A Suitable Vengeance

“And did you see Peter again that night?”


“Didn’t see him until this evening.” Again, Brooke grinned. This time it was a just-between-us-boys sort of look, one that claimed camaraderie and understanding. “I came back here, made it up with Sid, and spent the night occupied in her room. Fairly well occupied, as a matter of fact. Sid’s that way.” He pushed himself to his feet and concluded by saying, “I thought it best to tell you about your brother, rather than the police. It seemed to me that you’d know what to do. But if you think I should ring them…”

He let the statement slide. All of them knew it was meaningless. Nodding at them both, he left the room.

When the door closed behind him, Lynley felt in his pocket for his cigarette case. Once it was in his grasp, however, he looked at it curiously, saw how it winked in the light, and wondered how it had come to find its way into his hand. He didn’t want to smoke.

“What shall…” The two words emerged hoarsely. He tried again. “What shall I do, St. James?”

“Talk to Boscowan. What else can you do?”

“He’s my brother. Would you have me play Cain?”

“Shall I do it for you, then?”

At that, Lynley looked at his friend. He saw how implacable St. James’ features had become. He knew that there was no reasonable alternative. He saw that even as he searched for one.

“Give me till the morning,” he said.





CHAPTER 14


Deborah checked the room in a cursory fashion to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. She locked her suitcase and pulled it from the bed, deciding, as she did so, that it was just as well they were leaving Cornwall. The weather had changed during the night, and yesterday’s dazzling cobalt sky was the colour of slate this morning. Sharp gusts of wind coughed intermittently against the windows, and from one which she had left partially open came the unmistakable smell of rain-laden air. However, other than the occasional rattling of windowpanes and the creak of the heavy branches of a beech tree a short distance from the house, the morning brought no additional sounds, for instinctively recognising the approach of a storm, the clamorous gulls and cormorants had vanished, seeking shelter inland.

“Miss?”

At the doorway stood one of the Howenstow maids, a young woman with a cloud of dark hair that quite overwhelmed a triangular face. Her name was Caroline, Deborah recalled, and like the other daily help in the house, she wore no uniform, merely a navy skirt, white blouse, and flat-heeled shoes. She was snug and neat looking, and she carried a tray which she used to gesture as she spoke.

“His lordship thought you’d want something before you leave for the train,” Caroline said, taking the food to a small tripod table that stood near the fireplace. “He says you’ve just thirty minutes.”

“Does Lady Helen know that? Is she up?”

“Up, dressing, and having her breakfast as well.”

As if in affirmation of this, Lady Helen wandered into the room, simultaneously engaged in all three activities. She was in her stocking feet, she was munching on a wedge of toast, and she was holding up two pairs of shoes at arm’s length.

“I can’t decide,” she said as she scrutinised them critically. “The suede are more comfortable, but the green are rather sweet, aren’t they? I’ve had them both on and off a dozen times this morning.”

“I should recommend the suede,” Caroline said.

“Hmmm.” Lady Helen dropped one suede shoe to the floor, stepped into it, dropped one of the other pair, stepped into that. “Look closely, Caroline. Are you really quite sure?”

“Quite,” Caroline replied. “The suede. And if you’ll give me the other pair, I’ll just pop them into your suitcase.”

Lady Helen waved her off for a moment. She studied her feet in the mirror that hung on the inside of the wardrobe door. “I can see your point. But look at the green. Surely, there’s green in my skirt as well. Or if not, perhaps they’ll provide a hint of contrast. Because I’ve the sweetest handbag that goes with these shoes and I’ve been dying to put them together somehow. One hates to admit that an impulsive purchase of shoes and bag has been wildly in vain. Deborah, what do you think?”

“The suede,” Deborah said. She pushed her suitcase towards the door and went to the dressing table.

Lady Helen sighed. “Outvoted, I suppose.” She watched as Caroline left the room. “I wonder if I can steal her from Tommy. Just one look at those shoes and she made up her mind. Heavens, Deborah, she’d save me hours every day. No more standing before the wardrobe, futilely trying to decide what to wear in the morning. I’d be positively liberated.”