"I want to know what he did to you. I know it is too late to avenge any other sins, but I still want to know. I love you, Mary."

Christian watched twin tears run down Mary's cheeks, only to be brushed away by Lake's thumbs. "Oh, Lawrence. What are we to do?"

"Shhh. There now, I'll take care of things. Let's go talk to Tom."

He wrapped an arm around her and led her to the stable.

Christian gave Kate a sardonic look. "They almost take the fun out of searching for the villain."

Kate appeared sad. "You think they did it? Threw the body over?"

Christian stared pensively after the couple's path. "Perhaps, but something just seems off."

"They do have a motive," Kate said reluctantly. "Should we follow them?"

"Probably. But I want to check with Freewater on the status of the journal. Somehow I don't think Lake and Mary are going to be talking to Tom for very long-more likely they will be indulging in other pastimes. I also don't think we would be able to spy on them without Tom or Gordon seeing us. I don't know about you, but I am terrible at keeping hidden. Several pranks nearly cost me dearly at E-" He cleared his throat. "In my village. I can't believe they didn't see us when they exited the inn. Save me from fools in love."

Kate gave him a dirty look.

He winked. "Not you, Kate. Feel free to fall in love with me at any time."

"I think not," she said tartly.

"You wound me, Kate, you really do."

He knew he looked anything but wounded as she prodded him toward the door, but something tightened in his chest.

"I'm not sure how you think we are going to solve this murder when you aren't willing to engage in a little eavesdropping."

"Oh, but we don't need to indulge in eavesdropping, Kate. Don't you know who the guilty parties are yet? It's quite simple. But on to the journal, now there's a puzzle."

She pushed him inside.

They found Freewater in the common room upstairs along with Nickford, Desmond, Tiegs, Olivia, and Francine. The last four were playing cards at the round table, and Freewater was furiously scribbling in a book at the maple desk. Nickford was puttering around the fireplace, alternately poking about with the tools and taking measurements of the courtesy screen. Kate had no idea what he was doing, but hoped that he didn't decide to abscond with the screen too. She was quite unlikely to keep her disguise if someone happened upon her using the chamber pot.

Tiegs's two thugs were nowhere to be seen.

Desmond shot Christian a poisonous glare as Christian headed straight for Freewater's corner.

She made it over in time to hear Christian ask so quietly that the other occupants in the room would have to strain to hear, "Have you recovered your journal, Freewater?"

Freewater looked up from his book, thoroughly distressed. "No, blast it. I haven't so much as seen a book nearing its description. I need that book."

His voice sounded desperate in the extreme.

"We are still looking for it. Hopefully we will have better news for you soon." Christian shrugged nonchalantly.

"You get your head straight from your arse yet, Black?"

Kate groaned as Desmond's narrowed eyes pierced Christian.

"Your mother was quite accommodating the other day with both, thanks Desmond."

Desmond lunged from his seat, and only Tiegs succeeded in holding him from Christian's throat.

Christian shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, such a temper. You should really rein it in. Wouldn't want to give someone the impression that you are capable of murder, would you?"

"I'll get you, Black! Just you wait! After I deal with that pansy Lake, it will be your head on the platter."

Christian lazily stretched his fingers. "Have a tendre for Mr. Lake, do you? I'm not sure he's interested in you, Desmond."

Desmond's struggles renewed with force. "I'll kill you! You're a dead man, Black."

"Oh, Desmond, promises, promises."

Christian strolled from the room, and Kate hurried after him until they were inside their own room.

"You really shouldn't bait him, Christian. I know you like to pretend you are a Runner and above the law, but he could really hurt you."

"Is that concern, Kate? I'm touched."

His acerbic tone set her off. "You are a rude, insufferable man. Why do you taunt him? You are no better than Janson, if you do!"

Christian looked like a bored nobleman, filled with ennui. "Donald Desmond talks and talks. That is the type of man he is. Will he actually do anything? No. He's all bluster and bravado. And as for being above the law, Desmond can't touch me."

"That is a silly statement."

"Most of my statements are."

She frowned at him. "What is wrong with you? You seem different all of a sudden."

"We should have found Freewater's journal by now. That should be my main priority." The last sentence was muttered, but she heard him clearly.

"What? You are concerned about Freewater's journal when a man was murdered?"

He waved a hand. "The servants did it. Does it really matter how and so forth? The reason why is quite clear."

Her mouth dropped. "So that's it? You are just going to-to let it be? Just be half-half-assed about it?"

He shrugged, his eyes dull. It made her angrier than she cared to reason why.

"Well, you can't. You promised me, and those people downstairs, that you would do this. Don't your promises mean anything?"

A dark look ran across his features. "Yes, that is exactly the point," he snapped.

"Well, you aren't very well proving it."

He pointed a finger at her. "I don't need this from you. I've had enough guilt and finger pointing to last a lifetime. Your opinion means nothing," he said viciously.

Her mouth dropped in shock. And hurt. She couldn't help the hurt, and her eyes lowered so that she could gather herself before meeting his again.

His face twisted. "Damn it to hell." He picked up a brush from the side table and threw it across the room. It smacked the wall and clattered to the floor. His back was to her. Deep breaths shuddered along his frame.

Kate was frozen in place.

He breathed harshly and slammed his palm against the tabletop. "He will never leave me in peace."

She stayed silent until he finally turned around and looked at her. He made no move to approach her, and for that she was glad.

His eyes were sad. "I'm sorry, Kate."

The words were given freely, but even so she had a feeling they were not often said.

"That was very bad-tempered of me. Ghosts from the past." His mouth curved into a far from amused smile. "Bad form of me to take them out on you."

She nodded, not knowing what to say, but feeling the icy grip of the past few minutes loosen around her heart.

"Apology accepted."

"I do value your opinion," he said softly. "Very much. I won't give up on solving Janson's death, though I think you will not like what we find."

"Why do you say that?" She sat down in her chair as he paced the floor, but without the restless agitation of before.

"Webs within webs. You are looking for justice. I don't think we will find it in the guilty parties."

"You do not believe we should seek justice and prosecute Janson's murderer or murderers?"

"I think it is more complicated than that. I know that you are involved in this hunt because you are compensating for something, Kate. I don't know what troubles you, but I'm familiar enough with the motive to notice it in another." He gave a self-deprecating smirk.

"My father always used to say that life is complicated," she muttered.

"Funny. Mine used to say failure was complicated. He was always very adamant that my life would be complicated."

A dark look passed across his face again, and she had the feeling that he wasn't completely happy to have shared that memory with her. She was thus surprised to find him taking the seat across from her at their small table and reaching across the top for her hand. Instead of his usual brash manner of taking her hand with a smirk and no apology, he waited for her. She moved her hand into his, and relief showed on his face.

Any remaining ice melted. That Christian was a bit brash was undeniable. That he was also smart enough to realize the consequences and modify his behavior was a relief. Father would have called him a hotheaded intellectual. His persona was cool and carefree, but the intense boiling underneath the crafted exterior was hot and seething. Kate had a feeling that not many people saw the molten lava flowing within.

She squeezed his fingers lightly and was rewarded in return with a gentle stroke under her palm.

"I like to think that those things no longer bother me. I usually don't let them."

She nodded, but there wasn't much she could say. He hadn't confided in her about the journal, and she had only bare crumbs about what formed his shield. It was amazing how little she knew of him. She had no reason to trust him, and had no idea why she actually did trust him. But there it was.

"Sometimes it takes several attempts before you get something right," she said softly.

He smiled. It was a small grin, but genuine. "I suppose that is the crux of the problem. Second chances have always been quite rare."

She let him interlock their fingers. "You aren't a failure because of a setback; the important thing is to keep moving forward and not allow the tide to pull you under."

He looked at her strangely. "I thought you were from the Midlands?"

She nodded. "Father was originally from the seaside and into shipping when he was younger. Hence a lot of seaworthy sayings"-she leaned in-"and language."

He laughed, and she smiled in return. It felt good. She hadn't talked of her father in weeks. She could barely make it past the chimes, although in the last few days she had been having increasingly better success during the day. She was only losing perspective at the noon and midnight chimes and when her mind shut down for sleep. Maybe she too was making progress.

Christian started to say something in response before abruptly stopping. He was looking over her shoulder, an odd expression on his face.

"What?" She looked over her shoulder, but only the burgundy-draped window was in view.

"The drapes."

"Yes?" she asked in confusion.

He squeezed her hand. "Do you remember what color the drapes were in Olivia Trent's room?"

Kate grimaced. "Blue drapes. Dark blue."

"And Desmond's?"

She racked her brain. They hadn't spent much time in his room. "Blue. Dark blue as well." Her eyes sharpened on his. "The Crescents also have dark blue drapes, as does the common room. All rooms with access to the gallery have dark blue drapes, except Janson's."

He stood up, bringing her with him. "Exactly. Julius Janson has dark green drapes. Why do you suppose that is?"

"Someone replaced the drapes."

Their eyes met. "Sally."

Kate hadn't seen the timid maid since they had passed her earlier in the hall, but she tended to pop up where needed with an uncanny sense of timing. The maid would definitely cover for Mary, her best friend, and probably for any of the other servants or guests. If someone told her to clean the room and keep her mouth shut, likely she would.

"Someone else may have switched the drapes. Any of the servants could have done it. Elias was absent with the keys for plenty of time that morning to make the switch."

"And servants are quite crafty; likely they all have keys to the rooms."

Christian lifted a brow as he led her to the door. "I'll have to remember that. Let's take a look at Janson's drapes, just to make sure."

They crossed the hall and exchanged greetings with a joyful Nickford, who looked more animated than usual as he took measurements in the hall.

Christian lifted their lamp, as they entered Janson's room and headed straight for the drapes. Dark green.

"Do you suppose the original drapes had bloodstains?"

He nodded. "I do."

"They were changed to hide the evidence. That means that Janson was killed in his room, not on the gallery."

"Exactly."

"I didn't see any other bloodstains. How is it that they all conveniently ended up on the drapes?"