Page 20 of House of Furies
“Yes.”
“And you felt compelled to touch it?”
“It... I know it sounds ludicrous, but I had no control over myself. So, yes, I supposed I was compelled.”
He nodded through this response and opened one of the drawers on his desk, taking out a small glass pot of a snowy-white cream that looked like ointment. When he opened the lid on it, the scent of astringent cut through the air. “Your hand, please. It will do nothing for the marks, but it will at least ease your discomfort.”
I hesitated, and he saw it, closing his eyes for a prolonged blink, as if taking a moment to choose his words carefully. Itwas clear my hesitation had offended him. He lookedwounded. Probably no young lady had ever balked at giving him her hand.
“Please.”
Stubbornly, I waited a little longer and then thrust my arm across the desk toward him. I watched as he gently grasped my right wrist and dabbed a bit of the ointment on the livid, burning marks. Warmth blossomed at the point of contact, and I commanded my cheeks not to blush. This person lorded over a veritable circus of dark curiosities, and it did not matter that he had glossy black hair and golden eyes; I would not give him the luxury of my blushes. It helped to remember that I wanted to steal from him. He was an unsuspecting target to me and nothing more.
The pain in my fingers was already gone.
“Now then,” he said, breaking the spell. He closed up the ointment jar and shoved it back in the drawer. Then he tented his fingers and studied me intently, as if I were one of his newly acquired birds. “Did you see anything in the book?”
I shook my head, cradling my tended hand in my lap and using the other to sip tea. “It scalded me. I closed it at once. What’s inside of it?”
“More on that later, perhaps.”
“But—”
“What is your impression of our darling Italian countess, Mrs. Eames?”
Mrs. Eames? How on earth was she relevant?
“I... beg your pardon?”
He took my confusion in stride, smiling benevolently. “Just trust me, please, for I am steering us toward the answer you seek, yes? What did you make of Mrs. Eames?”
The woman had not crossed my thoughts in some time. After all, having a run-in with a living shadow and an accursed book rendered all other thoughts unimportant. But I scraped up my one memory of her, of serving tea and watching her nibble a biscuit and do her best social acrobatics to escape George Bremerton.
“She’s a widow,” I said shakily. “And she’s extraordinarily beautiful. She’s here for the spa. George Bremerton fell all over himself to escort her to the gardens. I think she mentioned sons.”
“All true.” He resumed drinking his tea, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “Did you know, the female of the praying mantis species will often decapitate her counterpart just before or after mating?”
Now I really did blush. Never had a young man discussed anything so vulgar as mating rituals in my presence. But there had to be some purpose to the story; he did not strike me as the type to jettison all propriety at a moment’s notice.
Mrs. Eames. Right.
“Are you suggesting Mrs. Eames ate her dead husband?”
Mr. Morningside snorted over his tea. “Actually, no, but shediddecapitate him. I believe she called it an agricultural incident on their vineyard. Funny how scythes can just”—he slashed the flat of his hand across his throat—“fall from the sky.”
I recoiled, nearly sloshing my tea everywhere. “That is a severe accusation. How do you know this?”
“Not all of my employees work on the premises, Miss Louisa. Maids, valets, urchins, even the occasional priest...”
He was being condescending again, and it made me feel very young, and made him by comparison seem so very old. But how many years could he have on me?
“One of her sons died, too,” Mr. Morningside said lightly. “His boat destined for Italy sank...” He paused and consulted a small, leather-bound diary on the desk. “... two days ago.”
“Good God,” I murmured. “You don’t think she’s responsible for that, too? An entire boat?”
“When there’s a fortune at stake, the greedy are capable of anything.” He finished his tea and cocked his head to the side. “The world would be well rid of these vermin, don’t you agree?”
I did, but it felt like I was stepping stupidly into a trap. “I suppose.”
