***

Gillian was not amused. When she had spied a familiar wizened figure beckoning her, she’d followed without hesitation, leaving her apology to Lord Carlisle half-finished. Noble was busy raging at an ill-looking Crouch, and Charlotte still had Nick in her grasp, so she left Lord Carlisle and Sir Hugh and slipped out through the door to a small anteroom.

“Palmerston, I’m surprised to see you here. I wouldn’t have believed that you would be interested in such goings-on.”

The old man slowly lowered himself onto a bench with the aid of his stick. He wheezed a chuckle at her. “Now, gel, you don’t expect me to let my godson do battle for his honor without being present, do you?”

“Your godson?” Gillian exclaimed, seating herself next to him. “I didn’t know he was your godson.”

“Aye, godson and great-grandson-by-law.”

Gillian raised her eyebrows. “You’re Elizabeth’s great-grandfather?”

“Aye.” A look of distaste crossed his face. Gillian was reminded of an ancient wrinkled and brittle parchment that she had once seen. Like it, Palmerston’s face seemed to have survived more than its fair share of years.

“Elizabeth, now there was an evil gel. Truly evil.”

Gillian stared in surprise. “Your own great-granddaughter? Evil?”

“Aye, that she was. She’d liked to hurt things, ever since she was a little gel. Cruelty was a sport to her. Caught her more’n once tormenting my dogs. Took a switch to her for it once, but she just moaned and squirmed and begged me to thrash her again.”

Palmerston’s brilliant blue eyes peered out from twin bushy white eyebrows. “You know what I’m talking about, gel?”

“I—no, I guess I don’t,” admitted Gillian.

“Some people—sick people, people sick in their minds—find pleasure in inflicting pain on others. Other people gain pleasure from their own pain.”

Gillian wrinkled her nose in disbelief.

Palmerston nodded. “Elizabeth was like that. She took enjoyment from pain, and she took great delight in hurting others.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “She particularly liked to hurt your husband. And his son.”

“But why?”

Palmerston shook his head. “No reasoning with their kind. They’re not sane. Mind yourself, gel. There’s others like Elizabeth who would hurt you if they could.”

“Me? Who?” Gillian asked.

Palmerston didn’t reply; he just closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.

“Is it the same person who has tried to harm Noble?” She gave the old man a gentle shake, but he refused to say any more. She sat back next to him, ignoring the sudden crashes and harsh voices from the room beyond. Elizabeth had hated Noble? If that was the case, perhaps he hadn’t been mourning her death; perhaps she had misinterpreted his dislike of his first wife for grief. Perhaps there was hope for her after all.

The noise swelled into the room as the door opened and a figure slipped through.

“There you are, Lady Weston. I thought you might have come here.”

Gillian glanced at Palmerston, but he was still sleeping despite the noise. “Yes, but I should return,” she said, standing. “Noble will be wanting to leave…”