“Did Charlotte disapprove of Ambrose’s ch-choice of bride?” Juliet’s teeth chattered. “Did she force him to end his betrothal to Miss Bromfield?”
“Of course she disapproved.” Mrs Barbary snorted. “I was there that night, hiding in the shadows during their heated argument. She told him all about the baron’s tainted bloodlines, about the role she played in ruining her young maid’s life.”
Mrs Barbary knew everything.
So why did she need the letters?
“Ambrose did not strike me as a man who would condone her behaviour.” But from what Devlin had said, a pure bloodline was on Ambrose’s list of criteria he looked for in a bride, along with wealth and reputation.
Mrs Barbary shook her head. “Ambrose was furious. Ashamed of what she had done. But still, he did his grandmother’s bidding.”
And in doing so, he brought about his own demise.
Perhaps the arctic chill in the chamber made it difficult to think clearly. Perhaps there were so many conflicting tales, Juliet didn’t know what to believe.
“And so you despise the Bromfields for what happened to Ambrose.” Juliet was only repeating what Devlin had told her. “You despise the Bromfields for corrupting your beloved mistress. And the fact she kept the secret causes you pain.”
It was the only logical explanation.
A growl resonated from the back of Mrs Barbary’s throat. Fire flashed in her hard eyes. Anger—hot and volatile—collided with the frigid air.
“You’re all the same,” Mrs Barbary raged. “Poor Charlotte. Poor Ambrose. What about Susan? No one mentioned Susan. No one mentioned the girl abused by those in a position to know better.” Now the housekeeper had started ranting she didn’t stop. “No one mentioned me. A girl taken from her home at the age of twelve. A girl who believed her mistress cared for her when all the time her love and devotion served her own ends.”
Juliet simply stared and tried to absorb the constant stream of information.
“For fifty years I’ve lived a lie. She took me in to repay a debt.” Mrs Barbary swiped the air. “I had to hide in the dressing room and listen to her tell her grandson how she had done her duty by me to make amends for what she had done to my sister, Susan.”
Susan? Susan was Mrs Barbary’s sister?
Heavens above!
“And all these years I thought my sister died from a fever while serving at the Bromfields’ house. Yet she died giving birth to that bastard’s by-blow. And it was Charlotte Drake who condemned her to death.”
Ice-cold fingers crept up Juliet’s back. She shivered. Tried to stop the morbid thought entering her head, but it swept through her like a bitter wind, leaving her trembling inside.
“How did Charlotte Drake die?” Juliet asked in so quiet a voice it was barely audible.
Mrs Barbary’s vacant stare was unnerving. “She breathed her last breath as I smothered her with a pillow,” the housekeeper said in a tone that would keep the blocks of ice in the corner frozen for months. “It was only fitting that she died in her bed, too.”
The blood drained from Juliet’s face. She felt sick to her stomach.
But it was not pity for Charlotte Drake that brought the tears to her eyes. It was the realisation that she knew too much now. That this woman had murdered once and would easily do so again.
“Now tell me where I might find the letters,” Mrs Barbary said in the tone that always sent the maids scurrying.
“So you might shame the baron?”
“So I can destroy them and protect my sister’s memory.”
They were not Juliet’s letters to give away.
It was not her decision to make.
“I cannot tell you what you want to know.”
Mrs Barbary pressed her sallow face to the bars. “Then I shall return in an hour. Let’s see how you fare once the cold bites your bones.”
Chapter Twenty