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

by Blythe Baker

  I shook my head. “So he hires this Mr. Carter.”

  Nash nodded.

  “What do you think of him?” I asked him once more.

  Nash looked away for a moment, his jaw crooked as he considered. “I know very little about the man, apart from seeing he is personable enough. My uncle certainly likes him and my aunt is encouraged by his presence…”

  “Yes,” I said. “But do you believe him to be genuine?”

  Nash looked back at me, his gaze intense, holding me in place. “I should like to hear what you think of him, Iris.”

  I did not look away. “I think he is who he says he is. I believe him to be trustworthy.”

  “You do?” Nash asked. “Why?”

  I saw Lily’s face in my mind. “Lily liked him, despite the fact they exchanged only a few words,” I said. “And Lily hardly ever likes anyone.”

  Nash grinned at me. “Well, if Lily likes him, that settles it.”

  The small breakfast that had been made up for me appeared a short time later. Nash sat dutifully with me while I ate as quickly as a lady should.

  “I am sorry, Nash, for keeping you here,” I said.

  “Do not apologize,” he said. “I am happy to sit here with you. I realize there have been very few meals that we have enjoyed together.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is true –”

  “Lady Wilson, I believe I have – ” came a voice through the open door to the dining room.

  We turned to see Mr. Carter had come into the room, a look of determination on his face.

  “Oh,” he said, looking about. “I suppose I have arrived too late for breakfast. Where might I find Lady Wilson?”

  “I believe she said she meant to move to the drawing room,” Nash said. “Have you discovered something?”

  Mr. Carter hesitated and the expression on his face betrayed him.

  “You have,” I said, eyes widening.

  Lady Wilson was right! Something is amiss here in Billborough Hall!

  “I do believe that I should inform Lady Wilson of my findings,” Mr. Carter said but he gave Nash a scrutinizing look. “…Though it may be wise for me to offer my theory to someone else who might receive it better first. When I attempted to gather more information this morning, Lady Wilson very nearly flooded the room with her tears…”

  Nash shook his head. “She has been deeply sensitive as of late. You understand. The lack of sleep alone…”

  “Yes, it seems she slept little last night as well,” Mr. Carter said. “Though all she could tell me was that she felt ill and her stomach ached for several hours before she rose for the day.”

  Nash frowned. “Mr. Carter, I do hope that you are able to help her. It troubles me, and my uncle, to watch her suffer the way she does.”

  Mr. Carter nodded and gave both Nash and I quick looks. “I might have a theory…” he said. “Though I cannot be certain it is true. Not yet, anyway.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Mr. Carter moved closer to us, dropping his voice. “Given her symptoms, I have reason to believe that Lady Wilson may be being poisoned.”

  A cold, sickening weight settled upon me, making my stomach churn painfully. “Poisoned?” I breathed.

  Nash lost all color in his face. “How can you be certain?” he asked.

  “I am not,” Mr. Carter said. “As I said, however, her symptoms could indicate poisoning. Slow, subtle. Deliberate, for certain.”

  I shook my head, the troubling images piling atop one another. “How dreadful…”

  Nash got to his feet, pacing down the length of the table. “How? Why?”

  “Questions I intend to answer,” Mr. Carter said. “It would explain the fainting spells, the nausea, the loss of appetite. As I said, though, it would have to be subtle.”

  “Why would someone do such a thing?” Nash asked.

  I furrowed my brow. “And if they wished to poison her, why would they not simply poison her with something strong enough to thoroughly –” I stopped at the horrified look on Nash’s face.

  “A question I had considered as well,” Mr. Carter said. “And I can only imagine that the killer is either clumsy, or simply wishes for her to suffer – ”

  “Enough,” Nash said, holding his hands aloft. “Mr. Carter, as soon as the weather allows, we shall send for Doctor Webb to visit and examine my aunt, now that we can give him some notion of what to look for. Until then, you are not to breathe a word of this to my aunt. Not until we are utterly certain of what is occurring. I urge you to make your investigation quick, for if you are right, then who knows if the person responsible will choose to hasten their efforts along…if you understand my meaning.”

  “I plan to be quick, sir,” Mr. Carter said. “I am sorry to bring you this news but I suppose it was advantageous that I have run into you before I went to see your aunt. I shall continue with my investigation. Now, if you will excuse me…”

  He bowed to us and then turned and strode from the room.

  I slowly shifted my gaze to Nash, who stared unblinkingly at the door, his face as hard as granite.

  “Oh, Nash…” I said. “I am terribly sorry.”

  Nash’s jaw shifted back and forth for a moment before he returned my stare. “He does not know yet for sure,” he said, though I could hear the disbelief in his words. “I should like to think him wrong, of course. And perhaps he is. I shall not settle upon anything until we know for certain.”

  He looked down at my empty plates and then to me.

  “What say you to a walk around the property?”

  I glanced briefly toward the windows, the snow obscuring the view so perfectly that the panes looked as if they had been painted white. “In this weather, Nash?”

  “Not outdoors,” he said. “There is plenty to see within the house. Would you care to accompany me?”

  “I would be very happy to,” I said.

  We started down the hall, taking turns into parts of the home I had yet to see.

  “Have you ever visited the conservatory?” Nash asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “It’s rather impressive,” he said with a smile. I noticed how it remained small, instead of filling his whole face as it typically did.

  We found ourselves in the conservatory only a few moments later. The walls and ceiling, made entirely of large panes of glass, glistened beneath the snow, which sparkled from the lights inside the conservatory. The air, slightly humid and warm, filled my nose with the scent of roses, herbs, and the bubbling fountain water that gurgled in the center of the large room.

  “This is simply magnificent…” I said. “I have never seen anything like it.”

  “Wait until you see this in the summer,” he said. “My aunt has a great love for orchids, as difficult as they are to care for. This room is filled with their colorful blooms.”

  My heart skipped. He intends for me to see it in the summer?

  For a moment, I forgot the troubles that seemed to fill this house. For a moment, it was only Nash and I in a room full of greenery, while the world outside swirled and blew with snow.

  “I can only hope that she will be here to show them to you when the time comes…” Nash murmured, his eyes distant, his expression somber.

  I opened my mouth to reassure him when the sound of low voices drew my attention.

  It seems we aren’t alone in here. Not that I expected to be…

  Nash, too, seemed to hear them. “I wonder who that could be…” he said.

  He reached down, taking my hand in his, and drew me toward a topiary. A small path wandered through tall, thick grass that looked as though it might have belonged in a jungle. He set off down it and I silently went along with him.

  We turned a corner at a moss covered statue and Nash stopped short.

  “What is – ” I asked.

  He turned and pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes wandering back around the statue.

  The voices had grown in volume. While I could not m
ake out precisely what they were saying, it was easy to tell both belonged to a pair of men. One had a deep and growling voice that was utterly impossible to make out from this distance. The other, however, sounded vaguely familiar.

  “It’s Mr. Deventon,” Nash said, squeezing my hand tightly in his.

  “The estate agent? Then there is no need for us to hide, is there?” I asked.

  Nash remained silent for a moment as he stared out around the statue. “I do not recognize the man he is with,” he said. “Perhaps you would. I wonder if he is someone from town.”

  He stepped aside just enough for me to squeeze between him and the statue. With great care, I peered around.

  Mr. Deventon was indeed there, standing near a secondary door into the conservatory. He stood beside another man, who wore a dark brown coat and a faded grey hat that had seen better days. His lined face indicated he was years older than Mr. Deventon. The hard furrows in his brow showed he hardly ever found anything to laugh about.

  “I do not recognize him either,” I said in a low voice.

  “Why are they meeting here?” Nash whispered.

  It was a valid question. They stood beside a door leading deeper into the manor but also beside another door that connected the conservatory with the gardens in the back of the house. A shovel leaned up against the glass, covered with hard packed snow. A puddle had formed beneath it, suggesting it had only recently been used and brought back inside.

  The same packed snow clung to the stranger’s boots and melting footprints glistened along the floor from the door to where the pair of men stood.

  “It does seem strange to be so secretive,” I said.

  “I do not care for it,” Nash said, a note of distaste in his voice. “What are you up to, Deventon?”

  “Perhaps we should simply ask,” I said.

  Nash shook his head. “No…” he said. “Not yet. I should like to know what it is that he intends to do…see if it is something that my aunt and uncle should be concerned with.”

  I noticed several paintings leaning against the wall beside them, along with a small statuette of a woman in ancient Roman style garb and a tall ceramic vase.

  “Those items with them,” I whispered. “They certainly appear expensive, don’t they?”

  Nash pressed himself up against me so as to be able to see over my head, as tall as he was.

  “That painting typically hangs in my uncle’s study,” Nash said. “How very strange that he has it here. My uncle is quite fond of it. His friend in the navy painted it for him during his time at sea…”

  It was a marvelous piece of art, indeed, a depiction of a storm at sea with a solitary vessel with large, billowing sails fighting the currents. The deep blue waves crashing against the rich ambers of the wooden ship were utterly captivating.

  “I wonder why he has it out here,” Nash said. “And I wonder how this man managed to make it here in the midst of the storm.”

  I had the same question. Had he braved the weather while the estate’s coachmen would not? Or perhaps the snows had let up somewhat.

  “Is this all that you have?” the man asked Mr. Deventon. Looking around the statue, it became a little easier to hear them.

  “This is what I have for now,” Mr. Deventon said. “Do these pieces displease you?”

  “Displeasure is not the word I would use,” the man said, reaching down to move the painting aside to see the ones behind it. “Surprise might be more accurate.”

  “Why?” Mr. Deventon asked.

  “When you said you had items of worth to show me, I imagined you would have brought something…well, of value for me to look at.”

  My eyes narrowed. “How could those items have little value?” I asked.

  “I am not sure,” Nash said. “But I wonder why Mr. Deventon is attempting to show valuable items to this stranger…”

  It certainly did not help that their deal seemed to be happening in a place where many of the staff would not tread, especially not during such unfortunate weather.

  “Does he intend to sell them?” I asked.

  Nash tensed behind me. I felt it in his arm, leaning against my shoulder as he looked over me. “Without my uncle’s consent? I certainly hope he would not have the audacity…”

  The possible meaning of this settled upon me, making me nervous. How could the estate agent have the gall to do this behind Lord Wilson’s back?

  “What would the chances be that he has Lord Wilson’s blessing?” I asked. Then the answer struck me before Nash could voice it. “I suppose slim. Why would Deventon be sneaking around like this if it were otherwise?”

  “Just what I thought,” Nash said. “Though this confuses me greatly. My uncle trusts Mr. Deventon implicitly. Why would the man squander the trust of his employer without so much as a thought?”

  These questions hung in the air between us and we fell silent as we stared over toward the men. The stranger continued to paw through the paintings as if they were little more than worthless.

  “I shall take nothing less than our agreed upon amount,” Mr. Deventon said after a few tense, silent moments between them.

  “You must be joking,” the stranger said with a toothy grin. “No one with any sense would think of paying any more than half – ”

  “I made myself very clear in my letter,” Mr. Deventon said.

  “And I made the effort of coming all the way out here to see these pieces,” the stranger said. “I should think you would take that into consideration.”

  “It is not my fault that the storm happened to fall upon the same day that you had agreed to come,” Mr. Deventon remarked, his expression irritable.

  “What of the horse?” the stranger asked, ignoring Mr. Deventon’s words. “Is it for sale as well?”

  “A horse?” Nash asked. “My aunt would never – ”

  “Yes, yes,” Mr. Deventon said. “I shall take you to see him, after we have agreed upon a price for these, as well as the armoire that I showed you earlier.”

  “He has seen a great deal…” I said. “And seems to be purchasing a great many items belonging to your family.”

  Nash seemed to quiver with anger beside me. “What are you playing at, Deventon?” he muttered.

  The stranger grumbled something under his breath as he examined the vase.

  “Not to your liking?” Mr. Deventon asked, a bite in his tone.

  “I am surprised that your Lord and Lady seem so eager to sell these items off,” the stranger said. “Though they would not be the first I have purchased such luxuries from…”

  Mr. Deventon’s face hardened. “Yes, well…it may not be my decision, but if it were, I would not have stooped so low as to do such a thing.”

  “Oh?” the stranger asked, turning his grinning face up to Mr. Deventon. It did not take more than a glance to see the malice in his expression. He chuckled. “Find this sort of business beneath you? Well, it was not beneath your Lord, was it?”

  Nash stiffened beside me.

  Does that mean this was Lord Wilson’s decision after all? Is he the one orchestrating these sales?

  “As I said, I am not the one responsible for making the decision,” Mr. Deventon said. “But I must listen to what my Lord deems necessary…even if I think he is far too hasty.”

  “Too hasty?” the stranger asked. “Why do you say that?”

  “My Lady has urged him to sell off these pieces,” Mr. Deventon said. “Though it is quite clear that my Lord did not favor the choice, he listened to her suggestion all the same.”

  “Did he now?” the stranger asked.

  “She will not see reason in this matter,” Mr. Deventon said. “To compromise the very essence of their family name – ” He bit off the end of his words, turning away.

  Nash reached out again, taking my hand in his, pulling me away from the statue.

  “Nash, what – ”

  We made our way back through the conservatory, all the way to the fountain in the center before
he turned to me.

  “I must admit, this troubles me,” he said. “To hear that my uncle is the one who chose to sell these items, at the behest of my aunt?”

  “It seems the decision was made in haste, as well,” I said. “And Mr. Deventon is none too pleased.”

  “What does his opinion matter?” Nash asked. “He is to listen to my uncle, which has never been a problem before.”

  “Yes but what if the problem is not your uncle?” I asked, the thought rising unbidden in my mind. “He seemed deeply against your aunt’s desires, which is where this matter seems to have begun.”

  Nash’s eyes widened. “You’re right…” he said, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “He did seem deeply unhappy with her.”

  “Nash…” I said. “Mr. Deventon is loyal to your uncle, isn’t he? Even to a fault.”

  Nash turned to look back at me. “Are you suggesting that Deventon is the one poisoning my aunt?”

  I felt my heart skip. “I do not like to suggest it,” I said. “But he is not the warmest fellow and he seems to take his responsibility toward your uncle a bit too far on occasion…”

  “Yes,” Nash said. “I suppose he does. It has made his judgment questionable at times, though he sees little wrong with it, if it is for the betterment of my uncle…”

  He shook his head.

  “What if he – ” I said.

  “Do not entertain such thoughts, for they are all I can think,” Nash said, laying his head in his hand. He huffed, glancing toward the main doors. “I have no choice. I must go speak with my aunt. If he is angry, or my uncle is angry, then…”

  The knots in my chest tightened. “We do not know anything yet,” I said.

  “Yes, I know,” Nash said. “And that is what frightens me most.”

  14

  “In all my years, as much as I might have questioned Mr. Deventon, even disliked him at times, I never would have believed him capable of murder in any way.”

  I was sure I had never seen Nash as upset as I did now. We strode through the house with great determination, stopping to ask two housemaids where Lady Wilson might be. The first had not seen her all morning and the second believed her to be in the parlor.