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

by Blythe Baker

  “I believe that could work quite well,” I said, relief beginning to fill me once more with its comfortable warmth.

  “Very good,” Mrs. Adams said with a big smile. “I shall be right back. Please, make yourself comfortable until I return.”

  As she hurried off, I looked around the foyer. There were not many places to sit apart from an ornate bench nearby, so I sat there, my legs thanking me profusely.

  Just as I let out a sigh, the front door opened once more and I jumped back to my feet.

  A man, tall and dressed in riding clothes, let himself inside and my heart jumped in my chest.

  “Mr. Greenwood!” I exclaimed.

  Nash, who had been heading straight for the stairs, stopped dead in his tracks. As he turned slowly, his eyes fell upon me and lit up like an oiled fire catching a spark.

  “Iris!” he said, rushing over to me. “What are you doing here?”

  I pointed down to the box on the bench. “I am here to bring your aunt the dress I have been working on.”

  Nash’s silver eyes widened further. “You have completed it? Already?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  His brow furrowed. “I did not realize that you delivered orders to customer’s homes,” he said. “That is quite the wonderful service.”

  “Well…” I said. “Your aunt…she had an appointment earlier today that she did not come to and so I became worried that she might have been feeling poorly. I thought it might be easier if I were to bring the dress here for her to try on and check the fit.”

  Nash’s smile deepened. “That was very kind of you, Iris,” he said. “You have walked all the way here, in what is sure to be a terrible storm, only to deliver my aunt her dress. She will be most pleased, I am sure, and touched by your generosity, especially during these times where she has felt under the weather.”

  I said, “I – well, yes, of course. It was my pleasure to do so.”

  “Does she know you are here?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” I said. “The new housekeeper has gone to tell her.”

  He grinned. “Mrs. Adams. Quite the character, isn’t she?”

  “She certainly has an unpredictable personality,” I said.

  Nash nodded. “My aunt is well pleased with her. Says that she brings a wonderful enthusiasm to the household that has never been here before. I must agree. She has been good for the family, especially after all the difficulties they have faced as of late.”

  “I am pleased to hear it,” I said. “And you have come to visit your aunt and uncle?”

  “Yes, to have dinner with them,” he said. His eyes suddenly widened. “Iris, you most certainly should – ”

  Just as Nash had started to speak, Mrs. Adams returned.

  “It’s just as I thought, Miss Dickinson. Lady Wilson is indeed awake,” she said from over the banister once more. The woman had certainly begun to remind me of a bird, twittering this way and that.

  “Oh, I am terribly sorry to hear that,” I said. “Am I to blame? Has my arrival disturbed her?”

  Mrs. Adams shook her head. “No, no, quite the opposite in fact. She – oh, well, Mr. Greenwood, what a pleasant sight you are. My Lady will be most pleased to hear that you have arrived.”

  “Yes, please do tell her. You said that she is awake? Has she been sleeping?” Nash asked.

  Mrs. Adams nodded. “Indeed she has, sir. Not nearly long enough, if you ask me, but I shall be happy with the small nap she seems to have taken.”

  “Well, I am pleased she is seemingly better,” I said. “Shall I leave the dress for her to try?”

  “No, no, my Lady insists that you – ”

  “Has my aunt been unwell?” Nash asked, his brow furrowing once more.

  “It is perfectly all right, Mr. Greenwood,” Mrs. Adams said, fussing with the ties of her apron. “I have seen to her day in and day out. She has wanted for nothing.”

  “But she has felt unwell again?” Nash asked, starting up the stairs.

  “Mr. Greenwood, I assure you she is fine,” Mrs. Adams said, standing in his way. “In fact, my Lady has asked to see – ”

  “What is the meaning of all this?”

  At the far end of the landing, Lord Wilson appeared through a doorway.

  9

  I caught sight of rows of bookshelves behind Lord Wilson’s shoulder before he pulled the door closed behind himself. A study, perhaps?

  He appeared irritated at being interrupted, frowning down at Nash and me, as we stood in the foyer.

  “Uncle,” Nash said, shifting his attention along the walkway. “Is it true that my aunt has been ill? I thought you assured me earlier that my concerns were for nothing and she was all right?”

  Lord Wilson’s face hardened and he tucked the book in his hands underneath his arms. With a heavy sigh, he approached the banister. “She is fine, Nash. Far too much fuss is being made right now. All she needs is some rest and some space. Is that why you are here?”

  “No, I was invited for dinner,” Nash said. “Or have you forgotten?”

  Lord Wilson’s eyes closed for a brief moment. “No…” he said. “I remember now. Yes, your aunt is just fine. As I said, she simply needed some rest. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Adams?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Mrs. Adams said, curtsying so low that the ends of her apron touched the floor. “I have just checked in on her. She is feeling much better.”

  “You see? Nothing is the matter,” Lord Wilson said. “Nothing to worry about, Nash, my boy.”

  Nash stopped on the second to last stair, staring up toward the hall where his aunt resided.

  “As I was to say, my Lord, Lady Wilson has asked to see our guest,” Mrs. Adams said, gesturing down toward me.

  I blinked up at her. “Me?” I repeated.

  Mrs. Adams nodded, smiling broadly at me. “Yes, indeed,” she said. “She heard that you had come all this way with the dress and insisted that she see you before you headed back into town.”

  “Oh,” I said, ducking my head. “How very kind of my Lady.”

  “Is she to come down, then?” Lord Wilson asked.

  Mrs. Adams shook her head. “My Lady has asked to see Miss Dickinson in her quarters, my Lord,” she said.

  Lord Wilson looked down into the foyer once again. His brow furrowed as he laid eyes upon me. “Miss Dickinson? The younger sister?”

  I nodded. “Y – Yes, my Lord,” I said. “I do not mean to be any trouble.”

  “She came by to bring my aunt her dress,” Nash said. “Which was a very kind gesture. Something she did not need to do, Uncle.”

  Lord Wilson’s clenched jaw relaxed and some of the stiffness in his shoulders disappeared. “Yes, well…” he said. “Very well. If she has asked for the girl directly, I see no problem with it.”

  Nash turned and grinned at me. “Come along, Miss Iris.”

  He reached out, taking the box from my hands, and headed toward the stairs.

  I followed after him, feeling the eyes of both Lord Wilson as well as Mrs. Adams upon me as I climbed the stairs after Nash. I realized how terribly underdressed I was, how much the wind had upset my hair on my walk over…

  Nash knew the way to his aunt’s quarters well. He soon turned and walked through a pair of open doors along the hall.

  “Good heavens, Nash, what are you doing up here?” I heard Lady Wilson ask from within.

  “I happened upon Miss Iris when I arrived,” Nash said. “She has so kindly brought you your dress.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Lady Wilson said. “Where is the girl? I believe I asked Mrs. Adams to bring her to me.”

  “She will be here in but a moment,” he said. “She had been following after me, after all.”

  I knew I could not delay any longer.

  Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the doorway.

  Lady Wilson sat upon an overstuffed, tufted velvet sofa, straight backed and quite alert. A dark-haired young maid stood behind her, waving a fan of feathers gently towa
rd her mistress.

  The color in the Lady’s face gave me hope. Surprisingly enough, she offered me a warm smile.

  “Ah, there she is,” Lady Wilson said. “Well, my dear, I must admit that I am rather astonished by your presence here. To have come all this way…”

  I stood quietly on the spot, my hands clasped tightly in front of myself.

  “I assume that you have made special arrangements for me,” Lady Wilson said, laying a hand over her heart. “I am embarrassed, indeed. I must apologize for having missed my appointment earlier today.”

  Lord Wilson trailed in a moment later. “Missed an appointment, my dear? That is highly unlike you.”

  “Yes, well, I woke feeling so unwell,” she said, a small frown crossing over her face. She turned to look at the maid. “That will be enough for now, Francine, thank you.”

  The maid dutifully lowered the fan.

  “There, now,” Lady Wilson said, rising to her feet and making her way to a handsome vanity table along the wall beside the window. She sat down at it and pulled a small jar of powder toward herself. “I must admit, Miss Dickinson, I had my doubts about you and your sister. But after seeing the marvelous progress you had made on my dress, I realized that my assumptions were quite unfounded.”

  “Just as I had said,” Nash said. “They are spectacular, are they not?”

  “Indeed,” Lady Wilson said, briefly dabbing along her cheekbones, then setting aside the powder to take up an ivory comb. She began tidying her locks, as she studied her reflection in the ornate, gilded mirror before her.

  “There,” she said, evidently satisfied after a moment. “Vanity has been restored. Already, I am feeling more like myself.”

  She turned to her nephew. “Now, my dear, thank you very much for carrying the dress up for Miss Dickinson but I believe this is a matter for women.” She waved dismissively toward the door.

  “Are you certain that you are all right, my dear?” Lord Wilson asked. “Mrs. Adams would not encourage such company if you were the least bit unwell, I trust?”

  “Oh, you are far too hard on the poor housekeeper,” Lady Wilson said. “You do not trust her.”

  “Of course I do not trust her,” Lord Wilson said. “She has barely been within our household for a fortnight. How am I to trust someone in that short amount of time?”

  “Well, I trust her,” Lady Wilson said. “And you can trust me when I say that I am well enough for the company I choose. Now, please, if you and Nash would leave us?” Her eyebrows arched almost to her hairline. “Shoo, go on.”

  Nash turned and looked at me, his expression a bit forlorn.

  I gave him a nervous smile. It certainly would be a great deal easier if he were to stay there with me. But if I was to be here, helping her on a professional basis…

  He gave me an encouraging nod before following his uncle from the room.

  “Francine? The doors, if you would.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the young maid said, walking across the room to pull the doors closed.

  “Ah, one moment!”

  Mrs. Adams slipped through the doors just before the maid managed to close them.

  Francine’s expression remained blank but the disapproval in her eyes surprised me. It seems that Lord Wilson is not the only one not entirely pleased with Mrs. Adams’ presence.

  “I thought that I could offer my assistance,” Mrs. Adams said. “Especially if Miss Dickinson needed help?”

  Both she and Lady Wilson turned their gazes on me.

  “Oh,” I said, the weight of their eyes upon me. “The help would certainly be welcome, of course.”

  “Very good,” Lady Wilson said. “Then let us try it on.”

  Carefully, with more care than I had ever had for a garment, I went to the box that Nash had set aside and pulled the dress from the box.

  “Oh, my heavens…” Lady Wilson said, rising and walking over to me. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

  She reached out for it and my heart began to race. At least she is happy with it. I hope it fits as well as she hoped it would.

  It did not take us a great deal of time to help her into the dress, although it was a more complicated gown than the one she had been wearing. As she stepped out from behind the dressing screen, she beamed at me.

  “Oh, my Lady, you look ten years younger,” Mrs. Adams said. “Look at the glow in your cheeks. And the way the dress so handsomely frames your figure.”

  Lady Wilson spun as she went to stand before the tall mirror hanging on the far wall. “My heavens…” she said. “It is quite fetching, isn’t it?”

  “It’s stunning on you, my Lady,” Mrs. Adams said, nodding profusely beside her.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Adams,” Lady Wilson said. She turned to face me. “And what do you think, Miss Dickinson? Is it to your standards?”

  I swallowed hard. My mind had gone blank as I had helped her situate the dress on herself. “It is a lovely color on you, my Lady,” I said. “The red is very becoming.”

  Lady Wilson smiled at my reflection through the mirror. “It is my favorite color, after all. Red, like a rose.”

  Mrs. Adams laughed enthusiastically. “Such a romantic spirit you have, my Lady,” she said.

  Lady Wilson looked back at me. “What of the fit, Miss Seamstress? Is it as you expected it would be?”

  I approached, examining her as I would any other customer that might come into our shop. “It is,” I said. “Though I might take it in ever so slightly here in the arms…and also, I believe the length could be ever so much shorter. I would be remiss if I did not do something about it and you happened to trip on it.”

  “Well…” Lady Wilson said, spinning to peer down the back of the dress. “I imagine that would be a terrible happenstance, wouldn’t it?”

  “Indeed,” I said. “If you would allow me?”

  Lady Wilson nodded and I stepped up to her.

  I examined the length of the sleeve from her elbow to the back of her hand. Long enough, but is it fitted well? Would it do with just a small amount drawn in to lay against her arm better?

  The hem that barely touched the floor seemed too long, indeed, now that I stood up beside her. If she takes too great a step, her shoe would surely be caught beneath it.

  “Look at her expression, Mrs. Adams,” Lady Wilson said. “A true artist. A woman of her craft.”

  I looked up, eyes widening. “Oh. Thank you.”

  “And what is your verdict?” she asked.

  “I would like to take it in here,” I said, pointing to the sleeve. “And take up the fabric at the hem slightly as well.”

  “Very well,” Lady Wilson said. “You may do as you need.”

  I reached into my pocket, withdrawing a small pouch of pins that I had brought with me in case I had the chance to do just as I was. I knelt down beside her and began to draw up the hem as she stood before the mirror, still staring at her reflection.

  “You know, I feel as if I must apologize for my behavior,” Lady Wilson said. “Truly, I am mortified with how I behaved during the first dress fitting.”

  “You need not apologize, my Lady,” I said. “My sister and I only hoped that you were feeling better upon your return home.”

  “Yes, yes, I felt perfectly fine,” Lady Wilson said. “And I fear I might have…well, perhaps I said a bit more than I should have. Doctor Webb tells me that a lack of rest will make one act without thinking. I imagine I might have said some things that seemed a bit…strange.”

  I remained silent. Did she intentionally wait until the gentlemen left the room, before addressing this?

  Lady Wilson let out a soft laugh. “Yes, I must have sounded like a madwoman, didn’t I? Talking of strange matters happening here at Grangehurst estate…”

  I pricked the end of my finger, wincing slightly. Was it nothing more than lack of rest? Can that really be it? I remembered the look on her face, the pure fear that had appeared when she had spoken with me.

  There is no
way that could have been from exhaustion alone…

  “My husband insists that everything is just fine,” Lady Wilson said. “And I am inclined to believe him. Our day to day has not changed. If anything, it has improved. Mrs. Adams has come to join us. And that dreadful matter with Mr. Shaw has been resolved…”

  I could feel the question hanging in the air as I shifted around to the back of her dress, careful not to let my worry show on my face.

  “I suppose it doesn’t matter that every time I step into the manor after our excursions to town, something feels heavy, cold, and unwelcoming. My husband tells me it is simply all the changes that I am struggling with. The new home, the new staff, the change in our usual company…”

  I could see she did not believe what she said. She hoped that I would, however. If she managed to convince me, perhaps she could convince herself.

  She continued. “Though I have to say, as wonderful as everything is, I still feel…quite empty, if I am honest.”

  Emptiness. I can understand that. But why does she feel this way?

  “The emptiness could very well be causing my upset stomachs, yes, but the dizziness?” she asked. “My husband says it is the lack of sleep. He dismisses it over and over again. Lack of sleep, lack of eating… Would he want to eat if his stomach was as upset as mine? Would he enjoy food at all when the very thought of it could turn his stomach?”

  This sounds as if it is, in fact, a great deal more serious than what she originally told me.

  “This morning, for instance. I had every intention of going to town to try on the dress, yet I was utterly certain that I was about to faint. What was I to do about that?”

  Fainting? Nausea? These were all the same symptoms that Doctor Webb had said she had complained of. Had they only been getting worse?

  “I am doing my very best to remain positive,” Lady Wilson said, though the smile on her face faltered and she stared with a rather dead look in her eyes at her own face in the mirror. “But I must admit, it is becoming difficult to rise in the mornings when I do not know the sort of day I will have.”

  I briefly looked up at her.

  She met my gaze in that moment and I saw the same fear that had been in her eyes when she had come to our shop and felt so ill.