Unless another attempt on his life wrenched him away.
Unyielding determination started in the toes of her uncomfortable slippers. How dare someone attempt to hurt Julius? Her spine was so rigid, if she breathed too deeply, she was certain it would fracture. The tears dried on her hot face. She reached back in her memory, trying to recall how the earl had met his demise. Nothing. No one had said a word regarding his cause of death. It was the oddest thing. If his heart had failed, someone would have said as much, right? Perhaps. But she’d avoided the crowds. And why mention anything to her? Had he died of anything other than natural causes, the guestswould have acted entirely differently. One thing about theBeau Monde, they thrived on scandal. The more salacious, the better.
Still, it was quite curious. But whom was she supposed to ask? Certainly not the family.
Pasha!She took her meals with the servants. Servants talked. Abra, Hannah, and Meredith had all said so. The stories they’d shared when the four of them had been in school, to Geneva, had sounded too fantastic to believe. But, no, they’d assured her, getting away with anything within the confines of their gilded cages was near impossible.
But Pasha wasn’t prone to gossip that Geneva could see. Still…
She slipped back out of her bedchamber and found Pasha tending to the wreckage Geneva had wrought in the second bedroom. “Oh, dear,” she murmured.
From over her shoulder, Pasha grinned. “You needn’t fret, miss. I’ve seen worse.”
“You have? Not from Abra, surely.”
“No. Lady Westbridge—” Her face turned a bright shade of scarlet. “I shouldn’t—”
“She has the devil of a temper,” Geneva said.
“Yes.”
“Pasha, I shouldn’t ask, I suppose, but I was wondering if the servants mentioned how the late earl…” Geneva’s own face heated.
Pasha stilled. “One of the maids…” Her voice was barely audible and Geneva went to her.
Dread unfurled within Geneva’s chest like a dark bloom. “The maid said what?”
“Nothing. Not really. Something about there being blood, before Mrs. Knagg, stopped her. But—”
“But what?” Geneva whispered, her throat tightening.
“Mrs. Knagg grabbed her arm and squeezed. I saw the bruise.” She whispered too.
“And no one said anything else?”
Pasha slowly shook her head. “Do you think someone…?” She swallowed.
“It’s certainly mysterious.” Had the earl been murdered and they’d somehow kept it quiet? The footman had. A matter Geneva had witnessed. Intimately so.
Was the family being targeted? Had it even occurred to any of them? Was it possible she somehow brought menacing forces to this stark land? Panic like she’d never known iced her blood. The sudden urge to speak with Mr. Oshea—Mr.NoahOshea—on the topic of who had thrown that dagger at Julius tore through her with the sharp end of a spear. The grounds required searching.
“I’ll be back later,” Geneva told the maid. She marched to the door and grabbed the handle… then stopped.
The man was liable to rush headfirst into danger without a thought to himself, thus getting himself killed. To never feel his lips again? To breathe in that unique essence that seemed to have seeped beneath her skin? That couldn’t be borne. She’d rather die. His family could not do without him. Her family… she couldn’t think of that now. Of Julius. She hurried back to the windows and looked out at the heavy clouds.
Could she beat the oncoming storm?
It was imperative she try. Rain would wash away signs left by the intruder. Her difficulty would be escaping the castle without notice. Geneva placed her sweat-dampened palm on the pane. The glass was cool, not cold, to the touch. She could survive a little rain.
Bypassing the main stairs, Geneva also avoided the main servants’ stairwell, stealing into the one that led to the floor she’d previously found. This time, however, she remembered tocarry a candle. She peered into the old chamber. Everything appeared as it had before. It would have made a great hiding place.
Hiding place! That reminded her. She’d had made no progress in the search for her mother’s ruby locket. But those thoughts would distract her and she shoved them aside.
Geneva strode through the myriad winding halls, opening doors, looking out windows. All in an effort to maintain her bearings. Two sides of the castle backed to the water. But the corridors were a maze of confusion. Some views left one unsure there was even land between the castle and the cliff’s drop. Common sense would indicate some distance from the edge. She could actually envision the blasted pile of stones collapsing into the sea with but one minute earthquake.
Geneva shivered, stepping back, and continued along her path until she located a dust-filled set of stone stairs that in places were crumbling. The treacherous trek slowed her progress down the four or however many flights—she’d lost track. That was all she would need—to trip and break her neck. Lord knew, by the time anyone located her, she would be a pile of bones like Docia’s poor unfortunate father.
Once she’d reached the ground level, she pushed cautiously on the door and peered about. The hallway was dark, and to her right was another set of stairs that appeared as if they led down to Mr. Oshea’s laboratory. Meaning she was very close to the door that exited to the exact area of the castle she hoped to investigate.
