Stokes stirred. “So you tried to scare her witless by putting an adder in her bed.”
Gasps and a ripple of consternation broke the spell holding the gathering; for most, it was the first they’d heard of the adder.
Staring down at his hands, Ambrose nodded. “I came across the adder on my way back to the house—I still had the sack I’d used to carry the coat. I thought another shock would keep her from remembering, even make her leave . . . but she didn’t. And then you arrived, and I had to be careful. But as the days passed, and no one came to tell me they’d found the flap, I realized that it was as I’d thought—no one else had taken the flap. It was there when Portia found Kitty.”
Raising his head, he looked directly at Portia. “Do you remember now? You must have seen it. She had it clutched in her right hand.”
Portia met his gaze, then shook her head. “It wasn’t there when I found her.”
Ambrose pulled a patronizing face. “It had to be—”
“You fool!”
The exclamation startled everyone. Drew all eyes to Drusilla, sitting bolt upright beside Lady Calvin. Her face was white, her eyes huge, her whole body in the grip of some powerful emotion.
Her gaze remained locked on her brother. “You . . . you . . . idiot! Portia said nothing—she would have if she’d seen it. She might have been shocked but she hadn’t lost her wits.”
As stunned as anyone, Ambrose simply stared at her.
Stokes recovered first. “What do you know of this missing flap, Miss Calvin?”
Drusilla looked up at him, and paled even more. “I . . .” The emotions flitting across her face were visible for all to see. She’d only just realized . . .
Lady Calvin lifted a hand to her lips as if to suppress a cry. Lady Glossup put an arm about her.
Mrs. Buckstead, seated beside Drusilla, leaned forward. “You must tell us all, my dear. There really is no choice.”
Drusilla looked at her, then dragged in a breath, and glanced at Stokes. “I was walking in the gardens that afternoon. I came back into the house by the library doors. I saw Kitty lying there and saw the flap in her hand. I recognized it, of course. I realized Ambrose had finally had enough and . . .” She paused, moistened her lips, then went on, “For whatever reason, he’d killed her. If he was caught . . . the scandal, the shame . . . it would kill Mama. So I prised the flap from Kitty’s fingers, and took it with me. I heard voices in the front hall—Simon’s and Portia’s—so I went out by the terrace doors.”
Stokes regarded her gravely. “Even when the attempts to silence Miss Ashford commenced, you didn’t think to tell anyone?”
Drusilla’s gaze flew to his face. She swayed; her skin turned grey. “What attempts?” Her tone was weak, horrified. “I didn’t know about the adder.” She looked at Ambrose, then at Stokes. “The urn . . . that was an accident—wasn’t it?”
Stokes looked down at Ambrose. “You may as well tell us.”
Ambrose fixed his gaze on his hands. “I’d taken to pacing on the roof—I couldn’t let anyone see how worried I was. I saw Portia on the terrace. She looked to be alone—I couldn’t see Cynster by the wall. I was there—it was easy to do . . .” He suddenly drew a huge breath. Lifted his head but didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “You have to remember I had no choice—not if I wanted to win a seat and become a Member. I’d set my heart on it, and . . .”
He stopped, looked down. Clasped his hands tightly. Stokes shifted his gaze to Drusilla.
She was staring at Ambrose. Her face was ashen.
When she lifted her gaze to Stokes, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell your brother you’d taken the flap?”
For a long moment, she stared at Stokes; he was about to repeat the question when Drusilla lowered her gaze to Ambrose.
Drew breath, and said, “I hate him, you know. No—how could you? But in our house, it was always Ambrose. He got everything, I was given nothing. Only Ambrose mattered. Even now. I love Mama, I’ve cared for her dutifully, I remain by her side—I even took the flap to protect her—her, not Ambrose, never Ambrose.” Her voice was rising, more strident and strong. “Yet even now, all Mama thinks about is Ambrose.”
She kept her gaze fixed on her brother’s bowed head. “He inherited everything from Papa—I was left nothing. Even Mama’s estate will all go to him. I’m his pensioner—he can throw me out whenever he wishes, and don’t think he doesn’t know it. He’s always been quick to make sure I understand my position.”
Her face contorted. Vitriol had infused her; jealousy, suppressed and now loosed, poured from her. “The flap—taking it, keeping it, was my chance to pay him back. I didn’t tell him—I wanted him to feel fear, to squirm—more, to know someone had it in their hands to ruin him.”
Suddenly she looked at Stokes. “Of course I would have told him eventually. When next he thought to tell me how useless I was, how unflattering an ornament I was to a man of his future position.”
She stopped, then added, “I honestly didn’t think he wouldn’t realize . . . he only had to think to know only Mama or I would protect him by concealing the flap. And Mama would have told him straightaway. When he didn’t say anything, I thought he’d guessed I had it, but was too careful to broach the subject while we were here.” She met Stokes’s gaze. “It never occurred to me that he would think Portia had seen it and was witless enough not to remember.”
Silence filled the room. The ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece was clearly audible.
Drusilla dropped her gaze to the floor. Ambrose sat with head bowed. Lady Calvin looked from one to the other, as if she no longer recognized them—her own children—then she buried her face in her hands and softly wept.