“We have spoken with the yeoman of the guard who stood by Donsen Tower last night. I am sure it will come as no surprise to you, Mistress Wightham, to learn that he remembers you from last night. You stood and talked with him outside the tower for some time.”
Gwynnie’s hands tightened around the tapers. Emlyn merely smiled broadly.
“Indeed I did. Master Cuthbert is a kind man indeed. His conversation quite enamoured me, so much so that I stayed from my bed when I should have been in it.” She giggled and laid a hand on Gwynnie’s shoulder. “You were quite in despair by the time I returned to our chamber, were you not? Wondering where I had been at such an odd hour.”
She gave Gwynnie the alibi, and she was forced to agree with it, slowly nodding.
“Is that how it happened, Mistress Gwynnie?” Tombstone shifted his focus back to her. “Were you in your chamber as your mother —” he paused, clearly choosing his words carefully — “conversed with the yeoman of the guard?”
“That I was, sir.” Gwynnie nodded again.
“May I ask what these questions are in relation to, sir?” Emlyn addressed Pascal, clearly judging him to be the more amenable of the two men. Tombstone, in contrast, seemed unmoved by her sweet smiles. Gwynnie judged he may be too young to be impressed by her mother’s more mature beauty, but it was rather as if Tombstone hadn’t noticed her at all.
“Last night, Donsen Tower was robbed,” Pascal said in a low whisper, as if it was a great secret, despite the fact half the guests at the palace that morning had been talking of it. “We believe that the thieves are also responsible for Master Battersby’s death.”
“Oh!” Emlyn covered her mouth, looking dutifully shocked. “That is too awful. To think that someone in this world would hurt another for the sake of taking something that glitters. Oh, my heart.” She flung a hand to her chest dramatically.
“There now, good lady, calm yourself,” Pascal said, as he escorted Emlyn to the nearest chair and urged her to sit down.
“Thank you, sir, you are most kind.” Emlyn fluttered a hand in front of her face. “It is just the thought of the depravity; the depths that humanity can sink to. It makes my poor heart ache.”
“There is no need to concern yourself.” Pascal patted her hand. “Whilst Elric and I are investigating this matter, all will be well. I judge that you and your daughter will be quite safe.”
Tombstone cleared his throat, clearly unaffected by Emlyn’s histrionics. “I should still like to know where you went, Mistress Wightham, after your conversation with the yeoman.” Suspicion made the lines of his face firm.
“I told you — to our chamber,” Emlyn said distractedly, waving a hand at Gwynnie. “You were worried for me, weren’t you, Gwynnie? You stayed up to wait for me.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“There’s just something I do not quite —”
“Enough, Elric.” Pascal turned to his lawyer. “I cannot allow this questioning to continue when the poor lady is obviously quite overcome by this morning’s events.”
“So I see,” Tombstone responded drily. Gwynnie moved to her mother’s side. She placed a protective hand on Emlyn’s shoulder and offered a handkerchief, allowing Emlyn to dab at her cheeks.
“Besides, no lady could be a jewellery thief. Could she?” Pascal’s sudden question made Emlyn drop the handkerchief in her lap.
“You thought that we were thieves, sir? Oh! My heart! Oh, Gwynnie, it cannot take much more of this.” She turned in the chair and latched her hands onto Gwynnie’s arms.
“Calm your blood, Ma,” Gwynnie soothed, picking up the handkerchief and urging her mother to take it again.
“We must investigate all eventualities.” Tombstone calmly crossed his arms over his chest. “No one else was seen in the vicinity of Donsen Tower last night.”
“Then I suggest we find more witnesses.” Pascal bristled, standing tall with his hunched shoulders pulling back a few inches.
Tombstone remained silent, his eyes locked on Gwynnie’s.
“You have my sincerest apologies, good lady,” Pascal said ingratiatingly, taking Emlyn’s hand and bending over it. “Do rest yourself before you return to work. I would not want to think we are the cause of any further distress today.”
“You are most kind, sir. I thank you.” Emlyn adopted a tearful smile and waved at him with her handkerchief.
As Pascal turned to his clerk, his smile vanished. The two of them left swiftly, with Tombstone casting one more glance back in their direction.
The moment they disappeared from view, Emlyn dropped the handkerchief into her lap, all signs of tears gone. “Well, that was a little too close for comfort.”
“A little too close?” Gwynnie repeated, rounding on her mother. “You may have old Pascal eating out of your hand, but that lawyer is no fool. He is suspicious of us, Ma.”
“And what can a lawyer do when the Justice of the Peace is helping me to a chair?” Emlyn smiled victoriously and stood from her seat.
“Ma, be serious for a minute,” Gwynnie said. “You heard what they said, did you not? They believe the jewellery thief and the killer are one and the same. If they were to —”
“Hush now.” Emlyn took Gwynnie’s hand. “Do not think on it, miting. Do not think on it at all.” She winked. “We shall be quite safe here.”
“Of course we shall. Just as the sun is shining beautifully outside today.” She waved a hand at the window, beyond which the rain came down hard, lashing at the glass.
“I thought I warned you about that sarcastic tone of yours.”
“God’s blood, Ma —”
“Gwynnie!”
“Shh!” Gwynnie spun towards the open archway at the sound of a tile being scuffed beneath a boot. Moments before, Pascal and Tombstone had stridden out of the room. Now, there was a shadow cast across the doorway, intimating that someone was there.
If someone was eavesdropping or intending to sneak up on them, Gwynnie was not inclined to find out why. There had been enough unsettling events for one day.
“Gwynnie,” Emlyn said again.
“I said shh.” Gwynnie grasped the hearth brush and spare tapers from the fireplace, throwing them into the wooden pail. Taking her mother’s arm, she pulled her toward the edge of the room.
