Silent in the Sanctuary
England, 1887 “There is a dead man stinking in the game larder. I hardly think a few missing pearls will be the ruin of this house party.” Lady Julia Grey’s eccentric family and friends have gathered to keep Christmas in Bellmont Abbey.But when Lady Julia notices the enigmatic detective Nicholas Brisbane in the party, she is less than delighted – trouble is sure to follow. Her prediction is proved correct when festivities are brought to an abrupt halt by a murder in the chapel.Blood dripping from her hands, Lady Julia’s cousin claims the ancient right of sanctuary. Forced to resume her deliciously intriguing partnership with Brisbane, Lady Julia is intent on proving her cousin’s innocence. Still, the truth is rarely pure and never simple…
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With degrees in English and History and a particular love of Regency and Victorian times, Deanna Raybourn is a committed anglophile, who, at her husband’s insistence, gave up teaching to devote her energies to writing. Clearly her husband knew what he was doing.
Silent in the Sanctuary is Deanna’s second novel in the Silent series featuring the effervescent Lady Julia Grey and the enigmatic private investigator Nicholas Brisbane.
Deanna is currently hard at work on her next book, Silent on the Moor, which will be available soon from MIRA Books.
Find out more online at www.mirabooks.co.uk/ deannaraybourn
Also byDeanna Raybourn
SILENT IN THE GRAVE
A Lady Julia Grey Mystery
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As ever, many thanks to my esteemed agent, Pam Hopkins, for all her hard work and support, for her unflagging optimism and for her ferocious devotion. Many thanks as well to my editor, the elegantly tenacious Valerie Gray, whose commitment to my writing has been truly humbling in the best possible way. My life and my work are the better for knowing both of you.
I am incredibly grateful to the MIRA editorial, marketing and PR teams for their enthusiasm and the exquisite care they have lavished on my novels. Particular debts of gratitude are owed to Cris Jaw and Julianna Kolesova for their stylish artistic contributions to this series. And many, many thanks to the unseen hands whose work is often unremarked, but so very essential and much appreciated – the proofreading, production and sales departments.
Thanks also to my Jackson girls, as always, for all their love and support. Particular thanks to Kim Taylor, for going above and beyond the call of friendship, and all of those who have done more than I could ever have asked. It is a gift to know you and to call you friends.
And thanks most of all to my family; thanks to my daughter and my father for their many little kindnesses, and to my husband, for everything. As ever.
This book is dedicated to my mother,
Barbara Russell Jones, who has read every word I have ever written and loved them all.
THE FIRST CHAPTER
Italy, 1887
Travelers must be content. —AS YOU LIKE IT
“Well, I suppose that settles it. Either we all go home to England for Christmas or we hurl ourselves into Lake Como to atone for our sins.”
I threw my elder brother a repressive look. “Do not be so morose, Plum. Father’s only really angry with Lysander,” I pointed out, brandishing the letter from England with my fingertips. The paper fairly scorched my skin. Father’s temper was a force of nature. Unable to rant at Lysander directly, he had applied himself to written chastisement with great vigour.
“The rest of us can go home easily enough,” I said. “Just think of it—Christmas in England! Plum pudding and snapdragon, mistletoe and wassail—”
“Chilblains and damp beds, fogs so thick you cannot set foot out of doors,” Plum put in, his expression sour. “Someone sobbing in the linen cupboard, Father locking himself in the study after threatening to drown the lot of us in the moat.”
“I know,” I said, my excitement rising. “Won’t it be wonderful?”
Plum’s face cracked into a thin, wistful smile. “It will, actually. I have rather missed the old pile—and the family, as well. But I shall be sorry to leave Italy. It has been an adventure I shall not soon forget.”
On that point we were in complete agreement. Italy had been a balm to me, soothing and stimulating at once. I had joined two of my brothers, Lysander and Eglamour—Plum to the family—after suffering the loss of my husband and later my home, and very nearly my own life. I had arrived in Italy with my health almost broken and my spirit in a sorrier state. Four months in a warm, sunny clime with the company of my brothers had restored me. And though the weather had lately grown chill and the seasons were turning inward, I had no wish to leave Italy yet. Still, the lure of family and home, particularly at Christmas, was strong.
“Well, who is to say we must return permanently? Italy shall always be here. We can go to England for Christmas and still be back in Venice in time for Carnevale.”
Plum’s smile deepened. “That is terribly cunning of you, Julia. I think living among Italians has developed a latent talent in you for intrigue.”
It was a jest, but the barb struck too close to home, and I lowered my head over my needlework. I had engaged in an intrigue in England although I had never discussed it with my brothers. There had been an investigation into my husband’s death, a private investigation conducted by an inquiry agent. I had assisted him and unmasked the killer myself. It had been dangerous, nasty work, and I told myself I was happy to be done with it.
But even as I plunged my needle into the canvas, trailing a train of luscious scarlet silk behind it, I felt a pang of regret—regret that my days were occupied with nothing more purposeful than those of any other lady of society. I had had a glimpse of what it meant to be useful, and it stung now to be merely decorative. I longed for something more important than the embroidering of cushions or the pouring of tea to sustain me.
