"To catch the bad guys, you've got to think like a bad guy - and that's why all the best detectives have a dark side..."
― David Videcette, The Theseus Paradox
Thanks to all readers and reviewers, especially eyeon and AlexisRose84.
Wednesday, early evening
Anna walked slowly down the second floor corridor towards Mary's bedroom, her mind going round and round the same thoughts like a dog chasing its tail. And with about as much useful effect, she couldn't help thinking. She had made no progress at all in getting more information about the Napier valet's mysterious trip up to the guest rooms on the night of Pamuk's death. Her theories about deadly herb tonics now seemed more like a desperate stab in the dark than anything else. She couldn't let go of the idea that Mr. Napier had been somehow responsible, but she was dismally aware of just how silly it sounded. An image presented itself of Evelyn Napier smiling nervously at dinner, his rather foolish-looking face falling as he saw Pamuk flirting with Mary. He'd looked like a spaniel denied a bone, not a murderer plotting a poisoning.
But then, who else could it possibly be? she thought. Matthew Crawley? He was jealous as well, I'd lay money on that. Lady Edith, out of envy, because her sister was always more popular with the gentlemen? Mrs. Patmore? John did say that Lord Grantham said that he thought that's what had happened, but it was clear that was only meant as a joke… oh, I'm thinking of him by his first name again! That'll never do. Mr. Bates, that's who he is to me, all he can ever be. These are the most ridiculous ideas I've ever had in my life. None of it makes any sense at all, and there's only a day and a half left to figure it out before—
The door to Edith's room opened suddenly, and someone stepped out. Anna was so lost in her own thoughts that she nearly bumped into the other person. She caught herself just in time and saw O'Brien looking back at her.
"Oh! I'm ever so sorry," Anna said lamely.
"It's quite all right," said O'Brien in a neutral voice. Her face was set in its most expressionless lines, which put Anna more on her guard than ever.
The other lady's maid nodded and kept going down the corridor towards the stairs, Anna looking after her and wondering what this latest development could mean. O'Brien could have gone to Edith's rooms for any reason at all—to run a bath, to lay out a change of clothing for dinner, to bring her mended shoes, anything. There was nothing suspicious about the fact that she'd been there… except that look on her face. It was the one that always meant trouble.
Mary was sitting at her dressing table, looking in the mirror. "I wonder if my hair would look better in a simple chignon," she said by way of greeting. "What do you think, Anna?"
"It's pretty as it is," said Anna, examining the coiled braids of shining dark hair. "But we can change it easily enough, m'lady."
"Yes… could you go and find the pearl gray dress? I haven't worn it in a long time; it's likely at the very back of the closet."
"Yes, of course." Anna headed for the dressing room and began searching through the racks of clothing. She heard a knock at the door to the bedroom outside and turned back towards the closet door, which was slightly ajar. Something made her stay where she was, peering through the crack.
"What is it?" Mary asked without turning round towards the knock.
"It's only me." Edith opened the door and walked towards Mary, standing at her side, She studied her sister's face in the mirror.
"Mary, are you all right?" she asked. Her tone was ambiguous, as if an olive branch might possibly be offered, depending on Mary's response.
'I'm perfectly fine," snapped Mary. The tense lines in her face and large, dark circles under her eyes made the claim less than convincing. "What are you doing here?"
Edith blanched back. Apparently, the opportunity for sisterly love had passed.
"I can't find my copy of the Times. Have you seen it?" she asked, rubbing her forehead. She looked like she had a headache coming on, thought Anna.
"I have no idea where it is," said Mary dismissively.
"Are you sure?" asked Edith. "I really want to find it again."
"I'm sure. Why is it so important, anyway?"
"There was a good article today about the treaty with Albania."
"Why on earth do you care about that?"
"I'm interested in what's going on in the world." Edith glanced at Mary. "I can't help it if you're not."
Mary kept looking into the mirror. "I suppose you're going to write a story about it and submit it to the Times. You don't seem to have much luck with your scribbling so far."
Edith flushed. "You've been going through my notebooks again!"
"Don't be ridiculous. I only did that once, and you left the notebook sitting out." Mary shrugged. "I wasn't impressed with the quality of the writing, though."
Anna groaned silently in the closet. She was fiercely loyal to Mary and always would be, but there were times when the other woman could be truly cruel to her sister. Edith brought out the absolute worst in her, and Mary didn't seem to be able to help her unkind reactions.
"Well, you're anything but a qualified literary judge." Edith drew herself up, clearly trying to look dignified. "There are plenty of female reporters now, and no reason why I shouldn't be one of them, no matter what you think."
"Reading a story or two in the paper about a subject isn't enough," said Mary. "You'll need to know a great deal more about a subject like what's going on in Albania."
"I do know more," said Edith.
Mary raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"I do," insisted Edith. "I talked to Papa about it only a couple of days ago. He said that Mr. Pamuk's vote was crucial for peace with Albania, so now nobody knew what would happen."
I know when that must have been, Edith realized. Right after Mr. Bates dressed Lord Grantham the other night. He told me that he left when there was a knock on the door, and when he opened it, he saw Edith."
"Remember when Mr. Pamuk said that's what he was going to vote on?" Edith persisted.
There was a very slight pause. Mary's hand stopped in midair as she was patted at her hair, but only for the briefest second. But as Anna knew all too well, Edith didn't miss a thing where her sister was concerned.
"So now, there might not be any peace in Albania," said Edith. "They might try to break away from the Ottoman Empire."
"Oh, Edith, really!" sighed Mary. "It's hardly going to lead to a war." She began to unwind the end of a braid in the mirror. "If I were you, I'd worry more about that frightful pink frock you keep wearing. Just the sight of you in it is enough to frighten away any man."
Anna knew why Mary was saying these things to her sister. When she was threatened, she went on the attack. But she knew exactly how it sounded to Edith, too, and how the younger sister would respond, meeting attack with attack, like a pair of hissing cats.
Edith leaned against the dressing table, watching Mary carefully. Mary kept determinedly fiddling with her hair, not looking at her sister.
"You do look dreadfully tired, Mary," said Edith. There was something in her voice that put Anna on edge immediately.
Mary shrugged, no more than a slight movement of her shoulders.
"Haven't you been sleeping well?"
"Yes, perfectly well."
Edith took a deep breath. "It's only that I heard that Anna was staying in your dressing closet in that little bed. So I wondered if perhaps you were having trouble getting to sleep—"
Mary went rigid. "Where did you hear that?"
Edith shrugged. "One gets to hear things. That's all."
O'Brien, Edith realized. When she was up here, she took her opportunity to pour poison in Lady Edith's ear. Oh, that nasty cat!
"I only thought that if you were having trouble sleeping—" Edith went on.
"I'm not and I don't need your sympathy," Mary interrupted her, giving her own hair a vicious yank.
"After all, you want to look well for Matthew."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"I'm sure that Papa and Mama are going to start inviting him and his mother to dinner again in a few weeks," said Edith. "As soon as it's proper, after poor Mr. Pamuk."
Mary froze.
Edith's mouth curved up just slightly. Anna thought she seemed to know she had scored a point, but not why.
"You don't want to miss your opportunity, I'm sure," she said.
"If I wanted him, I could have him. Quite easily."
"Oh, I don't know. It might not be so easy as all that. You're not the only one who might attract him, you know. There are other girls. So once he comes round again, you'd better be rested. Only I can't imagine why you'd be having trouble sleeping, why you'd want Anna to sleep near you. It's almost as if something's been bothering you, but I don't know what could possibly—"
Mary whirled on her sister, facing her at last. "Hold your tongue!"
There was a moment of crackling silence. Edith said nothing, but her eyes widened.
Lady Edith knows that something is wrong, thought Anna. Perhaps she only suspected before, but now, she knows. Oh, this is not good.
"You'd better go to your room and wait for Anna to come dress you," said Mary.
"Oh, I don't think I—"
"Get out of here!" Mary spat.
Edith whitened, turned, and fled.
Mary sat rigid, staring into the mirror. After a few long moments, Anna walked out of the dressing room and tentatively approached her, unsure what to say. Mary gave a long sigh and collapsed against the dressing table, head in her hands. Anna bent down, patting her back, smoothing her hair, whispering words that she already knew wouldn't succeed in comforting the other woman.
"Sh. Sh, m'lady, don't cry. Everything will be all right. I swear, it will. Shh…"
Finally, Mary straightened up, her eyes narrowing and her mouth hardening. The exquisite hard veneer she could summon so effectively seemed to fall over her like a concealing shroud.
"You're right. I'm being silly, and I'm very sorry," she said in her coolest tones. "Take my hair down and put it back up in the chignon, would you, Anna? And then I'll wear the grey, if you can find it."
WEDNESDAY NIGHT, 11:00 pm.
Anna sat on the edge of the big bed, her hands clenched into fists, holding her breath. Every nerve was screaming, urging her to jump up and run screaming down the corridor, or to punch her way through a wall, or to fall out the second story window, anything at all as long as the action got her away from the man sitting in the rocking chair and staring at her. I will not run. Will. Not. I have to know what he wants.
Mr. Pamuk leaned forward, and Anna dug her nails into her palms to keep from scrambling back on the bed. Mary was asleep behind her, breathing deeply and evenly. She must not wake up.
"Wh—what do you want?" she asked in a croak of a whisper.
He shook his head.
"What does that mean? Are you saying you don't want anything?"
He pointed to his throat, and with a shock of horror, Anna knew what he meant. He could no longer speak. He was a corpse, and his vocal cords had rotted away. Somehow, he still looked the same as he had in life, a handsome young man with big dark eyes and shining black hair, smooth olive skin and full pink lips, but that was only illusion. She understood that now. If she could truly see him, then she would see him as he was. Anna found herself praying that the illusion would hold.
He raised a small glass bottle with a cork stopper and pointed to the shiny surface with a finger. The dark liquid sloshed back and forth, like a miniature ocean.
Find it, he mouthed. While he could make no sound, she understood what he had said, right enough. This gave her an idea. If he wanted her to do something, then maybe… just maybe, she had some sort of leverage. And she'd had no luck at all in finding out anything more for the rest of the afternoon and night. She must take this chance, if it was a chance at all.
"What will you give me if I do?" she asked boldly.
He inclined his head, as if to say that her desire was for her to state.
Anna looked at him squarely. "Leave Lady Mary alone. That's what I want from you."
The tiniest smile curved up his full lips. Was he saying yes or no? She didn't know, couldn't tell. Either way, this was the only chance she had. She must find that tiny sealed bottle, if it were real at all, if it were there to be found.
Mr. Pamuk raised a hand, as if in farewell, the muscles stiff and the fingers unbending. Anna closed her eyes for a moment, feeling horribly cowardly, If she saw him fading away in the chair, she really would start to scream. And I can't wake Lady Mary—
Behind her, a small gasp. Anna whipped round to see Mary sitting bolt upright, clutching the coverlets to her breast, her eyes wide and terrified.
Lady Mary saw Mr. Pamuk, too, as surely as I did, Anna thought numbly. She saw it all. If only she won't say anything. If only she'll lie down and go back to sleep, and then I'll know this was a dream, only a dream—
"He was here," Mary said in a thread of a voice. "Kemal Pamuk was sitting in that chair. And he held up a little glass bottle. Didn't he?"
Anna clutched at her hands, unable to speak. I'm the one dreaming it all, Anna thought frantically. Yes. That's the only explanation. None of this can be real, it just can't be.
"He did," said Mary, "Because I saw him, and he looked the same as ever. How can that be, Anna, when he's dead? I knew he was dead, somehow, even though he didn't look it."
"No," said Anna, finding her voice at last. "No, no, no; it was only a dream, my lady."
"But I saw…" Mary's voice trailed off as Anna pushed her back down to the bed again, none too gently. If she keeps staring at that chair, Anna thought, I'll go mad. I'll start screaming, and I'll never stop again. And wouldn't we be in a fine fix then!
"Hush," Anna whispered. "Go to sleep. I'm here. I'll protect you from him. He won't come back." Oh, I do just about hope I'm right!
Mary lay down on the bed, but her eyes remained open, staring at nothing. "He's getting closer," she said in a low voice.
"But he won't get close enough," Anna said, as firmly as she could. "I've almost found out everything. Just one more day and night, my lady, and then I'll know, and I'll tell you, and he'll go away forever." She pressed a kiss on Mary's brow as if she were a small child, and the other woman closed her eyes at last and slipped into sleep. But her face still did not look peaceful.
Wednesday night, 11:30 p.m.
The man who was the watcher stood at the window of the second floor, the small, sleepy village spread out below him. The lights were nearly all out at this time of night, with only a few flares from a public house here or a streetlamp there. The room was dark except for the moonlight streaming in through the dusty windowpane. The entire room was none too clean, in fact, just as the bed was far from soft and the taproom ale too bitter. The Grantham Arms would have been far preferable to this dingy inn on the edge of town, but also much too public. And the proprietor of this place could be well paid to forget he had ever been here, if need be.
"I won't do anything more," a tense voice said behind him. The man turned to see his informant standing close to the door, weight shifted on one leg as if poised for flight from the small, shabby room.
The man nodded. "Well, your work is almost done, if it comes to that. There are just a couple of loose ends left. A thing or two I should like to be sure of, I suppose."
The informant looked up sharply.
"Anna Smith, for example. She seems such a curious sort," said the man. "I do hope that she doesn't become too curious."
"You will not touch her," said the informant fiercely. "She must not be harmed, or—"
"My goodness, harming that girl is the last thing I wish to do," the man interrupted. "Only she seems so dreadfully inquisitive. Who knows what she might find out. I must say, the thought makes me a bit nervous."
"Leave her to me," said the informant, his voice flat.
After a moment's hesitation, the man nodded, his face a bland mask.
A/N: And proving that miracles happen, this fic was updated after less than a week! This is my NaNo project, so Chapter 19 really WILL come out faster too (probably not as soon as this one did, though.) Who do YOU think the watcher is? And who's the informant? Reviews are really inspiring… 😉 The next chappie will have more mysteries and some delicious Mary/Matthew goodness, so don't miss it!