Miss Tibbles Interferes

by April Kihlstrom

  “It might not be safe!”

  Marian Merriweather simply regarded her husband with a steady gaze. Thus reminded of the many adventures that she had already endured, he flushed a bright red and muttered, “Well, you cannot expect me to like seeing you placed in even the slightest danger.”

  She reached out and placed a hand over his. “Nor can you expect me to like the notion of you being in danger,” she retorted gently.

  For a moment he caught her hand in his. Then the colonel cleared his throat and said briskly, “I shall tell you later, my dear. You may find it is far less useful than you expect. For now, we should see what we can determine before the Runner arrives.”

  Marian nodded, recognizing the wisdom in what the colonel suggested. So now they both studied the body carefully and all the space around it. In quiet voices they pointed out to each other what they saw. By the time the Runner, a Mr. Collins, arrived, they were ready to discuss matters with him.

  ‘‘It is Mr. Hawthorne, the curator here at the museum, who is dead,” Mrs. Merriweather told the Runner as he stared at the body, though she was certain Captain Stanfield must have already done so. Still, it did not hurt to repeat information for these fellows.

  As though to forestall his wife’s efforts to include herself in the investigation, the colonel hastily jumped in and began to tell Collins what they had concluded.

  “Hawthorne was obviously stabbed and then dragged here from somewhere else,” Colonel Merriweather said.

  “Oh? ’e were, were ’e? And where might that somewhere else ’ave been?” the Runner asked, not troubling to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

  The colonel stiffened. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “One can see that the body was dragged into this room, because the floor was dusty and one can see the trail that was left. But elsewhere the floors were swept clean, and any blood that spilled must have been wiped up. Still, he was dragged from deeper in the museum, since that is the doorway through which his body came.”

  The colonel began to point out to Mr. Collins what he and Mrs. Merriweather had discovered. The Runner made notes to himself and then placed the notebook in his breast pocket.

  “ ’Oos to pay me for me time?” the fellow from Bow Street asked.

  “I will,” Miss Hawthorne said, rising to her feet and coming toward the group around her father’s body. “I suspect that Papa didn’t leave me much money, but I will happily use whatever there is to discover who killed him.”

  “I’ll pay,” Captain Stanfield said, looking very pale, as though the trip to Bow Street and back had cost him too much of his precarious stamina. “I’ve more money than I know how to spend, thanks to a generous uncle.”

  “No, I’ll pay,” Colonel Merriweather said grimly. “Hawthorne asked me to come help him, and obviously I failed to do anything of the sort. It is therefore my responsibility to help him now.”

  There was a cacophony of voices arguing the matter, but the Runner made his own choice. He turned to the colonel and briskly negotiated his fee. Then he eyed the entire group and said, “I’d best be checking the rest of the museum. Seeing if I can see where the genl’mun might of been killed.”

  “I’ll go with you,” the colonel said. “And perhaps we should take Tom. He knows this building as well as anyone, other than Miss Hawthorne, of course.”

  The Runner nodded. The colonel went over to the young man and touched his shoulder. Tom stopped rocking. In a gentle voice the colonel said, “We shall want your help, Tom. You need to show us about the museum. It’s what Mr. Hawthorne would have wanted.”

  That was enough for Tom. He quickly came to his feet. “I’ll show you. Show you whatever you want,” he said. “For Mr. Hawthorne.”

  After the three men left the room, Captain Stanfield said something to Miss Hawthorne and then came over to Mrs. Merriweather. In a quiet voice he said, “Miss Hawthorne cannot stay here. But I do not like the notion that she will be going back to an empty house.”

  “Nor I,” Mrs. Merriweather agreed. “That is why I mean to stay with her until the colonel can make the arrangements for someone else to be at the house with her. He has promised to do so as quickly as possible.”

  Stanfield let out a sigh of relief. “I am glad to hear it. I worry about how fragile she seems.”

  Together they went over to the younger woman and tried to persuade her to come with them. She did not wish to leave her father, but in the end she agreed to do so when Mrs. Merriweather and Captain Stanfield assured her that Colonel Merriweather would see to it that the body was brought to her house as soon as possible.

  Miss Hawthorne looked a trifle dazed, for which Mrs. Merriweather could not blame her. But the sooner they were out of the museum the better; so Marian took Miss Hawthorne’s arm and started toward the doorway of the room. She noted approvingly that the captain stayed at Miss Hawthorne’s other side and spoke to her in low, soothing tones.

  Within minutes they found themselves outside the museum and climbing into the Merriweathers’ carriage. The coachman listened as Captain Stanfield gave him directions, then set off at a brisk pace the moment they were all settled inside.

  The house to which the driver took them was in a shabby but genteel part of town that catered to ladies and gentlemen who might not have had the funds to move in the first circles, but who were still ladies and gentlemen. This, of course, came as no surprise to Marian. The colonel had already told her how his friend had been so enamored of books that he had become the despair of his family. That he had been born a gentleman and married a lady, but involved himself so deeply in research and the British Museum that he might as well have resigned his designation as such.

  It was evident that it was something of a shock to Captain Stanfield to discover that Miss Hawthorne might not be the daughter of a cit, as he had presumed. Which, on the whole, Mrs. Merriweather thought with an inward smile, was not necessarily such a bad thing.

  Marian said none of this aloud. Indeed, she seemed quite content to follow behind the youngsters as they went into the house.

  Miss Hawthorne gasped in dismay when she reached her father’s study. Instantly, Captain Stanfield and Mrs. Merriweather were at her side asking what was wrong, for she had gone very pale and there was no mistaking the distress in her voice.

  “Papa’s books!” Miss Hawthorne said, stepping forward into the room.

  That was when Captain Stanfield and Mrs. Merri- weather realized they were not simply looking at the natural disorder of the library of a scholar, but a room that had been thoroughly searched. As Miss Hawthorne moved past the window, a figure suddenly darted out from behind the draperies. Before Stanfield could move to stop him, or Mrs. Merriweather could even move out of the way, the fellow had shoved past, knocking them both to the ground. He was out the front door before Stanfield could get to his feet, and in any event, Mrs. Merriweather seemed a trifle dazed and in need of his attention.

  Miss Hawthorne quickly knelt beside the former governess. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Mrs. Merriweather sat up slowly and looked at Captain Stanfield. “Are you all right, sir?” she countered. “Perhaps you ought to sit down. You look as shaken as I feel.”

  “I am fine,” he said, his voice curt with suppressed anger.

  But Miss Hawthorne now took up the cause as well. She looked at him with obvious concern and said, “Are you certain? You may have injured your arm or your leg again.”

  Stanfield took a deep breath and visibly made an effort to hold on to his temper. “I cannot sit down,” he explained shortly, “until I have made certain that the rest of the house is safe. Stay behind me, both of you, or better yet, stay in this room. Close the door when I leave and lock it, Miss Hawthorne, if you have a key. Open it again only to me.”

  Both women looked at him doubtfully, but it was Miss Hawthorne who acted. She shook her head. And with what Captain Stanfield found to be most unladylike resolution, she marched over to her father’s desk, opened a drawer
, reached under a pile of papers, and pulled out a pistol.

  “Good. He did not find this,” she said with obvious satisfaction.

  “Put that pistol down!” Stanfield said with some alarm. “You do not know if it is loaded.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Of course it is loaded,” she said. “Papa always kept it loaded.”

  “All the more reason to put it down,” Stanfield said grimly. “Either that or give it to me.”

  Miss Hawthorne shook her head. “No. You’ve only one good arm and you need it for your cane. I shall follow behind you and hold on to the pistol. You needn’t fear that I shan’t know how to use it, for Papa made certain I did, some years ago. He wished, you see, to be certain that I could protect myself against impertinences.”

  “Impertinences.” Captain Stanfield ground out the word from between clenched teeth. “I should say this goes far beyond impertinence!”

  Miss Hawthorne merely regarded him with a steady gaze, and Stanfield gave an audible sigh of defeat. She thought him all but helpless, and he could not tell her otherwise without betraying more than was prudent. No, for now he had no choice but to let her continue to believe as she did. And that meant allowing her to keep hold of the pistol. He only hoped she would not end up putting a shot into his back if she tripped on the stairs or someone startled them!

  Still, he tried. “What about Mrs. Merriweather?” he asked. “Surely you should stay and guard her.”

  That caused Miss Hawthorne to hesitate. Particularly as Mrs. Merriweather, for her own reasons, did not disagree with the captain. “I suppose I should protect her,” Miss Hawthorne said reluctantly. “But what about you?”

  It went against the grain, but Stanfield said, “If need be, I shall call out and you can come to my rescue.”

  “Very well,” Miss Hawthorne agreed reluctantly. “But you must call out at once! I will not have it on my conscience that you were hurt when I might, with a little more resolution, have prevented it.”

  Without another word, Stanfield rose to his feet and slowly started toward the door of the parlor. He paused to check behind the other draperies in the room, but apparently there had only been one intruder here. The rest of the house was another matter, and he would not rest secure until he had checked every room of it. Slowly he began the task.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was back in Hawthorne’s study and he and the women were sitting on chairs facing one another.

  “There seems to be no one else in the house,” William said with some relief.

  “But why was anyone here?” Miss Hawthorne asked, looking around the room, an expression of helplessness upon her face. “What could anyone have thought to find? It is not as if Papa ever brought anything home. And surely no one could have thought he had money! One has only to look at us to know we do not.”

  “Well, whatever the reason, clearly you cannot stay here,” Captain Stanfield said.

  Miss Hawthorne started to protest, but Mrs. Merri- weather cut her short. “The captain is quite correct. It is not safe for you to stay. Not even if the colonel arranges for someone to be here with your father’s body. You will stay with me at Lady Merriweather’s town house.”

  “And what will Lady Merriweather think of having a houseguest thrust upon her unexpectedly?” Miss Hawthorne asked tartly.

  “Lady Merriweather will think whatever she chooses to think,” Marian countered. “My concern is for your safety, and in this I will not be swayed.”

  “Come. You must see that you cannot stay here,” Stanfield said in a coaxing tone of voice.

  Still, Miss Hawthorne hesitated. “But what about my father? I ought to be here watching over his body,” she said, her voice breaking as she said the words.

  The former governess patted her hand. “Your father would want you to be safe, my dear. As for your father’s body, I have already told you that the colonel is arranging for someone to be here with it.”

  She was going to argue further, to use this as a reason to stay, but Mrs. Merriweather forestalled her. “I assure you, Miss Hawthorne, whomever the colonel hires for the task will find it easier to look after your father’s body if you are not here needing to be guarded as well.”

  In the end, Miss Hawthorne allowed herself to be persuaded. She moved about the small house packing up essentials to take with her while Captain Stanfield stood nearby.

  As for Mrs. Merriweather, anyone watching would have very likely said that the former governess merely wandered about, looking with vapid curiosity, at all the rooms of the house. Only those who knew her well would have realized how carefully Marian was studying the place. Only someone watching closely would have realized how swiftly but thoroughly she managed to search those places she decided to search.

  Perhaps it was that she was so distracted she simply didn’t care, but in record time Miss Hawthorne was ready to leave. Captain Stanfield would have tried to carry her valises, if she had let him. Instead, she and Mrs. Merriweather managed the baggage between them, scolding the young man for his foolishness in trying to do more than was wise, given the state of his arm and leg.

  Marian half expected Captain Stanfield to take his leave of them once they were quit of the house, but he did not. Instead he quietly told them that he would see them all the way to Lady Merriweather’s house. And if it were not too much trouble, he would prefer to wait there, with them, until the colonel should come and tell them what had been discovered at the museum about Mr. Hawthorne’s death.

  “It is no trouble,” Mrs. Merriweather replied. “But I cannot think it likely the colonel and the Runner will discover anything of great importance today. Not unless someone was extraordinarily careless. And from what I saw at the museum, I think that most unlikely.”

  “Nonetheless, I shall wait,” the captain said with quiet certainty.

  Perhaps Lady Merriweather would have been more amiable, more welcoming at the sight of unexpected guests, if they had not arrived quite so unexpectedly or quite so early in the day.

  “It is not even noon!” Lady Merriweather said in angry accents to Marian after she drew her aside, ostensibly to consult on the best room in which to put Miss Hawthorne. “What on earth do you mean bringing these strangers into my house and demanding that I house one of them?”

  There was a great deal Marian was tempted to say to her hostess. Instead, she said what she needed to say in a way that Lady Merriweather might be inclined to view it in a favorable light. She explained to her the lineage of both Miss Hawthorne and Captain Stanfield and their connections, however slight, to some of the leading families of the ton. Granted, Miss Hawthorne had no surviving relatives, but her father’s family had once been very much respected indeed.

  Marian spoke so quickly that she left Lady Merriweather more than a little bewildered. She also left her with the sense that perhaps she ought not to offend such modestly attired young people who had such powerful, if unsuspected, connections. In any event, Lady Merriweather went from looking as if she were about to ring a peal over everyone’s head for presumption, to looking as if she was grateful for Miss Hawthorne and Captain Stanfield’s condescension in deigning to honor her home with their presence.

  Marian only hoped the entire matter would be resolved before Lady Merriweather untangled all the details and discovered that if her nephew’s wife had not precisely lied, she had at the very least enlarged upon certain details to the apparent benefit of the two young people. In any event, it bought them some much- needed time.

  5

  Colonel Merriweather paused in the doorway of the drawing room. He expected Marian to be there, of course, and his aunt, Lady Merriweather, but he was rather taken aback to see Miss Hawthorne and Captain Stanfield. He cleared his throat, and immediately all eyes turned to him.

  He spoke first to Miss Hawthorne. “I am very sorry, my dear, about the loss of your father. He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was,” she answered in a voice that betrayed how close to the edge she was. “
Have you learned anything about who might have killed him, or why?”

  The colonel shook his head. “Thieves, perhaps. But that is only a guess, and we cannot know for certain until we catch the person. Collins, the Bow Street Runner, suggested it might have been Tom, but I told him I thought that most unlikely.”

  “Impossible!” Miss Hawthorne answered at once. “Tom adored my father. He would have done anything for him. My father, you see, is the only one who has always treated him with respect. Everyone makes fun of Tom because his understanding is not strong. But he is a kind and gentle soul and would never hurt anyone— certainly not my father!”

  The colonel nodded. “So I told the Runner. Er, Marian, I should like to speak with you privately. Shall we walk in the garden?”

  “Of course.”

  She came at once. It was one of the things the colonel liked best about his wife, that she possessed such common sense, such superior understanding. In point of fact, he often thought that her understanding might be almost as superior as his own.

  He waited until they were outside; then he said with what he felt to be great patience, “My dear, why are Miss Hawthorne and Captain Stanfield here? I was very much taken aback when the Dearborns and I arrived at Hawthorne’s home to discover that his daughter was not there. It is a very good thing I had already arranged for someone to stay with the body. But why is she here?”

  Marian told him. She spoke succinctly, and in a few moments he understood.