He made his way downstairs feeling horribly exposed, spine prickling with the possibility of a push even though there was nobody around. He couldn’t hear voices from anywhere, or see anyone. It felt like a tomb.
Where might Bram be?
He made his way to the library, and his brother was indeed there, sitting in the chair where he’d been—Christ, it was only this morning. He looked even worse than before, wreathed in smoke.
Zeb shut the door. “Bram.”
Bram glanced around and away. He didn’t launch into a diatribe about Zeb’s behaviour in dumping Elise’s body on the ground. That was worrying in itself.
“Bram,” Zeb said again, and then didn’t know what else tosay. “Are you all right? Would you at least speak to me?”
Bram stared, silent, and Zeb had a sudden horrible memory of the scene inThe Monasterywhere the heroine begged for information from a servant who finally opened his mouth to reveal his tongue had been cut out. “Bram!” he yelped.
“What, damn you?”
“Oh, thank God. I mean—Listen, I’m just going to say this. Wynn is trying to kill us. He wants us, all the Wyckhams, dead.”
“Nonsense.”
“Listen to me,” Zeb snapped. “I don’t have time to explain, so I need you to trust me. On Father’s life, Bram, we have to go. We have to get out of this house and we don’t have long to do it, so come with me, because if you stay I don’t think you’ll be alive tomorrow. You aren’t going to inherit. Wynn’s used that to lure you here, and to make us turn on each other, and at the end of it, he’s going to enjoy his wealth for many more years, and we’ll be dead.”
“Dead,” Bram said.
“Like Florence. Remember Florence? Her father is here, and he wants you dead for what you did. You have to come with me. I will get you out of here, but comenow.”
“Florence is dead,” Bram repeated, musing. “And Elise. She killed her, you know. Elise killed Florence, and Florence killed Elise. Florence stood at the bottom of the stairs, and Elise told her to go away. And then Elise stood at the top of the stairs, and Florence sentheraway. I felt her.”
“Felt her how?”
“Her spirit impelled me.” Bram moved his hands as he spoke, a tiny gesture like a push.
Zeb couldn’t respond. He stared at his brother, feeling an odd numbness in his face and fingers.
Gideon tried to tell you…
“It is for the best,” Bram said, voice a starveling version of his usual pomposity. “I am free now and can give Jessamine the protection of my name. The inheritance was promised to me, and Elise stood in my way. It is all for the best.”
Zeb considered one last appeal.If you ever cared about me, perhaps, orBy the vow we made at Father’s deathbed…
But he’d be wasting his breath, as perhaps he had always been wasting his breath. And now he needed to get back to Gideon, and leave everyone in this house to the hell they’d helped build for themselves and each other.
“Goodbye, Bram,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything better, and headed to the door. He was two steps away when it opened.
“Ah, Zebedee,” said Wynn.
“Excuse me.” Zeb took a step sideways, poised to run, and stopped when he saw one of the footmen looming behind Wynn, blocking most of the door.
“No, I don’t think so,” Wynn said. “You have done enough harm. Bram, I came to warn you. Your brother is dangerous. He wants to kill you.”
“Oh, rubbish,” Zeb said. “Come home with your drawers torn and say you found the money. You’re lying,” he added forclarity.
“Bram.” Wynn’s voice was compelling. “You know he has been trying to steal your inheritance all along. First your father’s money, now the Wyckham fortune. You know how envious he is. And now he has got you alone. Thank God I found you.”
Bram looked at Zeb, his eyes clearing a little for the first time in their conversation, as if he was actually bothering to pay attention. “You,” he said.
“Oh, stop it,” Zeb snapped. “We’ve been talking for a while with absolutely no homicide, and what would I kill you with anyway, a pen? A hardback edition of a Walter Wyckham novel?”
“Or the gun you have on your person,” Wynn said, the note of triumph clear in his voice. “Look, Bram, you will see—”
