Loving Lily (Fair Cyprians of London 6)

Hamish, meanwhile, was remembering the night he’d dismissed Lily’s fears and suspicions over Mr Novichov. Yes, dismissed them. He’d thought she was overreacting. Later, he’d assumed this paranoia was part of her illness.

Now Celeste was dead? He felt ill.

“Mrs Eustace must be warned,” Hamish said.

“We are not concerned with Mrs Eustace right now. But many of Miss Celeste’s diary entries mention the Russian and a certain Mr Montpelier. We would like to direct our enquiries there.”

“I am not a suspect?” Hamish needed to leave but couldn’t show his agitation.

Celeste was dead.

Lily was in danger.

A sudden horror occurred to him. Miniver had said Lucy was visiting a friend. Lucy had declared her intention to visit Mrs Eustace. But no, she’d not know her address.

That said, Lucy was cunning. There was every chance that Lucy had found the note that included Lily’s address and had made her way to St John’s Wood. He needed to terminate the discussion.

“Not at this stage, sir. We hoped you might shed some light on the whereabouts of these other two gentlemen.”

Hamish shook his head and, finally, with the inspector taking his leave, snatched his hat from the hallstand and, hastily buttoning up his coat, hurried into the cold winter air to find a conveyance to take him to Mrs Eustace’s house.

Lily might be in danger from unknown forces, but Lucy was equally at risk.

Telling the cab driver to wait for him when he drew up outside Lily’s house, he leapt out and strode up the pathway to the front door.

The parlour light was dim, with the heavy curtains allowing just a chink of light to spill out onto the pavement outside.

Hamish knocked loudly. The drumming of his heart was loud in his ears, and his anxiety was at fever pitch.

He heard running footsteps and then the maid threw open the door, her face a mask of terror as she cried, “Sir, come quickly sir! She’s gone mad! Quite mad an’ I don’t know wot ter do.”

He closed his eyes briefly. He could hear the noise. Lily was in the grip of another episode.

“Where is the doctor?” he asked, striding up the passage, but Grace shook her head wildly, saying only, “He’s gone, sir! But suddenly she came over all queer. Jest like me mistress. I don’t know wot ter do, sir!”

Hamish could hear the cries of a woman issuing from the parlour to his left, and then the sound of breaking glass. Lily, his poor beloved, was obviously in there. He’d go to her shortly. But first he needed to locate his sister.

“Where is Lucy?” he asked, more urgently now, for Lucy was not in the scullery. “She’s not in the parlour with Mrs Eustace, surely?” No, the maid would not have locked his own sister in a room with a mad woman.

“She’s in the parlour, sir—”

“Dear god! You mean, she is with Mrs Eustace?”

“No, sir. Only ’er!”

“But who in God’s name is making all that racket? Surely not my sister?”

“Yes, sir! ’Tis Miss Lucy. I dunno know wot got inter ’er. She came visitin’, but Mrs Eustace ’ad already left.”

“What do you mean, Mrs Eustace had alre

ady left? Lucy wouldn’t simply behave like this for no reason, and—”

He didn’t finish, turning to stride up the passage once more and to throw open the door, stepping back in horror as he confronted his sister with her hair in disarray and her eyes wild, clawing at some unknown adversary.

“What has happened to her? What have you done to her?” Hamish swung round, and the maid shrank back.

“Nuffink sir. Nuffink at all. I dunno wot’s come over ’er.”