past this used to be the solarium where the family gathered after meals,” Sybil informed them, “which is why it has a good fireplace. I suppose one must be grateful for that, although that chimneypiece is a horror.”
This was something else that Leo hadn’t noticed until now. Carvings on the stone chimney breast depicted strange beasts and leering monsters, all of them crowded together and tumbling over one another. Not exactly what you’d expect to find in a monastery. Nor was the grotesque mask fitted into the paneling of the wall adjacent to the fireplace.
Jennifer, noticing him gazing at the hollow eyes of that stone face, spoke up for the first time. “It’s a squint,” she said.
Leo turned to her. “A what?”
“If this used to be the solar in the medieval days,” she explained, “then the great hall must be on the other side of that wall. A squint permitted the lord of the castle to look through those eyes down into the great hall.”
“A spy hole? Why?”
“It was a method for checking on the activity of his household to be sure they weren’t getting too boisterous in his absence.”
Leo had forgotten that Jennifer would know about this stuff. His brother’s wife had told him that, like Guy, Jennifer was connected somehow with the antiques trade.
“Aren’t you clever to know that?” Sybil cooed, then abruptly dismissed Jennifer with a casual “I’m not interested in solariums, but I do care about loos. And the scarcity of them in this place, along with the state of the plumbing, is not my definition of comfort.”
“Sybil, please—” her husband murmured pleadingly.
“Dear heart, it’s true. I don’t know how all of us will manage.”
If any of the rest of them had any feelings on the subject, none of them bothered to contribute them. There was a long, awkward silence while they concentrated on their plates.
Sybil Harding, looking around the table, ended the silence after a few moments with an exuberant “I do hope some of you play bridge.”
Leo could sympathize with her husband. The woman was an embarrassment.
“Sybil, perhaps—”
“Roger, hush. If we’re to be stuck here, we must pass the time somehow.” She leaned provocatively toward Leo. “Roger refuses to play, which always leaves me looking for a partner.”
“I don’t play bridge. Poker is my game.” Leo had had enough. He wanted out of here. Scraping his chair back, his hands on the table to support himself, he got slowly to his feet. “But right now,” he muttered, “I think I need to go back to my room.”
“You feeling off again, old man?” Just Harry asked him.
“Yeah, maybe a bit.”
“Bloody shame.”
Jennifer looked up at him, this time with concern. “Would you like me to find Brother Timothy?”
“Not necessary. But if you’d go with me…”
He left the rest unsaid, knowing she would be convinced that someone should be with him in case he started to black out on the way back to his room.
She came immediately to her feet. “Of course. Excuse us, everyone.”
Jennifer waited until they were out of the room before she started to fuss at him. “You pushed yourself too far too soon.”
“I’m not having a relapse,” he assured her.
“Well, you need to rest.”
Leo didn’t argue with her. She waited until they gained the corridor at the top of the stairway before asking him, “Are you feeling light-headed? That climb—”
“No,” he growled, feeling guilty for worrying her.
She was silent again until they passed the window embrasure.
“You’re going too fast,” she complained.
But Leo was in too much of a hurry to slow his long-legged stride. Nor did he offer an explanation for his urgency until they were back inside his room with the door closed behind them. Then, a grimness in his voice, he swung around to challenge her.
“All right, we’ve wasted enough time with that bunch downstairs. I want the truth, Jenny, and I don’t want to wait any longer for it. So go ahead and convince me that you didn’t murder my brother before you helped yourself to the Warley Madonna.”
Chapter Four
In the slow, measured voice Jennifer used whenever she was very angry and trying not to show it, she confronted Leo with his deceit. “You tricked me. You’re not feeling ill at all.”
“Interesting,” he said. “I’ll have to remember that about you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That purr in your voice just before you go and blast someone. I noticed it earlier. Dangerous.”
He didn’t miss much, Jennifer thought. And she didn’t want him to be so observant about her, reading her moods and then analyzing them. It meant she would have to be on guard with him every minute. She had enough to worry about with the idiotic way he affected her whenever he got anywhere near her. Like now.
“Come on, Jenny,” he coaxed, moving in close, “you know you’re going to have to tell me your story sooner or later. Might as well be now, huh?”
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