Page 32 of All of Us Murderers

Cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d. Zeb could feel the sensations building up in his own muscles, the angry jittery cramping misery of being trapped.

If it had been him in this room, this long, he’d have gone mad.

He’d have smashed the window in sheer, unbearable desperation to get out, no matter if the only way was down—

There were bars on the window. She couldn’t jump. They hadn’t even let her do that.

The walls closed in on him like the squeeze of a giant fist. He stood in the room, hands shaking, the wobbling candle making light and shadows jump on the walls that shrieked rage and pain and despair, and he didn’t notice the tears in his eyes till they started to fall.

***

Zeb did not want to go down to dinner. He didn’t want to see anyone in his family ever again.

He’d more or less run down from the terrible tower room and headed straight through the hall and out the front door.

He’d wanted to walk for hours, or days. Unfortunately, it was sodding cold, very dark, and unpleasantly thick with cobwebby mist, and after about a minute outside, the horror of confinement started to be replaced with thoughts of getting lost in the grounds and death by exposure.

He returned, chilled and damp, paced the halls a bit more, and finally went and sat in his room for what must have been an hour, running his beads through his fingers, staring at the blank walls, imagining words.

He’d heard nothing from Gideon and he wanted, needed to get out of here with an urgency that clawed at him.

He could not spend another day in this accursed house with its pestilential inhabitants, or he would rip off one of Wynn’s limbs and use it to beat his brother to a pulp.

Or, at least, would stand in strong danger of losing his temper.

Elise had listened. She’d help him leave, hopefully with Gideon, and the first place he was going to go after that would be a lawyer, or a private enquiry agent, or the police.

He would tell people and someone would surely do something about some of this, even if Zeb wasn’t quite sure of what he could prove to be a crime.

It was all too wrong and he couldn’t bear much more.

He dressed, more out of excessive nervous energy than enthusiasm. That involved a lengthy search for the shirt studs he still hadn’t picked up, but even so, he found himself first down. Apparently everyone else was even less enthused about the evening to come than he was.

Gideon appeared in the drawing room a few moments later with a rat-trap mouth suggesting he had also had a trying day. He glanced swiftly around, and strode to join Zeb at the drinks table.

“I have to get out of here,” Zeb said without preamble. “Any luck? Hello.”

“I’ve achieved nothing. Wynn kept me busy all day. Which, in the circumstances—” Gideon rolled his eyes.

“Has something happened?”

“Did you not hear the commotion? Good Lord, I thought people would hear it in Exeter.” Gideon poured himself a very generous sherry.

“This afternoon, Bram and Wynn had a long discussion about your and Hawley’s failings.

As a result, Wynn said he would make Bram his heir if he divorced Mrs. Bram and promised to marry Jessamine as soon as decency allows. He agreed.”

“Of course he did. I hope he enjoys seeing his divorce proceedings in the papers,” Zeb said. “But—”

“I haven’t finished; I have barely started. Your brother agreed to seek a divorce and marry Jessamine. He went out. Ten minutes later, Hawley came in with Jessamine and said she had consented to be his wife.”

“Oh my God.”

“Wynn said he would need time to think before giving permission, and called Bram back to advise him of developments. That went down poorly. Wynn then told them he would need to consider which of the two was the more fit to wed his ward, and they both went out in some discord.” He knocked back half his sherry in a gulp.

“And twenty minutes later, Mrs. Bram descended and asked for a private conversation with Wynn.”

“Oh my God.”

“Wynn said he needed to rest before dinner, and will see her at nine tomorrow. I assume she knows where the bodies are buried and intends to destroy both of their characters to Wynn. Tonight should be special.”

“If that is what she intends,” Zeb said. “She might just have wanted the motor: I spoke to her today and I think she agreed to come with me. Or maybe it’s both and she wants to fire a parting shot before we leave. Burn it all down and sow the ground with salt. I don’t suppose I’d blame her.”

“Perhaps not. But Bram and Hawley both really believed the prize was within their grasp this afternoon and they were both very seriously disappointed. If they think Mrs. Bram intends to scupper them tomorrow, they won’t take it well.”

“No. Ugh. Does Elise know what’s going on? Because if she just wanted to talk about leaving—”

Gideon took a swift step away from him. “I hope the mist will have cleared tomorrow, yes. I understand it can linger for several days, but I expect the severity to decrease.”

“We shall see,” Wynn remarked from the doorway.

He had Jessamine on his arm, in a pretty cream frock, wearing her long hair down.

She still looked very young to Zeb, but then, he had no sisters and had never mixed with young ladies, so what did he know.

“I would expect at least another day of mist, perhaps two, and I shall not have the motor taken out before I am quite sure it is safe. I dare say I am a very cautious man, but I should not care to be responsible for something happening to my staff or my family.” He beamed benevolently.

Zeb thought of Rachel, and the silent agony of the walls upstairs, and took a deep, preparatory breath.

The scream was high and dreadful, a shriek of pure fear that cut off with a sickening crunch and thud.

Zeb sprinted out to the hall, just behind Gideon, and saw a crumpled form at the bottom of the stone staircase.

Her satin gown pooled ivory around her splayed legs. Blood pooled deep red around her head.

“Christ,” Zeb said. “Elise!” He ran forward and dropped to a knee, reaching for her, but didn’t touch: not with the angle of her neck and her wide, sightless eyes. “Oh God, I think she’s dead. Gideon, she’s dead!”

There was no reply. He looked up and saw that Gideon was gazing at the top of the stairs. Zeb glanced that way, saw nothing. “Gideon?”

“Oh, dear,” Wynn said behind him. “Oh dear, oh dear me. Lady Ravendark herself.”

Zeb had never hated anyone more than in that moment. “She’s dead, you shit,” he said thickly. “Someone fetch Bram. And send for a doctor, I suppose. The authorities.”

“Police,” Gideon said, the single word bitten out. “We need to summon the police.”

“Elise!” It was a shriek. Jessamine pushed past Zeb and fell to her knees at Elise’s head. “Oh, Elise, no, no!” She curved forward over the body.

“What the devil?” Bram was standing at the top of the stairs. As Zeb stared up, he saw Hawley arrive on the landing, behind Bram. They both looked down with expressions of almost comical horror, then Bram said, “Elise?” and began to descend.

Jessamine rose. Her expression was ghastly, her hands bloody, and blood stained her cream dress at the knees. It looked obscene. “Dead!” she said wildly. “She’s dead! Oh, she’s dead!”

Bram was at the bottom of the stairs now, standing over his wife’s crumpled form, mouth slack. Zeb said, “Wynn, take Jessamine away.”

Wynn didn’t move. Zeb looked round and saw he had his hand clutched to his heart. Gideon took Jessamine by the arm and said, “Let us give Mr. Bram room.”

“He hated her!” Jessamine shrieked. “She hated him! And now she’s dead!”

Zeb shot a look at Gideon, who pulled Jessamine so hard she stumbled sideways, still wailing. He looked like he was thinking about administering a slap, and Zeb wished he would. He said, “Bram?” and was ignored.

Hawley had come down now. He and Bram stood over the body of the woman they had both loved, at least in their ways, at some point, probably.

They had wanted her and fought over her and hated her.

She had perhaps loved them both once, certainly humiliated them both, and unquestionably stood in the way of either of them getting his hands on a hundred and fifty thousand pounds.

Bram looked stunned. Hawley’s face was twisted in a way that suggested he might weep, or laugh.

“There’s been an accident,” Zeb said redundantly. Nobody replied.

And the proper thing now would be for Zeb to comfort his brother, so suddenly and violently made a widower, but he looked at dead Elise and thought of Rachel, and he couldn’t choke out a word.