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Jeffrey felt a sudden wave of panic. This woman seemed to charge her way into their conversation, unwilling to lend him any power over what happened next. This was an attractive quality, but admittedly, one that he was unaccustomed to.
“Do you think it will happen?” Charlotte asked.
“What?” If told that he would be murdered at the stake if he couldn’t produce the topic of their current conversation, Jeffrey knew that he would be dead in minutes.
“Do you suppose that Zachary and Louisa will fall in love? Surely, you know him. He’s around your age, isn’t he?”
Jeffrey cleared his throat. Why had he assumed she’d spoken about him?
“I think Zachary is a fine man. Certainly far better than Louisa …”
“Ah! And now, you play the sort of game I require you to play,” Charlotte said.
“I suppose I should have known there were rules and regulations,” Jeffrey affirmed.
“Yes, well. I’m not a traditional woman.”
“I’ve found that to be so thus far,” he said with a secretive smile.
Charlotte strode towards the far end of the garden. More guests appeared, their cheeks stretched wide to produce smiles in greeting. Charlotte’s throat cleared.
“Look at them,” she said. “Not a single one of them has struggled with sleep. You can see it on my skin, can’t you? I look almost grey. I haven’t had a single proper night’s sleep since Brooks’ death. I could keel over this moment. Abandon this life for the next.”
“This bit of melodrama is quite entertaining,” Jeffrey said, giving her a look that told her just how much he knew what she was up to. “But beyond it, do you have any other information for me about our brewing case?”
“I have considered telling you a bit more information about the investigator,” Charlotte whispered. Her eyes glittered ominously. “Charles Baxter.”
“Anything you have.”
“I gave him the letter, as you know. I regret it now, perhaps, but, in the wake of my guilt, I wanted to lend him something. Some sort of power in a given direction. I want him to succeed, just as I want us to succeed. I want my cousin’s killer to be brought to justice.”
“Of course.”
“And yet, Charles Baxter told me something strange. He said that there’s an apparent eyewitness account, one that’s changed everything,” Charlotte continued.
Jeffrey furrowed his brow. “An eyewitness account of the murder?”
Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose that’s the only answer. Don’t you?”
“I suppose it’s always difficult to perceive precisely what sort of evidence the authorities have. They keep everything at such a distance from the rest of us.” His eyes grew shadowed.
“But it’s got me thinking,” Charlotte interjected. “I wonder if our initial plans to investigate ourselves are rather silly. It seems already that Charles Baxter has information and evidence far beyond what we have. Is it a waste of time? A dangerous waste of time, at that?” She licked her bottom lip, suddenly looking fearful. “I don’t want either of us to end up as Brooks did.”
Jeffrey’s heart thudded. His hand flickered out between them to touch her hand gently. Her eyes caught his in this, a secret moment shared in the public sphere of the garden. Nobody noticed, despite the sincere love that brewed between them.
Was it love? Why had Jeffrey just articulated this word in his own, mad mind?
“I think we should continue to investigate,” Jeffrey breathed, allowing his hand to drop.
“But why?” Charlotte whispered.
“Sometimes, the authorities cannot be trusted, as they don’t necessarily care what happens either way,” Jeffrey said, his words delicate. “They do the best they can—of course, they do. But they also have a limit to how much care they can lend to any situation. Sometimes, when they lack evidence or time, they find a way to end the investigation, even if there’s something at stake.”
Charlotte furrowed her brow. Jeffrey sensed that his words were far too cryptic for full comprehension.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
“It’s difficult to explain.”
