Dark Road to Darjeeling by DEANNA RAYBOURN

Author:DEANNA RAYBOURN [Raybourn, Deanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781426868870
Publisher: MIRA
Published: 2010-12-14T16:00:00+00:00

The Twelfth Chapter

Days come and ages pass,

and it is ever he who moves my heart

in many a name, in many a guise,

in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow.

—Innermost One

Rabindranath Tagore

I slept late the next morning, having spent the better part of the night working diligently under Brisbane’s tutelage to perfect my lockpicking skills. I was thoroughly annoyed that he had discovered my trespass into Harry’s office, but even as I felt the rush of irritation, I was conscious of a bone-deep satisfaction that we were once more discussing detection. Naturally Brisbane demanded to know everything I had discovered, and in the interest of fair play, I told him.

He raised his brows when I mentioned the payments to Miss Thorne, and furrowed his brow when I explained about her twin sister, Lalita.

“Curious that they lead such different lives,” he mused. “Good God, woman, loosen your wrist. You are about to snap the pick in two.”

I puffed my cheeks in irritation and shook out my wrist, setting to work once more, but with a lighter touch. “Not so curious,” I corrected. “They are both in service in respectable domestic positions. Lalita is a skilled cook and very likely has housekeeping skills as well. Miss Thorne may be better schooled, but I suspect Lalita is the more contented of the two. And I think Lalita harbours a tendresse for Dr. Llewellyn.”

Brisbane narrowed his eyes. “The world is not Noah’s Ark, my dear. Not everyone requires being paired two by two.”

“But Lalita is fond of him,” I insisted. “I saw a certain light in her eyes when she spoke of him.”

My head was bent to my task, but even then I could feel Brisbane’s suppressed shudder.

“Yes, I realise it is frightfully sentimental, but it is the truth. I know you would like to dress it up in some scientific terms, but the girl is attached to him. And attachment means motive.”

“In what way? How would Lalita profit from Freddie Cavendish’s death?” he demanded.

“I do not know,” I said primly, for I was thinking aloud and had just that moment considered the notion. “But I am certain I could find a motive for any person in this valley if I thought long enough.”

Brisbane stroked his chin, rubbing at the patch of whiskers that darkened his jaw.

“Money or revenge, the two most common motives,” he mused. “We have considered money. What of revenge? Your fingers have to be supple, Julia. Have you forgot? Feathers on your fingertips.”

I stretched the cramp out of my fingers and started again. Feathers on fingertips indeed. It had been the device Brisbane had used to encourage me to remember to keep my fingers light and delicate of movement.

“Revenge? Are you thinking of Jane again? The wronged wife undone?”

“Possibly. But are there others who might bear a grudge against Freddie?”

“Harry,” I supplied. “Perhaps a boyhood grievance nursed all these years. The same could be said of Miss Cavendish. The Pennyfeathers only came after Freddie left for school, so that lets

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