The Devil's Eye

Silence fell between them. Reece tensed, ears straining.

“Do you suppose this has anything to do with Langley?” Mrs. Voyle asked, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

Now that was interesting. In the weeks he’d been working here, Reece had yet to hear anyone at Stonecliff mention the man found murdered on the property less than six weeks ago. Conversely, in the village they spoke of nothing else.

“Don’t let gossip cloud your better judgment,” Warlow said. Given the animosity between Eleri and the butler, Reece was surprised the man would defend her. “But we do need to know just what that girl is up to.”

“Which one?”

“Both, I imagine.”

Footsteps scraped across the tile floor, moving in his direction. He tensed. It was only a matter of time before one of them caught him eavesdropping.

He pushed away from the wall and rounded through the door, bringing Mrs. Voyle to a halt in front of him. The woman’s beady eyes narrowed, as if guessing he’d been listening.

“What’re you about, then?” she snapped.

Reece opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could get the words out. “How is it that girl came in with you?”

The hair on the back of his neck bristled. Bad enough he had to put up with Eleri constantly looking for an excuse to sack him, but to have to offer up explanations to this tight-faced harridan was almost more than he could stand. “I ran into her at the pub. She was lost, I showed her the way.”

“At the pub again, were you?” Mrs. Voyle said, with a derisive sniff. “No surprise there. Well, if you’re after your dinner, you’ll just have to wait. I serve at six sharp. Not before, not after.”

The thick, meaty scent of whatever vile concoction the woman was cooking filled the kitchen. The pounding in his head increased, and his stomach swirled. He’d pass.

“Eleri wants her sister’s things taken to the guestroom. She said you could direct me.”

The shrill whistle from the kettle cut through the quiet, and his skull contracted. Lips pursed as if sucking lemons, Mrs. Voyle shut off the gas burner, lifted the kettle and the whistle ceased.

“So, I’m to fetch tea and tell you how to be about your own duties, am I?” Before Mrs. Voyle could rant further, Warlow lifted his hand, and the housekeeper’s mouth snapped shut.

With his dark suit and short snow-white hair, Warlow looked fastidious and stately, every part the English butler. Despite the color of his hair, only a few lines creased the corners of his eyes when he smiled, making his age difficult to guess.

“The front room in the northeast corner,” he said.

Facing the sea? Brynn should love that. He nodded and started to turn away.

“Mr. Conway,” Warlow said. Reece stopped and faced him. “Would you join me?”

As if he had a choice. Not in what Warlow asked of him, or Eleri James, or in working within the walls of this stone asylum. Choice had vanished years ago.

“I really should get these to Br—Ms. James’s room.”

“You can spare a moment.” Warlow’s smile stretched a little wider, blue gaze chilling ever so slightly. He waved Reece to the chair opposite him. “Sit down.”

The man wanted something. Normally, he barely spoke to him—unless to contradict Eleri.

Reece dropped into the chair Warlow had indicated and struggled against the urge to check his watch. He had to get back to the pub.

The butler hesitated before speaking, his gaze following Mrs. Voyle as she placed a teapot onto the trolley’s tray next to a plate of biscuits. Once loaded, she pushed the cart out of the kitchen. The dishes clanked together and one of the wheels squeaked intermittently.

Warlow lifted his teacup and asked, “Would you care for some?”

Just get to the point, already. Reece shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ll just take up these cases then be off.”

Warlow leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, pressing his palms together as if in prayer. “Meris’s girl arrived with you. Did Eleri ask you to meet her?”

Reece shook his head. “I wouldn’t have bothered with her at all, but Dylis Paskin offered me up when Brynn couldn’t follow the directions Eleri sent her.”

“You had no idea Eleri had contacted her sister?” Warlow’s piercing blue stare bored into him. “Why were you at the pub this afternoon?”

Was the man actually trying to catch him in a lie? Funny, Reece had been at the pub for nefarious reasons, just not the ones Warlow assumed. “I was desperate for something edible for my dinner.”

“Ah, well, no one could fault you for that, my boy.”

Reece stiffened beneath the weight of the butler’s patronizing tone.

“A word of warning, though. The Paskins have a long, angry history with this family. You may want to keep that in mind the next time you visit The Iron Kettle.”

Well, considering Eleri had likely murdered their son, one could hardly blame them for holding a grudge. “I really should take Ms. James her cases.”

“A little longer, please.” Warlow waved Reece back into his seat when he started to stand. Good God, would the man never shut up? “I’m going to be honest with you. I’m very concerned about this visit affecting Mr. James’s health. Did the girl tell you anything about why she’s come?”

Irrational irritation prickled the back of Reece’s neck. She has a name. “No.”

Though, her turning up now with her father so ill, Mrs. Voyle probably hadn’t been far off the mark. Not that he was in any position to judge. The things he’d done for money didn’t leave much room to be self-righteous.

“Did she tell you why Eleri contacted her?” Warlow pushed.

Ask her your bloody self if you want to know so badly. “We weren’t in the car long, and didn’t have a lot to say to each other.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” The man’s smile dimmed and he nodded almost to himself, then those light eyes fixed on Reece once more. “What did you think of her?”

A bloody nosy neurotic. Instead, he shrugged. “I didn’t think anything of her.”

Warlow chuckled. Only the barely visible narrowing of his eyes hinted at his annoyance. “You formed no opinion?”

He could tell the butler about her panic attack, her fear of water. Reece met the man’s hungry gaze, and a surge of distaste curdled his insides. Hugh Warlow could dig up his own dirt. “Like I said, we didn’t have a lot to say to each other.”

He glanced at the clock over the stove. Ten minutes to six. He’d never make it back to the pub in time. He was well and truly fucked now.

The telltale hiss of Mrs. Voyle’s skirt announced her arrival just before she stormed into the room, dark eyes glinting like onyx.

“Now, I’m to serve Her Highness dinner in her room,” the housekeeper fumed, shooting Warlow a pointed stare. “Familiar days, I tell you.”

Reece saw his chance for escape and jumped at it. He scrambled from his chair and gathered Brynn’s cases. “I should take these up.”

“Yes, of course. One more thing, Mr. Conway.”