Page 32 of Ashwood (Wallflowers and Demons #1)

brAVE THINGS

DORIAN

T he rain gloves in steady streaks down the windowpane, tracing the glass like vines.

The fire hisses softly in the hearth, not quite enough to chase the damp from the air.

Across the table, Katherine sits in a pool of morning light, her fingers nursing a porcelain teacup that she’s barely touched.

The hem of her robe brushes the floor, and though her hair is still pinned, I can tell she hasn’t slept.

Neither have I.

Our breakfast is quiet. There are no servants in the room. I dismissed them myself.

She finally sets the teacup down with a soft clink. “You didn’t return to your chamber last night.”

I lean back in my chair, lace my fingers behind my head, and stretch just enough to crack something in my spine. “Didn’t see the point.”

“Because of the corpse?”

“No. Because the corridors are full of lords pretending they weren’t pissing themselves with fear.” I continue. “One of them tried to bribe a guard to let him out through the wine cellar.”

“I hope Gabriel slapped him.”

“Verbally. Which is worse?”

I look at her then. She’s pale. Regal, still, but there’s something tired underneath. Last night stripped something from both of us — not just the murder, but the truth underneath it. That all of the fine gowns, crystal chandeliers, and ceremonies…it’s threadbare.

One sharp tug and it all unravels.

She stands and crosses to the sideboard, pours herself another cup of tea. Her robe parts slightly at the collar, revealing the bronzed shadow of her throat. I shouldn’t be thinking about that, especially now. But I do. I open my mouth to say something when three sharp raps thud at the door.

Drats!

I rise immediately. Katherine steps to the side, her face shuttering into that icy composure she wears like armour.

I open the door and Gabriel stands there, his coat soaked through, boots dirty with mud.

Beside him is a man I don’t recognise. He is an older gentleman stooped slightly, with silver hair combed back and a black case in his hand.

“This is Doctor Northwood,” Gabriel says. “Formerly of the Royal Marines. He’s here to inspect the body.”

I nod once. “Now?”

Gabriel lifts a brow. “You want to wait until the damn thing goes stale?”

I step aside. “Let me get my coat.”

Katherine remains by the hearth. The doctor offers her a polite bow.

“Your Grace,” he says.

She nods but doesn’t speak. I see her glance at me. Her eyes say: Take me with you.

But I can’t.

When I pass behind her, I brush two fingers along the curve of her spine, quietly enough that the others won’t notice. She stiffens slightly, then relaxes. I don’t need to tell her anything.

She already knows.

Do not misbehave.

As I follow Gabriel and the doctor into the hall, I glance once over my shoulder. She’s already moved to the door, watching and calculating. William appears from around the bend and I don’t have to guess who she’ll choose for her misdeeds.

I know exactly who.

I shrug.

I will not stop her.

KATHERINE

Alone in the drawing room, the half-empty teacup left from breakfast has gone bitter. Stewed too long. I take a sip anyway.

William returns just before noon. Silent as always. He doesn’t bow. We are past that, but he nods once. I stand before he can speak and gesture for him to follow. We don’t speak in the open anymore. Not with so many ears still in these walls.

We cross the corridor quickly, dipping into the rear antechamber beside the music room. The pianoforte is covered.

“Well?” I ask.

“They met with the physician. The man confirmed the time of death,” William says. “The girl died at least a day before the ball. Rigour is already gone. No lividity. He was confident.”

I don’t breathe for a moment. Just stand there, fingers digging around the back of a chair.

So. Not killed during the ball.

She was placed there. A prop. A warning.

Or worse — a distraction.

“Where are they now?”

“The library.”

“Go back to the kitchen. If anyone asks, I went upstairs. ”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He slips out. I don’t wait long. Just enough time to smooth the fabric of my skirts and pull my gloves tighter. Then I make my way toward the west wing.

The castle feels different now.

The guests are still here, but they’re quieter. Less panicked. The screaming has stopped. Replaced with a kind of stunned, helpless silence.

I passed no one on the way.

Good. Fewer eyes.

The library doors are closed, but the guards at the end of the corridor pay me no mind. I pause just outside the left panel, where the sconces are dim.

Inside, I hear them.

Gabriel’s voice first. He sounds tired. “The girl’s throat was cut before rigour set in. She’d been moved. There’s no blood in the hall. No blood on the marble. Whoever killed her did it elsewhere and moved her here.”

“They must have brought her in during the initial supplies delivery,” Dorian says, with resigned acceptance.

“Twenty carriages,” Gabriel says. “Two dozen servants. Half of them from the Dowager’s house, the rest from the Wexmoore docks.”

“And the nobles?”

“None could have planted her. They were all already accounted for. Every lord and lady who arrived in the ballroom arrived at once.”

“That is why I’ve already prepared to send them all home.”

I push the door open.

Their heads jerk across and up. Dorian already reads my face, he knows I am displeased. Gabriel simply leans back in his chair and exhales through his nose, frustrated.

“You’re sending people home?” I ask, stepping inside.

Gabriel gives a tight nod.

“We can’t hold three hundred guests hostage, Your Grace,” he says. “Not when they’ve been cleared.”

“Cleared by whose account?”

“The doctor’s. Mine. Dorian’s. Yours, indirectly.”

I glare at him. “That girl died before the ball. And yet her body was presented in full view of the ton. That wasn’t an accident. That was deliberate. And I saw her. Minutes just before she was found, it is possible—“

Gabriel interrupts me. “It is not. This was deliberate and planned well in advance. Which means the killer had time. They got here before the nobles did.”

“But I saw her!”

“Katherine,” Dorian starts. “You are exhausted. You have not been sleeping…”

I pace now, with the rug soft underfoot. I run a hand along the back of a velvet chair, and promptly ignore him. He who has not slept, now suddenly has advice.

“So,” I say, “you believe it was one of the delivery staff?”

Gabriel nods. “It is the only reasonable option left.”

Dorian speaks. “It narrows our list. We know when the girl was moved. We know who entered the castle during that window. The nobles didn’t do this. It was someone else.”

My brow narrows. “Someone who wanted to ruin everything. But why? And so gruesomely.”

Gabriel nears the table where a stack of ledgers sits open. “We’ve begun compiling names. By this evening, we’ll have interviewed every one of the delivery drivers, cooks, and porters who arrived in the last two days.”

“And in the meantime,” I say, “you’ll send the ton back to Wexmoore?”

“Yes,” Dorian says. “They are leaving within the hour.”

I stop pacing and face them both. “You’re playing a dangerous game, gentlemen. If you’re wrong…”

“We are not,” Gabriel says quickly. “And if we don’t act, we risk hysteria and the Prince’s eyes.

We’ve contained it so far. But these people talk.

If we delay too long, London will hear of this, and if London hears…

the creatures in the forest…” he trips over a sentence. “It is not safe even at t he castle.”

Dorian nods once. “Ashwood won’t survive.”

“I hope for your sakes that is true,” I reply. “For if this killer has moved through our guests, and they have marked their next victim, then we’ve just sent them away with it in their pocket.”

“All will be well, Katherine,” Dorian whispers.

Wind rattles the glass as we all go silent.

I close my eyes.

We cannot hold the nobles. Not legally. Not morally. We’ve done what we can. I hate this, but they’re right.

“One carriage at a time,” I finally say. “In order. I do not trust a soul.”

Gabriel exhales. “Agreed.”

I look at Dorian. “And you?”

He holds my gaze. “You know what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

“To keep everyone alive long enough to fix this. To save Ashwood.”

I nod. “Then let us begin.”

∞∞∞

The following morning, guests begin their departure under Gabriel’s command. Ashwood starts to empty. I cannot explain it, but something is still inexplicably and dangerously wrong. The moment I step out beneath the eaves, a damp and heavy weight stirs in the air .

There is a storm coming.

The first carriage pulls away from the courtyard at precisely nine.

Gabriel insisted on order. Ten carriages at a time. A full roll call. Each guest is escorted by a steward to confirm their identity. The nobles murmur, of course, grumbling about “inhospitable conditions” and “absurd suspicion.”

But they comply, because Gabriel is efficient in the way only men used to command can be, and because Dorian stands beside him like judgment incarnate.

I stand on the upper balcony, looking down over the gravel loop, where footmen scramble to load trunks and guards stand posted on either side. It’s orderly.

But it feels like watching a wake.

Dorian soon appears beside me. He hasn’t spoken much since the night of the autopsy. Neither have I. Our quiet now is brittle, heavy with the things we’re not to speak aloud.

This isn’t over.

There is a killer among us.

“They’re afraid,” I say, arms crossed.

“They should be,” he replies.

I turn slightly to face him. “What if they’re innocent?”

He glances down at the carriages, and another rolls into motion. “Someone is not.”

Below, Nora directs staff with clipped instructions. She does not smile. She does not soften. She is everything I need her to be: a fortress. Her eyes dart up and catch mine.

She nods once.

She has it under control.