Free Black Silk by Judith Ivory

hour…difficult to find you…on my way out of town…. My husband, Lord Motmarche, left you a small bequest, which I have brought and would like to discuss…”
    When she produced the box, the man smiled politely and stepped back from it. “What is this?” he asked.
    “I’ve just explained. The marquess of Motmarche left the case and its contents to you in his will.” She watched for some further reaction.
    He was stoic. “No, thank you.”
    “No, thank you?”
    “I don’t want it.”
    Submit let the box sink into her skirts. In the room beyond, music swelled for a moment above the sociable noise of a crowd talking, drinking, laughing. In the empty entrance room, Submit had to speak quietly so her voice wouldn’t echo. “I don’t understand,” she said.
    He made a brief, perfunctory smile. “I can’t take it, though I appreciate that you’ve gone out of your way to bring it to me. I’m sorry.”
    Now what? Submit had known it would be difficult to ask a stranger what he knew about Henry and the contents of this box. She had never imagined she could not get the stranger—ostensibly the owner of the box—even to look at it.
    Submit glanced down at the burden she still held in her hand. “I have been told,” she said, “that you and Henry were not on the best of terms, but surely—”
    “Henry and I were on no terms at all. I haven’t seen him since I was nineteen. Exactly half a lifetime ago.”
    More puzzling. She said, “But when you were ill three years ago, he visited—”
    The man made a snort of disbelief. “If he did, I was unconscious at the time.”
    Submit felt completely turned around. She reached for the only explanation she could think of: “You know what’s in it,” she said flatly.
    He shrugged. “Poison. Something vile. If Henry left me anything, it would be something despicable, insulting.” He looked at her fully and heaved a huge sigh. “I’m sorry. I have no idea how you came to be named for this errand, madam, but let me assure you, you have been used for something Henry never had the nerve to do when he was alive.”
    Submit’s back straightened. “Whatever my husband left you, I’m sure he had a perfectly justified reason—”
    “Malice.” The shadowed eyes fixed on her, looking sadly,meanly convinced. “Lady Motmarche, I hope you will not consider me too rude when I tell you I simply cannot accept that box or anything else from Henry Channing-Downes. I prefer to remain after his death just as I was during his life: forgotten. I’m sorry your late-night trip here was for nothing. Now, may I get you a carriage, or would you prefer to come in for a while?”
    “Perhaps I haven’t explained well,” she began again. “I don’t know what to do with it if you don’t take it. This is part of the legal settlement—”
    “Keep it. I make you a legal gift of it.”
    “But you have to take it—”
    “Why? I can’t be compelled to take a gift.”
    “Why would you refuse it?” When he didn’t answer, she asked, “Do you know what’s in it?”
    There was a long pause before he finally committed himself to a direct response. “No.” He looked at her levelly. “Lady Motmarche, I am trying to spare us both embarrassing explanations. I could never predict what Henry might do or want to do to me from one moment to the next. All I know is that, for my own peace of mind, I have steadfastly refused to have anything to do with Henry’s designs on me since I was nineteen years old. I apologize if that is offensive to you. My refusal honestly has nothing to do with you.”
    “Except that I can’t understand it. Why would anyone be so impossible as to refuse Henry’s attempt to make a last contact, especially after so many years? If you don’t even know what’s in it—”
    “I don’t care what’s in it.” His voice rose slightly. The riveting eyes narrowed. “It could be filled with thousand-pound notes on the Bank of England. It doesn’t matter.” He