Read Online Newbury & Hobbes 04 - The Executioner's Heart by George Mann - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: George Mann
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she’d hoped.
Amelia glared at Veronica in warning. “Don’t patronise me, sister,” she said. “I know how much he’s giving up for me, for you .”
Veronica suppressed a scowl. “Then you also know it’s far more complicated than that,” she replied, her tone level.
Amelia sighed. “Yes. I rather suppose I do.”
“But it’s working? Whatever it is he’s doing, it’s helping?” Veronica asked.
Amelia nodded. “Last year, when you brought me to Malbury Cross, I thought I had come here to die. But now … now I think I might have come here to live .” She leaned back in her chair. “Yet Sir Maurice is paying a grave toll for his efforts.”
Veronica eyed her younger sister. “You cannot be thinking of giving it up?” she said. “You don’t know the lengths he went to to retrieve that book, Amelia, the enemies he made. It would slight him if you turned away his help. More than that, it would make light of everything he’s been through—that we’ve been through. Not to mention what might happen to you. Don’t forget, everyone thinks you’re dead. There’s nowhere left to turn.”
“You don’t have to remind me of that,” replied Amelia hotly. Mrs. Leeson coughed politely over by the stove. As if on cue, the kettle began to whistle shrilly. Amelia lowered her voice. “Of course I’m not about to turn him away. I’m concerned for him, that’s all. You didn’t see him, Veronica. He didn’t seem at all well.”
Veronica nodded, relieved that she wasn’t going to have to persuade Amelia to continue with Newbury’s regime. “Look, I’ll go and check on him now. I’m sure he’s just tidying everything in there.” As she said this she felt the cold stirrings of concern in the pit of her stomach. Newbury never tidied anything. His life was a perfect merry-go-round of chaos and disorder. Perhaps something was wrong. Typically he would have emerged a few seconds behind Amelia to join them in the kitchen. What might have delayed him?
Veronica suppressed the urge to leap from her chair and dash to his side. It wouldn’t do to startle Amelia and Mrs. Leeson, and more importantly, to concern Amelia any further by demonstrating her own fear.
She stood, forcing herself to smile. “You stay here and keep Mrs. Leeson company. I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, coming around from behind the table and crossing the hallway as quickly as possible.
The door to the dining room was ajar. She pushed it open, stepping inside and allowing it to swing closed behind her. The room was still shrouded in darkness, the heavy drapes pulled down over the windows. No candles or lamps burned, and for a moment it reminded her uncomfortably of the Queen’s audience chamber, always cast in a murky, impenetrable gloom.
“Maurice? Are you in here?” She remained close to the door while she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She could make out very little, save for the edge of the drapes and the thin strip of pale light seeping in from behind them. It wasn’t enough to illuminate more than a foot or so of the room, in which she could see the silhouetted shapes of the paraphernalia used in the ritual: candlesticks, bowls, sprigs of holly.
Just as she reached for the light, there was a groaning sound from somewhere close to her, on the floor by her feet. “Maurice?” She stooped, reaching out until her outstretched fingers touched the fabric of his jacket. She dropped to her knees, clutching for him with both hands. Her eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the low light and she could just about make out the slumped form of Newbury on the floorboards. He tried to move, and she helped him, supporting him under the arms as he pulled himself upright. She propped him against the wall, his legs splayed out before him. She couldn’t see his face clearly enough to read his expression, but his head was lolling in clear exhaustion. He must have collapsed on his way to the door.
“It’s alright,
Amelia glared at Veronica in warning. “Don’t patronise me, sister,” she said. “I know how much he’s giving up for me, for you .”
Veronica suppressed a scowl. “Then you also know it’s far more complicated than that,” she replied, her tone level.
Amelia sighed. “Yes. I rather suppose I do.”
“But it’s working? Whatever it is he’s doing, it’s helping?” Veronica asked.
Amelia nodded. “Last year, when you brought me to Malbury Cross, I thought I had come here to die. But now … now I think I might have come here to live .” She leaned back in her chair. “Yet Sir Maurice is paying a grave toll for his efforts.”
Veronica eyed her younger sister. “You cannot be thinking of giving it up?” she said. “You don’t know the lengths he went to to retrieve that book, Amelia, the enemies he made. It would slight him if you turned away his help. More than that, it would make light of everything he’s been through—that we’ve been through. Not to mention what might happen to you. Don’t forget, everyone thinks you’re dead. There’s nowhere left to turn.”
“You don’t have to remind me of that,” replied Amelia hotly. Mrs. Leeson coughed politely over by the stove. As if on cue, the kettle began to whistle shrilly. Amelia lowered her voice. “Of course I’m not about to turn him away. I’m concerned for him, that’s all. You didn’t see him, Veronica. He didn’t seem at all well.”
Veronica nodded, relieved that she wasn’t going to have to persuade Amelia to continue with Newbury’s regime. “Look, I’ll go and check on him now. I’m sure he’s just tidying everything in there.” As she said this she felt the cold stirrings of concern in the pit of her stomach. Newbury never tidied anything. His life was a perfect merry-go-round of chaos and disorder. Perhaps something was wrong. Typically he would have emerged a few seconds behind Amelia to join them in the kitchen. What might have delayed him?
Veronica suppressed the urge to leap from her chair and dash to his side. It wouldn’t do to startle Amelia and Mrs. Leeson, and more importantly, to concern Amelia any further by demonstrating her own fear.
She stood, forcing herself to smile. “You stay here and keep Mrs. Leeson company. I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, coming around from behind the table and crossing the hallway as quickly as possible.
The door to the dining room was ajar. She pushed it open, stepping inside and allowing it to swing closed behind her. The room was still shrouded in darkness, the heavy drapes pulled down over the windows. No candles or lamps burned, and for a moment it reminded her uncomfortably of the Queen’s audience chamber, always cast in a murky, impenetrable gloom.
“Maurice? Are you in here?” She remained close to the door while she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She could make out very little, save for the edge of the drapes and the thin strip of pale light seeping in from behind them. It wasn’t enough to illuminate more than a foot or so of the room, in which she could see the silhouetted shapes of the paraphernalia used in the ritual: candlesticks, bowls, sprigs of holly.
Just as she reached for the light, there was a groaning sound from somewhere close to her, on the floor by her feet. “Maurice?” She stooped, reaching out until her outstretched fingers touched the fabric of his jacket. She dropped to her knees, clutching for him with both hands. Her eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the low light and she could just about make out the slumped form of Newbury on the floorboards. He tried to move, and she helped him, supporting him under the arms as he pulled himself upright. She propped him against the wall, his legs splayed out before him. She couldn’t see his face clearly enough to read his expression, but his head was lolling in clear exhaustion. He must have collapsed on his way to the door.
“It’s alright,
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