believe that Mr. Sharpe could actuallybeElijah, and yet the signs were all there. What if Mr. Owen wasn’t the one the medium had lured here at all? What if it was me that had been sent for? After all, Elijah and I had not parted on the most charitable of terms. What ifthatwas the warning the medium was trying to give? The warning that was thwarted so violently.
But was Elijah a killer? I didn’t think so—but can one ever truly know another’s innermost soul? No. No, I learned that lesson long ago. One never could tell what evil lay within a man’s heart.
A dense fog blanketed the grounds beyond the courtyard, sealing us away here at Manhurst. It’d likely be hours before it burnt off. I tugged at the sleeves of my woolen jumper against the damp air.
“I see you’re up early.”
I started at the unexpected interruption, and looked up to see Andrew Lennox coming across the slate flags with a curiously wrapped parcel beneath one arm. I stiffened, uncertain what to make of the man after the previous evening. While he’d been nothing but kind and attentive to me, he’d concealed the truth of Lucy’s death.
“Did the inspector arrive last night?”
“Mmm. The man arrived not long after you went to bed. It’s probably for the best. He’s not the most agreeable sort. The fewer dealings you have with him, the better in my opinion.”
Captain Lennox leaned heavily upon the shepherd’s crook he used for a cane. Its handle gorgeously smoothed giving the creamy sheep’s horn a mirrorlike finish. He laid the package down on the table, sliding it over to me. “I believe this belongs to you.”
“Me?” I asked before tearing the paper and lifting the lid. My breath caught as I looked from the Webley revolver back to Captain Lennox.
His expression was grim. “It would do no good for someone else to have it found out there.”
I’d forgotten completely about it in all the chaos of Lucy’s death. Perhaps he had good reason for claiming it was suicide after all. I pointed to the open chair across from me with my coffee cup. “Join me? I think there may be more left in the pot. I’ll have your jacket sent to your rooms later on today.”
He hesitated, eyeing the silver pot. “How are you feeling this morning?”
I furrowed my brow, not understanding. I was perfectly fine—why would he even ask such a thing?
“Most women of my acquaintance would be still abed after doing what you did last night. And to have carried a grown woman back to shore with you? That is indeed quite remarkable.”
I let out an irritated sound. “Well, then apparently I’m notmostwomen. Though I feel it important to add thatfewwomen aremostwomen in absurd statements such as yours. They’re simply words used to divide and insult my sex. Women contain multitudes, Captain Lennox, as do men—at least in my experience.”
He flushed, giving him a softer appearance as he looked down to the table between us. “Touché, Miss Vaughn. It was a poor choice of words on my part. You exceeded most men as well last night. I hadn’t meant offense—only to say that the fact that you didn’t suffer hypothermia is a surprise in itself. I’ve not known many—man or woman—who could do such a feat and be up the next morning.”
My temper soothed—a bit—as I took another sip of my coffee, watching Captain Lennox carefully. “What do you know of Mr. Sharpe? You seem to know more of him than most.”
Captain Lennox folded his arms across his chest and straightened slightly in his seat. “Not nearly enough. There’s been a bit of gossip about him in these parts. You see, he bought the castle here after the war. The inheritance tax was too great for the Campbells to keep hold of it. Granted, I don’t know why they’d wish to—not after all that happened here.”
