by Ellery Adams
When the recording was done, Jane rubbed her temples. She needed a break.
She looked at Butterworth. “Could you order a tea tray before we watch the final footage? I could use a hit of caffeine and sugar.”
“Certainly.”
Instead of calling the kitchen, Butterworth left the room. He returned wheeling a trolley, which he parked next to Jane. After pouring her a cup of tea, he asked if he could make her a plate.
Jane chose a dill, Havarti, and turkey finger sandwich, a two-bite ham and chive quiche, and a pear and ginger scone. Mrs. Hubbard had thoughtfully sent bowls of apricot jam and clotted cream to accompany the scones, and Butterworth added dollops of each to Jane’s plate.
After taking several sips of black tea and eating the finger sandwich, Jane felt more human. The men were also partaking of the teatime treats, though they skipped the scones and doubled down on the quiche and finger sandwiches.
When the final round of footage began, Jane recognized the cameraman’s viewpoint, as she and the Cover Girls had been sitting nearby. Though he’d been closer to the action than the other spectators, he kept out of sight by filming between two tree trunks. His main focus was on the center of the field, but he happened to catch the second charge of soldiers on horseback. He recorded the moment when Ajax shied from the blast of a detonating grenade, pitching his rider forward. Lachlan reviewed this sequence in slow motion, and Archie gave a soft shout when the rider was captured seconds before hitting the ground.
“There’s his watch again! Do you see it?”
“Yes. This raises a new question, however, which is how did Mr. Pizzolato end up on that horse?” Sinclair directed his question at Archie. “Sam vetted the riders weeks ago. He said they’d all be people he could trust. People he knew well.”
Archie looked like he wanted to say something, but at the last moment, he changed his mind and simply shook his head. The silence was quickly followed by a buzz of conversation as the Fins came up with possible theories.
“We’ll have to speak with Sam,” Jane said, wondering what Archie might be holding back. “We need to find out how a stranger ended up on one of his horses.”
The men agreed, and Lachlan continued playing the footage. Everyone in the conference room strained to see what had become of Mr. Pizzolato after his fall, but the detonated grenade created too much dust. Their view was completely obscured.
The cameraman panned away from the dust cloud, focusing on a group of German soldiers. The men charged in a rough line, shouting as they ran. They all faced forward, their gazes locked on some target straight ahead. Except for one man. The soldier on the far end was looking sharply to the right. It was as if he knew he was being filmed and had deliberately turned away.
“That gentleman isn’t watching where he’s going,” said Butterworth.
Jane and the rest of the Fins nodded. They’d all noticed the same thing.
“Sterling, would you track down one of the German reenactors shown here and ask them to identify the camera-shy soldier?” Jane asked. “Until we have answers from them and from Sam, there isn’t much more for us to do. We’ll have to make an announcement to the guests, but I’ll wait for the sheriff to confirm his ruling first. The groundskeepers have already gone over the field again and found nothing marked with blood. If a weapon was used on Mr. Pizzolato, it’s gone.”
Butterworth got to his feet and clasped his hands in front of his waist. “Considering our current circumstances, I believe one of us should stay in your home to keep watch over Masters Fitzgerald and Hemingway.”
“Thank you, Butterworth. I’ll have the boys spend the night with Uncle Aloysius and Aunt Octavia. If one of you would stay in the guest room next door, I’d sleep easier.”
Sterling readily volunteered, and the meeting was officially over.
Before Archie could leave, Jane grabbed him by the arm. “Is there anything else you want to tell me? I felt like you were on the verge of saying something, but you held back.”
Archie gave her a blank look. “No, sorry. If I can help, I will. But right now, I think you’re doing everything that can be done.”
Jane walked through the staff corridor feeling more than a little glum. She was holding a man prisoner with seemingly no purpose, a man had died during what should have been a celebratory historical reenactment, she had to worry about the safety of her family, and she had no one to lean on. Not in the way she wanted.
What she wanted was Edwin.
What harm could it do to see him?
And before she knew it, she was on her bike heading into the village. She exited Storyton Hall’s property, zoomed by the pasture where the twins always stopped to feed an apple to the resident pony, and came upon the sharp bend in the road that had sent many a patient to Doc Lydgate.
Jane smiled as she recalled the latest verse added to the ever-changing ditty dedicated to the infamous bit of roadway. The twins were absurdly proud of the last two lines, which they’d thought of during their last rainy-day recess.
Broken Arm Bend, Virginia’s sharpest curve,
It makes all the cars and bicycles swerve.
If you don’t watch out, and you don’t drive smart,
You’ll go pffttt just like a giant fart!
Jane’s spirit lifted as she neared the village. She rode past Storyton Outfitters, rumbled over the wooden bridge traversing Storyton River, and finally slowed as Run for Cover came up on her left. Dismounting, Jane was pleased to see how many rental bikes were parked in the rack.
“Go, Eloise,” she said to her friend’s storefront. “Get those books out into the world.”
Knowing the front door to Daily Bread would be locked because the café served breakfast and lunch only, Jane walked down the narrow alley separating Edwin’s stone and brick cottage from his neighbor’s. She knocked on the kitchen door, hoping Magnus, the manager, was in.
The door was opened, but not by Magnus.
“Edwin!” Jane threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.
Pulling her into the kitchen, Edwin shut the door with one hand and pressed Jane against him with the other. “Jane,” he whispered. “Sweetheart.”
He cupped her face in his hands and stared at her. Then, he kissed her. Hungrily. He held her so close that Jane could barely breathe. Still, she wanted to get even closer—to melt into him. She wanted to erase any divide between them. She didn’t want to be separated by so much as a molecule of air.
“Wait,” said Edwin, pushing Jane away a little. His voice was hoarse. “What about William?”
Jane traced Edwin’s jawline. “I’m in love with you, Edwin. I want you.”
Right or wrong, she spoke the truth. She couldn’t deny her feelings, and she’d already missed too much time with the man she loved.
Edwin read the need in her eyes. It had been months since they’d touched each other the way they wanted to.
“Take me upstairs,” Jane whispered.
Without a word, Edwin swept her into his arms. He stopped to kiss her on every step, so it took a long time to reach his second-floor living quarters. He kissed her forehead, her mouth, her cheek, and her neck.
By the time they reached his bedroom, Jane was nearly dizzy with desire.
Over the next hour, she forgot her worries. She forgot everything but Edwin. His body, his hands, his smile, his tender whispers. He became a sea that she willingly dove into, drowning in a tide of joy.
Chapter Twelve
Jane tried not to think about Ray Pizzolato during her book-club meeting, but the video footage she’d seen of him kept replaying in her mind.
The Cover Girls had finished sharing their views on The Long Engagement and were ready for dessert and a discussion of Maisie Dobbs.
Eloise joined Jane in the kitchen with an offer to deliver decaf coffee to the rest of their friends. After serving Mabel and Mrs. Pratt, Eloise returned for Violet’s and Betty’s mugs. “Phoebe said that she’s already over her cof
fee limit. A hazard of her profession, I guess.”
When Jane responded with an automatic grin, Eloise touched her on the arm and said, “Hey. What’s going on with you?”
Her friend’s touch was a comfort. “Sinclair and I found a body on the battlefield this afternoon. There weren’t supposed to be casualties. But a man died.”
“Oh no!” Eloise cried. She lowered her voice. “How did it happen?”
“I’m not sure. Doc Lydgate thinks he hit his head on something and, in a state of confusion, stumbled into a trench. He was a history teacher from Tennessee. It’s really sad.”
Eloise gestured toward the living room. “Would it help to talk about it?”
Jane nodded. She always felt better after confiding in her friends. Not only were they excellent listeners, but they were also smart, loyal, and brave. When Jane couldn’t solve a problem on her own, the Cover Girls helped her reach a solution. They asked astute questions, batted theories around, and made her laugh when she felt like crying.
Eloise delivered the last of the coffees, and Jane put a platter of cake slices on the table.
“Mrs. Hubbard insisted on making a wartime cake for our meeting tonight. This one is moistened with applesauce and frosted with buttercream,” Jane said. “Would everyone like a piece?”
“Not me,” said Mabel. “This gal is not a raisin fan, California or otherwise.”
Jane popped up from the table again. “I almost forgot. Mrs. Hubbard also sent some Anzac biscuits—just in case some of us had an aversion to raisins.”
“That woman is a gem,” said Mrs. Pratt. “I read about those biscuits in a novel. Aren’t they cookies made with oats and coconut?”
Jane, who’d just returned from the kitchen, smiled at her friend. “You never cease to amaze me. And you’re right. These biscuits were shipped to soldiers. They were packed with as much nutritional value as the women could get into them. Oats, coconut, golden syrup, and butter were the main ingredients.”
“Plus a hearty dose of love,” added Betty.
Eloise waited until everyone had a slice of cake or a cookie before saying, “Ladies, as much as I enjoyed Maisie Dobbs, we need to talk about something else right now.”
When she looked at Jane, the other Cover Girls did too.
“You’ve been pretty quiet tonight,” Violet said to Jane in concern. “Is everything okay?”
Jane cradled her coffee cup, feeling the warmth of the ceramic spread across her palms. “I’m sorry. I wish I could focus on the fictional mystery, but I can’t. Not when I have a real one to solve.”
Mrs. Pratt, who’d been on the verge of biting into a cookie, abruptly closed her mouth. Her eyes shone with interest. “A murder mystery?”
“Not exactly.” Jane described how she and Sinclair had discovered Mr. Pizzolato’s body. “I expect the sheriff will stick to his ruling of death by misadventure, but two things bother me about Mr. Pizzolato’s passing. The first is that I don’t see how our groundskeepers missed finding him during their cleanup. The second is that we have no way of knowing what caused Mr. Pizzolato’s head wound.”
“Do you have reason to believe that his death was something other than an accident?” Phoebe asked, twisting one of her corkscrew curls around her index finger in agitation.
Jane couldn’t tell her friends that Archie was a Fin. She couldn’t tell them that he was Butterworth’s cousin either. They needed to believe that Archie was just another historian.
“There’s no reason to suspect foul play,” said Jane. “Mr. Pizzolato was well liked by everyone. He was my guest, and I was responsible for his safety. I feel like I let him down. I won’t be able to let that feeling go until I know what happened to him.”
Betty tapped the cover of her Maisie Dobbs paperback. “One of my favorite quotes from this book was from Maisie’s mentor, Dr. Maurice Blanche. He says, ‘Truth walks towards us on the path of our questions.’”
Mrs. Pratt said that she’d underlined that quote as well. “Let’s try to find the answers to Jane’s two questions. Number one; why didn’t the groundskeepers see Mr. Pizza?”
“Because he wasn’t in the trench when they were cleaning the field,” said Mabel. “Could he have been in the woods?”
Jane shrugged. “I guess so, though I don’t see why.”
Betty rolled her eyes. “That’s because you’re not a man. Men take great pleasure in answering nature’s call in nature. I bet Mr. Pizzolato was injured on his way to hose down a tree trunk.”
Several Cover Girls murmured in agreement.
“Betty’s theory would also explain why there was nothing left on the field that could have caused his head wound,” Eloise added. “If he was hurt and passed out in the woods, he may have woken later, dazed and confused, and stumbled into that trench.”
“Was the trench close to the woods?” Phoebe asked.
“Yes,” said Jane. “We haven’t searched that area yet, but we will tomorrow. Thanks, gals. What would I do without you?”
Eloise smiled. “You’ll never know the answer to that question because we’ll always be here for you.” Gazing at the rest of the Cover Girls, she said, “Let’s spend a little time with Maisie. After that, we need to vote on our next read.”
“I’d love another clever heroine like Maisie without the sad backdrop of war,” said Betty. “Even though I knew it was a novel—a work of fiction—I got very emotional reading it.”
Jane understood. There had been so much conflict in her life recently. She’d give anything for a long stretch of peace. How many millions of people felt that way at the end of the Great War? Or at the end of any war? But peace never seemed to last. There was always another war waiting around the corner.
“Why don’t we read a classic children’s chapter book?” she suggested. “Something uplifting and heartwarming.”
Eloise grinned. “I love that idea. And since those books are usually shorter than our regular picks, we could read two or three.”
Before the Cover Girls left that evening, they’d agreed their next book picks would be The Phantom Tollbooth, Anne of Green Gables, and Island of the Blue Dolphins.
Between her stolen hour with Edwin followed by her book-club meeting, Jane felt a renewed sense of hope.
However, when she walked by the twins’ room and saw their empty beds, her heart sank again. What kind of life was she giving her sons? If they couldn’t safely sleep in their own home, then something was very wrong.
Jane entered the room, sat on Hem’s bed, and picked up the teddy bear he’d had since he was three. “I’ll fix this,” she whispered to the furry face. “I’ll find a way to keep the monsters out.”
* * *
Victory was the theme of the next two days. Today, the historians would attend a mock peace conference followed by a remembrance lunch. There would be an afternoon lecture on postwar America. Tomorrow held no scheduled activities, and the centennial celebration would wrap up with a Victory Gala in the Great Gatsby Ballroom.
The staff buzzed about, making preparations, but Jane had a hard time getting into the spirit of the victory theme. In a week’s time, she’d seen two dead bodies, Gerald Tucker’s and Mr. Pizzolato’s. In her mind, there wasn’t much to celebrate. She couldn’t do anything to influence Tuck’s case, and her investigation into Mr. Pizzolato’s death had been stalled. It had been her plan to visit Sam yesterday, but according to his voicemail message, he’d driven to Maryland to look at a horse and wouldn’t be back until today.
Until she could see him in person, Jane tried to focus on other work. But negative thoughts kept destroying her concentration. She remembered how she’d foolishly believed that she’d have an advantage over Parrish once she was back at Storyton Hall. That didn’t prove to be the case and she felt just as she had at Biltmore—like she had no control over her circumstances.
Yesterday, she’d shared her feelings with Edwin, and he’d told her that she could take control by discovering what Parrish truly wan
ted. Why had he come to Storyton Hall? What rare book or unique material was he really after?
“If I had to guess, I’d say he’s looking for something written by a Lost Generation author,” Edwin had said. “Parrish collects their works with a fervor that goes beyond the norm. I believe he wanted Randall to search your secret library for books by a particular author or authors. I think the entire kidnapping scheme was set up to give Parrish’s agents access to the library without his involvement. He’s obviously tired of entrusting the job to his subordinates and has come to Storyton Hall to see that he finally gets what he wants.”
Reflecting on this conversation now, Jane decided that Edwin was right. She couldn’t wait around to see what horrible event would unfold next. She couldn’t depend on her Fins to protect her family and Storyton Hall. She needed to take charge—to be the leader she’d failed to be since the twins were abducted. Fear of losing them had completely unbalanced her. She’d been deeply terrified and intensely angry, and this onslaught of emotions had made her weak.
“No more,” she muttered as she entered Storyton Hall and strode down the lobby. Marching straight up to Butterworth, she said, “I’d like a word with your cousin. Please send him to my office.”
If Butterworth was surprised by her request, he didn’t show it.
Archie arrived within minutes. He knocked on Jane’s door and waited until she invited him to sit in the guest chair opposite her desk.
“How did Mr. Pizzolato end up riding that horse when he wasn’t listed as a vetted rider?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” said Archie. “I was going to skip this morning’s session, head up to Hilltop Stables, and talk to Sam in person. I wouldn’t leave without telling you first.”
Jane wasn’t impressed by this show of respect. Archie might be related to Butterworth, but she didn’t know him from Adam. Which meant she didn’t trust him.
“Tell me how you know Sam,” she said. “It’s clear to me that you do. You almost told me in our meeting yesterday. You were on his list of vetted riders because he must know you. He must trust you. How is this possible?”
