“The days that preceded it were so benign in your experience, were they? Clearly you lead an adventuresome life.”
She looked at him squarely. “How did Monsieur Paul gain entrance into the chateau past the prince’s guards? And after the murder, how did he escape without notice?”
“Perhaps a servant allowed him entrance. I inquired of the kitchen staff. They all denied having seen the deputy in the house. Tomorrow I will interview the other servants.”
She might have assumed he would do so. Perhaps he had not avoided speaking with her this afternoon. Perhaps he had merely been otherwise occupied.
She looked into her wine. “Is that the sort of thing they teach men in Catholic monasteries? To interrogate servants and hunt down murderers?”
He did not reply. Gathering her courage, she looked up at him. A slight smile creased one side of his mouth.
“Another question you have been waiting to ask, hm?”
“No.” She rolled her eyes away. “I only learned of your deeply pious past this afternoon.” She took some time studying her fingertip as she ran it around the lip of the goblet. “Is it your past?” Butterflies cavorted about her stomach. It should not matter what he answered, but the wine spread warmth in her limbs and she wanted to know. Needed to know.
“Why?” His voice was easy. “Do you take some particular interest in it?”
“Only in the event that the deputy turns out not to be the murderer and the mayor should need to reopen the case.” Grabbing the decanter, she stood up and went to him. “It would be inconvenient for him to be obliged to hunt you down upon some remote mountaintop.”
“You are all consideration for our French friend.”
“Aren’t I?” She plopped down beside him, tucked her legs beneath her, and extended the bottle to him. “Mostly I wonder if monks are allowed to have dogs.”
He topped off his goblet. “I should think it would depend upon the monastery. Some are stricter than others regarding the prohibition of personal property.”
“Would you keep him?”
He shook his head and laughed. “Ravenna—”
She grasped his sleeve. “But would you?”
He looked down at her hand and she removed it, but it felt peculiar to release him, as though her hand wanted to remain with him.
“I don’t think Gon?alo would allow me to abandon him,” he said. “That he is not here now is only due to the deep sleep into which he fell after his run beside the sleighs this afternoon.” He paused before adding, “But the issue is moot. That life is behind me.”
She fell back in the straw, exhaling panic. It was remarkable, really, how even two sips of wine made one’s feelings so acute and dramatic. “Do you think Mr. Anders drinks wine?”
“I believe I have seen him do so.” His voice smiled.
“I don’t mind it when you laugh at me.”
“I was not laughing at you.”
“Of course you were. Will your brother make Mr. Anders meet him tomorrow at dawn?”
“At the request of Mademoiselle Dijon and the general, he withdrew his challenge. Since the dog was not harmed, the general has also forgiven Lord Prunesly for the theft. It seems it will increase the value of his kennels for a titled lord to have taken an interest in them. They have agreed upon an arrangement by which Lord Prunesly will show the dog at his scientific meeting after all.”
“After which all the most fashionable ladies will want one of Marie’s pups in their boudoirs. Clever. But I am relieved. Martin Anders is very foolish. I cannot think now how I ever considered him a potential suspect.”
“You didn’t. Not since your late-night encounter with him.”
There was something odd in his voice. She opened her eyes and he was as handsome as she had thought before. Now he was looking into his wine, perhaps also searching for the magic in it that made thoughts tumble and feelings acute.
“I don’t believe he meant me harm,” she said.
His gaze came sharply to hers. “Anders?”
“Your brother. Just now. And I am terribly grateful for the wine, as it turns out.”
He paused. “Are you?”
“Tell me about the woman he nearly wed, Mr. Walsh’s sister, the one who died of a broken heart.” She should not ask. It was not her place to ask. But he answered.
“Her name was Fannie. In the first years that Walsh worked for my father, she lived with their mother and grandparents in Bath and rarely visited her brother. When she was fourteen her mother and grandfather died of fever, and she and her grandmother went to live at Airedale. I think my brother came to admire her then.”
“How old was he?”
“Eighteen.”
“Did he court her then?”
“Three years later.”
“He was eager.”
“Rather, he was certain. He saw no reason to wait longer. And, as she was a very pretty girl of an open nature, he saw great reason for haste.”
Ravenna closed her eyes and breathed slowly through her nose, the air cooling her muddled head. “He was heir to a title and she was the sister of his father’s employee. What more attractive marriage could she have hoped for?”
In response, he was silent.
Cheeks suddenly hot, she turned her head and studied him in the silvery-gold of lamp and moonlight. His handsome face was set in quiet lines, as so often, and now she understood why; he was trained to it.
“What happened?” she said. “When he offered for her?”
“My father would not allow it. The match was vastly unequal, of course, and I believe he had other reservations as well.”
A girl of an open nature. “Her character?”
“Perhaps.”
“How did your brother accept that?”
“He fought it, but our father did not relent. When Walsh saw that his sister would not be a countess, however, he accused my brother of having seduced and ruined her. My brother insisted that he had behaved with honor toward her. Infuriated, he called out Walsh. He met Walsh at dawn and shot him in the arm.”
“It is remarkable to me how readily gentlemen take up firearms to settle disputes,” she murmured. “What happened then?”
“Then?”
“After the duel.”
There was another lengthy silence. Then he said, “She transferred her affections to another man.” His eyes, usually so warm and direct, shuttered now. “That man did not return her affections. Soon after, she fell ill.”
“Her will to live must already have been weak. Animals don’t suffer that sort of death if they are loved and well treated. Only humans succumb to illness in such a fashion.”
He looked down at her and the lamplight seemed to cut a crease in his cheek. “You said before that you do not believe in dying of a broken heart.”
“I don’t.”
“And yet you have now suggested the opposite.”
“Weak people have weak wills. Was this girl—this Fannie—was she weak?”
He rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Might we discuss something else, Ravenna? This wearies me.”
“Oh, well, one mustn’t weary his excellency.”
He smiled. “No.”
She turned her face to the window. The moonlight was a winter moon’s, aloof and chill, and her breaths clouded upon the air. But wrapped in her heavy cloak, she barely felt the cold.
“On nights like this, Beast and I used to wander the park at Shelton Grange searching for hare. We could see everything as though it were day. Sometimes better.”