Augusta realized she was at last going to share with Harry that wonderful close friendship he shared with Sally and Peter. Together they would solve a mystery and Harry would see that Augusta could do her part. He would learn to respect her cleverness, she promised herself. He would start to see her as one of his true friends, a woman he could trust and with whom he shared the secret aspect of himself.
The soft sound of the door opening and closing in the hall brought Augusta to a halt. There was a murmur of men's voices and the sound of booted feet on the tile. She whirled around quickly and ran to the library door. When she opened it she found a dour-looking Harry and a grinning Peter Sheldrake.
Peter sketched a gallant bow. "Good evening, madam. May I be allowed to tell you how perfectly attired you are for this evening's event? The black velvet cloak and boots are extremely dashing. Does she not look splendidly dressed for this sort of thing, Graystone?"
Harry scowled. "She looks like a damn highwayman. Let us be off." He motioned both of them out the door with his ebony cane. "I want to get this over as quickly as possible."
"Are we not going to go out through the library window?" Augusta asked.
"No, we are not. We are going to go out through the kitchens in a normal, reasonably civilized manner."
Augusta wrinkled her nose at Peter as they followed Harry out of the library. "Does he always get like this when he is involved in an investigation?"
"Always," Peter assured her. "Quite a killjoy, our Graystone. No sense of adventure."
Harry threw his companions a quelling glance over his shoulder. "Be still, both of you. I do not want to waken the staff."
"Yes, sir," Peter murmured.
"Yes, sir," Augusta whispered.
The trio made their way safely out into the garden without incident and found they did not need a lamp to light the route down the lane. There was enough moonlight to reveal the paving stones, and the warm glow from the upstairs windows of Lady Arbuthnott's house served as a beacon.
As they drew closer to their goal, Augusta noticed that the downstairs of the big house was dark. "Will Sally be waiting for us at the kitchen door, then?"
"Yes," Peter said softly. "She'll take us into her library and we will talk there."
When they reached the gate of Lady Arbuthnott's garden, Harry paused. "It's open."
"No doubt she sent a servant out earlier to unlatch it for us," Peter said, pushing at the heavy gate. "I do not think she has the strength to walk this far on her own anymore, poor dear."
"I am amazed she can continue to operate Pompeia's," Augusta whispered.
" 'Tis all that keeps her going. That and the pleasure of being involved in one last investigation for Graystone, of course," Peter confided.
"Silence," Harry ordered.
Augusta clutched the folds of her cloak around her and followed Harry in dutiful silence. Peter brought up the rear of the short column.
Because she was directly behind him, Augusta nearly collided with Harry when he came to an abrupt halt.
"Ooomph." She caught her balance. "Harry? What is it?"
"Something is wrong." There was a deadly flat quality in Harry's voice which alarmed Augusta as nothing else could have done. She realized he was grasping his ebony walking stick in a rather odd manner.
"Trouble?" Peter spoke softly in the shadows, all trace of banter gone from his voice.
"The back door is standing open. There is no light and no sign of Sally. Take Augusta back to the house. Rejoin me once you have seen her safely inside."
"Understood." Peter reached out to take Augusta's arm.
Augusta sidestepped him hurriedly. "Harry, no, please let me come with you. Sally might have become gravely ill. Perhaps that is why—" Augusta cried out as her toe tangled in the hem of a woman's gown that had drifted out from beneath a clump of bushes. "Oh, dear God, no. Sally."
"Augusta? What the hell—" Harry spun around and started toward her.
Augusta was already on her knees, crawling frantically beneath the heavy foliage. " 'Tis Sally. Oh, Harry, I know 'tis her. She must have collapsed out here. Sally."
Augusta touched her friend's body, fumbling with Sally's expensive silk gown. Her black gloves were instantly soaked in warm blood. A shaft of starlight gleamed dully on the hilt of the dagger that was still buried in Sally's breast.
"Goddamn his bloody soul." Harry's voice was savage as he tore his way through the bushes and dropped down beside his old friend. He groped for Sally's wrist and felt for a pulse. "She lives."
"Christ." Peter found his way to Sally's side. He stared at the dagger and swore again. "The goddamned son of a bitch."
"Sally?" Augusta grasped the limp hand and was horrified by the cold feel of it. Sally was dying. That was a certainty.
"Augusta? Is that you, dear?" Sally's voice was barely a whisper of sound. "I am glad. Glad you are here. 'Tis not pleasant to die alone, you know. 'Tis the one thing I reared."
"We are all here, Sally," Harry said quietly. "Peter and Augusta and I. You are not alone."
"My friends." Sally's eyes closed. " 'Tis better this way. The pain was getting so bad. So bad. I did not think I could go on much longer, you know. Still, I would have preferred to do the thing myself."
Tears started in Augusta's eyes. She gripped Sally's hand fiercely, as if she could hold on to her through sheer physical strength.
"Sally, who did this?" Harry asked. "The Spider?"
"Oh, yes. It must have been him. Never saw his face. But he knew about the list. Knew I had it. Got it from the cook."
"What cook?" Peter asked gently.
"Cook at the old Saber Club. Got it this morning from him."
"Damn the Spider's bloody soul to hell," Harry whispered. "I will see that he pays for this, Sally."
"Yes, I know, Graystone. This time you shall have him. Always knew that one day you would settle accounts with the Spider." Sally started to cough dreadfully.
Augusta held on to the frail hand more tightly, the tears spilling down her face to mingle with her friend's blood. Once before she had held someone like this and watched helplessly as the life within dwindled to a tiny flame and then flickered and went out. There was no more terrible task in the world than this kind of vigil.
"Augusta?"
"Sally, I shall miss you so," Augusta said through her tears. "You have truly been my friend."
"And you have been a true friend to me, my dearest Augusta. You have given me more than you will ever know. Now you must let me go. 'Tis past time."
"Sally?"
"Do not forget to open the book, Augusta."
"No. I will not forget."
And then Sally was gone.
19
Harry held Augusta as she sobbed in his arms. He could think of no way to comfort her and nothing hurt as much as not being able to alleviate her pain. This overflowing emotion was no doubt the way a Northumberland Ballinger dealt with grief and he envied Augusta the release of tears. For himself, he could do nothing but plot revenge.
Unable to do anything else, Harry closed his arms tightly around Augusta there in the hall of the big, silent Arbuthnott mansion and willed the storm to pass.
And he forced himself to think only of vengeance.
Augusta was calming slightly when Harry looked over her head and spotted Peter coming through the back door.
"It looks like he had time to search her bedroom and the library," Peter said. "Both rooms are a shambles. But the other rooms are still in good order. He must have heard someone or something and left before he had time to finish the job. Probably decided that with Sally dead, no one else would be able to find the list, either."