The Case of the Puppet Constable (A Justice and Miss Quinn Mystery Book 2)

by Felicia Rogers

  A candlestick smacked the floor and rolled to within inches of his booted feet. He used the embers from fireplace to light the wick and held the light to his face. “Miss Rotherham, don’t be afraid, it is Mr. Blakemoor.”

  She drew the coverlet to her neck. “J-Justin? What are you doing in my room?”

  The idea that she might have been excited to see him quickly fled. “Do not be alarmed. I came merely to ask a favor.”

  If possible she drew into herself even more. “B-but they are saying you murdered that man. How could I possibly do you a favor?”

  “I did no such thing, and you know so.” He took a step forward and she cringed, the wrinkles on her forehead enacting a look of horror and fear. So that was the way of it.

  “I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “Then know this, the entire gathering was a way to root out who is controlling the constable.” Her swift intake of breath confirmed she was listening. “The death was faked. Mr. Hudson is well and will be traveling to India in a fortnight. Unfortunately, his antics have left us without the answers we seek.”

  “Where is this leading?”

  She must believe him because her death grip on the coverlet had loosened and the fabric slipped. A hint of a white chemise glowed in the candlelight. He redirected his eyes to her face. He would do well to remember who he truly loved.

  “We need another crime.”

  “What?” Her hand fluttered to her heart.

  “Well not another murder but rather a theft.”

  “You want me to pretend to lose something again?”

  Her tone didn’t suggest keenness. “Yes and no. What we want to do is give you an herb that puts you to sleep. When you wake you’ll describe the theft and give a vague description that will encompass every guest. Then the constable will be forced to investigate everyone, except we hope, his master. When he fails to investigate one person then we’ll know the mastermind behind the constable and behind Tyrrel.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “And what is in it for me?”

  Ah, the proverbial question. Before he’d thought she had helped for his sake—not because of the brooch, a mere piece of metal—but apparently he’d been mistaken.

  “What do you want?” His stomach knotted as soon as the question left his lips.

  She jutted out her chin and a smirk tilted her mouth. “You must ask Father for permission to court me.”

  He swallowed. How could he possibly accept such a suggestion? There was Magnolia to consider. If he asked to court Hesper, then everyone would believe he planned to marry her.

  Perhaps Magnolia would consider being the victim. They could make it work.

  “Your hesitation concerns me.”

  “Hesper, you know that I adore you, but—”

  “But not in the marital way.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Is that because there is another?”

  Should he tell her the truth?

  “Your silence is enough.” She bit her lip, the action had once caused his heart to pound, but now he only saw a concentrating woman. “How about this, I agree to play your charade and help you capture the man you seek, and you agree to ask Father to court me.” He opened his mouth, but she held up her palm. “Not so that we may marry, but rather so I may gain the attention of another. He doesn’t seem to think I’m wifely enough. So, we shall court for a short time and then I will make a public display of realizing my affections are false. That way Father will let you out of the agreement and you can go to your ladylove and perhaps my gentleman will be more receptive to my affections. What say you?” While she spoke she had climbed from the bed and now stood before him with her hand outstretched. But just as quickly she pulled it back in. “There is one caveat.”

  He was afraid to ask. “Yes?”

  “I don’t want anyone to know that we are faking our relationship.”

  Now that would be hard to do.

  “Even your love must be kept in the dark. If word leaked that our affections were false, then my reputation would be tarnished forever. As it is, the falsehoods I’ve enacted for you over the last couple of months could keep me in spinsterhood for eternity. As I see it, you owe me.”

  He couldn’t argue with her logic. When she reoffered her hand, he took it. The bargain was set. Now they needed to enact their plan. He just hoped that the end result was worth his sacrifice.

  Chapter Eight: Discoveries

  A bedside candle provided the only light. The door to the tunnel system creaked open. Air from the dank corridor sent the flame flickering. Eerie shadows danced along the dark paneled walls. Magnolia drew closer to the fireplace and poked at the burning wood. Embers shot toward the flue, and she reached out to gather the heat.

  Shivers raced along her arms, and she wrapped them around her middle and looked around the room. Directly above the mantel hung a portrait of Kenelm. He leaned against a riding crop, a hunting dog asleep at his feet. He looked every bit the part of the chivalrous knight. Beneath the framework, and arranged in order from largest to smallest, were several handcrafted boxes. Upon each box sat a wooden ship. The detail exhibited in the mast and the hull was amazing, and Magnolia studied each one individually until her eyes crossed.

  She rubbed her eye sockets then faced the opposite wall and the four-poster bed. Gauzy material hung from the corners. A table beside the bed sparkled and drew her forward. Her throat tightened as she bent over. Golden flecks were embedded in the wooden top. She covered her mouth and stepped back, striking an unknown object with her slippered heel. She stifled a squeal and hopped on one foot until the pain passed. Kenelm was under suspicion—did a guard not pace outside his door? Had he not heard the commotion?

  She waited, drawing in deep breaths. When no one came she squatted and felt around with her hands until she touched a gilded frame.

  The painting was small and could easily fit under someone’s arm. Light reflected off a feature. A jeweled crown. A portrait of a queen? But it couldn’t be. She rose and took a step back. Her ankle graced something cold, hard. She closed her eyes and squatted again, praying it wasn’t what she suspected.

  A powdery substance coated the floor. She ran her fingers through the grains. It felt like sand. Where could it have come from?

  She rocked on her heels. She needed time to think about her discovery. The items were coming at her too quickly.

  She grabbed a nearby container. Gold glinted in the candlelight, and she felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. A Chinese urn.

  Her earlier suspicions had been correct. Kenelm was involved in the thefts and these discoveries proved it. Every object that had gone missing from her London acquaintances seemed to be stored in his bedroom. Hidden in plain sight. How could she have been so foolish?

  She cradled her head in her hands. Justin and Kenelm would return at any moment. If he discovered that she’d been snooping, then he might remove the stolen goods and they would never catch him.

  To the best of her ability she scooped the ashes back into the urn and set it upright. Bile rose in her throat. A dead person. She’d just scooped up a dead person. She shook off the feeling and checked the queen’s portrait. Lighter markings on the wall indicated the exact location it had laid. The room appeared as it had before. She took to a chair before the fire and folded her hands in her lap. Her foot tapped against the floor and she sucked on her lower lip.

  She needed to speak with Justin—alone. Could she remember the tunnel system and reach his room after Kenelm returned her to her own? It was a risk she would have to take, but she would need a trail to follow. Something similar to the breadcrumbs in Hansel and Gretel. She reached down and scratched her ankle. Rough lace scraped her arm. That was it! She lifted her skirt, revealing rows and rows of fabric. She had just found her breadcrumbs.

  ****

  Justin rejoined Kenelm. The musty odors of the tunnel had him wrinkling his nose and wishing he was anywhere else.

  “Wi
ll she help us?”

  “Yes.” It was a challenge to utter the one word around his constricting throat. How many ways could this plan have gone wrong?

  “Then let’s return for Magnolia. I’ll lead you to your room, deliver her, and then return to my own. Tomorrow is soon enough to begin our newest scheme.”

  The knight was wrong. Tomorrow was too early to express his false love for Hesper.

  They reached Kenelm’s room. A silent and drawn Magnolia joined them in the secret corridor, taking up the rear position. If they’d been alone, he would have turned, clasped her hands, and told her of Hesper’s request, even against the lady’s wishes, but they weren’t alone. Kenelm was present—he was always present.

  The door to his room opened and closed in rapid succession. Just like that Magnolia and his chance to reveal the truth had disappeared. He fell into a hard chair. A bitter tang filled his mouth. Hesper had eyed Liam Filbee after Evander’s demise. Did this mean that he was helping his enemy find love and ruining his own chances? Because Magnolia would believe he was with Hesper, which would hurt her and ensure he lost any chance of wooing her later.

  He fisted his hands in his lap. What he was about to do—faking his love for Hesper—would indeed cause more pain than he’d ever experienced.

  He leaned his head back against the chair. As sure as she was that her father would release him from obligation, he was also sure that the gentleman would not. Reputation meant everything to the senior Rotherham. If he was displeased with Hesper’s choice, then Justin would be stuck. His own father would see to that.

  His desire to catch the puppet master could very well seal his future.

  Justin cradled his head in his hands. He should be about bed, but he couldn’t move. The ache in his heart was too great.

  Cold air tickled the back of his neck like a soft caress. Had he left the window open? Or had the corridor panel been left ajar?

  “Psst! Justin.”

  He lifted his chin. Magnolia’s hooded pelisse blended with the paneled walls and hid her face from view, but he knew it was her. He would always know when she entered a room.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She entered, unstoppable and forceful. Her grip on his arm felt as if she touched bone. “Kenelm.” She licked her lips. The moisture winked in the firelight. “H-he is responsible.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “I found the portrait of a queen and the Chinese urn in his room! He was the one behind Tyrrel’s thefts and he is the one controlling the constable.” She released him and paced. “I believe he arranged to meet me as a ploy to discover what we knew. Of course Father fell for it because he can’t wait to marry me off to a noble. Then when you came and mentioned the puppet he saw it as the perfect opportunity to pass blame to another. He offered the castle for the ball, planned Mr. Hudson’s tricks, all to make you look untrustworthy.”

  He grasped the chair arms until his knuckles whitened. “You can’t believe what you’re saying.”

  “I do believe it.” She placed a hand on her hip. “Did Hesper agree to help?”

  “Yes.” He cringed. Now was his time to tell her the cost for Hesper’s help. He opened his mouth, but she interrupted.

  “Then she could be in jeopardy. Any plan that could expose Kenelm is dangerous.”

  “Why don’t you sit down?” The heat of her flesh burned as he led her to a chair. Control, Justin. Time for feelings could come later.

  “If you believe Kenlem is responsible then what do you suggest we do? We can’t exactly call him out for having the objects. Not without revealing to every person in the castle that you were in his room.” Chills raced along his arms. Revealing that she’d visited his room in the dead of night could put her in a predicament. Her father would insist she marry Kenelm or her reputation would be tarnished forever, at which point Father would disapprove of Justin’s interest in her.

  She scooted to the chair’s edge. “Why not? Why can’t we ask Sir D’Amore to identify the painting? Or have Mr. Dalton study the urn? Or we could tell the constable what I found and see what he does. If he does nothing then perhaps he is working for Kenelm, but if he investigates, at least for a season, then perhaps he is ruled by another.”

  Justin knelt before her. Firelight cascaded over her face, lighting her perfect features. Wisps of hair caressed her soft cheeks. Rosy red lips pursed. Worry lines wrinkled her forehead. He closed his eyes. Justice and Miss Quinn had been a mistake. He’d placed her in an awkward position—a dangerous position. Her future could be harmed and it would be all his fault.

  He couldn’t look at her. He rushed to the fireplace and laid his forearm across the mantel. Heat wafted from the crackling logs. “I’ll speak with the constable tomorrow. But you, you will return to your room and say nothing of what you found.”

  “But—”

  He came to her. Grasping her upper arms, he lifted her to her feet. Her green eyes darkened. “Listen to me. It is too dangerous to admit that you found the items. I will find a way to tell Roskin, but you, you will not be involved. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Now can you find your way back to your room?”

  “Yes. I have breadcrumbs.” An inane grin split her face.

  “Breadcrumbs?”

  She patted his cheek. “I’ll explain later.”

  The warmth from her touch stayed long after Magnolia left. Lying abed brought little relief from his worries. If what Magnolia said was true, they were in more trouble than he’d ever imagined. Once this case was over, once they discovered who was behind the constable and Tyrrel’s thievery, then Justice and Miss Quinn would disband forever. It was the safest way.

  He rolled onto his side. He’d forgotten to tell Magnolia about Hesper’s requirements. Disbanding the team would be the safest for both of them, at least until he figured how to get out of his predicament. Then he would invite Magnolia to join him in another team, one where they would be together—forever.

  ****

  Magnolia reached her room in record time. The torn pieces of lace she’d gathered along the way went directly into the fire, casting the room in an eerie glow and wafting a gray smoke over the white ceiling. She lifted the window and fanned the drapes.

  On the road leading to the castle a phaeton, lantern swaying in the wind, appeared to be leaving. A lone figure took the curves at dangerous speeds. Magnolia held her breath as the phaeton careened on two wheels but managed to settle without toppling.

  She leaned farther over the windowsill but could not distinguish who might be driving. The build could be of Kenelm, but it might also be Mr. Hudson. Perhaps the fellow didn’t want to wait for a fortnight, buried in the attic like a prisoner. But what if it was Kenelm and he was escaping with the stolen items from his room? She narrowed her eyes. Was that a package bouncing around behind the driver?

  Forehead touching the cool panel of the shutters, Magnolia closed her eyes. What she needed was a spyglass. Wouldn’t a pirate, or a man who caught pirates, have need of a spyglass? She’d seen one somewhere. The hallway!

  She hitched her skirts and ran for the door. Fortunately, she wasn’t a suspect in Mr. Hudson’s demise and no guard resided outside her room. The creak of the door echoed along the empty hallway and she bit her lip as she eased it open slower.

  The area was dimly lit. Moonlight filtered through the window at the end of the hall but offered little assistance. If she returned for her candle, she would be wasting valuable time. Hands feeling along the paneling, she made haste toward the location she remembered seeing the spyglass. If she didn’t hurry the mystery man would be long gone and she would be none the wiser.

  Tables filled with knickknacks wobbled as she struck them with her foot. The effort was futile. She could see nothing. She sighed and turned toward her room.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  She stopped. Something rolled on the slightly uneven floor. She squatted and her heart pushed into her throat.
The spyglass!

  She grabbed it and raced back to her room, carefully shutting the door. At the window she extended the glass and looked through the lens.

  “Where are you? Where did you go, sir?”

  The phaeton approached a bend. Once past that bend the driver would be a mystery forever. Turning the lens to bring in the focus, she held her breath. If she came this close to discovering the mystery man and then failed, well, then she failed.

  The focus cleared on the wheel hub. Moving upward, she noticed a brown parcel behind the driver. Was it big enough to carry the portrait and the urn? Her heart hammered against her ribs as she continued to move upward—time running out. A cloak covered the head of the driver. If he would turn and look at the castle but one time, then she would have him. Foot tapping the cold floor, she waited. Then he was gone, swallowed by tall pines that lined the narrow, winding road.

  She lowered the glass, closed the shutters, and made her way to the bed, falling backward and staring up at the canopy. Justin would have been quicker. He would have discovered who the rider was.

  She bolted upright. Was there still a way? Could she get everyone out of the castle so she could see who was missing? Was it a good idea or wrought with folly? Probably the latter, but didn’t she have to try?

  Jagged lace edges scraped against her knees. Yes, she had to try.

  Chapter Nine: Fire!

  Knocking jarred Justin awake. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he staggered to the door. “What is it?”

  “Sir, you must leave the castle at once.”

  He leaned against the doorjamb. “Is that so? Just hours ago you were forcing me to stay within my bedchamber.”

  “Sir! This is no time for arguments. There has been a fire. Everyone must leave the castle immediately until it is under control.”

  Justin raced back to the bedside, slid his feet into his slippers, and threw a quilt over his shoulders. Guests walked single-file through the dimly-lit hallways with groans and mumbles.