James nodded, barely listening, and finally gave her his coat to put away so she’d have something to do. All he wanted was to be alone. What he needed to do required it. He was almost guiltily glad he had missed his friends, that they had gone before he had returned. If he had told them of his suspicions, they would have insisted on remaining with him. He knew it, even before he made his way upstairs and sat wearily on his bed, unfolding Matthew’s note.
Jamie bach—
I would stay if I could, you know that, but it is impossible to fight the Consul single-handedly, especially if she is one’s mother. I left a shilling on the piano bench in case you want to send Neddy with a note, and if you do, we shall all rally around you directly. Knowing you, I suspect you wish to be on your own, but do not expect me to accept that for more than a day’s time. Also, I shall expect the shilling back, you parsimonious bastard.
Yours,
Matthew
James folded the note up and placed it in his shirt pocket, close to his heart. He glanced at the window. Darkness was coming. He could no longer trust the night, or his own mind. His resolve had only hardened as he’d made his way home: he would test himself. Once he knew, he could face his friends, whatever the truth was.
He went upstairs and, in the training room, found a length of densely woven rope. He returned to his bedroom, closed the door firmly, and lay down—barefoot and jacketless, but otherwise fully dressed—on his bed. He proceeded to use the strongest knots he knew to tie his legs and one arm to the bedposts. He was trying to puzzle out a way to tie the other arm with the use of only one hand when Effie bustled into the room, carrying a tea tray.
When she saw the ropes, she froze for a moment before settling the tray carefully on the small table next to his bed.
“Ah, Effie, hello.” James tried to nudge the bedcovers over the ropes, but it was impossible. He waved his one free hand airily. “I was just—I’d heard this was good for the circulation.”
Effie sighed. “I’ll expect a rise in my wages, I will,” she said. “And I’m takin’ the evenin’ off. Just try and stop me.”
She stalked out of the room without another word. Unfortunately, she had set the tray just out of reach, and unless James wanted to go through the business with the ropes a second time, he would simply have to make do without tea tonight.
The lamp was also out of reach, but that was not a problem as James intended to keep it on all night. He had made sure that his knife was close by, and his plan was to hold it lightly in his fist. If he became sleepy, he would squeeze the blade hard enough to wake himself up with the pain.
A little blood was nothing if it meant proving to himself that he was not a murderer.
* * *
Much of the afternoon was a blur. Cordelia returned to Cornwall Gardens and helped Alastair get Sona into bed, a pillow propped behind her back, cool cloths for her eyes. She held her mother’s hands while Sona cried and repeated over and over that she could not bear to think that Elias would now never see his third child. That he had died alone, without his family, without knowing he was loved.
Cordelia tried not to look too much at Alastair; he was her big brother, and it pained her to see him as helpless as she was. She nodded along as Sona spoke, and told her mother it would all be all right in the end. At some point Risa arrived with a small valise holding a few of Cordelia’s things and took over. Cordelia could only be grateful as Risa gave Sona tea laced with laudanum. Soon her mother would sleep, and forget for a while.
She and Alastair went into the drawing room and sat side by side on the divan, silent and shocked, like the survivors of a shipwreck. After some time, Lucie arrived, breathless and tearful—it seemed James had indeed sent a runner to the Institute carrying Cordelia’s request. Alastair told Cordelia that he could remain and receive visitors, if any came; she and Lucie should go upstairs and rest. They all knew few would come to pay condolences: Elias had been neither well known nor well liked.
Lucie went to get tea while Cordelia changed from her dress into a nightgown—quite a few of her old clothes were still folded away in drawers. She clambered into bed. Though the sun had not yet set, she felt exhausted.
When Lucie returned, Cordelia cried a bit on her warm, ink-smelling shoulder. Then Lucie poured her tea, and together they reminisced about Elias—not Elias as Cordelia had come to know him, but the father she’d always thought she had. Lucie recalled the way he had shown them where the best berries were to be found in the hedges at Cirenworth, or the day he had taken them horseback riding on a Devon beach.