Read Online The Secret Dead by S. J. Parris - Free Book Online Page A

into the sea, where it could not incriminate anyone.
Though I hated the idea of destroying something so precious, this seemed the
only safe course, for all of us. I had almost reached the end of the street
when I heard quick footsteps behind me, and turned to see Maria running
barefoot through the dust.
    “I went to Fontanelle,” she announced, pinning me with her
frank gaze. I stopped absolutely still. I dared not even breathe for fear of
what my face might betray. Every muscle in my body was held rigid. She let out
a long, shuddering sigh and her shoulders slumped. “Nothing. No bodies of young
women found in the past two days.”
    “Then perhaps she has run away after all,” I managed to
say, hating myself for it, though relief had made me lightheaded and my legs
weak. I leaned one hand on the wall for support.
    Maria shook her head. “I will never believe that. I thought
you might have come to bring me some news?”
    I hesitated, then reached inside my habit and brought out
the twist of paper I had wrapped it in. “I came to bring you this.”
    She tore it open and stared at the locket, her face tight
with grief. “There is blood on it.”
    “Mine. I cut my finger on the clasp.” I held it up as
proof.
    She raised the locket slowly to her lips and closed her
eyes, as if in silent prayer. A tear rolled down her cheek. “Did he take it
from her? How did you get it?”
    “I found it on the ground.”
    “Where?”
    Again, I hesitated just a breath too long. “In the street,
outside the gate. She must have dropped it there.”
    She shook her head.
    “That cannot be true. I have searched the streets around
the walls of your convent for the past two days for any sign of what happened
to her. I would have seen it. And the chain is broken, as if it was torn from
her.” When she saw that I was not going to respond, she rubbed at the tears
with the back of her hand and drew herself upright. “Well. I should not expect
truth from a Dominican. But at least I know now that my sister is dead. She
would never have willingly let this out of her sight.”
    “Very wise. It is a beautiful piece of work. Your father
must be a highly skilled craftsman, to have made something so complex.”
    She looked at me with a hunted expression as she tried to
discern my meaning. “Did you open it?”
    The question was barely a whisper. She knew the answer. She
clenched her hands to stop their trembling and her face was tight with fear —
the same fear I had felt only a moment before at her mention of Fontanelle. The
naked terror of being found out.
    “Yes. Is it your mother?”
    She nodded, a tense little jerk of her head, her eyes still
boring into me.
    “She must have been beautiful,” I said. “But something as
valuable as that should be carefully guarded. Others might not be so
understanding of your desire to honor your family memory.”
    She gave a gulping sob and wrapped both hands over the
locket. “Thank you.” She swallowed. “Did you show it to anyone? What is inside,
I mean?” She glanced over her shoulder, as if I might have brought an army of
Inquisitors to hide around the corner.
    “No one but me. And I will say nothing.”
    “Why?” That sharpness again; the muscles twitching in her
jaw. “Why should I trust you?”
    “Because …” Because my own secret is far worse, I thought,
and it is the very least I owe you for the fact that you will never truly know
what happened to your sister. I could not say that. But the answer I gave her
was also true. “Because I believe God is bigger than the rules we impose on one
another. I think He does not mind if we find different paths to Him.”
    “That is heresy,” she whispered.
    “So is that.” I nodded to the locket in her hand.
    “You are a good man, Bruno,” she said. Unexpectedly, she
leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on my cheek, at the edge of my mouth. She
stood back and almost smiled. “For a Dominican.” I could not look her in