Part 10 (1/2)
I helped him to remove his shoes, his socks, and his sweater, but left the rest of the undressing to him while I politely turned my back and dug the container of soup and a plastic spoon out of the cafe's takeaway bag. I waited until he'd crawled under the covers to bring the soup to him.
”I've never been less hungry in my life,” he stated flatly.
”Eat anyway,” I ordered. ”You're not supposed to take your medication on an empty stomach.”
I coaxed and wheedled and did everything but play the airplane-spoon game with him, and he eventually downed enough soup to satisfy me. I fetched a gla.s.s of water from the bathroom, tipped two tablets into my palm, and insisted that he swallow both.
”You remind me of my nanny,” he grumbled irritably.
”You remind me of my three-year-olds,” I retorted, and gently rearranged his pillows.
”Just my luck,” he muttered. ”I finally succeed in luring you to my bedroom only to have you turn it into a nursery.”
”That's where I'm going next,” I said, and settled on the edge of his bed.
He regarded me gravely. ”I wish you wouldn't.”
”I have to check out the children's books,” I reminded him. ”Maybe I'll find something that'll lead me to-”
”I wish you wouldn't,” he repeated, though his speech was becoming slurred and his eyelids were drooping. ”Our prankster's a malicious beast. I don't like the thought of you being up there alone at night, and I'm b.l.o.o.d.y useless at the moment.”
”You'll feel better tomorrow,” I soothed.
”Stay with me,” he murmured drowsily.
”I'll stay with you until you fall asleep.” I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. ”Now close your eyes.”
The pain pills saved me the trouble of singing a lullaby. Minutes later, Simon was so deeply asleep that he didn't stir when I bent to kiss his brow.
”Thank you,” I said, knowing he couldn't hear. ”You didn't have to tell me that Bill tried to cut the meeting short. You could have kept it to yourself.”
It wasn't difficult to imagine Bill persisting in his protests until he sensed Simon's reluctance to acknowledge weakness. Only then, out of respect for Simon's unspoken wishes, would Bill have let the matter drop.
Simon had, perhaps unwittingly, given me a great gift. He'd reminded me that, while Bill and Gina might have a few superficial things in common, their souls were as different as night and day. Bill could never be attracted to a woman who prattled on about money while her husband sat suffering before her.
Bill had never placed profit above compa.s.sion. He'd find it frustrating to work with someone who did. The emotion I'd heard in his voice when he'd whispered Gina's name had more likely been exasperation than longing. I still wasn't sure what had happened between them over the past three months, but I was certain that such a woman could never touch Bill's heart.
”I wish your life were different, Simon,” I whispered.
”You deserve better than Gina. And when I find out who's tormenting you, I'm going to hang him-or her-out to dry.”
Thirteen.
I put in an appearance in the drawing room, to make my apologies to Lord Elstyn for missing dinner, but he wasn't there. He hadn't made it to the dining room, either. The earl and his trusty counselors had taken their meal on trays in the study. They were still there.
Nell, too, was absent. When I asked where she was, Derek laughed.
”She's in her room, writing an essay on the lays of Marie de France,” he said. ”She must be taking her year at the Sorbonne very seriously, to favor Marie de France over me and Emma.”
”I don't mind,” said Emma, with a meaningful look in my direction. ”I'm glad she's absorbed in her schoolwork. It'll keep her from being . . . homesick.”
I silently translated ”homesick” to mean ”lovesick for Kit Smith” and nodded my agreement. The longer Nell stayed away from home, the easier it would be for her to outgrow her infatuation with the Harrises' stable master.
”Simon's worn out, is he?” Claudia queried after hearing my explanation for his absence. ”I would be, too, if I'd spent the morning closeted with Uncle Edwin. Uncle's been in a filthy mood ever since he spoke with you, Derek.”
”My father's been in a filthy mood ever since-” Derek broke off when Emma touched his arm.
”Where did you and Simon have dinner?” Emma asked, steering the conversation in what she thought was a safer direction.
I hastily pulled up memories of the day Bill and I had spent in Salisbury, before the twins were born.
”The Shuttleworth Inn,” I replied, hoping the restaurant still existed. ”We needed a solid meal after climbing the stairs up to the spire and hiking around the Roman hill fort at Old Sarum. To tell you the truth, I'm pretty whacked. I think I'll follow Simon's example and turn in early.”
”Aren't you going to wait for your husband?” Claudia inquired.
”Bill's working late,” I told her.
”Poor lamb,” Claudia cooed. ”It must be dreadful for him to be locked away with Gina while you and Simon frolic.”
”Bill came here to work,” I said.
Claudia arched her eyebrows. ”Is that all he came here to do?”
Both Derek and Oliver caught the sly insinuation in her tone and would have intervened, but I silenced them with a confident smile. Thanks to Simon, I was immune to Claudia's soph.o.m.oric baiting.
”Bill works for a living,” I said brightly. ”It's not a concept I'd expect you to understand, Claudia, but perhaps your husband will explain it to you one day, if he can get a word in edgewise. Good night, all.”
I left the room before Claudia had time to collect the few thoughts that were at her disposal and went upstairs. I took a short detour to look in on Simon and was pleased to find him sleeping peacefully. I smoothed his blankets as tenderly as I would have smoothed my sons', grabbed the chicken sandwiches, and headed for the nursery.
The babble of voices in the drawing room grew fainter as I climbed higher and faded entirely when I reached the third-floor corridor. Enough light spilled down the hallway from the staircase for me to find my way to the nursery door, where I stopped to listen.
Was Nell in her room writing an essay? I asked myself. Or was she in the nursery, working on a more dramatic composition? I bent to peer through the keyhole. The room was dark and as silent as a tomb. Simon's malicious beast-whoever he was-had evidently chosen to spend the night elsewhere, so I let myself in, closed the curtains, and lit a wall lamp.
Since Simon and I hadn't enjoyed a bountiful repast at the dear old Shuttleworth Inn, I was hungry enough to chew the paint off the walls. I devoured the slightly soggy chicken sandwiches with gusto, disposed of the wrappers in the cafe's bag, and only then began my long-delayed search for clues. My first stop was the toy cupboard.
It didn't take long to strike gold. On the third shelf from the top, hidden behind a toy fire engine and a wooden box filled with tin soldiers, I found a stack of white paper, a pot of paste, and an old-fas.h.i.+oned straight razor with an ultrasharp blade-a useful tool for a maniac intent on dissecting books.
The paste was fresh, so I a.s.sumed it wasn't a remnant of Derek's prep-school days, and the paper matched the half-sheets in my pocket, but the razor was the biggest prize of all. As I lifted it from the shelf, I saw that its tortoisesh.e.l.l handle was worn and chipped and inlaid in silver with the Elstyn family crest.
I'd seen the crest on every piece of china in the dinner service. I couldn't be mistaken. The razor had to be a family heirloom, yet here it was, beside the paste and paper, a vital part of the poison pen's handy-dandy toolkit.
The razor seemed to point like an accusing finger at a member of the family, but which one? I contemplated hiding in the bathroom to lie in wait for the culprit but vetoed the plan as impractical. Bill would sound the alarm if he found my bed empty in the middle of the night or ask the kind of questions I couldn't answer without betraying Simon's confidence.
After a moment's thought, I slipped the razor into my pocket with the two nasty notes. I'd show it to Simon first thing in the morning, let him draw the obvious conclusions, and follow the trail wherever it might lead.