The Hour of Fatality (Jane Rochester Mysteries Book 1) by LeAnne McKinley

Author:LeAnne McKinley [McKinley, LeAnne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2019-10-25T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI

The servants arrived to light the chandelier in the gallery. Diana and I moved with one accord, slipping from the centre of the room while a young man arranged his long pole and lighting implements. We withdrew to a recessed corner, and I felt an almost feverish sensation as I grappled with the implications of my cousin’s words. Diana was pale, nearly colourless, and a clear salt drop clung to her cheek. She did not sob; it could hardly be called weeping, yet the tear remained on her cool skin and she did not wipe it away. There was always in Diana a keen spirit guided by principle, by resolve, by inward strength. Whatever fate called upon her to give or to do, she would do so unflinchingly. But what did duty demand?

I answered her question thus:“No one, as of yet, has been murdered.”

“Yes. Yes, of course, you are right. My regard for the captain is—Oh Jane!” She looked at me then, and I understood her feelings. “Under other circumstances, I would not hesitate to give a positive answer, but in the present case― ” She gazed at me with a strange fervency in her eyes. “There is something not right about him. I can scarcely bring myself to question his character—but there is something in his words and deeds that I cannot reconcile.”

A hushed murmur of conversation in the drawing-room swelled like a distant breeze and faded away. The strain of notes on the piano vibrated the air. My cousin gripped my hand and held it fervently.

“What do you mean exactly?”

“I have been thinking it over all afternoon. When I inquired about his friendship with Lord Ingram, I found that their connection was much less than I supposed. They hardly know each other.” She spoke quite low. “I believe he has pressing obligations elsewhere; his professional interests demand that he visit the Admiralty in London, but he does not go. And he answers with the most curious mix of levity and evasion. I do not think he is an old hand at deception, Jane, and yet he is playing a part. I cannot understand why. He is the most estimable of men, courageous, kind, intelligent, humble, engaging― ” She came to a stop, her lip trembling. “I am at a loss. And now this! His own snuff-box recovered in the God-forsaken glade! I can scarcely comprehend his involvement in such a deed, and yet― ” She paused, unable to continue.

The servant completed his work and the chandelier blazed forth in a glorious coruscation of light. The long gallery was now drenched in gold, but in the flickering of candles, the dim recesses turned to black and sinister shadow, encroaching from every corner, throbbing round the edge of the chamber like a palpable threat.

Before my mind’s eye there rose the image of a dark and devious being. The captain, assuming an innocent, beguiling manner, hiding a violent crime behind the cloak of civility, gathered malice in proportion to my own fears.

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