Page 17 of All of Us Murderers

Ten

Zeb ate his plate of dry potatoes and chewy beef in his room because he might be seething with fury, including at himself, but he was also hungry.

He’d bet money that Bram had ordered sandwiches.

Assuming Wynn’s dour serving staff even did sandwiches.

They didn’t serve afternoon tea or any such, and Zeb hadn’t dared to make requests.

Bram had probably been eating angry sandwiches and fuming at Zeb’s underhanded tactics all evening, and the worst thing, the stupidest thing, was that although he hadn’t done it, and Bram would have deserved it if he had done it, he still felt awful.

He tensed as he heard feet coming along the corridor, not wanting another conversation that would make him feel worse. It came to something when you found yourself hoping that the footsteps you heard were ghosts.

There was a knock at the door. Zeb considered pretending he was asleep, but there was a second knock. He cursed internally, answered the door, and saw Gideon.

“Oh,” he said. “Hello.”

“May I come in?”

“Er, yes. If you like.” Zeb stepped back. Gideon came in and closed the door behind him. “Is Wynn all right?”

“Perfectly. Are you?”

Zeb made a flappy-hands sort of gesture. “Well, you were there.”

“I was.” Gideon had a little frown between his eyes. “And I heard—as we all did—Wynn say you told him Mrs. Bram was liable to bring a cuckoo into the nest.”

“I didn’t. Or, at least, I didn’t mean to.

Wynn asked me what I thought of the blasted woman, and I made a throwaway remark comparing her to a Walter Wyckham character.

I honestly didn’t remember the character carrying another man’s child in the book, and in any case, Elise hasn’t had anyone’s baby so far, Bram’s or otherwise.

I just said she reminded me of Lady Ravendark, and Wynn drew the inference that she’d produce a changeling.

I’m not sure why he felt compelled to credit me for it, but now Bram is quite sure I was stabbing him in the back to get the money…

” His voice faded as his brain caught up with his mouth.

“And that’s what you think too. Oh my God.

It is, isn’t it? That’s what you came to say.

If you think that, after everything I told you this morning—oh, go to the devil.

Sod off. I don’t need any more people in this house throwing accusations at me. ”

Gideon didn’t go. He was watching Zeb’s face with an expression that was hard to read.

“Don’t just stand there,” Zeb snapped, hot and miserable, his stomach churning at Gideon disapproving of him, again. “I told you why I don’t want the money, and I find it damned offensive you think I’m trying to get it anyway.”

“You did tell me why, and I believe you.”

“Then why did you say that?”

“Because you have an excellent case for taking it.”

“What case? It’s not mine to take! It oughtn’t be Wyckham money, and it certainly shouldn’t be mine!”

“But if it came to you, you could give it back.”

Zeb blinked at him. Gideon opened his hands. “Zeb, is that what you’re doing? Seeking the money to make reparations? Because if you are, I could understand.”

Zeb groped for a reply, simultaneously indignant and flattered. “I—no. I am not doing that. Perhaps I should be. Maybe that would be the best thing to do, even, but I literally, absolutely, do not want the money in my hands. Even temporarily, even to do good with it. No.”

“Why not?”

“In case it didn’t leave.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, you know.” Gideon’s face suggested he didn’t.

“I mean—well, can you not imagine? You’d say yes, of course I would return the money to its originators, and then you get it.

A hundred and fifty thousand pounds: imagine what you could do with that.

You would imagine, wouldn’t you? And maybe you’d think, it would surely be all right if I gave most of it away.

Two-thirds, say. Or maybe half would be reasonable.

And of course there’s taxes, that shouldn’t come from my share.

And it would take time to decide who to give it to, so naturally I should hold on to it until that was resolved.

And perhaps giving it back wouldn’t be straightforward.

Perhaps it would only be wasted by people who never did anything to earn it themselves.

And it was all a very long time ago, and plenty of British fortunes come from similar origins, and is there any such thing as morally pure money?

And in the end…well, it’s my money now.” Zeb took a deep breath. “Do you see?”

Gideon was frowning. “I suppose so, but do you really think you would do that?”

“I don’t know if I would—I hope not—but I can absolutely see I could. Love of money, root of all evil, that sort of thing, and I don’t suppose I’m any less corruptible than other people.” He shrugged. “I’d rather not put it to the test.”

“I think you underestimate yourself considerably,” Gideon said. “But if that is the case—”

That was when they heard the scream.

It came from some way away, but Zeb could still hear that it wasn’t a shriek of surprise, any more than it was a fox in the night. It was a scream of pure human terror, a real throat-ripper, and it was followed by another, and another.

They both bolted out of the room. Zeb ran in the direction of the scream, down a corridor and right, which took him to a flight of stairs that split.

“It came from Mrs. Bram’s room,” Gideon said behind him. “That way.”

“You stay here, then,” Zeb said. Whatever god-awful chaos Bram and Elise had created would not go better in the presence of an unrelated witness: Bram got very heated about washing dirty linen in public.

He sprinted up the staircase Gideon had indicated and discovered a full-blown scene in progress on the next floor.

Bram, wearing a truly horrible smoking jacket over Indian silk pyjamas, was holding Elise, in a state of undress.

She was clinging to him, sobbing. Zeb had never seen her cry before; judging by his expression, it wasn’t habitual for Bram.

Colonel Dash was also there, with his tie off and collar open.

Given his usual neatness, he might as well have arrived in pyjamas.

“Is everything all right?” Zeb asked, in the pointless yet obligatory way of these things.

Bram gave a huff of annoyance to indicate that no, of course it wasn’t. Dash said, “Lady seems to have had a shock.”

Elise took the great shuddering breath of a woman pulling herself together, jerked herself upright, and stepped back from Bram’s halfhearted embrace. “In my room,” she said, voice distorted. “It was in my room!”

“What was?” Bram said.

Colonel Dash cleared his throat. “Something in your room? Would you care for me to check it? What, exactly—”

“The ghost. I saw the ghost.”

“In your room?” Zeb said. “Can I see?”

“See?” Bram demanded. “What nonsense—?”

“By your leave, ma’am,” Dash said briskly. She nodded, and he went through the door. Zeb followed him in.

Elise was clearly not sharing a bedroom with her husband. There were various feminine accoutrements around the place—pots of things, brushes, garments. The room had panelled walls, a bed, a dressing table, a wardrobe, another door. There was no ghost.

Dash began to look around as Zeb opened the other door. “Bathroom,” he reported. “Nobody in here.”

“Nobody in the wardrobe,” Dash said.

Zeb squatted low. “Or under the bed.”

Bram, from the doorway, said, “You expect to find a ghost under the bed?”

“Someone dressed as a ghost, possibly,” Dash said. “What exactly did you see, Mrs. Bram?”

“A figure—a grey robe, like a monk. I couldn’t see its face.”

“And did the ghost come and go through the door?” Dash asked, his voice dampeningly practical.

“I don’t know where it went or where it came from. It appeared. The room was empty, the door closed. I was putting things away in the bathroom when there was a rush of cold air and the gas flickered and went very low. I turned, and saw it, just there in the corner.” She pointed.

“Close to the mirror of the dressing table,” Bram observed. “A mirror, the curtain, an unexpected shadow: all that might create an effect in the mind—”

“I did not imagine it,” Elise said, with teeth.

“So you were standing by the bathroom door, facing it,” Zeb said. “What happened?”

“I screamed. It raised a hand and pointed at me and its hand was just bones. A skeleton,” she said, sounding incredulous at her own words. “It crooked its finger at me, beckoned me, and it whispered.”

“What did it say?”

“It said—It’s none of your business what it said,” she snapped, rather more like her usual self. “It reached for me with its vile whispering, and I ran for the door, as anyone would have. I got out just as Bram came out of his room.”

“And did it follow you?”

“Of course not,” Bram said. “I have not moved from the spot. Nothing—nobody—came out.”

Zeb exchanged a glance with Colonel Dash. They both walked to the corner.

“What are you doing?” Bram demanded. “This is my wife’s room, you know.”

“Looking for a hidden door.” Zeb wondered how one went about looking for hidden doors, and tried knocking on a panel, since people did that in books. It sounded very like every other time he’d knocked on wood. Colonel Dash ran his hands over the joints.

“Hidden door?” Bram said.

“Nobody came out, so either they’re still in here, or there’s another door,” Dash said. “Stands to reason. You know this house. Any secret passageways?”

Bram’s mouth open and shut a couple of times. “Good God, are you all mad? There are no secret passages!”

“So where’s the person who was in here?” Zeb asked.

“There was nobody in here!”

“Do you mean she saw a ghost?” Dash enquired.

“There was no man and there is no ghost!” Bram shouted. “This is all nonsense and imagination!”

“I saw it!” Elise said, voice rising. “Do you think I am that deluded brat of a schoolgirl, wittering about her fancies? It was in here! It spoke to me!”

“Rubbish. Your feelings are overwrought and your mind ungoverned. What a fuss about nothing.”

This went down as well as might be expected, and the marital discord escalated rapidly. Zeb sidled out, with Dash on his heels, and they retreated down the corridor, away from the raised voices. They were in the central tower, Zeb realised.

“Are you up here?” he asked Dash.

“Next floor down, east wing. Round the corner from Hawley.” They headed for the stairs together. “What did you make of that?”

“I think she saw something,” Zeb said. “And I think what she saw was someone dressed up in a monk’s habit, just like I saw last night.”

“And it was Hawley, you say.” Dash’s moustache rippled with outrage. “One thing to play a joke on one’s fellows, but a lady—I think I shall pay a call on that gentleman. Do you care to accompany me?”

That sounded like a disaster waiting to happen, in the circumstances. “Honestly, no. I’m fed up of this nonsense and I’m going to bed.”

Dash’s expression suggested he was a spineless disappointment. It was water off a duck’s back at this point, so Zeb merely added, “Good night,” and hurried back to his room. He very much hoped Gideon might be there.