The earl grabbed the back of Adrian’s shirt, hauling him up. Adrian appeared to be weeping. “I didn’t know,” he mumbled. “But I guessed.” He stared around, shaking off his uncle’s grip. “I asked her, poor dearest Sissy. She wouldn’t answer me. I wondered, I couldn’t sleep, but I didn’t want to believe so I shut the thought away. But it was there all the time at the back of my mind like a black stone.” He glared at Nicholas. “But then she seemed alright. She was happy again. Running to Peter. I thought perhaps – it couldn’t have been him. Would a woman still love a man after that?”
The baroness spoke quietly behind him. “Read her confession. She has written it this hour past, at my request. Sysabel admits her part and names Peter. She is trying to make good the evil done.”
Adrian shook his head. “I can’t read it. I accept your word.”
“Did you kill Peter?”
Adrian gazed back at the earl. “May the good Lord forgive me, I didn’t blame Peter. When my sister seemed better, I thought either I had been wrong and there’d been no wickedness done after all, or perhaps – perhaps being so small and young – her body had righted itself with God’s kindness. But she adored Peter. I never liked him much, but how could he have been the culprit when she loved him still? It was Nicholas Sissy despised. So I thought – when I could bear thinking about it at all – I thought –”
“Sweet Jesus,” murmured Nicholas. “You thought it was me?”
“I did,” Adrian mumbled, shaking his head. “Forgive me. I thought it could have been – against her will – and in jealousy of Peter.” He stared around again, finally facing the earl. “I always knew, you see, it must have been Nicholas who killed his brother.”
Shuffling in the silence, the scraping of stools pushed back or pulled forwards. One candle guttered, sank, and blinked out. Lady Wrotham replaced it with her own. It was the earl who finally reached to the folded paper on the table and started to read.
But it was Nicholas who spoke first. “I don’t believe you,” he said abruptly.
“My Peter,” mumbled the earl, refolding the paper. “Little Sissy.”
“You’re lying, Adrian.” Nicholas stared, unblinking, at his cousin. “If you genuinely believed I’d raped your sister, got her pregnant, and then dragged her off for an abortion which might have killed her, you would have accused me, threatened me. You would have fought me. Ostracised me, announced my crime to my father and spat in my face. You’d hardly have brought your sister to my wedding, then invited me for a friendly visit after the castle fire.”
“Your wife,” Adrian mumbled. “She wasn’t to blame for anything. I sympathised – poor girl. Already wed to you. Then the ruin of the fire. I felt obliged to offer a refuge.”
“To have me in your house, and guest of your sister?” Nicholas shook his head. “And this already some months after you must have guessed about Sissy’s predicament, and yet had done nothing. To me, you said not one word. You called me coward, but I never thought to call you that. Yet it would have been cowardice beyond possibility to think me guilty of such behaviour, then culminating in Peter’s murder, and yet come to my wedding, invite me to your house, greet me with all civility and say not one word in anger.”
“I couldn’t be sure. I hoped it wasn’t true.” Adrian voice was unsteady. “Inviting you – I thought I’d see – see how you spoke to my6 sister and how she spoke to you. Try to find out the truth. I was ready – ready to kill you if I discovered the truth.”
The earl interrupted, puzzled. “But if my Peter loved little Sysabel so well, why didn’t he marry her? I’d have adjusted, accepted, stopped the negotiations with the Wrothams. Oh, a little bluster perhaps, a little shouting, and none too pleased. But with the girl expecting a Chatwyn child, a dispensation could have been asked and paid for. She and Peter could have wed.”
The baroness took up another stool and drew it to the head of the table. She spoke quietly. “Peter never loved Sysabel,” she said. “I came to know him later, and I doubt he was capable of loving anyone. He wished to marry my daughter because she’s an heiress. Sysabel had no money, nor even a dower. I imagine Peter used her, despising her for being easy, and nothing more. When he discovered she was carrying his child, he sent her off to the abortionist with a servant. He neither collected her afterwards, nor contacted her for three weeks following, during which time she was desperately ill.”
Nicholas looked again at Adrian. “Peter laughed behind her back, joking about her passion for him. I knew nothing more. But you lived with her Adrian. She was so ill, and for so long? And you claim you knew nothing?”
“I said I guessed.”
“Simply a guess. But still did nothing.”
The earl was going pink. “No one must ever know. The scandal would ruin us. Everyone must keep silent. What of this woman – the crone who performed –”
“She is dead,” interrupted the baroness.
Nicholas looked up. “You know that, my lady? How?”
“More sudden suspicions, Nicholas?” Lady Wrotham smiled back at her son-in-law. “No, Martha informed me. I knew nothing of this until quite recently but evidently one of the old family retainers did. Martha was once my daughters’ nurse, and has remained with us ever since. She has a manner which encourages confidences. Young Sysabel’s maid told Martha a great deal. Thinking to bring the matter into the open, Martha took the girls past that particular street on a trip to London from the Strand House. The herbalist’s house was gutted, and half the lane with it. Martha made enquiries the next day, and was told the old woman had been murdered. She was known to help girls in trouble. Her killing was therefore never investigated by the sheriff, and taken as justice for wicked immorality.” The baroness sighed. “It seems these slayings are all much the same design, and all finish in fire.
Jerrid sighed, remaining slumped against the wall at the doorway. Nicholas still sat on the long bench, watching the others. For some time he was silent. The earl sniffed loudly. “We’re saying – murder. For what was done, if it’s true, though I find it impossible to credit – sinful, of course, of both of them. Had I known – but it seems I misjudged.” He stopped suddenly, sniffed again, and blew his nose loudly on the kerchief he pulled from his doublet lacings. “But murder? Revenge? Adrian?”
Adrian was now openly crying. “I would have. I should have,” Adrian sobbed. “But I never did. I didn’t want to – believe – it of her. Even of Peter. I blinded myself.”
“You preferred not to believe it of her. Nor, it seems, of Peter. Yet apparently you were able to believe it of me.” Nicholas remained unmoved. “Did you also blind yourself to high treason, my friend?”
“Muddles, mischief, lies and lunacy.” Jerrid leaned back against the door jamb. He shook his head as the second candle spluttered, the tallow flared, and the stench renewed. “Sysabel and Peter. Adrian and Urswick. What wickedness have we uncovered?”
The earl stared, his eyes red rimmed. “My Peter – so wrong, so terribly wrong. And he never told me, never asked my help.” He swallowed, half choking, then glared at Adrian. “And you slaughtered your own cousin? You killed my son?”
“Never.” Adrian stood, panicked and desperate. “Alright. I know Christopher Urswick, and I know what he came here to do. I meant to take the letter north to Northumberland. My motives are my own business, and if you intend to inform on me to the king, I’ll accept the consequences. But murder Peter – I never did. Nicholas killed his brother, and I know it. I’ve always known it.” He was wild eyed and now he was shouting. “I said nothing and I let him get away with it, for I knew one of my damned cousins violated my little sister, and I hated them both. I hated – I hated everyone.”