“And why do they even have a glamural? If Lord Verbury is really dead, should they not be in mourning?”
“We have it because I am confined to bed, and my husband has made every effort to amuse me. Mr. Pridmore, truly, I understand that you are angry because you and Sir David did not agree about how the estate should be managed, but this is unbecoming.”
“I was doing my job! I was doing what his lordship explicitly asked me to do. And if you had not hidden him, he would confirm that.”
Admiral Cunningham shook his head. “Thank you, Sir David, for your time. I think we have seen more than enough.”
“But they are lying!”
The rub of it was that Jane and Vincent were lying, but the accusation still would not rest easy on her husband. She cleared her throat. “Your reasoning is inscrutable.”
Vincent pulled his gaze from Mr. Pridmore. Even the residue of his fury was daunting. “Yes. And curious, too. I think that you are claiming that my father is alive, when for that to be the case, you would have had to shelter him for the year prior to my arrival. Do I need to remind you again that he was accused of being a traitor to the crown?”
Admiral Cunningham spread his hands in apology. “Truly, that was the only reason I came. Rear-Admiral Hume had delayed Lord Verbury’s arrest due to his health, and then he passed away. But Mr. Pridmore claimed he was alive and … well. It seemed best to be certain.”
“I quite understand.” Vincent maintained a remarkably even tone.
“My thanks for behaving like a true gentleman about all this bother.” The admiral shot a glance at Pridmore to suggest that he was not a gentleman. “Good day, sir. Madam.”
Mr. Pridmore gaped in the hall. “You can’t—he’s here. He’s got to be here somewhere.” He stepped forward again, but this time the officer in the hall stopped him. He tried to shake the man off but, at a gesture from Admiral Cunningham, was dragged backwards out of Jane’s view. “I’ll find him! I don’t know where you’ve hidden him, but I’ll turn over every stone and smoke him out!”
Admiral Cunningham shook his head as Vincent began to follow him into the hall. “Best to stay here, eh? I would have lost my temper long ago.” He pulled the door shut after him, leaving Vincent in the room with Jane.
They all stood, in frozen silence, listening to Mr. Pridmore’s rants fade into the distance as he was marched down the passage and out of the building. Without turning, Vincent said, “Nkiruka, Dolly. May I ask you to leave us?”
Though his tone was painfully calm, it brooked no discussion. They broke from their positions by the wall. In moments, the two women were out of the room, and Jane was alone with her husband. Still, he remained staring at the door.
Jane waited, giving him time to collect himself. She looked to the basin, to see if there were clean towels. There were. The side table had a fresh decanter of lime juice. She could not rise to offer him either, but they were there if he needed them.
Vincent drew a sudden breath. “I have just lied to an honourable man.” His hands tightened into fists. “I just lied to protect a man I detest, because if I did not, I know precisely what he would do to Frank’s family. So I lied, knowing that my father was depending upon my nature, knowing that he was using me, knowing that even when he is not present, he can still twist and shape me to his purpose. Knowing that the lie would be another weapon he could use against us. And still I lied for him.”
“Not directly.”
“As you have reminded me, lies of omission are still lies. I still did exactly what my father wanted. I protected him.” Only the edge of his face was visible from Jane’s position, but she thought his eyes were closed. “I keep thinking how much easier it would be if he were actually dead.”
“I have entertained the same thoughts.”
“But you would not act upon it.”
“Nor would—”
“I am so angry that I do not trust myself.” He spoke rapidly, as if the words escaped against his will. “Will it alarm you more if I hide or am visibly disturbed?”
“I would rather know. Always.”
He grunted in reply and, for two moments longer, remained still. When Vincent moved, he shoved his hands into the ether, tearing great masses of red into the room. With an inarticulate growl, he flung them away, reaching for more glamour as the red rippled and frayed out of sight. Stretching forward with his full body, he dragged folds of black and vermillion into the room. Vincent wrapped them around his body and reached for more glamour till the air around him was heavy with rage.
Jane watched him until she realised that the illusion had made her press back into the pillows in fear. She had told him to stay, and she had meant it. She could not comfort him, but she could at least keep him from feeling that he had troubled her.