“You do me honor, Lady Marmaduke. I hardly hoped that you would sympathize with my conscience. Propose your toast.”
“Can you guess who it is?”
“The Earl?”
“No.”
I laughed. “Our friend, the patroon?”
“The patroon of Hanging Rock? Yes, but by a different title. Drink, Michael. Long life and happiness to the seducer of your sister.”
“My God!” I cried, dashing glass and all upon the floor. “What do you mean?”
“You know well enough. I told you long ago that he visited her room that night she died. We of the aristocracy here think little of our bond-slaves. They are mere chattels to our lust. Why should they not minister to our pleasure. Why should not Ruth—”
“Stop! You are baiting me. You do not know this. Louis said that she was murdered, but not that she was—”
“You know that? You will not strike her murderer? You craven coward! And I know why you halt. You love the Catholic woman.”