To Write a Wrong

by Jen Turano

  “Herman, look out!” Daphne called, bolting after him.

  Herman stopped walking, but any further warnings she wanted to voice came to a rapid end when she felt something hit her backside. Twisting around, she blinked, and then blinked again when she realized there was an arrow sticking out of her dress. Before she could process that sight, Herman was by her side, scooping her up into his strong arms right as a feminine shriek rent the air.

  Craning her neck from the safe confines of Herman’s embrace, Daphne peered in the direction of the shriek just in time to see Finetta Shoenburger fall to the ground in one of the most spectacular swoons Daphne had ever seen, complete with billowing fabric and even a poof of dust.

  CHAPTER

  Twelve

  “Are you keener to believe me now about ladies not being counted out as possible suspects?”

  Herman stopped readying his boat and squinted at Daphne, who was looking quite stylish today for their rowing excursion in an ivory walking gown with little pink flowers dotting the fabric. The wide-brimmed pink hat she was wearing exactly matched the flowers, as did the pink gloves that sported fashionable pink buttons.

  “I’m still not convinced Finetta deliberately tried to shoot me,” Herman countered. “She’s retreated to her bedchamber for over a day now, and even Dr. Gibbons is becoming concerned over her continued state of hysterics.”

  “States of hysteria can be feigned.”

  “True, but I don’t believe Finetta’s swoon was feigned. It took five passes of smelling salts under her nose before she stirred. From what I understand, they usually work after one or two whiffs.”

  Daphne began inspecting the oar she’d be responsible for plying, one that was attached to the side of the boat directly behind the seat he would sit on. “The use of smelling salts is not a pleasant experience, so perhaps you’re right about Finetta not feigning her swoon. It once took over five passes of a smelling salt vial under my nose for me to come to after I’d suffered a most dreadful fright. The scent that lingered in my nose was not one I would intentionally want to smell again, even if I needed to feign a swoon.”

  Herman straightened. “What could have possibly frightened you that much?”

  “I’ve never discovered the answer to that,” Daphne said, trailing a gloved finger along the smooth surface of the oar. “It was years ago, before I moved to New York. I’d gone with my brothers and a few of their friends to watch a firework display to celebrate the Fourth of July. All I really remember about that night was deciding to repair to the carriage to fix some pins that had been blown out of place by the wind. On my way to the carriage, something jumped out at me.”

  “Something?”

  Daphne shrugged. “I don’t know what it was. All I recall seeing was a flickering shadow before I felt something touch my arm. Then I fainted. Luckily, my coachman thought he heard something and came to investigate, finding me lying on the ground. He called for my brother Jack, who knew where to find my smelling salts.”

  “No one discovered what frightened you?”

  “The general consensus was that it was a stray dog that jumped up on me, but . . .” She frowned. “It didn’t seem like a dog.”

  “Did it seem more like a person?”

  “That’s what I suggested to my brothers. But after my brothers, along with Thomas Sibley, George Potter, and Anthony West, went to look around, they didn’t find any strangers lurking about, which is when they decided I’d been set upon by a stray dog.”

  Herman frowned. “Wasn’t Thomas Sibley the man who asked you to marry him?”

  “He was, but he didn’t ask me to marry him. He told me I was going to marry him, which is not the same thing at all. However, I don’t enjoy talking about Thomas. So, to return to the pressing business at hand, we were speaking of Finetta and the likelihood that she’s the one behind the attempts on your life.”

  “Andrew’s convinced she’s not,” Herman argued. “He was with Finetta when she lost her balance right before she let the arrow fly. He’s certain it was an accident.”

  “No one shoots a person with an arrow by accident.” She fiddled with a button on her glove. “Perhaps I should question the other men who were surrounding Finetta at the time of the accident to get their take on the matter.”

  “You don’t believe Andrew’s account is accurate?”

  Daphne abandoned her fiddling and laid a hand on his arm. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  Finding it somewhat difficult to concentrate on the conversation because her touch was sending a very peculiar sensation through him, Herman shook his head, trying to clear it. “Why not? Andrew was close to Finetta at the time of the accident. He, of anyone, should know exactly what happened.”

  “Have you considered that the two of them might be collaborating together?”

  He arched a brow. “Why would Andrew be collaborating with Finetta?”

  “Have you not noticed that Andrew seems to be unusually fond of Finetta?”

  “Andrew’s fond of many ladies.”

  “Did you miss the part where I said unusually fond of Finetta?” She gave his arm a pat. “If it’s escaped your notice, they spend a lot of time in each other’s company. They also seem to enjoy easy conversations between them, something you certainly don’t enjoy with Finetta.”

  Herman’s thoughts, which he’d still been having a hard time gathering together after Daphne patted his arm, immediately snapped back into place. “You think Andrew is romantically interested in Finetta?”

  “Regrettably, I do, and I think that interest is reciprocated, which gives both of them ample reason to want you out of the picture.”

  It took all of five seconds for Herman to think that through. “No, I’m sorry but Andrew isn’t capable of plotting my demise. He’s a good man, and his friendship with me is true. He would never want me dead, whether there’s a lady involved or not.”

  “And while I find your loyalty to your friend commendable, Andrew is attracted to a lady you’ve been considering marrying. If you’re dead, he would be free to pursue her without complications.”

  “Which is true, but Andrew knows I’ll never marry Finetta, even though he and I have never discussed the matter.”

  “How could he know that?”

  “Because it’s obvious that Finetta would be miserable married to me. The last thing I would ever entertain is marriage to a woman I’ll make miserable.”

  “But you agreed to host a house party that your grandmother filled with eligible young ladies, all of whom are remarkably similar in disposition to Finetta, and all of whom seem to go out of their way to avoid you.”

  “Don’t tell my grandmother this, but I’m not considering marrying any of the young ladies she’s assembled here for the explicit reason you just stated—they go out of their way to avoid me.”

  “The last person I’d tell that to would be your grandmother. She dislikes me enough as it is. But you should consider telling her that yourself. She seems to have put a lot of effort into this house party, as well as a lot of effort into selecting young ladies for you.”

  “An effort that has seen her rejoining the living.”

  Daphne’s brows drew together. “You’re tolerating being paraded in front of young ladies because it’s gotten your grandmother reengaged with life?”

  “I’m sure you’d do the same.”

  “If you’d met my grandmothers, you wouldn’t have made that statement.”

  Herman grinned. “Why do I now feel a distinct need to meet them?”

  Daphne returned the grin. “No idea. They’re both rather quarrelsome ladies who spend their time pointing out my many and varied faults. But we’re once again getting woefully off topic. We were speaking about Andrew and how it could be a possibility he and Finetta are conspiring to kill you.”

  “They’re not—at least Andrew’s not. He was by my side when I learned my parents died, and he’s never left it since. With that said, though, it was negligent on my part to
not realize he’s attracted to Finetta. I’ll need to speak with him about the matter straightaway and tell him that I would harbor no ill feelings toward him if he’s got courtship on his mind.” He frowned. “I can only hope, though, that Finetta’s grandmother will be agreeable to Andrew courting Finetta, something that may be behind Andrew’s reluctance to publicly declare his affections.”

  Daphne tilted her head. “Should I assume Mrs. Shoenburger might take issue with the fact Andrew earns a living as a bookkeeper?”

  “Indeed. Not that this is well-known, but Finetta is an heiress to an impressive fortune she inherited from her parents when they died. That’s why her grandmother wants to see a union between me and Finetta, as I have no interest in her fortune. However, from what my grandmother said, there have been a few gentlemen who’ve pursued Finetta because they want to get their hands on her bank account.”

  Daphne pulled her notepad from her bag, flipping it to a blank page. “I’ve not heard anything about Finetta being an heiress.”

  “She’s not a lady who travels in high society, so there’s not much gossip bandied around about her.”

  “High society or not, I should have spent more time digging into Finetta’s circumstances. Her being an heiress could change all the theories I’ve constructed so far.”

  “Because there might be someone out there interested in her money who wants me out of the picture?”

  Daphne sent him a smile that did unusual things to his pulse. “See, I knew you had it in you to puzzle out clues regarding your own case.”

  Herman wasn’t certain if it was Daphne’s smile or her compliment that was sending his thoughts scattering again, making a retort next to impossible. Thankfully, though, he was spared a response when his grandmother strolled into view, holding Sheldon’s arm as they headed along the river path toward them.

  “Herman, there you are,” Mildred called. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Daphne released a sigh. “I was hoping to avoid another confrontation with your grandmother until at least dinner. It’s barely past noon and I’m not at my best for witty repartee until at least three.”

  “There’s no saying my grandmother has sought us out because she wants to confront you. If you’ll recall, she was very appreciative of your saving me from being shot by an arrow yesterday.”

  “Today is a different day. I’m sure she’s thought of some new complaint to lodge against me,” Daphne muttered right before Mildred and Sheldon reached them.

  It was not a reassuring sign when Mildred took to looking Daphne up and down. She then released her hold on Sheldon’s arm and stepped closer to the boat, peering from one end of the boat to the other.

  “What are you doing?” Herman asked.

  “Looking for Miss Beekman’s typewriter.” She nodded to Sheldon. “Sheldon told me that he had to get up at the crack of dawn in order to go over some research with you because”—she smiled a less-than-pleasant smile in Daphne’s direction—“your secretary doesn’t care to work early in the morning and insists on working with you in the afternoon, right when your guests are repairing to their respective rooms to get ready for the late-afternoon entertainments.”

  She arched a brow Herman’s way. “When I saw the two of you heading toward the river, I was of the belief that Miss Beekman had decided to work outside again. However, since there’s no sign of her typewriter, I’m now left with nothing to conclude but that the two of you are taking your boat out for purely entertainment purposes. I don’t believe that’s a good idea.”

  “I told you she’d be lodging a new complaint against me,” Herman heard Daphne mumble before she squared her shoulders and settled her attention on Mildred.

  “While I understand you believe I’m some sort of adventuress out to use my feminine allure to capture the attention of your grandson and thus steal attention away from ladies you’ve handpicked for your grandson, I’m doing nothing of the sort. Frankly, taking a boat out to row on the Hudson seems a bit like torture to me and isn’t something I’d choose to do for entertainment purposes.”

  Mildred’s smile turned more unpleasant than ever. “And yet it must be a torture you’re willing to suffer through in order to stay in Herman’s good graces.”

  Herman rubbed his hand over his face before he forced himself to step between the two ladies, even though doing so could be detrimental to his health.

  “Daphne is not the one who suggested the rowing, Grandmother,” he began, which had Mildred snapping her attention to him, her eyes narrowed. “I was the one who suggested it because Daphne has some concerns with a chapter she’s recently typed. I’m more likely to listen to her concerns with an open mind if I’m out on the water rowing, an activity you know always settles me.”

  Sheldon glanced at Daphne. “What chapter concerns you?”

  Daphne readjusted her spectacles. “The one with the axe scene.”

  Sheldon blinked. “You have concerns about that, as well?”

  “It doesn’t flow easily. I’ve been telling Herman you’ve been right about the scene all along, but he’s remaining annoyingly stubborn about it.” She shook her head. “An axe, as you pointed out in your notes, is not the best choice of weapons for this villain, whereas the rapier you suggested would change the tone of the scene for the better.”

  Sheldon’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I thought the rapier would lend a more dangerous air.”

  “I’m in full agreement with you,” Daphne said. “Unfortunately, your cousin is still not convinced, which is why I agreed to go rowing with him. To put it bluntly, Mrs. Henderson, I’m not a lady who appreciates physical exertion this early in the day, but I’ll do it if it results in Herman making some necessary changes to his draft.”

  “It’s after twelve, which is hardly early in the day,” Mildred said shortly.

  “That’s debatable.”

  Mildred lifted her chin. “My grandson prefers to row when the sun is barely up. As his secretary, you should be the one to make concessions. You should have dragged yourself from your bed this morning to join him on the water if, as you claim, you’re convinced one of his chapters is sorely lacking.”

  “I didn’t say it was sorely lacking. I merely said I have concerns.” Daphne frowned. “But speaking of rising when the sun is barely up, dare I hope that Finetta has abandoned her bedchamber and returned to the house party festivities? I didn’t see her when I ventured downstairs for my coffee. And while I understand she suffered quite the upset yesterday after she shot me, I hate to think the poor dear is still so distraught about the matter that she’s lingering in bed.”

  To Herman’s surprise, Mildred gave a very unexpected roll of her eyes.

  “I’m afraid Finetta has still not ventured out of her room, requesting a tray be delivered to her this morning. As a woman who suffers from a nervous condition, I am sympathetic to her distress—to a certain extent. However, the archery fiasco was sheer carelessness on her part. If she was that inept with a bow and arrow, I would have expected her to sit out the event. She could have done extensive damage to Herman if you and your bustle had not been a much-needed barrier between him and a deadly weapon.”

  Daphne’s lips twitched. “On my word, Mrs. Henderson, if I didn’t know better, I would think you actually approved of my actions yesterday.”

  “I already told you I appreciated your intervention,” Mildred returned. “But appreciation is not the same as approval. If not for the size of your bustle, you could have been gravely injured. It was a rash decision on your part to rush toward Herman, and I’m not a lady who approves of rash behavior. With that said, I also don’t approve of carelessness, which means”—she caught Herman’s eye—“I’ve decided Finetta is not a lady I care to see you court. In fact, I’ve suggested to Mrs. Shoenburger that she might want to consider departing the house party early, taking her irresponsible granddaughter with her.”

  “That’s certain to make matters more interesting,” Daphne said un
der her breath before she directed a bit of a tight smile Mildred’s way. “While I certainly understand why you’re annoyed with Finetta, I would hate for the poor lady, along with her grandmother, to miss the remainder of the festivities. Besides, you and Mrs. Shoenburger seem to be friends, and friendships don’t often survive when one friend demands another take leave of their presence.”

  As his grandmother retreated into silence, apparently needing a few moments to think that through, Daphne turned to Sheldon. “If we could return to Herman’s latest manuscript, I read through the pages of notes you’ve compiled regarding El Dorado and the lost city of gold angle he’s planning to include. I’m not sure he’s committed to that angle just yet, but I believe you’re on to something, especially the part about having him use a house’s secret passageways to further the suspense of where an El Dorado map could be hidden. I was intending to discuss that with him as we row down the Hudson and wondered if you had any other thoughts on the matter.”

  Sheldon’s lips curved the slightest bit. “I have a few, but they’re not well-formed yet, which is why I was considering venturing into the passageways this afternoon to see if anything inspires me, like a nice hidey-hole where someone could stash a map. I think a discovery like that written into Herman’s book would open up all sorts of possibilities.”

  Mildred cleared her throat, drawing Herman’s attention. “You’ve not said a thing to me about writing a story set in El Dorado.”

  “True, but I discuss my settings and plots with you after I’ve made a firm decision.” He smiled. “There’s little point in telling you about a story that could very well change a day later.” He nodded toward Sheldon. “We ran across a notation Mother jotted down about her and Father having an interest in El Dorado, but we’ve yet to find any additional mentions. That’s why Sheldon’s been making so many trips to bookshops, trying to find additional research material we might find useful. He hasn’t found much, which means I’ll probably need to change my setting soon.”