The Gilded Lily Read Online Free PDF Page A

garden made him jump and he spun round. He ran to the door and hurled a lump of coal from the scuttle to shoo some barefoot lads away – surely they had something better to
occupy their time? Soon more gawping strangers clustered at the windows of the carriage where Isobel had shut herself in and was weeping, her veil pulled over her face. Titus rubbed his
coal-stained palms on his buff breeches, where they left a black smear. He stared at it thinking, no matter, he would be in mourning tomorrow and all his clothes would be black.
    Surely Thomas had not been suffocated. Isobel was mistaken, he was sure; her weaker constitution made her prone to the vapours and these odd notions. Nobody had any reason to dislike Thomas, he
had always been the good one: mild-tempered, easygoing – some might say idle – nodding at everyone and everything like he was still a small boy. His mother had told everyone that he,
Titus, was the roguish one who would get himself into trouble, and not the beaming angelic-faced Thomas. Thomas had never had any self-discipline or sense of duty at all, thought Titus. A lump came
to his throat. He swallowed and drew himself upright. He would not cry. He had always had to help Thomas, ever since he was a small boy, whereas he himself had never in his life asked anyone for
help. Silly fool. He couldn’t help him now.
    When the country constable finally arrived, in his too-small coat, he insisted on interviewing Titus as if he was at fault. Isobel remained in the carriage, pretending the whole affair was
beneath her. It became clear from the constable that the housekeeper, Ella Appleby, and her sister had planned the whole robbery together. The mule and cart were missing from the stable, and nobody
had seen either girl since the night before. The constable rocked on his heels and asked questions in his barely intelligible Westmorland drawl. Titus gritted his teeth. It was frustrating, to be
confined in Netherbarrow when the Appleby sisters could be halfway to Lancaster by now.
    Finally, he could bear the constable’s questions no longer.
    ‘Should you not take horse after them?’ he asked.
    ‘Better give me full particulars first. Let us make a stock list of the items missing from the gentleman’s cabinets.’
    ‘Good sir, I do not know all my brother’s possessions. And besides, it is of no earthly use to inventory items of cutlery when my brother is dead, his house has been ransacked and
the miscreants are galloping further away by the minute. If you will not go after them, then I will do it myself. Excuse me.’
    ‘You’ll not be catching them now. Not before nightfall any-hows.’
    Titus scowled and climbed into his carriage. ‘We’ll see,’ he shouted. ‘Lancaster,’ he said to the driver, despite Isobel’s teary protestations. As the
carriage lurched forth, he caught sight of the Rector and Mrs Goathley hastening towards them up the hill, so he leaned out of the window and requested that they arrange for someone to sit with his
brother until he returned. Mrs Goathley said she would sit there herself, though no harm would come to him, no more than he had already suffered.
    As the carriage lumbered down the track, Titus turned and looked back at the diminishing village. He suppressed the overpowering urge to go back, to tell Thomas to stop jesting, to stop being so
idle and to get up and get dressed. He felt a lurch in his stomach, like a child’s seesaw when someone suddenly jumps off. Their lives were bound together. That Thomas could be dead was
impossible. Thomas had always been a part of his life, since he was a few minutes old and had slipped out of the womb after Titus, his cord still wrapped round Titus’s ankle.
    A lump rose to his throat; he gripped Isobel’s hand as the carriage bumped on the uneven track. He wished he had visited his brother more often, but he was always so busy. And Thomas was
always needing something. His business ventures often ran into