She found Simon in Michael’s bedchamber, whose location and thick walls made it one of the safest rooms in the house. Dr. Fellowes comforted Lady Corey at the side of the room, while Simon knelt at Michael’s bedside with apparent solicitude.
Arabella knew not what scheme Simon might have in mind. Perhaps he intended to smother Michael at the first opportunity, though that opportunity seemed unlikely as Michael’s bedchamber also served Dr. Fellowes as a private room for examination and treatment of the injured. Or perhaps Simon’s attention to Michael was only an excuse for him to remain far from danger. In any case, she would have to keep a close eye upon him.
When Simon realized she was standing behind him, he quickly straightened and turned to her. “He seems no better.”
Arabella regarded him for a moment, filled with anger and scorn, then dropped her gaze to Michael’s face. Like the captain after Paeonia, he was unconscious, helpless, and surrounded by well-meaning simpletons.
She could—she should—ask the captain for his advice. He was aware of Simon’s perfidy and would surely have some sage counsel to offer. But he was busy with the defense of the house, and her own knowledge of Martian culture was superior to his—superior even to Englishmen who had lived on Mars for decades, who saw only what their English eyes knew how to see. And it could only be an understanding of the Martians that would get them all out of this predicament, if such were even possible.
“I know you stole the egg,” she said to Simon.
Fear, panic, anger, and despair flashed across Simon’s face before he covered it with his hands. “I did,” he sobbed.
Arabella had not, in fact, known with certainty that it had been Simon who had stolen the egg. But that part of Simon’s earlier confession had seemed even less sincere than the rest of it, and her guess that confronting him with his lie would cause him to break down had proven correct.
“Your brother welcomed me into his household,” Simon continued, “and it is to my great shame that even while I enjoyed his hospitality I continually warred within myself as to whether and how I should attempt his murder. But no opportunity presented itself for weeks, and as my indecision and frustration grew…” He raised his face from his hands, and it was wet with tears. “I am afraid that the strain must have driven me somewhat mad. For after we visited the new queen to pay our respects to her upon the delivery of her egg, I conceived a scheme to steal the egg and lay the blame upon your brother.” He drew a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his eyes, and noisily blew his nose. “In this way I hoped to … remove him from the succession, so to speak, without taking direct action, and thus to salve my muddled conscience.”
“But you underestimated the Martians’ reaction to the egg’s abduction.”
“That is sadly true.” He hung his head. “And so appalled was I at the, the entirely unintended consequences of my imprudent action, that when Michael was injured I abandoned all thought of my own fortune and brought him here.”
That Arabella’s suspicions were confirmed was satisfying, and that Simon had undergone a change of heart was gratifying. But she was still distrustful of him—indeed, she did not completely believe his tale even now—and of course her anger at him was redoubled.
“Please tell me you did not destroy the egg.”
“I did not,” he said, and looked to her with dawning understanding and desperate hope. “I hid it in a safe place.”
For the first time that day she felt a faint stirring of hope in her own breast. “You must return it immediately,” she said.
“I cannot,” he said, and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I buried it in the desert, miles from here.”
“In that case,” she told him, in a firm yet gentle tone like the one her father had used after Arabella confessed to breaking the automaton dancer, “you must go up into the tower, tell the Martians that you were the one who abducted the egg, and tell them exactly where they can find it. If they recover it, and it yet lives, we may receive their clemency. Otherwise, we will all certainly perish beneath their catapult stones.” As if to reinforce her words, a rumbling crash sounded from the far side of the house.
“Must I admit my complicity?” He looked up at her with an expression like a cornered khushera. “Is there no alternative?”