“Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “Are you certain you are all right?”
“Yes, my dear,” Marian said fondly. “But you can see why I could not leave Miss Hawthorne there. Not even if you were going to arrange to have someone at the house. I trust that Dearborn is capable of defending himself, if need be?”
The colonel nodded. “More than capable. Though I shall want to send round a note to warn the couple. And I will admit I think it wiser to have Miss Hawthorne stay with us. But what is Captain Stanfield doing here?”
Marian could not help but look rather pleased with herself. Still, her voice was as offhand as she could manage as she said, “Captain Stanfield accompanied us to Hawthorne’s home. After what happened there, I suppose he wished to come here with us to make certain that nothing further went amiss. I could not make him see that it was unnecessary. He is either protective of Miss Hawthorne, or he wished to be here when you returned, to hear what you might have learned. But I rather think it is Miss Hawthorne’s welfare that concerns him most.”
The colonel listened with increasing agitation to this explanation. When she finished, he tried to choose words
to show her the folly of interfering so in the life of a young man and woman she scarcely knew. But before he could do so, his wife spoke again.
“But enough of that! Tell me, my dear, what did you learn today that you didn’t wish the others to know?” He eyed her with some asperity. He wanted to give her a set down, but he knew she would simply keep interrupting him until he told her what she wished to know.
“Very well, Marian. The Runner wished, as I said inside, to accuse Tom. When I made it clear that was not the proper solution, he persevered. We found Hawthorne’s office in complete disarray.”
“Perhaps it is always so?” Mrs. Merriweather suggested. “Many scholars are not tidy people.”
“You forget that I saw his office only yesterday. And it was untidy, but nothing like what we found today. No, someone must have searched it thoroughly.”
“Truly? I wonder what they were looking for? They must not have found it, or there would have been no reason to go to his house.”
“Now, now, Marian, do not become eager in such an unbecoming way! It is only a theory, after all.”
“Yes, but you think it matters,” Mrs. Merriweather pointed out shrewdly, not in the least daunted by his sensible reply. “Have you any notion who it could be? Someone from inside the museum, or outside? Did the porter say whether anyone had come in as early as Mr. Hawthorne? Did he mention, in particular, whether anyone who did not work at the museum came early?”
The colonel looked down at his feet. How the devil had they come to this? He had only meant to bring Marian out here to ask about those two young people. He wished he could simply tell her that this was none of her affair, but he knew her too well to believe she would accept such an answer. Fortunately, from the colonel’s point of view, at any rate, his aunt chose that moment to interrupt them.
“Andrew! I am not pleased about the goings-on here today,” Lady Merriweather said, coming straight up to the pair of them. “Your wife simply appeared on my doorstep, before noon, and informed me that I am to house this Miss Hawthorne here! What could I do but agree? But I tell you now that I am not pleased, not pleased at all!”
“We could remove to a hotel,” Mrs. Merriweather suggested with a hopeful gleam in her eye.
The colonel frowned at his wife. “Not now, Marian. Aunt Cordelia, I agree that you have been put upon outrageously. I am certain my wife would never have done so if she had not known so well your generous nature. And, in point of fact, you would be doing me a tremendous favor if you let the child stay. My work at the British Museum will be much easier if she is near at hand to talk with, since she worked so closely with her father, who is now dead. She may be the only one who can answer my questions about what must be done.”
The colonel spoke in his most charming manner, a charm to which his aunt was indeed still susceptible. She tried to look stern, but after a moment she relented. “Oh, very well. The girl may stay.” She paused and turned to the colonel’s wife and said, “You ought to have told me straightaway that it was for Andrew’s sake that you were asking.”
Marian seemed to struggle with herself, but then she said in a surprisingly amiable voice, “I would have done so, Lady Merriweather, but how could I when I had represented to Miss Hawthorne that I was asking her here for her benefit? I could not tell you the truth without perhaps causing her to refuse to stay, and then what would Andrew have done?”
This last was said with a melting look at the colonel. He was not deceived. Marian was playacting again, and while he was, in this instance, grateful, he did not like it. She was up to something more than she had said, and he wasn’t quite certain whether he ought to demand to know what it was, or whether his peace of mind would be better served if he didn’t!
* * *
Inside the house, Captain Stanfield moved his chair closer to Miss Hawthorne. “I have not had the chance to tell you how sorry I am about your father,” he told her.
“You said all that was proper back at the museum,” she replied stiffly.
William hesitated. “All that was proper, perhaps, but not everything that I felt. I am concerned for you, Miss Hawthorne. What will you do now?”
She shrugged. Unwillingly, it seemed to him, she unbent a trifle. Enough, at any rate to say, “For a while, I shall continue to go to the museum every day. And try to carry on my father’s work. There is no one else to do so, so I shall do my best. At least until I am told I am no longer wanted there. I fear that shall not take very long. Few will think a woman capable of filling my father’s shoes. But for as long as I can, I shall try.”
“I see.” William hesitated. He quite agreed with those who thought the museum was no place for a woman. But he could scarcely say so to Miss Hawthorne, or to Mrs. Merriweather, for that matter. Not when she considered herself capable of taking part in the investigation of a murder! But he had to say something, so he told Miss Hawthorne, “I shall, of course, continue to come to the museum and help as well.”
She turned to him then, gratitude in her blue eyes that threatened to spill over with tears. “Thank you,” she said, her voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “You and the colonel were such a help to my father, and I know he would be grateful that you did not simply abandon the work you have begun.”
Now the tears did begin to spill down her cheeks, and without thinking how it would look, without worrying what might be proper, Captain Stanfield removed the spectacles from Miss Hawthorne’s nose and drew her into his arms, where he cradled her head against his shoulder. He could feel her grief and was powerless to stop it. All he could do was hold her and murmur reassurances to the top of her head.
He also silently cursed himself for a fool. He wasn’t supposed to get involved! He was supposed to be at the museum for a purpose, and that purpose had not changed with Mr. Hawthorne’s death.
He ought not to feel this tug at his heartstrings, this odd desire in his breast to protect Miss Hawthorne. She ought to be nothing and no one to him. He was a solitary fellow. It had always been that way. Certainly he had never before had any desire to fall prey to a pretty face.
Not that one would say Miss Hawthorne had precisely a pretty face. It was more one that would be described as having character and intelligence. Perhaps that was what drew him to her. The fact that she was not at all like the society ladies his mother and sisters were constantly attempting to foist upon him. No, Miss Hawthorne was not conventionally pretty.
But here he was, holding Miss Hawthorne and oddly reluctant to let her go. Here he was, despite it being none of his affair, wishing he could ease her sorrow, smooth her way, and make certain that no one hurt her. But there was Mrs. Merriweather to do so, wasn’t there? She certainly seemed competent in that regard. Surely he ought to simply step away? And yet, he could not.
At the same moment, both William and Miss Hawthorne heard footst
eps in the hall. Hastily they moved apart, not wishing to make matters worse by being caught in such a scandalously close embrace. Somehow William did not think Lady Merriweather the sort to believe he had just been comforting Miss Hawthorne, and if she did not, she would make the young woman’s stay in this house deucedly uncomfortable. Beside him, Ariel settled her spectacles back upon her nose.
It was not Lady Merriweather, however, who entered the drawing room, but rather Colonel and Mrs. Merriweather. He came straight to the point.
“Mrs. Merriweather has told me what happened,” he said. “Are you all right, my dear?”
Ariel nodded.
“How fortunate that your father kept a pistol at home, Miss Hawthorne, and taught you how to use it,” Mrs. Merriweather said approvingly.
“Here, now! Far better that Miss Hawthorne should not have needed such a thing in the first place,” the colonel said with some alarm.
“To be sure, it would have been better if there had been no intruder,” Mrs. Merriweather conceded soothingly. “But since there was one, I think it just as well that Miss Hawthorne had the means at hand to defend herself, should it have been necessary.”
“I would have defended her if it had been necessary,” Captain Stanfield protested indignantly.
Mrs. Merriweather smiled at him indulgently. “To be sure,” she repeated. “Nonetheless, it is my experience that it is always wise if a lady can defend herself as well.” This was, however, more than the colonel wished to hear. He broke in to ask Miss Hawthorne, “Have you any notion what the man could have been after?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “Papa had no money, and I cannot think anyone would break into the house for his research.”
The colonel sighed. “Never mind, my dear. At least you are safe here. Marian, why don’t you take Miss Hawthorne upstairs so that she may rest?”
Mrs. Merriweather regarded him oddly for a moment, then nodded and held out a hand to the younger woman, who took it without protest and let herself be led out of the room. The moment the ladies were gone and the two men alone in the room, the colonel regarded William with a shrewdness that was disconcerting.
The colonel smiled a wintry sort of smile and said, “Who the devil are you, m’boy?”
Stanfield made a choking sound. “Sir?” he asked warily.
The colonel gave a sigh of exasperation. “Do not trifle with me, Captain Stanfield! I know you are not what you seem! Yes, yes, you served in the Peninsula. And yes, yes, Wellington did ask you to come and help Hawthorne sort through the artifacts. But why did he ask you? Who put him up to that, I wonder?”
Stanfield wished he could loosen his cravat, but that would only have betrayed him. Instead he took a deep breath and attempted to brazen it out. “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he said. “It came as much as a surprise to me as it came to you that I was asked.”
“I see. And you don’t mean to tell me anything more? It’s a mistake, m’boy. A mistake.”
“May I ask why you are so certain I am not who I say I am?” Stanfield asked through gritted teeth.
“I didn’t say you weren’t who you say you are, only that you are more than you seem.” The colonel took a chair opposite the younger man. “Take, for example, your injury. I know about injuries. Saw far too many of ’em in the war. Been asking a few friends about yours. Seem much surprised to hear you should still walk with a cane, still need to have your arm in a sling, after all these years.”
“I fell from a horse,” Stanfield said, feeling a sense of desperation, “not two months ago. That reopened the old injuries, which is why you see me this way now.” The colonel nodded. “Perhaps. But the odd thing is, I’m told you gave the same excuse when you were visiting up in the wilds of Yorkshire, a year ago. Do you make a habit of falling off horses?”
“I, er, that is to say—”
“No!” The colonel held up a hand to forestall him. “Tell me no more lies. The truth or nothing, m’boy.” Stanfield was silent. He neither confirmed nor denied the charges. After a long moment the colonel nodded again. “So that’s the way of it. I’m very sorry, for I had hoped to help you. Now, I give you fair warning. If I find you’ve anything to do with the murder, or plan anything against the museum, I shall stop you. And I tell you right now that I shall do my best to protect Miss Hawthorne from you. And should you offer any insult to Mrs. Merriweather, you will truly discover how awful my anger can be. Get out of this house at once!”
Stanfield rose to his feet. He had all but flinched under the colonel’s verbal assault. Now he drew himself to his full height. “I am very sorry to have disappointed you, sir, and that you do not trust me. I had not wanted it to be this way.”
The colonel snorted. “Pretty words, but they won’t pay the toll.”
Stanfield bowed. “Good day,” he said, and left.
6
Deep in the museum, Tom tried to settle down for the night. He wasn’t happy. Mr. Hawthorne had always been kind to him. Who would be kind now? Miss Hawthorne was kind. But she wouldn’t be staying long. They wouldn’t let her. He heard people talk, he did. And they talked about her. About Miss Hawthorne. Said she shouldn’t be there. Her father brought her to the museum anyway. But now he was gone and they would say she should go. They would probably say he should go, too.
That scared Tom. Where would he go? Who would give him a place to stay? Mr. Hawthorne let him live here, in this room. Told him he could be the night watchman. But now he was dead. And that made Tom angry. Angry enough, when he heard the noises, to go see.
He didn’t usually go to see about noises. Not since the night they told him to be quiet or he would get hurt. He didn’t usually even wake up to hear the noises. But tonight he was too angry to care. Maybe they were the ones who had hurt Mr. Hawthorne. If they were, he was going to tell. He was going to tell Miss Hawthorne. He was going to tell Captain Stanfield. He was going to tell the colonel and his lady. He was going to tell everyone.
He opened the door to his room and followed the sounds. He tried to be quiet, Tom did. But right before he got to the room where they were talking, saying something about Mr. Hawthorne, he tripped over something.
He knew by the way they suddenly stopped talking that they had heard him. He turned to run, suddenly afraid. He’d only gone a few feet when the shot rang out. Tom felt something burning in his chest. It hurt! He reached out for the wall but fell to the floor anyway.
No! He had to tell!
Tom never told anyone anything ever again.
In another part of town, Stanfield read the message Thornsby had sent him. Now he knew who the colonel was and who his wife had been. Granted, he had already known who the colonel was, but not about his connections. Nor had he recognized Mrs. Merriweather, the former Miss Tibbles. But now he knew why she looked so familiar.
To be sure, he had only seen Miss Tibbles a few times, when he was a small boy. She was governess to a cousin of his. A wild hoyden of a girl, his cousin had been. The family still spoke of her in hushed accents. And about the miracle Miss Tibbles had wrought, teaching his cousin to behave with at least a semblance of propriety. She had, he recalled, married well and settled into a happy appearance, at least, of complacency with the rules of the ton. She was due to bring out her own daughter soon, and what an interesting time that would be.
William shook his head. He was allowing himself to be distracted. Except, perhaps not entirely. For the fact that Mrs. Merriweather was the former Miss Tibbles did matter. It meant that she was preternaturally alert and inclined to notice what one most hoped she would not. And that could present him with problems as he attempted to carry out Thornsby’s instructions.
He rather wished he could confide in the colonel or the former Miss Tibbles. It would have been reassuring to have them as allies. But Thornsby’s orders were explicit. For now, at any rate, no one must know the truth of what Stanfield was doing at the museum. No one must guess him to be more than the former soldier he appeared to be
. Except, of course, that the colonel already had.
With a sigh, William wondered what Thornsby would make of the note he had sent back with the messenger. What he would say when he learned that someone had killed Hawthorne. Even more, however, he wondered what Miss Hawthorne was doing tonight. And whether, perhaps, she was thinking about him. If so, he wondered what she was thinking.
Ariel was, of course, thinking of Captain Stanfield. She kept remembering the way he had held her earlier when she needed to cry about Papa. She kept remembering the gentleness with which he had stroked her hair and wiped away the tear on her cheek. She was not accustomed to kindness. Not since Mama died. Papa had been a good man, and an even better scholar, but he had never understood about kindness.
Indeed, as Ariel leaned against the window ledge and stared out at the night sky, she found herself remembering more than just Captain Stanfield’s kindness. She found herself remembering the way she had felt when his hands stroked her hair. She didn’t understand it. It was something entirely unaccustomed for her, something Ariel had never felt before. Not even during the brief time she had been courted by the young scholar her father was once so fond of—before he discovered the fellow was trying to steal his research notes.
What flaw was it in her character, Ariel wondered, that the same day her father died she could wish for Stanfield to hold her and stroke her hair again? Could wish, indeed, for more scandalous things than that! Into her mind came the image of Captain Stanfield kissing her. She yearned for it more than she could say, and a wave of loneliness swept over her. Just as she turned to climb back into bed, there was a knock at her bedroom door.
Miss Tibbles Interferes Page 5
