“How did you know my name?”
“I’m Violet Waterfield. The Countess of Cambury.” She looked expectant.
Jane blinked at her. “Pleased to meet you, my lady.”
She seemed nonplussed. “You don’t know who I am? Oliver always does forget the honorary members.” She held up her left hand in her glove. “Brothers Sinister? Oliver, Sebastian, Robert?”
“Oliver. Do you mean—”
“Of course I mean Oliver Marshall,” the woman said.
“How did you know—”
The countess smiled mysteriously. “I know everything. That’s my duty in our little group.”
“I see,” Jane said puzzled. “What a lovely vocation.”
“Vocation?” Another huff. “Of course not.” There was a particularly self-satisfied smile on her face as she spoke. “I volunteer.”
Chapter Ten
Jane’s mind was still whirling when she entered her sister’s room late that night.
For years, Emily had been her only confidante, the one she told all her troubles. Now, over the course of the past few days, Jane had gathered a host of secrets she couldn’t tell her sister.
There’s this man. He was thinking about humiliating me, but never mind that—let me tell you about the Johnson twins.
Did you know that Bradenton has put a bounty on my head? Apparently, I’m worth an entire vote in Parliament. Or the destruction of a cactus. I’m not sure which one honors me more.
Do you think Mr. Marshall likes me? I have no notion what to think of him.
But that was a lie, too. She knew exactly what she thought of him.
While she was gathering her thoughts, her sister spoke instead. “Did you know that there are people who don’t drink alcohol?”
Jane put her head to her side. “I’d heard.” In Cambridge, surrounded by young men, she’d mostly heard those people mocked. “Is it the Quakers who don’t believe in imbibing or the Methodists? I never can remember.” She glanced over at her sister, who was watching her intently. “Why?”
“I read about it.” There was a faint flush on Emily’s cheeks, though, one that suggested that it was more than a matter for idle speculation. “There are…other sorts, aren’t there, though?”
“Hmm. I hardly go around asking.”
“Of course.” Her sister looked down, fingering the fabric of her night rail.
Jane was trying to formulate what she might say to her sister. If she started telling the story, she could hardly withhold a piece. And now she had other people’s secrets to keep. She couldn’t tell her sister what Genevieve had said. That wasn’t her secret to disclose. Jane had argued with Emily before, but she’d never had secrets from her.
“You’re pensive,” Emily said. “What on earth has happened to you?”
“Nothing,” Jane lied.
Emily looked at her. She looked across the room at the new cactus plant on Jane’s chest of drawers and raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said. “I see. And here I thought I was the one that nothing happened to.”
Jane winced. “I’m sorry, dear.”
“Don’t humor me,” Emily snapped. There was nothing to say to that—nothing that wouldn’t make it worse at any rate—so Jane held her tongue.
Emily finally spoke again. “Did you know there are people who don’t eat meat?”
It was apparently a night for odd questions. “I knew a man who didn’t like the taste of ham.”
“Not just ham. All meat.” For some reason, Emily wasn’t looking her in the eye, and Jane had a sudden suspicion.
“Emily,” she said softly, “do these people who don’t eat meat or drink liquor have names, by any chance?”
Her sister shrugged insouciantly. “Of course not. Or at least they don’t have names that I would know. How would I?”
If Jane hadn’t known what an excellent liar her sister was, she would have thought nothing amiss. But Jane knew Emily far too well. And so she stopped and studied her, and realized that something was different.
Emily wasn’t fidgeting. No little bounces on the edge of the bed. No jigglings of her leg. She only drew idly on the coverlet with her finger.
Before they’d come to Titus’s, she could have mapped her sister’s activities during the day by her fidgets at night. Had she run outside for two hours? She could sit calmly and orderly by bedtime. Had it rained, keeping her indoors? She’d not be able to sit still, jumping up and moving around.
Emily wasn’t moving right now.
Suspicion gathered at the edge of Jane’s mind. There was rather more color in her cheeks, and…
“Emily, have you—”
Her sister looked up sharply. “Nothing,” she caroled sweetly. “I’ve been doing nothing. See how it feels?”
Jane shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t actually want to know. If Titus finds out, I want to be able to claim ignorance, and I’ll hardly be able to do that if you’re telling me everything.”
A wistful smile touched her sister’s face and she looked away. Jane knew that smile.
“Just tell me that whatever it is you’re doing”—Jane trailed off—“or not doing…”
Whatever it was her sister was doing, she had to be leaving the house. By herself; Blickstall had been with Jane today. There were risks there, and not just the foolish worries Titus held.
“Tell me,” she said, “that you’re staying safe.”
“Even Titus could not object.” Emily gave her a wicked smile. “I’m reading his law books, that’s all.” Her finger traced a curlicue on the coverlet.
“In the course of reading his books,” Jane said softly, “perhaps you’ll have noticed that people do each other harm from time to time. I’d hate for you to have to discover the criminal from personal experience.”
“Oh, no.” Emily sketched a curling tendril with the tip of her finger. “There’s no chance of that.”
“There’s always a chance—”
“Hypothetically speaking,” Emily said, “if someone is unwilling to eat an animal because he does not believe in doing it harm, it follows that he would think the same of humans.”
“No,” Jane said, “it does not follow. Please do not think it follows.”
Emily paused in the midst of her tracery. She stopped still—something she did so rarely that Jane felt herself leaning in, wanting to shake her to make sure that she was still breathing.