Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [127]
But how far would he get? Not even out of the Palace. There could hardly be a better-guarded place in England.
It took her over an hour to find the keys, she had to search almost every cupboard in the kitchens, scullery, still room, and pantries, using separate keys to unlock cupboards where more keys hung in rows. Then she had to put them back in exactly the same place. Even then she was not certain she had the right ones until she tried them. She must be insane herself, breaking into Julius’s bedroom in the middle of the night. If Cahoon found her, she would have given him the perfect excuse to have her shut away too.
Still, she did it.
Her hands were quite firm, though a little clammy. Her stomach churned. Then she was inside. She closed the door softly, locked it, and put the key in the tiny pocket in her gown. She listened and could hear nothing, except the pounding of her own heart and her breathing.
Gradually it subsided, and she thought she could hear his breath as well.
“Julius.”
Nothing. She could neither see nor hear.
“Julius!”
Movement. A stirring in the bed. Now she felt ridiculous. How on earth could she explain being here? Nothing of love had ever been said by either one of them. Perhaps anything between them was entirely in her own imagination. Probably it was. He would be in his nightshirt, and she had come into his bedroom in the middle of the night, alone. If Cahoon walked in on them, it would ruin them both. It would be exactly what he wished. Had he even planned it? Then she had played into his hands perfectly. How unbelievably stupid! She moved to go back again, her hand feeling for the key.
There was a rustling from the bed, movement in the dark. “Elsa?”
Too late. She couldn’t go now. If she opened the door the faint light in the passage would show her face. Have the courage of her beliefs. If she felt anything, grasp for it, fight for it.
“Julius, I have to talk to you.”
“How did you get in? If they catch you, you will be ruined.” There was fear in his voice. “You can’t help me. Please go, before Cahoon finds out.”
“They won’t try you,” she said, standing still because she did not know which way to step in the dark. “They’ll just say you are insane, and put you into an asylum, somewhere from which you’ll never escape, and no one will ever see you.”
He was silent. Had he not realized that?
“I’m sorry.” She tried to keep her voice from trembling, and failed. She ached to see his face, and yet perhaps not doing so was the only way she could keep control of herself. “Julius?”
“Yes?” His voice was hoarse, uncertain. The darkness also gave him a degree of privacy. She was grateful for that. She remained standing where she was. She ached to hold him in her arms, give him at least the desperate shred of comfort that touch afforded. But there had never been anything between them to suggest he would welcome it. It would be intrusive, absurd. If his feelings for her were in any way different from hers for him, then it would be offensive, embarrassing, awful in every way.
“You didn’t kill Minnie, did you?” she said.
“No,” he responded immediately. “I don’t know who did. I assume it was whoever killed the prostitute. I can’t think of any other reason. Poor Minnie.” There was real hurt, and pity in his voice. “She was so sure she was learning the truth. I didn’t realize it until she kept saying so at dinner. Obviously someone believed her.”
The thought held the kind of coldness that made her feel sick. It was one of the other three men. It could be no one else. She knew them all; in ways liked them, except Cahoon; but she had once thought she loved him. There had been moments that were tender. What was the difference between being in love and thinking you were? Was being in love about what survives after time and temptation, misfortune, change, the need to forget and forgive have all been faced?
“Do you know where Sadie was killed?” she asked him.
“Wasn’t it in the cupboard where she was found?