Page 44 of All of Us Murderers

Twenty-Three

The secret passage was horrible beyond words.

It was narrow. It was dank and dark, and mostly it was cobwebbed, with swags of old dusty web draped in sheets from every beam.

Zeb could sense the mindless eight-eyed gaze of spiders, hear the rustle and click of angular legs, feel the sticky cling of a strand of web or the horrible brush of a touch.

He wanted to run, to drop the lamp and get out of here before he found himself trapped in the bowels of this hellish house under a mound of chittering mandibles—

His imagination would be the death of him.

He forced himself onward, primarily by fixing his gaze on the circle of light the lamp cast on the floor and keeping his head down. It was all right while he had the light. He refused to acknowledge anything moving in the corner of his eye, whether spiders or shadows.

The passage led up a flight of rickety stairs, where the prospect of a plank giving way underfoot momentarily distracted him from the thought of spiders, and found himself faced with a rough wooden panel in the wall.

It was secured at eye height with a catch, and lower down with a latch.

Both had clearly been used recently because there were no webs attached, a fact for which Zeb was deeply grateful.

He listened a moment to be sure he couldn’t hear anyone, and stepped out into what proved to be Elise’s bedroom. It still smelled of her face-powder and perfume, and grief hit him like a slap in the face.

He hadn’t been fond of her; she hadn’t invited it. But she had been alive. She had applied cosmetics and put on clothes and gone about the business of living. She had smiled, and he’d seen the woman she might have been. And now she was dead and cold, and it was all so terribly wrong.

Zeb took a moment to recover himself, eyes shut, breathing hard. He went to see if Bram was in the room next door, which would have made everything a lot easier, and thus was not the case. Then he headed out to find his brother.

Gideon had told him this was a bad idea but he really hadn’t needed to. It was a terrible idea, one that nagged at every muscle in his body to turn round and go back and skulk with Gideon until they had a chance to get out.

If he didn’t try, though. If he saved himself and left Bram behind without even trying…

Gideon had said a brother that never thought twice about you, but Bram had been kind sometimes.

He’d played card games with seven-year-old Zeb when he had been at home with nothing better to do, and rarely mocked his fear of spiders.

It wasn’t much, perhaps, and it was a long time ago, and since then Bram had stabbed him in the back, told lies about him, and set his life on a far harder path.

But none of that merited a death sentence. Not even his betrayal of Florence did that, terrible wrong though it was. Bram unquestionably needed to take a damned hard look at his life, and if they got out of this, if Zeb got him out of this, then he would have a lot of words for his brother.

If they got out. Bram wasn’t going to make the escape easier. Zeb still had to try.

He didn’t encounter anyone as he came to the landing at the top of the stairs. The house was quiet, unpleasantly so.

He made his way downstairs feeling horribly exposed, spine prickling with the possibility of a push even though there was nobody around. He couldn’t hear voices from anywhere, or see anyone. It felt like a tomb.

Where might Bram be?

He made his way to the library, and his brother was indeed there, sitting in the chair where he’d been—Christ, it was only this morning. He looked even worse than before, wreathed in smoke.

Zeb shut the door. “Bram.”

Bram glanced around and away. He didn’t launch into a diatribe about Zeb’s behaviour in dumping Elise’s body on the ground. That was worrying in itself.

“Bram,” Zeb said again, and then didn’t know what else to say. “Are you all right? Would you at least speak to me?”

Bram stared, silent, and Zeb had a sudden horrible memory of the scene in The Monastery where the heroine begged for information from a servant who finally opened his mouth to reveal his tongue had been cut out. “Bram!” he yelped.

“What, damn you?”

“Oh, thank God. I mean—Listen, I’m just going to say this. Wynn is trying to kill us. He wants us, all the Wyckhams, dead.”

“Nonsense.”

“Listen to me,” Zeb snapped. “I don’t have time to explain, so I need you to trust me.

On Father’s life, Bram, we have to go. We have to get out of this house and we don’t have long to do it, so come with me, because if you stay I don’t think you’ll be alive tomorrow.

You aren’t going to inherit. Wynn’s used that to lure you here, and to make us turn on each other, and at the end of it, he’s going to enjoy his wealth for many more years, and we’ll be dead. ”

“Dead,” Bram said.

“Like Florence. Remember Florence? Her father is here, and he wants you dead for what you did. You have to come with me. I will get you out of here, but come now.”

“Florence is dead,” Bram repeated, musing. “And Elise. She killed her, you know. Elise killed Florence, and Florence killed Elise. Florence stood at the bottom of the stairs, and Elise told her to go away. And then Elise stood at the top of the stairs, and Florence sent her away. I felt her.”

“Felt her how?”

“Her spirit impelled me.” Bram moved his hands as he spoke, a tiny gesture like a push.

Zeb couldn’t respond. He stared at his brother, feeling an odd numbness in his face and fingers.

Gideon tried to tell you…

“It is for the best,” Bram said, voice a starveling version of his usual pomposity. “I am free now and can give Jessamine the protection of my name. The inheritance was promised to me, and Elise stood in my way. It is all for the best.”

Zeb considered one last appeal. If you ever cared about me, perhaps, or By the vow we made at Father’s deathbed…

But he’d be wasting his breath, as perhaps he had always been wasting his breath. And now he needed to get back to Gideon, and leave everyone in this house to the hell they’d helped build for themselves and each other.

“Goodbye, Bram,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything better, and headed to the door. He was two steps away when it opened.

“Ah, Zebedee,” said Wynn.

“Excuse me.” Zeb took a step sideways, poised to run, and stopped when he saw one of the footmen looming behind Wynn, blocking most of the door.

“No, I don’t think so,” Wynn said. “You have done enough harm. Bram, I came to warn you. Your brother is dangerous. He wants to kill you.”

“Oh, rubbish,” Zeb said. “Come home with your drawers torn and say you found the money. You’re lying,” he added for clarity.

“Bram.” Wynn’s voice was compelling. “You know he has been trying to steal your inheritance all along. First your father’s money, now the Wyckham fortune. You know how envious he is. And now he has got you alone. Thank God I found you.”

Bram looked at Zeb, his eyes clearing a little for the first time in their conversation, as if he was actually bothering to pay attention. “You,” he said.

“Oh, stop it,” Zeb snapped. “We’ve been talking for a while with absolutely no homicide, and what would I kill you with anyway, a pen? A hardback edition of a Walter Wyckham novel?”

“Or the gun you have on your person,” Wynn said, the note of triumph clear in his voice. “Look, Bram, you will see—”

Zeb stood up, pulled out the sides of his coat, and flapped them, then pulled them higher so his gun-free waist could be seen. He opened the front of the coat. “What gun?”

“You have it,” Wynn said. “You took it.”

“No, I did not. Because someone who goes around with a gun is someone who wants to hurt or threaten people, and I don’t.” And also I can spot a bear trap when one is set for me, you smug prick.

“Of course you have it,” Wynn said, sounding just a touch off-balance. “It isn’t there.”

The gong boomed in the hall. Zeb glanced at the clock. It was barely twelve, which was early for lunchtime—

The signal. Oh God, that must be Rachel’s signal. He had to go.

“What was that?” Wynn said, with a frown.

“I have no idea where your gun is, Wynn. You should be more careful.” Zeb needed Wynn not to pay attention to the gong, and even more, he needed to get out of here. “I expect Hawley took it.”

“Hawley?”

“Why not? He doesn’t mind hurting people.

And you’ve made him pretty desperate, haven’t you?

I don’t know what you’ve been giving him—oh, is it in those ghastly cigarettes?

” He glanced back at Bram, recognizing the vagueness in his face.

“You’ve got them both smoking it. Clever.

Anyway, he’s not making much sense, so if someone’s running around with the gun you left lying about, it’s probably him. ”

The footman’s expression hardened menacingly. Zeb might have felt guilty, but he needed to get back to Gideon now, now, and everything else was secondary.

“Yes,” Wynn said. “Yes, that will be it. Hawley has it. And I don’t know where Jessamine is.

She has changed her mind, Bram, she no longer wants this foolish engagement to Hawley.

If he has taken her somewhere secluded—if he thinks to compromise her and force her into marriage, so he can steal your inheritance—”

“The swine.” Bram rose heavily to his feet. “I will not have it. He has no right.”

“Save her. You will have it all, if you find him and save her.”

“Don’t listen, Bram,” Zeb said. “He’s trying to make us all fight, and you’re falling for it.”

Wynn shot him a nasty look. “You are a coward. Bram will play the man’s part here. Find Hawley, Bram. Take the poker. You can’t trust him. Don’t give him a chance.”

Bram picked up the poker. Zeb said, hopelessly, “Don’t.”

He might as well not have spoken. Bram walked out of the room like an automaton. Wynn went with him. Zeb made to go too, and found the footman in his way. As he tried to get round, Jessamine stepped into the room. Bram must have walked right past her.