He looked up when Nicholas entered, and then visibly cringed. “What—or should I say who—has got your dander up at such an early hour, my lord?”
Nicholas threw himself into his favorite chair. “I do. I am angry with myself. And I suppose I should be angry at you for encouraging me.” He paused to take a steadying breath. “I kissed her.”
Pawly laughed. “So you kissed her, where’s the harm in that? Unless she absconds beforehand, you will be doing a lot more than that in a week.”
Nicholas scowled ferociously. “Watch your tongue, Pawly,” he snapped.
Pawly’s eyes widened in surprise, and he held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Here now, it was only a jest. I meant no disrespect, to you or Miss Fitzhenry. I just do not see what is so horrible about a kiss.”
With a heavy sigh, Nicholas relaxed back in his chair. “Mmmm. Well, for one thing, I did not wake this morning intending to kiss a young woman at the breakfast table. Yet suddenly, I was doing just that. Without meaning to. It was just an, an impulse.”
“And what is so wrong about acting on impulse? It wouldn’t be the first time you have done so.”
“This is different,” Nicholas muttered. “I moved close to her intending to intimidate her, to make her uncomfortable, not to woo her. But I sat next to her in the morning sunlight, eating a bloody scone, and I had this irresistible urge to kiss her.” He took a deep breath, remembering the moment. “She tasted like strawberries.
“Why can I not control myself around her, Pawly, when the rest of the world thinks her so plain? The day after I met Mira, Blackwell went on and on about how he had been duped, how he had heard the available Fitzhenry chit was a stylish beauty, and the Fitzhenrys must be trying to pass off lesser goods.”
Pawly huffed in disgust. “She looked fine to me.”
Nicholas shrugged. “But she is not a fashionable beauty. The Haute Ton is quite particular about what is and is not beautiful, and Mira is too—” he struggled to find the right word “—too lush to fit the current mold.” He paused, thinking. “And then there is the matter of her wit. And her intensity, her passion. Neither is considered an admirable trait in a young woman.”
Pawly chuckled. “Lush, intelligent, and fiery…if that is unfashionable among the upper crust, I am glad to be a poor working man.”
“Yes, well, unfashionable or no, Miss Fitzhenry is like no other female of my acquaintance. She does not look as I expected her to look. She does not behave as I expected her to behave. She seems to lack any sort of guile or experience with the world. I haven’t the slightest clue how to deal with a female of her stripe. I was not even aware that females of her stripe existed. And,” he concluded with an irritated wave of his hand, “the whole situation is going to prove a monumental distraction. I cannot afford a distraction with Midsummer so fast approaching.”
Nicholas did not like Pawly’s expression. It was smug and knowing, and he had the distinct impression that Pawly was amused by Nicholas’s plight.
“So,” Pawly drawled, “you think this girl might distract you. Interesting.”
“What are you getting at?” Nicholas growled.
“Just that I have never known you to be distracted by a girl. Other men make cow-eyes at women all the time, make complete cakes of themselves. But you have always seemed immune to the fair sex. So I find it puzzling that you think this particular girl, this naïve and unfashionable girl, will divert your attention from more pressing matters.” Pawly smiled. “That’s all.”
Nicholas flushed. “It is not as though I am smitten with the girl. I will confess that I find her…interesting. But I cannot allow her to run amok, asking questions and…and…and thinking too much. I must manage her somehow, and I cannot imagine how best to do that as she defies my most basic understanding of the female of the species. Good God, I cannot even control myself in her presence, much less control her. I have an obligation to keep Miss Fitzhenry, well, contained…and it is just one obligation too many at the moment.”
“Right.”
“Pawly, it is obligation and nothing more.” Nicholas stood and moved to a window with a view of the sea, trying to pretend he believed the words himself.
…
Back in the main house, Mira flopped upon her bed and lay staring up at the embroidered blue velvet bed-curtains. She breathed deeply, exhaling through her nose in a long steady stream. Her hands were clenched tightly in the coverlet, and she was trying her best to compose herself.
She was so focused on calming her frayed nerves that she did not notice Nan emerge from around the open door of the wardrobe, where she had been storing the last of Mira’s belongings, those which had not been unpacked the night before.
“Miss Mira?”
Startled, Mira yelped and sat straight up on the bed.
Nan frowned in concern. “Miss Mira, are you all right?”
Nan’s sympathy shattered Mira’s tenuous control on her emotions. Without warning, she began to tremble and tears coursed down her face.
“Oh, Miss Mira, what is it?” Nan cried in alarm. “Has something dreadful happened? Are you ill?”
Mira swiped furiously at the tears and sniffed inelegantly. “No, no. I am fine, I assure you. Heavens, Nan, you must think I am one of those delicate women who turn into watering pots at the slightest provocation. I am so sorry. But, honestly, I am perfectly all right.”
Nan cocked her head skeptically. “Miss Mira, if you will excuse my impertinence, you are clearly not all right. You’re crying and shaking like a leaf. Something must have upset you.” Nan crossed to the edge of the bed to stand by Mira.
With a watery smile, Mira reached out to grasp Nan’s hand. “There,” she said, her tone one of forced good humor, “we have known each other for less than a day, and already you are acting the part of a good friend.”
Nan smiled slightly in return. “A good friend would insist that you confess the reason for your worry. These dour Cornish folk keep everything to themselves, grim-faced and silent as the grave. But my mum is Irish, and she always says that a trouble shared is a trouble halved.”
Mira hesitated. After all, she had only just met Nan, and she did not wish to impose by being too open with her. And she could not even be certain Nan could be trusted. But Mira felt so alone here, so overwhelmed by the enormity of her predicament. After a moment’s thought, the need to share her burden won out and she sighed.
“Oh, Nan, it is just that I am all in a muddle. I’m sure you know the rumors about Nicholas?” Nan nodded grimly. “You see, I have vowed—well, only to myself, but it was a vow nevertheless—that I will prove Nicholas’s innocence and find the murderer of those three young women before we marry. I must bring the true murderer to justice and lift the cloud of suspicion hanging over his head. Yet I only have a short time, probably no more than a week, to unravel this mystery. And thus far, every time I feel I am getting a sense of the truth, I learn something that leads me to believe I am all wrong. I cannot seem to square the facts given to me by other people—everyone from the gossips, to Olivia Linworth’s sister…even to Mr. Jeremy Ellerby—with my own observations of Nicholas. And I am not certain where, now, I should turn in my inquiries.”
The words poured forth in a rush, and a wave of intense relief swept over Mira once they were spoken.
Nan sank down on the edge of the bed, her eyes wide in a comical expression of shock. “You plan to investigate the murders? But you are a lady!”
Mira smiled wryly. “As I have said, at the moment I am only a ‘miss.’ And I am a miss engaged to a reputed murderer. Under the circumstances, I think I can be forgiven for behaving in an unconventional manner.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Nan sat quietly for a moment, her gaze unfocused. Finally, she drew herself up. “I am here to do the same.”
At Mira’s puzzled look, she clarified, “To investigate the murders. I took this position, over my mother’s rather loud objections, so that I could learn more about the murder
s.”
She cast a look at Mira that mingled pity, apology, and resolve. “I have reason to believe that Lord Ashfield is as guilty as the devil himself, but no one with any power has the courage to bring him to justice. I thought that, maybe, if I could gather some sort of proof of Lord Ashfield’s guilt, I could force the constable’s hand. It was one thing for the constable to stand idle when there was only suspicion. After all, he is only paid at all through Lord Blackwell’s generosity. But with proof he would have to act, even against Lord Blackwell’s son.”
“But why should you go to such trouble?” Mira asked.
“Because the…the blackguard’s first victim was my older sister, Bridget.” Nan’s voice cracked slightly, and Mira saw the gleam of tears gathering in her eyes.
Mira went weak. “Nan. I am so sorry. I had no idea.”
Nan shook herself and cleared her throat. “Of course you didn’t,” she continued briskly. “How could you?”
Sensing that sympathy would only make Nan lose her composure, Mira tried to adopt a similarly unsentimental tone. “Well, as we seem to share a common goal, I suggest we pool our resources. I confess I only know about Olivia Linworth’s fall. As for the earlier murders, I know only that they took place, but I don’t know anything about them. Would you mind telling me what you know? Only if it is not too painful for you to talk about, of course.”
“No need to worry, I’ll be fine. It has been three years now, and I would rather catch Bridget’s killer than continue to nurse my own grief. Bridget…” Nan paused, swallowed hard as though she were swallowing her pain, and cleared her throat to start again. “…was twenty-two when she died, the same age as I am now, and as sweet as the day is long. Ellie Thomas, the vicar’s daughter, was out picking berries or some such thing, and she found dear Bridget in the middle of the circle of standing stones, near Dowerdu.”
Mira interrupted. “Dowerdu?”
“Yes. Dowerdu is the ‘black water,’ the sacred well that gave Blackwell its name. When the old religion was practiced, people who had, um, unsavory requests of the gods would make their offerings at Dowerdu. Of course, at present the well does nothing more than provide water for a small crofter’s cottage, and the cottage itself has come to be called Dowerdu. Now Lord Blackwell and young Mr. Ellerby use it as a hunting lodge. And, plenty of folks have seen Lord Ashfield lurking about there, too. Even though he doesn’t hunt.” Nan paused to let the import of her words sink in. “Right near the well and the cottage there is an ancient stone circle. That is where poor Bridget was found.”
Nan’s voice broke again as she continued, her voice a taut thread of pain. “She had been stabbed. It was a brutal death. Her arms and legs were covered with scratches and bruises, and her ankle was swollen a bit. Those that saw her poor body before she was cleaned said it looked as though she had been running through the woods and had wrenched her ankle. It might have been what slowed her down so her killer caught her.
“At the time, everyone believed she had been killed by a traveling peddler or tinker, but then, almost exactly a year later, a group of fishermen found Tegen Quick on the shore below the cliffs just south of Blackwell…below the path that runs between Blackwell Hall and the coves where the fishermen put in. She, too, had been stabbed. John Andrews said she had wounds on her hands and her face, even. Much of her blood had been washed away by the tide, but still every one of those old salts who found her shook and wept as they told the story. Two young women killed at Midsummer in the same manner…people began to suspect something more sinister was afoot.
“And then, a year after that, Miss Linworth died.”
Mira sat for a moment, digesting what she had learned. “So the first two girls were stabbed. But Olivia Linworth fell—or was pushed—off a wall. She wasn’t stabbed at all?”
“If she was, I never heard of it. And this is a small town. News tends to travel.”
“So if Olivia was killed in a different manner, why do people assume she was killed by the same person?”
Nan raised an eyebrow as though Mira’s question was ridiculous. “Every summer, right near Midsummer’s Eve in fact, for three years in a row, a young girl is killed within spitting distance of Blackwell Hall. They must be related. How could they not be?”
Mira nodded. “Yes, I see your point. But why suspect Nicholas?”
Without a blink of hesitation, Nan replied, “Because he’s right queer. Been odd all his life, near as I can tell.”
Mira sat stunned for a moment. “That’s all? Because he’s odd? The whole countryside suspects the man of three murders simply because he is odd?”
Nan’s chin rose a notch. “Not just odd, but peculiar, secretive. He creeps about on the moors at night, and Tom Henry, the smithy, said he once came out to Blackwell to repair some of the doors in the old keep, and he saw Lord Ashfield walking along the top of the wall in his shirtsleeves…with red smears of blood all over the white linen.” She shivered. “Even a streak of the stuff across his cheek.”
Nan’s voice dropped to a whisper, and she glanced about nervously, as though someone might be lurking nearby to hear. “My mother says that he communes with the devil himself. That limp of his? My mother said that when he sealed his pact with the devil, the devil put his mark on him…changed his leg from that of a man to that of a goat.”
“A goat?”
“Yes, a goat.”
Mira tried to be polite, but she could not help herself. She collapsed back onto the bed with laughter.
“A goat? Why that is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard. You cannot honestly believe that.”
Nan had the good grace to blush. “Well, no, that bit is difficult to believe. But still, the rumors are what they are, and most rumors have a grain of truth in them. Besides, there is more.”
Mira sobered a bit. “What more?”
“Just before she died, Bridget started talking about love, mooning over some mysterious man. On Midsummer’s Eve, when the rest of us were peeling apples to divine our true loves’ names, Bridget just smiled this wistful faraway smile and said she already knew what fate held for her. And whoever she was stepping out with, he gave her some money. Just a few coins, enough for a bit of hair ribbon and some sweets, but Bridget hinted that that was just the beginning, that she was going to have fine things someday.
“And the vicar’s wife confided in me that Tegen Quick was wearing a silk chemise when she died. Now where would a fisherman’s daughter, one of seven children, get a silk chemise if not from a wealthy lover?”
Mira had no answer. With confidence, Nan concluded, “Bridget and Tegen were both involved with a wealthy man, one whom they must have known and trusted, but one who killed them. And Miss Linworth was also involved with a wealthy man. It is the one thing all three girls had in common. We do not know for certain the name of the man who was paying court on Bridget and Tegen, but we all know who Miss Linworth was involved with: Lord Ashfield.”
Chapter Eight
“Miss Mira, please, I beg you, do not go to that man’s room alone.” Nan stood at the foot of Mira’s bed, clutching one of the posters as though her life depended upon it. Her face was ashen, her mood a match for the rain that poured down beyond the chamber windows.
The note from Nicholas, inviting her to see his artwork in his tower quarters, lay open on the dressing table.
“Nan, I assure you that I will be perfectly safe,” Mira soothed as she tied her curls back with a length of apple green ribbon. “Nicholas may not even be guilty of anything at all. But,” she held up a placating hand at Nan’s mutinous expression, “but even assuming he is the most heinous villain, he is not a fool. He would not harm me in his own room where his crime would be sure to be discovered. In fact, I would say that Nicholas’s room is about the safest place I could possibly be.”
Her mouth drawing out into a flat line of disbelief, Nan shook her head. “Miss Mira, I am not certain you are right about that at all. And what about your reputation? Sure as
anything, your reputation isn’t safe in that man’s room.”
“I hardly think this is a time to worry over my reputation, Nan,” Mira responded, a bit put out that her fellow adventuress should raise such a mundane issue at such a critical moment in their endeavor.
“My mother says that a girl should always be worried about her reputation. I should think that would be even more true for ladies.”
Mira sighed, adjusting her skirts as she rose from the wing chair by the fire. “Very well then, but I truly do not think my reputation is in any more danger than my person. If Nicholas is innocent, then I shall be marrying him in a few short days and a small lapse in decorum will not matter a whit. If, on the other hand, Nicholas is guilty, then I will be forced to call off the engagement, and that alone will destroy my reputation. This particular transgression, going unchaperoned to Nicholas’s room, will be but a drop in the proverbial bucket.” She couldn’t help the satisfied smile that crept across her face. She did so love it when her logic fell neatly into place.
Nan stood tall and squared her shoulders. “If you insist on going on this fool’s errand, Miss Mira, then at least take me with you.”
Mira walked over to stand in front of Nan, and placed her hands on the smaller woman’s arms. “Thank you for that.”
“For what?”
“For offering to accompany me even though you are obviously terrified,” Mira said, giving Nan’s arms a gentle squeeze. “But, as much as I appreciate the offer, it really is not necessary. I will be perfectly safe. Besides, I believe Nicholas will speak more freely if we are alone. He does not seem to care for crowds.”
“Three is hardly a crowd, Miss Mira, but if you are certain you should go alone, I promise you I will sit right here and fret until you come back, so do not be gone too long.” Nan met Mira’s eyes with a look of frightened sincerity. “Promise me you will be careful.”
“I promise,” Mira replied, punctuating the pledge with a brief kiss on Nan’s cheek. “But now, I must go.”
Once Upon a Wallflower Page 6
