Silent Night (3 page)

The Fifth Chapter

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With Peace on earth, good-will to men!

“Christmas Bells”
Traditional English Carol

“G
ood God, why didn’t you warn me?” Plum demanded. He had arrived just before dinner, his greatcoat spangled with frost, and after a stilted meal, searched me out writing letters at a cramped little table in the billiards room while Brisbane lined up a shot. Plum poured himself a stiffener and flopped into one of the capacious leather armchairs. “Christmas here is always like day one on the Tower of Babel. But the place is almost empty and it is a misery. What the devil is wrong with Father besides hating Brisbane?”

My husband coolly sank the billiard ball and moved to his next target.

“Father does not
hate
Brisbane,” I corrected sharply. “What a stupid thing to say. He’s merely upset over what happened at the end of the last investigation.”

“Pointless of him to blame Brisbane,” Plum pointed out reasonably. “That was just bad luck.”

I looked at him, my throat feeling rather tight. Plum and I had always had a somewhat thorny relationship. For Plum to offer his loyalty when my actions had caused bodily injury to us both was more than I had looked for. “A case could be made for it being my fault,” I said, my voice halting. “Rather nice of you not to see it that way.”

“Not at all, darling sister. Of course, I do hope the experience has cured you of your curiosity regarding gunpowder. I mean, the explosion itself was not the primary cause of my injury, but it certainly did not aid matters. I honestly cannot imagine a more stupid, ninny-headed—” The moment of fraternal camaraderie had clearly passed.

“Yes, thank you, Plum. That will do.”

“I say, there’s no need to get
testy.
”

“I am not being testy, you great pillock—”

“If the two of you are going to quarrel, you could at least fetch me a whisky first,” Brisbane put in before sinking another shot.

I rose and poured a glass for him and another for myself. Plum could shift for himself. He looked rather longingly at my glass as I settled back into my chair.

“So, what does it all mean? Father’s in a state, ghosts walking abroad in the night...seems rather familiar, doesn’t it?” Brisbane flicked me a look across the green baize of the table, his eyes warm in the lamplight. We were both thinking of his first visit to the Abbey. We had unmasked a murderer and had one or two rather breathlessly interesting interludes that led directly to my following him to Yorkshire the following
spring.
5
That was where our relationship had found its proper footing, but I would always remember the snowbound days at the Abbey as among the most infuriating and exciting of my life.

“I think the new sighting of a ghost is a curious thing,” I began.

Plum waved an airy hand. “Some daft maidservant got at the cooking sherry and is seeing things that do not exist,” Plum said decidedly. “There is no mystery here save the source of Father’s foul mood.”

“He is a March,” Brisbane returned as lined up his last shot. “You may as well ask why the sun rises in the west.”

“The sun rises in the east,” I corrected.

“Precisely.” He drew back his arm and punched the end of his stick into the ball, driving it home. He did not look up as he sighted his next shot. “I can feel you thinking, Julia. What is it?”

“Aunt Hermia’s favourite trinket is missing—the little coral ring she wears most days.”

“And what besides?”

“There is a new stillroom maid, Rose, arrived from Aunt Hermia’s refuge in London.”

Brisbane straightened and chalked his cue. “And what besides?”

“Is that not enough?”

“Not to formulate a theory. You know better than that.”

“I do,” I said, nibbling at my lip. “I just wonder.”

Plum snorted. “Men have been hanged on the strength of someone wondering.”

I sighed. “You must admit, it makes a neat pattern. And do not tell me the similarities have not struck you as well.”

“Similarities?” Brisbane’s voice was deliberately neutral.

“You know what I mean. It is too similar to events that transpired the last time we were here. Ghosts prowling the Abbey, missing jewels, new faces.”

He put aside the cue and leaned against the table, crossing one muscular leg over the other. “And you want to investigate.”

“I want
us
to investigate,” I corrected. “For my own peace of mind.”

Plum rose. “I am to bed. You are clearly working up to something, and I mean to have a proper rest over the holiday, not create mysteries where there are none.”

He took himself off to his rooms with a salute while Brisbane regarded me thoughtfully.

He ruffled his hair with one broad hand. “Occam would count you a poor pupil,” he said, his eyes bright.

“’The simplest explanation is the likeliest,’” I parroted. “And the simplest explanation in this case is that a jewel thief has undertaken to employ the same methods as our previous villain.”

Brisbane rolled his eyes. “First, the culprit would have to ensure that the household was at sixes and sevens due to an ailment, which they could not possibly have introduced by nefarious means, in order to gain entrée to the household. That means that they would have to have access to the household to
gain
access to the household, if you follow me.”

“I do,” I returned, a trifle acidly. “Your point?”

“My point is this would entail tremendous effort and the method is completely wrong. Even if someone could manage to sicken several members of the household, the means would be something that induced gastric distress, not something as vague and ungovernable as a simple cold. A tainted dish, poisoned drink—those are the methods one would use, and the easiest means of adulterating food and drink is with an agent that would cause excessive vomiting or—”

I held up a hand. “No more detail. I beg you.”

“Very well, but you take my meaning. There are a thousand possible substances which may cause such troubles, but I can think of none that would induce a cold. The beginning of your hypothesis is in tatters, my dear.”

“What of the rest?” I demanded.

He shrugged one wide shoulder. “That the ghost is a person in disguise? Occam’s Razor would suggest otherwise.”

I stared at him, goggle-eyed. “You believe Occam’s Razor would suggest an actual ghost?”

“No, I believe it would indicate Plum is correct. The maid was intoxicated or half-asleep and imagined the whole thing.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Oh, that is just like a man! To credit something inexplicable to the feeble mind of an hysterical woman.”

He gave me a slow smile. “I think I have proven amply that I, at least, do not believe your sex to be the weaker. On the contrary, my dear, your kind has brought kingdoms to ruin and heroes to their knees. I would not dare to underestimate you.”

“And yet,” I muttered.

“And yet, I will point out any flaw in your logic because you are capable of better,” he returned rather more sternly. “You’ve a fine mind when you aren’t haring off in one direction or other.”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “I still say there is something strange afoot in the Abbey.”

“You have not considered the most damning argument against your pet theory,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Pray, what is that?”

“If a thief has gone to the trouble of sickening half the staff and masquerading as a ghost, why on earth would his or her first target be a simple coral ring of no value save the sentimental?”

I had no reply, and he knew it. He returned to his game, smiling a small, triumphant smile. Of course he was correct. No reasonable thief would go to such lengths and take such risk without just reward.

But the next morning, when a flawless emerald ring disappeared, it was an entirely different matter altogether.

The Sixth Chapter

Born a king on Bethlehem plain,
Gold I bring, to crown him again—
King for ever, ceasing never,
Over us all to reign.

“We Three Kings”
Traditional English Carol

“G
ood God, what happened in here? Has Kent attacked at last? I never trust a Kentishman.” Plum appeared in the doorway of the breakfast room smelling of shaving soap and tying his cravat.

“It was the animals,” Aunt Hermia said faintly. “They got a trifle out of hand.”

“It looks as if someone staged a steeplechase in the middle of the table,” Plum returned, which was very nearly the truth. Nin, the Siamese, had been very well-behaved where the dormouse was concerned. But Christopher Sly and Peter Simple, being country cats, had taken an entirely different approach. It was their custom to take a morning constitutional around the Abbey to inspect the property and the breakfast room was always included, with the tasty promise of a grilled kipper to share. Unfortunately, they had appeared just as the dormouse had crept down my arm to taste a sliver of toast I had put out for it. As one, Simple and Sly pounced upon the table, startling the dormouse who immediately fled over and around the breakfast things before escaping into the sugar bowl. The cats, furious at being thwarted, stood on the table, tails lashing as they yowled their rage, which in turn attracted Crab, Father’s mastiff, and Brisbane’s lurcher, Rook. They set to baying as Brisbane snatched up the sugar bowl and held it out of reach of the cats. Nin, ever an opportunist, launched herself lightly onto the table to lick the butter and admire herself in the reflection of the flatware. Father, who had been working in his study, appeared just then, demanding to know who was being murdered in the breakfast room. It took a group effort to disentangle the cats and remove a shame-faced Crab by the collar, and it was more than a quarter of an hour before the various animals were hauled away and we settled back into something vaguely resembling order.

Father had just poured himself a cup of tea to take into the study when Mary, the senior parlourmaid, appeared, her face ashen.

“It’s gone!” she cried, her voice hoarse with emotion. “The emerald ring you left upon your desk, my lord—it has gone!”

Aquinas was hard upon her heels. “I am afraid it is quite true, my lord. The ring is gone.”

Father’s face was inscrutable. He stared at them both a long moment, his expression utterly blank. Then he turned slowly to find the rest of us watching him closely. “Perhaps you had better tell us what you mean,” he said, his voice tight.

Mary clutched at her skirts. “The ring, my lord. I saw it in its little leather box upon the desk where you left it when you came in here to see what the noise was. You will remember I was late today with the dusting because of the junior maid being down with a cold. I was just finishing the study when you rose and left quite hurriedly. I thought I would dust your desk quickly before you returned. I know how you hate to be disturbed,” she added, her eyes wide. She swallowed hard. “The box was open and I saw that the ring was a valuable thing. I did not like to be responsible for it, so I went to fetch Mr. Aquinas to take charge of it and lock it in the safe in the butler’s pantry. But by the time we returned to the study, it was gone. Only the box was left, empty!”

She burst into lusty sobs, and Aunt Hermia went forward to comfort her. “I am an honest girl, I am, my lady! You know I am. Here, I shall turn out my pockets so you will know I am no thief.”

Aunt Hermia covered Mary’s hands with her own. “Do not distress yourself, child. We know your worth.”

Father was staring at Mary as if he had never seen her before. Aquinas came forward, holding out the empty box. “It is just as the girl says, my lord. We entered the study together and the box was on the floor. There is no sign of the ring.”

Father reached out his hand and took the empty box. He stared into it a long moment, then shook his head. “Calm yourself, Mary. You are mistaken. There was no ring in the box. It was empty all the while.”

Mary lifted her head from Aunt Hermia’s shoulder. “My lord? But I saw it—”

“You saw nothing. There was nothing to see. Perhaps you are overtired from the extra work. You ought to have the rest of the morning off.”

Aunt Hermia’s face was white-lipped. “Do as his lordship says, child. Go and rest in your room. If you feel you can, you may resume your duties this afternoon. Do not give this another thought.”

The confused girl dried her tears and bobbed a curtsey before fleeing the room. The rest of us exchanged glances but it was Brisbane who stepped forward. “My lord,” he began.

But Father cut in swiftly, giving Brisbane a piercing look. “Remember.” His gaze swept over the rest of us. “The box was empty all the while,” he insisted. “This is but a tempest in a teapot. Get on with your breakfast. And keep down the noise. This isn’t a bloody circus,” he added, turning on his heel and stalking from the room. Brisbane put out his hand to Aquinas for the empty box and slipped it into his pocket with all the dexterity of a cutpurse. Aunt Hermia noticed nothing of the exchange. She was staring after Father, twisting her hands in her skirts.

Just then Plum appeared and I related the events of the morning to him swiftly as Brisbane removed the dormouse from the sugar bowl, wiped it clean and dropped it into his breast pocket.

“It seems my theory is correct,” I announced. “We have a jewel thief in the house. Brisbane and I shall investigate.”

“Brisbane would like very much to finish his breakfast first,” my husband put in.

“That will not be necessary.” Aunt Hermia’s voice was unaccountably sharp and two bright spots of colour bloomed hotly in her cheeks. “I am quite certain your father must be correct. Surely he would know if there were an emerald ring in his possession.”

I stared at her. “Dearest, I grant you this is a pretty puzzle, but surely you must see there is something strange afoot, even for us.” I smiled to show her I meant no offence, but she rose, her breath coming quick and hard. The gentlemen got to their feet as well.

“Leave it, Julia.”

I persisted. “But what of your own ring? Surely you would like to know what has become of it?”

Her hands tightened on the back of her chair, knuckles white. “I said let it be. We do not require any of your professional meddling.”

She took her leave then, and my gaze followed her as Plum and Brisbane resumed their chairs.

“What on earth has got at her?” I demanded.

“Perhaps a little too much family togetherness at the holidays?” Brisbane hazarded. I threw a crust of toast at him which he caught neatly and popped into his pocket for the dormouse.

“I know you do not believe there is a jewel thief,” I began, but Plum spoke up.

“You heard Aunt Hermia. We should leave it.”

“What of the ghost?” I demanded.

“Never mind. I meant what I said last night. I want a quiet, peaceful family Christmas—just once. Whatever you two mean to get up to, do not tell me. I am taking a leave from the business until Twelfth Night is finished. I am going to read a book, I am going to paint, and I am going to get comprehensively drunk. I am on holiday.”

With that he rose and strode from the room. I grinned at Brisbane, who favoured me with one of his enchanting slow smiles.

“So, my dear, it seems you have set the cat amongst the pigeons.”

“Me? I haven’t done anything,” I protested. “But now that we are partners once more—”

He held up his hand. “Not this time.”

I blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I must recuse myself.”

“Recuse yourself? I have never heard of anything so profoundly idiotic—” I broke off, comprehension dawning. “You know something.”

He buttered another slice of toast, his expression bland. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps nothing! You know, now tell me,” I commanded.

“I cannot.” He crunched down on the toast and I sighed. Brisbane in his present mood was as shiftable as the Rock of Gibraltar. I rose and went to his side of the table.

He gave me another of those smiles, and I sat on his lap, looping my arms about his neck. “I shall guess and you will tell me if I am correct. Do those terms suit you?”

“Everything about this present arrangement suits me,” he said, shifting me a little more closely in his lap. “Go on.”

“You know something of Father’s current predicament.”

“Correct.”

“You further are incapable of speaking freely upon the subject.”

“Correct.”

“And Father was quite specifically speaking to you when he said, ‘Remember,’ doubtless reinforcing a promise extracted at some prior time. The obvious deduction being that you, as a gentleman, have given your word of honour to respect his confidence even as it touches me.”

“Lucky me to have such a clever wife,” he said lightly. I moved against his thigh and he made a strangled sound low in his throat. “That was unkind.”

“Think of it more as an invitation,” I suggested.

He held up a warning finger. “You know better than that. Even you cannot get round me when I’ve given my word.”

I nipped the fingertip lightly with my teeth. “I know. But it is rather pleasurable to torment you.”