The Curiosity Keeper

by Sarah E. Ladd

  His sister was not willing to let the topic drop. “Must you be so stubborn? I simply do not understand your aversion to the idea. It is not at all unusual to marry for practical reasons—for the good of others. The love comes later.”

  “Is that so?” Jonathan sucked in a deep breath. “And did it ever come for Mother?”

  She looked as if she had been struck. “How could you say such a thing?”

  “Do you think Mother was happy, married to Father all those years?”

  Before she could respond, a sharp knock echoed on the front door.

  Penelope’s face brightened, and she jumped from her chair and ran to the window. Her voice squeaked with disbelief as she leaned to look out the window. “It is she! She is here. I do not believe it.”

  “Miss Marbury?”

  “No, Miss Iverness.” Penelope whirled from the window, her blue eyes bright and wide, the drama of such an event covering her melancholy.

  Jonathan snapped his head up. “Miss Iverness is here?”

  “Indeed.” Penelope quickly returned to the window, pressing herself against the wall to get a better view through the narrow panes. “The nerve that woman has, to disappear so suddenly, without so much as a word of gratitude, and then to return all these hours later—to the main entrance no less. I suppose we shouldn’t be too shocked, however, considering where she comes from. She likely never learned proper manners.”

  Jonathan laid his paper aside. He had left Miss Iverness earlier that day on Blinkett Street, certain he had overstepped the bounds of propriety and would never see her again. Yet here she was, hours later, on his doorstep. His mind raced to consider the possibilities. Miss Iverness’s presence here could mean one of two things: either she had information about the ruby or she had changed her mind about his suggestion.

  The butler’s heavy footsteps could be heard outside the parlor, followed by the creak of the opening door.

  Penelope hurried to the mirror and patted her hair into place. “Perhaps she has news of the ruby. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  Penelope had been irked to wake up late that morning and find Miss Iverness gone. So Jonathan had told her about escorting Miss Iverness home, omitting from his tale the encounter with Miss Iverness’s father or his own suggestion that Miss Iverness consider a position in Fellsworth.

  Now he cleared his throat. “There is something I need to tell you, just in case it should come up in conversation.”

  “What did you say, Jonathan?” Penelope was far too interested in primping to listen to him.

  But before he could repeat himself, a knock echoed on the paneled parlor door and Winston appeared. “Miss Iverness is in the main hall, sir. She has asked to speak with you.”

  Penelope shook her head. Jonathan knew what she was thinking. He himself was surprised that Miss Iverness had not asked for Penelope. A woman calling on a man was simply unheard of. The impropriety of the action was damning.

  But she was here, and he could hardly send her away.

  “Show her in.”

  Camille winced as the heavy front door fell closed behind her.

  It was too late now. Too late to change her mind or formulate another plan. She was standing in the Gilchrists’ hall.

  She swallowed the lump of doubt in her throat and sank her teeth into her lip. She could do nothing about the fluttering in her stomach or the trembling of her arms. This was all too strange. Too uncomfortable. Every instinct screamed for her to turn and run as fast as she could.

  The thought of admitting she needed assistance galled her. If there was one thing she had learned from her father it was self-reliance, depending on no one person or thing. And for years she had been successful at that.

  How quickly her situation had changed. She had told herself she had nothing to lose. But in truth she had everything to lose. For if Mr. Gilchrist retracted his offer of assistance, where would she go? She could not—would not—return home.

  The butler, an older man with white hair and long side-whiskers, reappeared. “Mr. and Miss Gilchrist will see you.”

  Camille pressed her hand to her stomach. How she wished the gown she wore was cleaner, her hair tidier. She had to swallow every bit of pride to follow him into the parlor.

  Last night, she had only seen the parlor by firelight, but by day, the colors in the room were much more vibrant, the polished mahogany shinier, the murals richer, the exotic fabrics more plush and exquisite.

  Mr. Gilchrist stood when she entered. His gaze locked with hers, the simple act rattling her senses and simultaneously infusing her with courage. “Miss Iverness. This is a surprise.”

  Camille’s throat was dry, almost too dry for words to form.

  Miss Gilchrist rushed forward, her golden tresses perfectly curled, her cream-colored gown of sateen glimmering with every motion. “Miss Iverness, are you all right? I was so concerned when I woke this morning to find you had left us without a word.”

  Camille heard the rebuke behind the expression of concern. “I do apologize for leaving without bidding you farewell.” She offered a smile. “It was rude of me.”

  Miss Gilchrist waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Please, pay it no heed. Jonathan told me you were eager to return home, and I cannot blame you. One’s own home is always preferable when one is injured or feeling ill.”

  Mr. Gilchrist stepped forward, his blue eyes locked on hers. “Welcome back to our home, Miss Iverness.”

  Camille was rarely at a loss for words. But now she could do nothing but nod.

  “Please be seated.” He ushered her to a chair with elegantly curved armrests—the very one in which he had sat the previous evening.

  She sank into the fine upholstery, uncomfortably aware that the smells of Blinkett Street still clung to her clothing. She had to take a steadying breath before looking up at him. “Thank you.”

  He smiled, but then his gaze fell on the bit of red visible from beneath the bundle she carried. “Your arm.”

  At first she attempted to push it further beneath the items she was carrying, but then, realizing her secret had been noticed, she held it out.

  From behind him, Miss Gilchrist gasped. “Mercy, Miss Iverness! Jonathan, look.”

  Mr. Gilchrist extended a hand toward her as if to ask permission. “May I?”

  Camille set her bundle on the floor next to her and gingerly rolled back the bloodstained sleeve. She looked up at Miss Gilchrist. “I do apologize for the state of your gown. You see, I have—”

  “That dressing needs to be changed,” Mr. Gilchrist stated, “and my guess is that the wound has opened up again. I can take care of that.”

  Camille shook her head. “I hate to trouble you, Mr. Gilchrist. This is not why I am here.”

  “It is no trouble at all. And your reason for calling can wait until your arm has been tended to.” He left the room and returned quickly with a box. Minutes later the butler followed with a basin of water, which he placed on a nearby footstool.

  Mr. Gilchrist drew a chair up next to hers and sat. With gentle, practiced hands he soaked the soiled bandage and carefully removed it.

  “I know the wound looks angry,” he said, “but I believe it will heal cleanly. You will most likely have a scar, but I will make you a compound to help it heal smoothly.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gilchrist,” she said. “I fear I have been quite a burden to you.”

  “I am happy to be of service.”

  His smile was warm, but Camille could not help but notice his sister’s cool gaze on the both of them. Despite her welcoming words, Miss Gilchrist’s crossed arms and pinched expression conveyed her reservations about Camille’s presence. Camille did not blame her. But she had come too far to turn back now. She would make her request despite Penelope Gilchrist’s disapproval.

  “I hope this is not too forward, Mr. Gilchrist, but I have been reconsidering your offer about the possibility of employment at Fellsworth School. I—I may have been too brash in my refusal.”
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br />   This was clearly a surprise to Miss Gilchrist. Camille could feel the shock radiating from her. Though masked behind a pleasant expression, her displeasure pulsed through the air like lightning during a summer’s storm. Clearly, her brother had not mentioned his offer to her.

  Mr. Gilchrist must have sensed his sister’s disapproval as well, but he looked only at Camille. “Am I to understand that you have changed your mind?”

  Camille turned her arm to give Mr. Gilchrist better access to the wound. “It has been a long time since I have been in the country, and I should like to return. My father is quite capable of handling his own affairs, and I do not believe he needs my assistance.”

  The words hung stiff in the air as Mr. Gilchrist retrieved a glass vial from his box and began to clean the wound. He did not make eye contact with her. “As I mentioned, I cannot guarantee a position, but our family’s relationship with the school is long-standing. I am certain a recommendation from us would secure you a position of some sort. Mr. Langsby is a kindly sort of fellow and always looking for people who have experience to share with his pupils.”

  “I would like to—”

  “What is this plan you two have concocted?” Miss Gilchrist’s nonchalant air concealed a sharp edge as she stepped closer to her brother. The previous evening Miss Gilchrist had seemed so amiable. But today her eyes narrowed in what could only be annoyance.

  “After speaking with Miss Iverness this morning, I thought she might be able to find work at Fellsworth School.” Mr. Gilchrist’s quiet tone seemed designed to soothe his sister’s pique. He reached for a long, clean strip of linen and looked at Camille as he wrapped the bandage. “I will post a letter and give notice to the superintendent, but we are planning on departing for Fellsworth in the morning, so we will likely reach home before a letter would.”

  “Jonathan, what are you talking—”

  He looked up at his sister. “I have invited Miss Iverness to share our carriage when we return home tomorrow.”

  “I confess, I had hoped to do just that.” Camille paused, disappointed that they were not leaving until the morrow. If allowed too much time to consider her options, she would certainly falter and change her mind. She drew a deep breath. They were doing her a service. She was hardly in a position to make demands.

  “Mr. Gilchrist, it is pointless for me to try to hide the fact that the situation surrounding my home life is a bit . . . unusual. Circumstances are such that it would be best for me to leave London as soon as possible—at your convenience, of course.”

  Jonathan heard the pleading in Miss Iverness’s voice, saw the desperation that marked her features. He cleared his throat and exchanged glances with Penelope, whose lips were pressed together in a tight line of frustration. He looked back to their guest. “Is your father comfortable with your taking this position?”

  Miss Iverness rolled her sleeve back down over the bandage, her eyes steadfastly on him. “He does not know.”

  So she had left home. The idea did not bode well with Jonathan, though after seeing the interaction between her and her father he could hardly blame her. He did want more than ever to help her in some way. But had his hurried offer been ill considered?

  His sister’s clenched jaw told him that she thought so, and perhaps she was right. But if Miss Iverness were to accompany them to Fellsworth, he would at least know she was safe. And if he could earn her trust, perhaps she could assist him in finding the ruby.

  Perhaps. But even if she could help him, there was a very strong chance that he could help her.

  “Do you have anything to take with you?” he asked. “Your belongings?”

  She looked to the bundle at her feet. “Just these things. And my dress, if your maid has been able to clean it.”

  “I see.” He made up his mind swiftly. The sooner they departed for Fellsworth, the more confidence he had in their plan. “Penelope, do you think you could be ready to depart for Kettering Hall today?”

  “Today?” His sister gasped, obviously flustered by the request. “Jonathan, I don’t think I—”

  “We would need to leave within the next couple of hours if we are to have the day’s light.” He met her eyes and held her gaze.

  Penelope folded her arms across her chest, looking more like a spoiled child than a woman of twenty-three. Finally she blew out a sigh. “Very well. I shall ask Meeks to finish packing right away.”

  Jonathan waited for Penelope to leave before turning back to Miss Iverness. He lowered his voice. “After this morning, I can understand your need for urgency. You can stay at Kettering Hall, our family home, tonight, and then tomorrow we can visit the school, which is not far away.”

  Miss Iverness’s shoulders seemed to relax at the words, and for the first time, he noticed her lips curve into the slightest hint of a smile.

  Jonathan had not planned for them to leave for the country until the following day. But why should they not? He had been unsuccessful in retrieving the ruby and would need to develop a new plan. And getting home earlier meant he could get back to his work that much more quickly.

  Leaving Miss Iverness to rest in the parlor, Jonathan headed for the stairs but stopped when he encountered Winston in the vestibule.

  “We have changed our plans and will be leaving for Kettering Hall later today. Miss Iverness will accompany us. Please make the appropriate arrangements.”

  Winston bowed in compliance, but not before Jonathan noted the fleeting expression on his face. The butler had been part of their London home for as long as Jonathan’s memory would stretch. But whereas he felt he could trust Abbott at Kettering Hall, it was no secret that Winston’s loyalty skewed toward Ian Gilchrist, not Jonathan. He no doubt had firm opinions about what he had observed in the house yesterday and today—including Miss Iverness’s condition when Jonathan first brought her to the house—though he would never express them in earshot of the family.

  Jonathan chose to ignore the manner in which the old man looked down his long nose, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. How Jonathan hated this game of innuendo and judgment. Of perceived rights versus perceived wrongs, propriety and impropriety, who belonged in society and who did not. Did not the Almighty judge mankind on a different scale?

  Once satisfied that the butler understood his directions, Jonathan started up the stairs to gather his own belongings. Penelope met him halfway.

  “This has gone too far, Jonathan.” She hissed the words through clenched teeth, her blue eyes wide with indignation.

  Jonathan continued up the stairs, his hand gripping the thick oak railing. He did not respond—partly because his decision had already been made, and partly because he knew well his sister’s tendencies. She relished a good argument.

  He would not give her one.

  Penelope followed him closely—so closely, in fact, that he felt the swish of her skirt on the back of his boots. “Have you lost your senses? Hasn’t our family had enough of scandal and gossip? It is clear that this woman is in some sort of trouble. Did you see how fidgety she is? She is involved with the wrong sorts of people, and possibly up to her neck in criminal activity. Spending the night here was one thing, but inviting her to Fellsworth and Kettering Hall is another matter entirely.”

  Jonathan paused on the landing and turned to her, employing every ounce of self-control to remain calm. “Camille Iverness is the closest link we have to the ruby at the moment. So I would prefer to keep her close. Do you not agree?”

  “I think you are overestimating her knowledge of the ruby,” she sniffed. “I do not think she knows a thing about it.”

  “Perhaps she does. Perhaps she does not. But you know this as well as I: either we get that ruby back or Father loses everything. Which means you have no dowry, as you yourself mentioned not twenty minutes ago. If taking the woman with us to Kettering Hall gives us even half a chance of learning more about the ruby, then I am eager to do so. And if we can help her escape an untenable situation by doing it, all the bette
r.”

  “Mark my words, Jonathan, you are inviting trouble.” A flush rushed to her cheeks as the words tumbled from her mouth. “And what of Mr. Darbin? Surely he would not agree.”

  “Keep your voice down. I will send word and apprise Darbin of these developments. But I could not care less if he agrees or not. Kettering Hall is not so far should he desire to visit and discuss the matter. And he is certainly welcome to continue searching for the stone without my direct help.”

  Penelope grabbed his arm to stop him when he turned to leave. “So you do not care what this will do to our reputation?”

  “On the contrary. My intention is to prevent further damage to our reputation. But if I may say so, you care far too much for such things.”

  “Well, someone in our family needs to, and if I am the only one who will pay heed, then so be it.”

  Jonathan expelled his breath. “There is nothing improper in what we are doing.”

  “Nothing improper!” she cried. “You bring an injured woman to our house—a stranger, I might add. You implore her to stay the night, escort her home in the wee hours of the morning, and then invite her to accompany us to Kettering Hall? No, there is no scandal in that at all.”

  “My mind is made up.” He shrugged matter-of-factly and resumed climbing the stairs.

  “Father will be furious,” she shot back, following on his heels.

  He stopped short. “The only thing that will infuriate Father is if we—if I—fail to recover the ruby—to cover debts he foolishly secured with your dowry money.”

  Penelope threw up her hands in mock surrender. “Well, dear brother, you surely know what is best. I will just sit back and keep my mouth closed.” She pointed a finger toward his face. “I just want you to know right now that I claim no responsibility in this whatsoever.”

  “You must trust me. Miss Iverness is hardly a threat to any of us. And even if she knows nothing about the ruby, we will surely be doing her a service. Do we not have an obligation to help one who is injured and in danger?”