by Alyssa Drake
“How did Mrs. Clemens finally come to leave?”
“Your aunt threatened to bring the constable.”
Benjamin laughed and shook his head. Yes, Aunt Abigail was definitely meddling. He wondered if his mother had also been involved in Miss Clemens’ family defection. Lord help Thomas if both Aunt Abigail and his mother were plotting to find him a wife.
Sensing the end of the conversation, Mrs. Grace nodded briefly to Benjamin before entering the pantry. She returned a moment later carrying several large potatoes, which she dumped onto the table and began peeling in earnest. Benjamin turned to re-enter the dining room, his head swimming. As he put his hand on the door, he paused and turned back to the housekeeper. There was one more question he needed to ask.
“Mrs. Grace, I am curious to know how much of our morning conversation you overheard.”
Mrs. Grace glanced briefly at the potato in her hand and then leveled her gaze. “Every word.”
“I see,” replied Benjamin. “I would appreciate your silence on this matter until the details are made public.”
“You have my word, my Lord,” she replied with a nod. She began cutting the potatoes into chunks but paused mid-slice, the knife hovering an inch above the table. “My Lord, I may be able to help you.”
Benjamin looked at her oddly. “Help me with what exactly?”
“My brother worked for the Hastings family. He was the person who discovered Lord Hastings’ body.”
Benjamin’s breath caught in his throat; this was the missing piece. “Where does he work now?”
Mrs. Grace shook her head. “Sadly, he died of a heart attack several days after Lord Hastings passed away. However, he mentioned something to me prior to his death. I thought it was strange at the time though I have not thought about it since he passed.”
Benjamin fleetingly wondered if her brother’s death was also orchestrated by the same man who murdered Lord Hastings. However, Benjamin did not share this notion aloud.
“Please continue,” he replied quietly, giving the housekeeper his full attention.
“John told me the authorities questioned everyone at the house before deciding the death was due to natural causes. Yet the investigating officers neglected to question the man who originally raised the alarm to Lord Hastings’ dire predicament.”
“That is odd. Was there a reason given for this oversight?”
“The man was out of the country at the time of the inquiry. After the cause of death was determined, there was no longer a need to interview him.”
“Did your brother mention the name of this mysterious man?”
“Mr. Franklin Morris.”
Epilogue
“It is mine. Give it back,” snarled Marie as she chased Lucy down the hallway, nearly knocking over a vase situated in Lady Westwood’s large foyer. Lucy skidded to a halt as Sam entered the hallway after bidding Franklin goodbye. Lucy turned to face her sister with a gleeful smile. Marie also stopped suddenly, a look of contemplation crossing her young face.
“It is not yours,” Lucy shouted with a stomp of her foot. “Mother gave it to me last month. She said you had outgrown it, and now it was mine.”
“That is not fair,” Marie screamed. “I did not say you could play with it.”
“Quiet,” Sam yelled, interjecting herself between the two sisters. She knelt on the floor, so each child was at eye level. “Now, both of you will have the opportunity to tell me what happened. Marie, please go first.”
Marie folded her hands in front of her and smiled angelically. Sam rolled her eyes. “That only works on your father, Marie.”
Marie huffed and crossed her arms in exasperation. She took a deep breath and began speaking in a serious voice. “Lucy knows she is not allowed to touch my things,” Marie emphasized the word in a deep drawl. “During breakfast, Rose told me she saw Lucy playing with my dollhouse yesterday”–she paused dramatically–“outside.”
“Is that everything?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” confirmed Marie with a deft nod, flipping one of her braids over her shoulder.
“Now Lucy, it is your turn,” Sam turned to the younger girl.
Lucy squared her shoulders and sucked in her lower lip. “Last month, Mother donated some of our old playthings to the orphanage. Marie placed a couple of things on the pile of toys, including her old dollhouse. When I saw it, I asked Mother if could keep it.”
Sam turned back to Marie. “Did you put the dollhouse in with the donations?”
Marie bit her lip and hesitated, the wheels turning in her mind. “Yes.”
“Then it is no longer your dollhouse,” Sam replied.
“Keep it,” pouted Marie. “The lock is broken, anyway. It has been from the day I found it.”
Sam looked at Marie strangely. “Since you found it?”
“Yes,” Marie replied. “I found it in the playroom, hidden in the armoire Lucy was accidentally trapped inside.”
“Accidentally,” murmured Sam, raising her eyebrows.
Marie nodded solemnly. “I went to close the door after you rescued Lucy and saw it on the floor, surrounded by a bunch of broken toys.”
“Samantha,” Wilhelmina bellowed again from the sitting room. “I am still waiting for you. I know Mr. Morris has already left.”
Sam glared down the hallway and back at the two girls. She looked skyward and heaved a sigh. “I think the two of you should go back upstairs before the guests arrive.”
Marie took her sister by the hand. “Come on, Lucy. Maybe Rose can think of a way to break open the dollhouse without causing too much damage.”
Lucy stopped halfway up the stairs and tugged her hand from Marie’s grasp. “Aunt Samantha, do you have the key?”
A perplexed look crossed Sam’s face. “Why would I have a key to your dollhouse?”
“Mother said it used to be yours,” Lucy shrugged sadly and began climbing the stairs again.
Sam gasped. A house that is not a home. A dollhouse. Her dollhouse. Could it really be that simple? She had no time to speculate. How much time was left on the twenty-four-hour deadline? She would not allow her brother to die again, not when she could save him.
“Lucy,” Sam called up after her niece, a hint of desperation in her voice.
Lucy’s little brown head popped back around the banister. “Yes, Aunt Samantha.”
“Where did you leave your dollhouse?” Sam tried to sound nonchalant.
Lucy glanced suspiciously to her left and right to make sure her sisters were not around. Then she came down all but two steps and leaned over to whisper in Sam’s ear. “I hid it under Grandma’s desk in the study. Mr. Walton said I could keep it there. Do you think it was damaged in the fire?”
Sam shrugged. “I do not know.”
Lucy came closer, tugging on Sam’s skirt. “Please do not tell Marie or Rose.”
Sam winked and placed a finger over her lips. “I promise.”
“Thank you.” Lucy gave her a quick hug and dashed up the stairs again.
The townhouse. Sam needed to get to the townhouse immediately. She glanced toward the sitting room, feeling a brief pang of guilt. All the work for the luncheon was going to fall onto Wilhelmina. Plus, the guest of honor was planning to miss the entire event to go on a treasure hunt. Maybe she would make it back to the Westwood estate before the end of the luncheon. She prayed she would be able to catch Franklin; a carriage ride would be much more convenient than trying to secretly saddle and steal a horse from the stables.
“Wilhelmina will forgive me,” Sam chanted to herself as she wrenched open the front door, her eyes flying over the drive. Franklin’s carriage was about to pass through the main gate. Sam waved frantically as she ran toward the coach. Tripping over her skirt, she gathered up the material in her hands and raced across the dirt. Mercifully, the driver heard her calling and stopped the carriage on the edge of the property. With her hair flying wildly behind her, Sam sprinted the last few yards to Franklin’s carriage.
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br /> “My dear,” he exclaimed, startled by her sudden, unkempt appearance. “Is something the matter?”
Sam answered him breathlessly, a gleam in her eye. “I know where the jewelry is hidden.”
Franklin extended his hand with a smile and lifted her into the carriage. As he grinned, he bared his teeth.
“That is excellent news, Miss Hastings.”
* * *
The End
Thank You
Thank you for reading A Perfect Plan. If you enjoyed the love story of Samantha and Benjamin, please consider leaving a review wherever you purchased the story, it really does make a difference.
* * *
I invite you to continue their adventure with AN IMPERFECT ENGAGEMENT. Will you capture the culprits?
An Imperfect Engagement
Sam anguished.
Not the normal kind of worry which usually plagues young ladies of the time but stomach-churning, soul-wrenching agony.
She deliberately disobeyed the wishes of not only her brother, Edward, but those of her future husband, Benjamin, Lord Westwood—the two men she loved deeply. In addition, she abandoned Wilhelmina, her brother’s wife, to host a luncheon without the guest of honor—her, the future Lady Westwood. Those transgressions were terrible enough; however, she also forgot to leave a note regarding her whereabouts, or better, her destination, the townhouse. Or whatever was left of it after last night’s horrific fire.
Her mind replayed the prior evening—the moment of panic when she realized the significance of the fire burning in the distance, the worry etched across Edward’s face, and Benjamin wrapping her in his arms, a protective gesture. His scent overwhelmed her senses, wafting so strongly through the carriage she felt as though he were seated next to her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The air tasted like his skin. Her mouth curved into a smile; unconsciously, she arched her neck, leaning into his invisible embrace.
Tingles danced across Sam’s arms. She felt Benjamin’s sinful lips nibble a delectable path across her collarbone. The ghostly sensation elicited a tremble, which originated in her shoulder blades and shot down her spine. Sam blushed deeply, her eyes jumping to her cousin, Mr. Franklin Morris who stared out the window, absentmindedly rubbing the edge of the curtain between his thumb and forefinger. Pulling aside her curtain, Sam peered out the window, endeavoring to hide the telltale color of her wayward thoughts.
There was no need to upset Franklin further with intimate details of her inability to remain a proper lady in the presence of her fiancé. She shuddered at the title. Never in her life did she expect to hear the word fiancée attached to any gossip surrounding her name. Miss Hastings engaged to Lord Westwood—the sentence would be the main headline in the society pages for weeks. Franklin only just learned of her engagement the prior evening. He appeared devastated by the announcement.
Poor Franklin. He was such a dear man. Sam’s eyes raked over his oblivious visage. Why he had been unable to find himself a suitable match? Surely a man with Franklin’s humor would have no trouble attracting the fairer sex. A few thinning hairs would hardly stop a woman’s interest. Perhaps Sam could enlist Wilhelmina’s help; her sister-in-law did introduce Samantha to Lord Westwood. Although that particular introduction was not intended to encourage any permanent attachment to her temporary guardian, Sam allowed. She bit her lip and swallowed a smile, fighting the blush creeping back into her cheeks. Benjamin’s late-night visit last night was definitely not on Wilhelmina’s list of acceptable activities. Sam sank her teeth into her lower lip.
Franklin chose to look over at that exact moment, his dark eyes flicking over her face, an unreadable expression passing through his features. Franklin tilted his head as he studied her. A shiver ran the length of Sam’s spine; she was not sure if the sensation was caused by a sudden draft under the carriage door or the odd way Franklin wordlessly continued to watch her.
Rubbing her arms for warmth, Sam regretted her hasty departure—no gloves, no shawl, hair unbound. Traveling in mixed company in such a state did not add to her colorful reputation. Who would kill her first upon returning to the Westwood estate? No doubt, both men and Wilhelmina would volunteer for the opportunity. Sam grimaced; Wilhelmina would beat both Edward and Benjamin to that happy task.
How would Sam explain her reckless behavior? Treasure hunt hardly seemed like an acceptable justification for missing her own engagement party, even if it was to retrieve the ransom demanded by her father’s faceless murderer. Although the threatening missive–currently hidden underneath an inkwell in Lord Westwood’s bedchamber–did not explicitly state to recover the missing Hastings’ family jewelry, Sam was certain they were the items requested.
After several minutes of silent inspection, Franklin spoke, his hollow voice barely carrying across the coach. “Are you alright my dear, you seem preoccupied?”
“I should have informed someone of our destination,” blurted out Sam, unable to contain her struggle a moment longer. “Edward will be extremely worried.”
“I see,” replied Franklin in his soft voice. He steepled his fingers over his slightly protruding belly, resting his arms for a moment. “We would not want to cause Edward any undue strife. Perhaps you would like to send him a missive before we begin our little adventure?”
Sam nodded, gratitude seeping through her body. Her muscles relaxed, and she leaned back on the bench. “That is an excellent idea, Franklin.”
A brief note would ease both Edward and Benjamin’s minds, but it would not alleviate Wilhelmina’s anger, no matter how eloquent the letter. That particular apology would need to be done in person… after Sam ensured her father’s killer never threatened the family again.
Her eyes swept over Franklin. His companionship during this particular expedition was reassuring. Even though she only intended on searching the townhouse, Sam hesitated at the idea of completing the task alone. Franklin’s presence eased many of the fears dancing around in her erratic mind.
“I doubt you will be able to send a missive from the townhouse. With the extent of the fire damage, there is no way you will be able to find paper and ink, let alone a safe place to compose the letter,” continued Franklin quietly, tapping his fore-fingers absently. “I keep an apartment nearby. You should be able to find everything you need to allay your brother’s overprotective tendencies.”
“You know him so well,” Sam grinned.
“While you are corresponding, I will have an opportunity to gather supplies for our little treasure hunt.” Franklin returned her smile with an exaggerated wink.
Concern scrunched Sam’s forehead, deflating her excitement. Certainly, it would be prudent to pen a quick letter to Edward. However, an engaged woman should not visit a man’s lodgings without a chaperone. Even though Franklin was her cousin, his overly friendly attachment to her could be enough to start the societal tongues wagging. She bit her lip with indecision.
Franklin sensed Sam’s hesitation. He smiled slightly, the emotion barely reaching his dark eyes. “Mrs. Clark will be most delighted to converse with you again. She is currently residing in town with me and finds my lack of visitors most discouraging.”
“I would be delighted to visit with Mrs. Clark again.” Relief washed over Sam, tension ebbing quickly from her, disappearing under the carriage door like wisps of smoke. “It will give me the opportunity to personally express my gratitude for the lovely birthday cake she sent. Thank you, Franklin.”
The coach turned on its own accord—without direction from its occupants—and headed down a nearby street. Sam’s stomach grumbled, protesting a lack of food. She had rushed out without even a piece of toast.
“Perhaps Mrs. Clark has prepared breakfast?” Sam inquired over another loud rumble.
“Possibly,” Franklin replied and offered his empty smile again. He fell silent, twitching aside the curtain and watching the cityscape move past his window.
Fifteen minutes later, the carriage stopped in front of an older building in
an unfamiliar neighborhood. As Sam gaped at the shabby townhouses, one shed a piece of its roof, which clattered to the broken cobblestones below and shattered. A collection of building debris cluttered the length of the street, hiding a thin layer of grime. Why did Franklin choose to keep his lodgings in such a dilapidated part of town? This must be the reason he had very few visitors.
Producing a key ring from his waistcoat pocket, Franklin emerged from the coach—his lips pressed into a thin line—and gestured for Sam to follow. He glanced to his left and right before marching up to a decaying door.
An ominous squeak emanated from ancient hinges as he wrenched it open, the sound echoing down the empty street, causing rats to scatter from a nearby trash pile. A scream bubbled in Sam’s throat. Franklin grabbed her wrist, tugging her into the dingy darkness of the dwelling.
The door closed, aided by a strong yank from Franklin who wrestled it shut with a muttered curse word. The door groaned as it latched. Wordlessly, Franklin led Sam up a winding staircase to what she calculated was the third floor of the building.
He leapt lithely over the last step onto the landing. Sam glanced down at the stair and noticed the rotting wood already bowed under the weight of a tiny mouse which scurried ahead of Sam into the hallway and disappeared under a crack in a door. Sam bit her tongue and made no mention of the staircase or the mouse. Franklin must be having financial difficulties. Perhaps she could speak with Edward about offering a loan to Franklin.
Turning to his right, Franklin rapped three times on the only door visible in the hallway, the same door under which the mouse had disappeared. There was no answer. He tapped again, repeating the same knock and waited. Again, no one appeared at the door. Franklin shrugged, offering Sam a half-smile. He lifted the key ring to eye level and flipped through several keys.
