AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Or…she could go out and look for more Christmas roses. Mrs. Westley’s would not be the only one in Mayfair. Decisively, she resumed her cape and bonnet, put Vicky on the leash, and went for a long walk.
*
“How beautiful youhave made the house!” Elizabeth Westley’s husband beamed at her with genuine delight as he bent and kissed her cheek. His neat mustache tickled her skin.
“I wanted to have it done before you came home,” she replied. “A glass of sherry before dinner?”
“Delightful. It is Christmas, after all.”
William Westley was not an immoderate man. He drank rarely and never to excess. He was a good and considerate husband and an excellent father to their grown-up daughters, both of whom had now made good marriages and lived in the country. Elizabeth lacked for nothing in terms of either affection or material goods. And yet, she had long suffered from the feeling of being left behind.
William’s career had never quite reached the stellar heights her father had predicted. Elizabeth’s friends all had homes at least as grand as hers. In fact, for years, she and William had lived in the funny little house where Lady Grizelda and her foreign husband now resided. They had only moved into this one when they had inherited it from William’s parents.
And now her daughters had gone, leaving her behind again.
She blamed Sebastian Cartaret for her constant discontent. Perhaps, now that he was dead, she would finally find peace.
And William… She brought him his glass of sherry and sat down opposite him. She could not bear William to know about Sebastian. He was so good, so trusting. And she so…evil.
“Have you heard the awful rumor, by the by?” William asked when he had tasted his sherry with appreciation.
“What rumor, my dear?”
“That a man’s body was found at the front of our old house. Poor Lady Grizelda discovered it, and her husband is not even home to comfort her. It must have been awful for her.”
“Awful,” Elizabeth repeated. “I didn’t realize she was alone there.”
“No, well, I hope she has gone to her family for Christmas,” William said, “for it can’t be comfortable to know a man has been murdered at your front door!”
“Murdered?” she repeated hoarsely.
“According to rumor,” he said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to worry you with it because it’s probably not even true. But I shall be checking personally that all the doors and windows are locked tonight. Even if it is Christmas, the wicked will remain wicked.”
Elizabeth cringed in fear for her immortal soul.
*
Griz spent along time wandering the gas-lit streets and the gardens that graced the large squares from Russell to Grosvenor. She found several Christmas rose bushes, even a few of similar shade to the one left with the body.
The trouble was, Griz didn’t really know what she was looking for. She spoke to a few people also walking their dogs in the squares, remarking on the beauty of the roses. She even joined some carol singers in order to peer into people’s houses and observe the owners and servants who came to listen. But she was floundering in the dark, without any real idea what she was looking for.
In fact, she told herself severely,you are wasting your time because you don’t want to go home to the empty house and face a miserable Christmas alone.
She worried for Dragan. Somewhere, she suspected Sebastian Cartaret was a mere distraction for her, and he deserved more from her. Not just because she hadn’t heard him dying outside her house, but because he was a good man and deserved justice though it would not bring him back.
It had grown bitterly cold by the time she trudged back up Half Moon Street. Even Vicky had slowed up, plodding beside Griz and not even troubling to lunge at the odd passing cat.
Warm light glowed from the front of the Westleys’ house. The lane to her own house was dark, the house unwelcoming. But at least the frosty night provided some starlight, enough to find the front door.
She stopped dead, her heart lurching, for the dark outline of a man could be seen, sitting against the wall, exactly where the body of Sebastian Cartaret had been. Her hand flew to her stomach, a hundred nameless fears flooding her. She did not believe in ghosts, and yet there he sat, still as death, as though admonishing her. Not only had she let him die, she hadn’t even found out what had happened.
She crept forward, never taking her eyes from him, praying he was a figment of her tired imagination, which would dissolve into the night as she approached.
It didn’t.
But at least the ghost sat in a different position than the corpse. Though his back was also against the wall, his knees were drawn up to let his head rest on them. He didn’t seem to move or even breathe.
And then, suddenly, his head jerked up, and he looked right at her.
