Chapter 18
With a sense of horror I watched my cousin throw herself into a pair of outstretched arms . . . arms covered in rough-woven cotton.
“No work again this afternoon,” I heard a male voice say through the blood roaring in my ears.
“Yes, but in a way I’m glad,” my cousin replied. “You won’t work for Mama much longer anyway.”
Oh, God . . . this can’t be happening. “Consuelo,” I shouted, yet the sound of it seemed muffled and far away, as if I watched from some great distance as another Emma Cross attempted to stave off disaster. “Get away from him. He’s dangerous. Don’t you see? It’s him. The man who murdered Madame Devereaux.”
Jamie Reilly’s arms fell slowly from around Consuelo and she turned to face me. Not the slightest alarm marred her calm expression. “Emma, don’t be silly. Jamie had nothing to do with that. When I saw my opportunity to escape Mama’s plans for me, he came to my aid.”
“No, Consuelo. Oh, please, no. You must see. He’s used you.” Dizziness washed over me, making the room spin slowly and my thoughts swirl inside my head. I struggled to make sense of them, to push them past my lips. “You’re not safe . . . none of us are safe.”
A coughing fit behind me reminded me of Marianne’s presence. What had Consuelo called her? I struggled to remember. Soon-to-be sister-in-law. Wobbly, I cast a glance over my shoulder at her. “You’re his sister.”
The woman gave a half nod. I turned back to the man standing far too close to my cousin. “You . . . you’re not Irish at all. If she is your sister, then you’ve been faking an Irish accent all along. Who are you? What are you?”
He’d already removed his cap. Now he tossed it onto one of the side tables and made a mocking little bow. “James Reid, at your service, miss.”
The brogue was gone, replaced by a provincial but quite English inflection—like his sister’s.
“He needed to pretend,” Consuelo said defensively, “in order to find work.”
“In order to trick Katie into helping him,” I amended. “First Katie and then me. Consuelo, he came to call on her just the other night. They—”
“Oh, stop it, Emma. Don’t make up lies to persuade me to go home. You’re wasting your breath.”
“It’s no lie, Consuelo.” I shifted my gaze to James Reid. “Tell her.”
“Tell her what?” He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and shrugged.
“Tell her you’ve been using her,” I said. “That you’ve been courting Katie and dallying with Lady Amelia. And that you murdered her, too,” I whispered. “On Second Beach.”
“Emma! How can you say such a thing?” But even as Consuelo spoke, Marianne cried out, then fell to coughing so violently the other three of us instinctively surrounded her chair. Consuelo knelt before her. I hovered to one side. James gripped one arm of the chair and bent down low to speak words I couldn’t hear. Then Consuelo ordered, “Get her some water.”
James Reid straightened and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Consuelo, quickly,” I said, “let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Gently she took the handkerchief from Marianne’s trembling hand and dabbed specks of blood away from the corners of the woman’s mouth.
“Consuelo, he’s a murderer!” I said in an urgent whisper.
“No, Emma . . .”
“Yes!” Marianne rasped. “Go.”
Consuelo went still. “What?”
“Go.” Marianne’s chest heaved, and with a mighty cough she seemed to clear some of the congestion away, enough to speak more than one word at a time. “I don’t know if what this woman says is true, but—oh, Consuelo, forgive me! I thought perhaps he’d changed. That perhaps you’d helped him alter his ways. But trouble follows him—no, no, that isn’t true.” She broke off and twisted round to dart a glance into the kitchen, then turned back. “He makes trouble. He is trouble.”
“Shut up, Marianne.” James appeared in the doorway, holding a glass of water. Slowly he crossed the room, looked down at his sister, and raised the glass to his own lips to drink.
“Jamie!” Consuelo snapped to her feet. “Don’t be cruel. I don’t know what Marianne means, but you mustn’t be unkind.” Her hands went to her hips. “Now, what is this about Lady Amelia and Emma’s maid?”
I stepped between them and gripped Consuelo’s hands. “I found petals of rugosa roses in the pavilion the day after Madame Devereaux was murdered.”