Miss Tibbles Interferes

by April Kihlstrom

  It ought to have been an impertinent question, but Ariel understood the kindness in the other woman’s voice and in her eyes. In any event, it was the same question she had been asking herself, ever since her father died. What would she do?

  “I think, Mrs. Merriweather, that my plans have not changed such a great deal,” Ariel said. “I shall continue to help sort out the artifacts at the museum until someone tells me that I must cease doing so. And then, well, then perhaps I shall travel a bit. Or find a snug little house somewhere where I may be comfortable.”

  The older woman nodded. She was silent for several moments before she said, choosing her words with great care, “Do you mean to travel alone? Live alone?”

  Ariel gave a bitter laugh. “I know very well what society would say if I did so! So perhaps I will hire someone to travel with me, and when I return to live with me. I have the funds to do so now. Or perhaps I shall not care. It is not as if, after all, I expect ever to marry.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not?” Ariel echoed. “Look at me! I am not the sort of woman men wish to wed. I can think of only one man over the years who wished to do so, and in point of fact he merely wished to obtain Papa’s trust so that he could steal my father’s research! No, I do not think of marriage, Mrs. Merriweather, and it is not a kindness in you to remind me of that fact.”

  The older woman hesitated, and Ariel feared she had offended her. She ought to have known better. When Mrs. Merriweather did finally speak she said, “I have a strong notion you will not find yourself in such a position in the future. Indeed, I would guess that you may find yourself with a number of gentlemen wishing to make your acquaintance.”

  “Yes, drawn by the knowledge of the inheritance from my father!” Ariel retorted angrily. “I want no part of it, if the men are fortune hunters.”

  Now Mrs. Merriweather smiled, and there was a surprising hint of mischief in her eyes as she said, “Oh, I do not think they will all be drawn by your fortune. You are quite lovely now that you have a properly made gown.”

  The notion frightened Ariel. Gentlemen? Drawn to her? And drawn to her because she was lovely? What would she do if they were? What would she say? Nothing in her life had prepared Ariel for anything save the scholarly work she had helped her father to accomplish. No one had ever taken the time to try to teach her how to be a lady. Not since Mama died, and that was years ago.

  As though she guessed the fear, Mrs. Merriweather leaned forward and put a hand over Ariel’s. “Don’t be afraid, my dear. It is actually rather pleasant to have a man say nice things to one. It is even rather pleasant to be a wife and mother.”

  “Papa said it wouldn’t be,” Ariel answered before she could stop herself. “Oh, later, when he had a scholar to whom he wished to pair me off, he said otherwise. But when I asked him for a Season, he told me I would hate such nonsense, that I would hate being a wife and mother. He told me all the disadvantages, you see, and I never forgot them, not even later when he wished to see me marry his protйgй.”

  “I have no doubt it served his interests to say such things to you and have you believe them,” Mrs. Merri- weather replied in a dry voice. “Nor will I deny that marriage to the wrong man can be a horrible fate. But I would suspect your father’s words came more out of his desire to continue to have you as a companion, an assistant, and so forth, than anything else. As with most things in life, you will find that marriage is very much what you choose to make of it. And a good marriage can be quite wonderful, I assure you.”

  Ariel regarded the other woman with a doubtful look in her eyes, but there was no mistaking the certainty with which Mrs. Merriweather spoke. Perhaps Papa had been mistaken. She would not think his motives any worse than that! Still, what did it matter what he had said?

  She tilted up her chin in an unconscious gesture of defiance before she replied, “That is all very well, but I still do not expect to find anyone to marry.”

  “Why not? Have you never dreamed of having someone hold you close and comfort you when you are unhappy? Never dreamed of someone with whom to share your laughter? Never thought to hold your own child upon your lap?”

  Ariel looked away. “Of course I have dreamed of such things. Who has not? But—”

  “But you still have difficulty believing that it could ever happen to you?” Mrs. Merriweather suggested gently. Ariel nodded and the other woman smiled. “Perhaps it is time to try,” she said.

  Could she? It was a tempting thought, a very tempting thought. And Ariel did want to believe it was possible. Of course, it was most disconcerting that when she did begin to allow herself to imagine someday having someone love her, she saw the face of a certain former soldier who walked with a cane and had his arm in a sling. It was his eyes she found herself wanting to have regard her with warmth and affection and perhaps even approval. But that was foolish! Foolish beyond permission—wasn’t it?

  Ariel certainly could not allow herself to ask that question aloud! Instead she took a deep breath and forced herself to smile and say brightly, “I shall try, Mrs. Merri- weather. But I still think it a most unlikely thing to ever happen to me.”

  Mrs. Merriweather patted Ariel’s knee briskly, then said, “We shall know in time. But for now, we had best go and change for dinner. The colonel is waiting for me.”

  This last was said with a wink, and Ariel felt herself go warm at the thought of the colonel and his wife greeting each other with a kiss or embrace, certainly with the affection that seemed to visibly link them together. Would she ever have that in her own life? It was, she found, something she desperately wished she could.

  Ariel was quite right. The colonel did greet his wife with both a kiss and a warm embrace. He also told her how much he approved of the transformation in Miss Hawthorne.

  “Astonishing, m’dear, positively astonishing! I should never have guessed she could be such a taking thing. But can she afford new clothes such as these? The dress she is wearing looks quite expensive.”

  “It is expensive,” Mrs. Merriweather agreed calmly. “And yes, Miss Hawthorne can afford as many such gowns as she wishes. So long as she is not entirely foolish, that is. It appears that Mr. Hawthorne left her very well provided for. Much more so than one would have expected from how he treated her while he was alive.”

  “And precisely how do you know this?” the colonel asked, bending a stern look upon his wife. “Have you been prying into her affairs? Surely she must have thought it impertinent of you to ask.”

  “I didn’t ask,” Mrs. Merriweather replied blithely. “Or, rather, I did, but Miss Hawthorne didn’t know in what circumstances her father had left her. So I helped her discover the direction of her father’s solicitor and we visited him today and he gave us the gratifying news.”

  “Marian!”

  The colonel roared his disapproval. It was definitely a roar. Marian was not in the least distressed. She regarded her husband calmly and said, “I knew you would want to be certain that Miss Hawthorne was provided for, and for that it would be necessary to discover Mr. Hawthorne’s circumstances, so I did. He left sufficient funds for her to have a few thousand pounds a year to live upon.”

  Outrage warred with curiosity; Mrs. Merriweather could see it on the colonel’s face. She could also see that outrage was going to win and he was going to ring a peal over her head if she didn’t forestall him quickly.

  “Isn’t it interesting, dear, that Mr. Hawthorne should have had so much saved? And yet lived so parsimoniously? Although, to be sure, Mr. Renfred did say Mr. Hawthorne did not know the extent to which his investments had prospered.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And don’t you think it odd that he told his solicitor he meant to travel after his daughter was married, but he did his best to see that she never did?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Please don’t keep repeating yourself, dear, it’s most unattractive.”

  “Marian, will you please stop that! You know very well you
ought not to have gone jaunting off with Miss Hawthorne without telling me!”

  Mrs. Merriweather fixed an innocent, wide-eyed gaze upon her husband’s face. “Jaunt? I do not think I have ever jaunted in my life.”

  The colonel sputtered; he distinctly sputtered. “You know very well what I mean,” he said when he finally collected himself sufficiently to be able to form the words. “You ought to have told me you were taking Miss Hawthorne to see her father’s solicitor. Yes, and you ought to have taken me with you as well!”

  “But my dear, I do not think she would have confided so openly in me if you had been there.”

  “That is not the point!”

  Marian Merriweather reached up and stroked her husband’s cheek. Her voice was soothing as she said, “Well, then, what is the point? That I might have been in some kind of danger by doing so? Nonsense! That it was improper? Mr. Renfred did not think so. Confess, my love. You are jealous that I stole a march on you and discovered something you could not.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Marian! Two people are already dead! Do you wish to be the third? Or wish to risk that Miss Hawthorne might be?”

  Mrs. Merriweather looked at her husband with an expression of fond exasperation upon her face. “Come now! Do you really believe that what we did was so dangerous? Surely, any place away from the museum would be as safe or safer than staying there? Except perhaps Hawthorne’s house, and we didn’t go there. But who is to know or care about Mr. Hawthorne’s solicitor? : The only person who stands to gain in any way from anything he could tell us' is Miss Hawthorne, and surely you do not suspect her of killing her father or Tom? Indeed, you know that she could not have killed Tom

  because she was here, in this house, the night when it happened.”

  The colonel grumbled, but he had to grudgingly admit the truth of what she said. “I suppose you may be right when you say that it was a safe enough thing to do. Though if someone wished to remove you or Miss Hawthorne, they might try at any point that they found you alone.”

  “But why would anyone attack us?” Marian asked, ruthlessly pushing back the memory of looking into storage rooms at the museum.

  “How the devil should I know?” the colonel demanded with some exasperation. “I don’t even know why Hawthorne or Tom were killed in the first place! All I know is that you could be at risk. Suppose the person who killed Hawthorne thought his solicitor knew something and that by going there thought you had found out?”

  Marian stared at him sardonically, and after a moment he sighed. “Very well. I suppose that even if it was somewhat risky, odds are that no one will ever know the two of you went there. Because you did say you were taking Miss Hawthorne shopping and you did have her purchase some new clothes. Very nice clothing, as I said before. You have excellent taste, my dear.”

  Mrs. Merriweather chuckled, relieved to have his attention diverted. “After twenty years of dressing obstinate young girls who hadn’t the least notion of what would show them off to best advantage, I should think I would! To be sure, Miss Hawthorne is a trifle older than any of those girls were, but that simply made it an even more interesting challenge.”

  As she chattered on, Colonel Merriweather fixed his wife with a stern gaze. “Marian, are you attempting to distract me?” he demanded.

  She smiled up at him. “Yes,” she answered brightly.

  “Thought so. But it won’t work,” he grumbled.

  “No?” Marian smiled. Later she would tell him about the statue of the cat. But for now, she had other plans.

  Again Marian touched the side of the colonel’s face, then reached around to lightly pull his head down closer to her own. “Perhaps this would work better?”

  And then, before he could object, even if he had been so foolish as to wish to do so, Mrs. Merriweather kissed the man she loved. Indeed, she distracted him so well for the next half hour that they were distinctly late going down to dinner! Lady Merriweather was not pleased.

  11

  Captain Stanfield halted in the doorway of the room that had become so familiar to him at the museum. For a moment he thought he must have taken a wrong turn, for though the pile of objects they had been sorting through was unmistakable, he did not recognize the fashionable young lady who sat with her back to the door.

  “Pardon me,” he said, coming forward. “Are you lost? May I be of assistance?”

  It was only when she turned around and he noticed her spectacles that William realized he was looking at Ariel, that is to say, Miss Hawthorne. He must have said her name aloud, and with some astonishment in his voice, for she answered with some asperity.

  “You needn’t say it as though you find my appearance so incredible or ridiculous.”

  “N-not ridiculous in the least!” he managed to reply.

  “Incredible then,” she said, patently not mollified. “It was Mrs. Merriweather who insisted I visit a mantua maker, and I am well aware that I do not look like myself.”

  But by now Stanfield had recovered himself. He moved forward a trifle more quickly than usual and found himself a chair to draw up next to hers. He took her hand and held it tight when she would have snatched it away again. He looked into her eyes so that she could see the sincerity in his.

  “I think you look wonderful,” William said. “I was taken by surprise, but it was surprise that I had not seen the lovely young woman hidden behind the bun fastened at the back of your neck, the ink-stained fingers, the spectacles, and the old-fashioned dresses you wore before.”

  “My fingers are as stained with ink as ever, my hair is still fastened in a bun at the back of my neck, and I am still wearing my spectacles,” she replied in acid tones.

  He smiled. “Yes, I know. And my fingers itch to remove your spectacles and undo the bun, perhaps even to gather your hair up into a topknot, so that the curls would fall about your face.”

  Miss Hawthorne pulled away in alarm, and this time she did manage to get her hand free. “You will do no such thing!” she exclaimed.

  “No such thing as what?” a stem voice demanded from the doorway of the room.

  Both William and Miss Hawthorne turned to see who was there. He recovered first. He managed a half-seated bow. “Mrs. Merriweather! I understand you are the hand behind Miss Hawthorne’s transformation. I was informing her how delightful I found the change.”

  “And offered to change my hair as well,” Miss Hawthorne added when he did not.

  Mrs. Merriweather came forward, toward them. “Indeed? Most improper, sir, as well you should know! And if you recollect that I was once governess to your cousin, then you ought to have known better than to speak in such a way to any young lady who is in any way in my charge.”

  “Yes, Miss Tibbles, er, Mrs. Merriweather,” William said with a meekness that deceived no one in the room.

  But then, given the smile she could scarcely suppress, Mrs. Merriweather did not deceive anyone with her apparent sternness either.

  The colonel was another matter. He entered the room a few short minutes after his wife, and he did not seem to be in the best of moods. He called them all laggards and insisted they should get to work at once!

  “Yes, my dear,” Mrs. Merriweather said with placid good humor. “I collect too many of the doors are locked and no one can find the keys?”

  The color of the colonel’s face betrayed the truth of this suggestion. “Seems the keys disappeared the day Mr. Hawthorne was killed. You do not know where they are, do you, Miss Hawthorne?” he asked.

  Miss Hawthorne hesitated and exchanged looks with Mrs. Merriweather. “No,” she said. “I have not seen Papa’s keys since before he died. Not the set he wore on the chain of his watch fob, at any rate. I believe the spare set of keys is still at our old house.”

  “Well, would you be so good as to fetch them?” the colonel asked impatiently. “I meant to ask you for them yesterday, but I forgot.”

  “Of course. I shall go at once. I wish to be of any assistance I can,” Miss Hawthorne re
plied.

  “I should go with you,” William said, rising to his feet as she did so.

  “Yes, I do not like the notion of Miss Hawthorne going there alone,” Mrs. Merriweather seconded the notion. “You may use our carriage to go and come back.”

  Miss Hawthorne hesitated, clearly not wishing to cause a fuss. But after a moment, she agreed. “I should be grateful for your escort,” she told William. “It is foolish of me, I know, but I cannot be comfortable walking into that house alone. I keep thinking of Papa and half expecting him to be there with me. And after we found someone there, that first day . . .”

  “I understand.”

  She slowed her steps to his, as he hobbled along beside her, leaning heavily on his cane. Nor did she show the slightest impatience at needing to do so. It was one more thing William found he liked so much about her. One more reason to be grateful for the time spent in her company.

  Except that he didn’t want to enjoy her company. He ought not to be personally involved with anyone here at the museum. Not when he had a job to do. Thornsby was already impatient with him that he had not yet accomplished what he had been sent here to do. Time was running short.

  However foolish it might be, Stanfield couldn’t help but care that Miss Hawthorne looked far more tired than he would like. There was a sadness about her that was only to be expected, and yet he found himself wishing he could ease her distress.

  And so, once they were settled in the Merriweathers’ carriage, William set out to charm Miss Hawthorne. He told her stories about the losses in his own life. He had felt dearly his own father’s death, some few years before. And he told her how each death of a fellow soldier in the field had seemed to take a toll on him as well.