A Design of Deceit (The Dickinson Sisters Mysteries Book 5)

by Blythe Baker

  “We will ask Mrs. Clark for a box, so that you may enjoy the rest of this later,” he said.

  I nodded. “And it isn’t even my birthday…”

  Nash’s eyes widened. “And when, pray tell, is your birthday?”

  I smiled at him. “The second of April.”

  He grinned. “Would you believe me if I told you that my birthday was the first of April?”

  I laughed. “Truly? Gracious, Mr. Greenwood. We certainly do have a great deal in common, don’t we?”

  “More than I could have ever hoped,” he said.

  We asked Mrs. Clark for a small box, which she brought to our table. As she boxed up the rest of our treat, she kept giving me wide-eyed stares, glancing back and forth between Nash and me.

  All I could was smile in response. My heart, so full and happy, nearly burst as Nash and I made our way back out onto the streets.

  “Today has been a wonderful day,” I said. I was certain that absolutely nothing could mar the perfection that was –

  Lady Wilson passed through my mind. I remembered her nearly fainting in our shop earlier that morning.

  Nash stopped, concern passing over his face once more.

  “Miss Iris?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

  I stared up at him, my heart sinking. It would not do for me to avoid telling him about it. In fact, I knew that if he were to take me home, and I did not tell him, the guilt would follow me until I saw him again and confessed my lack of wisdom.

  “Nash…?” I said, already saying goodbye to my perfect day in my heart, knowing that things could become uncomfortable from this moment on. “I…have some news that might upset you. It’s about Lady Wilson.”

  4

  I watched with great regret as the jovial smile quickly faded from Nash’s face. He still carried the small box, wrapped in ribbon, containing the rest of the marzipan sculpture that he and I had shared, memories that I knew I would cherish for the rest of my days. The lightness that had seemed to follow him had disappeared, replaced quickly with a heaviness, a worry that made my heart ache, making me wish I had never mentioned having upsetting news in the first place.

  “Did something happen?” Nash asked. “I have not seen my aunt in nearly a week, nor have I heard from her. That would not concern me on most days but…from the look on your face, I can see that something rather troubling has indeed occurred.”

  I let out a long sigh, regretting the weightiness that I had brought into the conversation. “This morning, she came into the shop to be fitted for a dress,” I said.

  Nash’s brows rose. “Did she?” he asked. “Well, that is good news. I have been encouraging her for some weeks now to visit you and your sister. She is a stubborn woman, though I knew that eventually she would become curious – ” He stopped, his shoulders sagging somewhat. “What happened when she came to see you?”

  “We began to take her measurements for the dress she wanted,” I said. “When she…well, she became quite faint and very nearly lost her balance. She needed to sit down for some time.”

  Nash’s brow furrowed and he looked down.

  I waited, wondering what he might be thinking.

  “Here,” he said a few moments later, extending his arm to me. “Why don’t we walk and discuss this? It will help me to think more clearly.”

  I slid my hand into the crook of his arm without question. We started back down the street.

  “Did anything else happen?” he asked.

  At once, I thought of Lady Wilson’s moment of vulnerability, when she confided her feelings to me. “She – ” I began, wondering if it was wise to tell him.

  I must tell him. If anything is ever to happen between us, I must push forward with honesty. For if I am not honest now, how can I trust myself to be honest with him in the future as well?

  I took a deep breath, giving Nash a concerned expression.

  “She also said something to me, something that has troubled me throughout the day. And I do not believe that she intended to tell me what she did. I believe it was a moment of vulnerability and that she may very well regret having said anything to me in the first place.”

  “What did she say?” Nash asked, his words flat.

  I looked up at him. “She said that something strange was happening at Grangehurst estate,” I said. “She worried that a darkness had come upon the inhabitants and that something terrible was going to happen…something that might happen to her.”

  Nash’s arm stiffened beneath my hand.

  My heart sank.

  “I am sorry, Nash…” I said. “It was not my intention to upset you.”

  “I do not blame you for anything,” he said. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

  We walked in silence for a few minutes. The Golden Spool came into sight further up the street.

  “This is not a surprise, you know,” Nash said. “She has been behaving strangely these past few weeks…”

  “Has she?” I asked. “How so?”

  “She has been uneasy in regards to…well, very nearly everything,” he said. “Paranoid might be a better word. She fears her own shadow, it seems.”

  My heart became lodged in my throat. I saw a glimpse of that today…

  “She claims that she is not sleeping well and that exhaustion is making her irritable. She is uneasy at all times of day but most often when it becomes dark. She will not go anywhere alone, always asking that Hornsby accompany her…” Nash shook his head. “I believe a great deal of this goes back to when Mr. Shaw was killed. She puts on a brave face but she was deeply troubled. During that time, when I had meant to help your sister and Constable Brown with the investigation, she demanded I stay with her and comfort her. She would never say as much but she wanted me there with her. I think she feared that the killer would come for her next.”

  “But we caught the killer, didn’t we?” I asked.

  He nodded. “That is true but my aunt still believes something is wrong in the house. Once, I overheard her say to Hornsby that it was likely Mr. Shaw’s spirit might return from the dead to haunt and torment her. The very same day, I heard her say that someone else in the house was plotting to kill her next and that the house was no longer safe for her.”

  Chills passed over me, racing up and down my arms and legs, goose pimples rising as we walked. “I wonder why she believes that?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t say,” Nash said. “My uncle does not believe that she has anything to worry about. At first, he thought she was simply dealing with the nerves left over from the whole ordeal, as it had troubled everyone at the estate, even those who hardly knew Mr. Shaw and never interacted with him. It was frightening, of course, but Lord Wilson is certain that all the trouble is over and life has gone back to normal.”

  “Lady Wilson does not seem to agree,” I said.

  “Yes,” Nash said, sadly. “She has said as much to me.”

  “Is it possible that this is nothing more than her response to what happened to Mr. Shaw?” I asked. “Fear can do strange things to a person…and if she is having nightmares, that could very well explain why she is not sleeping well.”

  Nash nodded. “Yes, I have thought so as well. I asked her but she tells me that her dreams are perfectly fine. I am not certain I believe her, of course. She has always been the sort of woman to keep her true thoughts to herself.”

  I frowned. “Yet she was so open with me this morning…”

  “Yes, that does surprise me,” Nash said. “Though I am pleased to hear it. She must have taken a liking to you, as she hardly ever opens up to anyone.”

  “I imagine she will come to regret it,” I said.

  “Why?” Nash asked. “You did nothing wrong. I imagine, in that moment, she found you more trustworthy than perhaps anyone else.”

  “But why?” I asked.

  “Of that, I cannot be sure,” Nash said. “But I do know you are trustworthy and you are kind, Iris. Incredibly so. It shows to everyone you meet.”


  My face flushed. “Thank you,” I said.

  “You are quite welcome, though I speak the truth,” Nash said. Then he sighed, rather heavily. “I have been unable to discern what it is that is frightening her so much, though I have tried. As has my uncle. But what I find strangest of all is that she wants no one to hear of her distress. She has asked me, time and time again, to keep silent on the matter.”

  “I take it she does not want the staff to gossip?” I asked.

  “I believe she does not want them to know that she is suspicious,” Nash said. “She fears it will spiral out of control, that if someone is trying to kill her, she will inadvertently let them know, and they will decide to finish the job.”

  “Has anyone attempted to kill her?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No,” he said. “But my aunt seems utterly convinced of danger, all the same…”

  He licked his lips, worry creasing his brow.

  “I must admit, I have felt something…well, perhaps dark is the best word for it, at the estate. The staff is increasingly uneasy, though if that is due to my aunt’s fears beginning to shine through, I do not know. It is odd. I feel almost as if I am a stranger among them, even though I have known many of the people in that house for my entire life.”

  “Why do you think that is?” I asked.

  “I cannot be sure,” Nash said. “Were they troubled when I helped Constable Brown to find Mr. Shaw’s killer? Perhaps. I did spend some time questioning the staff. I wonder if they now no longer trust me, because they thought I saw them as suspects.”

  “I can understand that,” I said. “Though it is sad to hear.”

  He nodded. “My uncle, also, appears to be on edge, and I wonder if it is because of my aunt.” He sighed. “Her influence carries a great deal of weight. If she does not handle her fears soon, I worry that the delicate balance of their home will unravel.”

  “Did something perhaps happen that your aunt or uncle are not telling you?” I asked.

  Nash shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose it is possible,” he said. “My uncle has made it clear they have been struggling with various issues…such as experiencing minor financial troubles.”

  “Money?” I asked. “Did they not just move here to Grangehurst?”

  Nash nodded. “Yes, we all moved at the time. Apparently, it was a great deal more expensive than my uncle had originally thought. Then there’s the problem of employing the people they need. They have been attempting to find another gamekeeper and my uncle has been sending letters to his friends in London, though no one is willing to help or give any good recommendations…”

  “Money would certainly be a reason for distress,” I said. “I wonder if that is what is troubling your aunt so.”

  Nash pinched his lips together. “I do not know,” he said. “But it’s something that I would like to help her figure out.”

  I nodded. “Perhaps…it would be prudent for your aunt to go and speak with Doctor Webb,” I suggested.

  “Yes, I thought so as well,” Nash said. “I suggested it to her just last week, and she told me that she had already gone to see him. I am not entirely sure that I believe her, though.”

  “Well…” I said. “There is one way to see if she was telling you the truth.”

  “And how is that?” Nash asked.

  “You could always go and ask him yourself.”

  “Ask Doctor Webb?” Nash asked. “No, I couldn’t possibly. That would be far too intrusive, would it not? She would be furious with me for going behind her back and not believing her…”

  “Yes, but it could very well put your mind at ease,” I said. “You would not have to tell her that you spoke with him. And you could ask him if she was indeed well. And if you learn that she did not truly visit him, then you could bring it up to your uncle. Perhaps Doctor Webb would visit her.”

  Nash stopped walking. We were not far from the shop now. He stared ahead, his gaze hard, his mind clearly working.

  “It may be for her good,” he said, under his breath. He looked at me. “Would you care to accompany me? It might do me good to have some company if the news…well, if it is less than pleasant.”

  “I would be happy to,” I said. “Lead the way, Mr. Greenwood.”

  5

  When Nash and I had set out that afternoon for our walk, I had not anticipated it taking such a drastic turn. What had started out as pleasant conversation, flirting smiles, and shared treats had turned into a conversation of fear, suspicion, and confusion.

  How I wish that I might have saved this for a later time…then perhaps our time out together might not have been marred.

  I knew how selfish that thinking truly was but it was hard to think anything else as we made our way through town together. We caught the eye of Mr. Sawyer, who had come into town with his wife, likely for supplies, and Mrs. Sawyer’s eyes grew wide. I did my best to avoid her gaze but it became incredibly difficult to do so as we passed by her and her husband on the sidewalk.

  Doctor Webb’s clinic was on the other side of town. By the time we arrived, we had said hardly another word to one another. Nash opened the door for us and together we stepped through.

  The front hall of the clinic was quiet, as it typically was.

  “Can I help you?” The question came from someone at the desk on the other side of the room.

  “Yes,” Nash said, stepping up. “Ah, hello, Mrs. Terry. My companion and I were wondering if Doctor Webb was in?”

  “He is, but he is with a patient right now,” the woman said.

  I recognized her, though I had not known her name until now. I suppose being the chief fire brigadier, he would know a great many people in town, wouldn’t he?

  “Is it an emergency?” she asked.

  “No,” Nash said. “But I would like to speak with him as soon as I can.”

  The woman nodded. “Very well, I shall have him come out and speak with you when he is ready.”

  Nash and I turned to find a pair of chairs beside the door in the narrow sitting room. Nash gestured for me to sit, but refused to do so himself.

  “Are you all right?” I asked. “I feel terribly guilty about all this…”

  “Why?” Nash asked.

  “For saying anything in the first place,” I said. “I have distressed you.”

  Nash considered me more closely. “Iris…” he said. “You have done nothing of the sort. I am glad that you told me when you did. It is better that this whole matter is dealt with in a timely manner, of course. If I can help my aunt, if we can discern what it is that is bothering her – ”

  The door to the back of the clinic suddenly swung outward. Doctor Webb stepped out, looking around.

  “There you are, Greenwood,” he said. “Oh, and Miss Dickinson. How do you do?”

  I inclined my head. “Well. Thank you.”

  Doctor Webb looked at Nash, his bulbous eyes squinting behind the thick, magnifying lenses of his spectacles. “What can I do for you?” he asked. “I just heard that you had come to visit. Are you feeling unwell? Or is Miss Dickinson?” He turned his large eyes on me.

  “Not either of us, no,” Nash said. “May we speak with you…in private?”

  Doctor Webb arched a bushy, grey eyebrow, but he folded his hands behind his back and nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Come to the back with me. I have some time before my next patient.”

  As we rose and followed him through the door, I felt a small shudder run down my spine. I had not been back here more than three times in my life, and each time, it had been because I had been quite ill at the time.

  Doctor Webb took a turn at the end of the hall and gestured in through a door just around the corner. “Please, step inside.”

  A small office waited on the other side. A table sat against the wall, with a wooden chair pushed up against it. The tabletop was filled with stacks of paper and books, while the armchair in the opposite corner beside the shelf was piled high with coats, gloves, and a pair of bowler h
ats.

  “I wish I could offer you a place to sit, but unfortunately, I have nothing,” he said. He ushered us in and then closed the door behind him. “Well?” he asked, turning back around to us. “What is it that you need?”

  “Doctor, I need to know if my aunt has come to see you in the past few weeks,” Nash said.

  Doctor Webb’s brow furrowed. “You are going to have to be a bit more specific, lad. Who is your aunt, precisely?”

  “Lady Wilson,” Nash said.

  Doctor Webb scratched his head with his pointer finger. “Lady Wilson…Lady Wilson…” he said, crossing to the table and beginning to rifle through the stacks of books. He located a leather folder, and upon opening it, pulled out a few pieces of paper filled with indecipherable handwriting. “Ah, Lady Wilson,” he said, setting the folder precariously down upon the teetering pile and pressing his finger to the paper in front of him. “Well, I do not typically share my patients’ information, but as the Lady is a family member of yours, I suppose I can tell you that she came by ten days ago. She was complaining of headache, upset stomach, faintness, and trouble sleeping.”

  He snapped the folder shut and looked up at Nash, his eyes narrowing to slits.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “She has been…unwell,” Nash said. “And it is apparent to everyone around her. I had suggested she come see you and she promised me that she had…”

  The disappointment on his face made my heart sink. So she told him the truth, but was Doctor Webb unable to help?

  “What was your diagnosis?” Nash asked.

  “I told her that her lack of sleep was likely causing the headache,” Doctor Webb said. “And she said that she had little appetite, which could quite easily cause the faintness and upset stomach. I saw nothing wrong apart from her excessive worry. I advised rest and perhaps some time away from the bustle of daily life. Aside from providing a tonic with some herbs for helping with her sleep, there was little reason to give her anything stronger.”

  Nash nodded. “Did she express any of her fears to you?”