“I want you out. Now,” Father said, his voice dropping so low I almost couldn’t hear him. The tone told me he was trying to contain his anger.
A shuffle signaled Williams had stood. “We can’t leave. Not with Chanda in gaol.”
“We had no issues until you three arrived.”
“Have you forgotten about the man in the greenhouse? He wasn’t one of ours, but he was murdered. Don’t you understand?” Williams’s voice rose even louder. “Two murders in less than a week mean your whole family is in danger. We can provide the security needed for your family. Meredith and I are trained—”
“Are you saying Miss Meredith is one of your spies as well?”
Another creak of the chair. The fight in the colonel must have drained him, and he’d collapsed into the chair.
“In a way. She’s not truly my niece, but we had to pass her off as part of the ruse to get Chanda out of the country.”
“But she resembles your sister,” Ernest said.
“We have found that providing certain suggestions to people often will mold their perceptions. I told you she was my niece, and you took that at face value and used it to assemble the features you felt were appropriate. The woman was actually recruited from an orphanage. A survivor of the rebellion, her Indian nurse disguised her and managed to help her escape. She’s quite adept at the local dialects. And disguises. Also, quite the skilled combatant. A real street fighter. She’s been on more than one mission with Rogers. Worked well together as a team. Often posed as a married couple. That’s why Sherlock noted her finger had previously worn a ring. She continued to wear it until just recently.”
Now I gasped and clapped my own hand over my mouth. At thirteen—almost fourteen—even I knew the reputation of a young woman traveling with an unrelated male would be in tatters if the situation became known. Above that, an orphan with no social standing? But most importantly, the man was sharing the girl was a spy as well. Clearly Miss Meredith wasn’t an appropriate match for my brother. But would Mycroft see or understand that fact?
And how could I tell him? After all, I wasn’t supposed to be privy to this conversation.
Ernest cleared his throat, but his words remained clipped. “Spies are sprouting everywhere, it seems. You. Moto—”
The colonel stuttered out a response. “Moto? A-a spy? Are you certain?”
A man’s muffled footsteps indicated my uncle crossed the rug where the chair holding the colonel rested. I was certain he was directly in front of the man.
“Don’t act as if you didn’t know. I’d shown you the crossbow myself. Asked you to share the design with your superiors. Moto certainly saw its merits. He copied the design.”
“I had no knowledge of Moto before we were introduced at the house. If he was spying on you, it’s news to me.”
“Then what happened to the drawings he’d made of my invention? They went missing after his murder.”
“I don’t know. I came here for one purpose and one purpose only: to hide out until we could safely get to London. Chanda has information valuable to maintaining British dominance in the region.”
“So you say,” Father said.
Even without seeing him, I could tell from his tone Father’s mouth would be twisted into a sneer.
“Good God, man, what must I do to convince you?”
In the silence that followed, I could hear Father’s and Williams’s breaths, fast and deep. Each were most likely staring at the other, fuming, in some sort of standoff.
My uncle broke the tension by speaking in a calm tone. “Siger, please, we can’t force them out. Not now. Not with Chanda in gaol and Meredith recovering. Perhaps in the meantime, you could send another inquiry?”
“The foreign secretary knows of our predicament,” the colonel said with a sigh. “Pity the former Viscount Palmerston isn’t here anymore. I doubt even you would dismiss assurance from the prime minister.”
“Quite convenient to suggest as a character reference a man who’s been dead for four years.”
Father might not be seething anymore, but he’d hardly lost his suspicions regarding the man.
“Surely we can wait a day or two?” Ernest said. “To confirm the man’s claims. We can’t very well turn these people out if we’re putting the empire at stake.”
Ernest struck a nerve with that statement. Father was, if nothing else, loyal to the Crown, and little would be on the same scale as the whole British Empire.
After a moment, he sighed. “All right. I’ll send the request off immediately and let us hope they have not all gone on holiday. Two days. I’ll give you two days. But if you have put my family in jeopardy, you’ll have hell to pay.”
“You may all wait for us to be murdered in our beds” came a woman’s voice from the other side of the room. “But I’m not.”
My widened stare met Constance’s. Aunt Iris was out of bed?
My surprise at her recovery turned to concern. What had she heard about Williams? I had never known my aunt to be discreet. If Williams and Miss Meredith truly were working for the foreign secretary, their secret would not be safe in Aunt Iris’s hands.
While I’m sure Father would have liked to question her on the matter of her eavesdropping, she didn’t give him an opportunity. She continued in the same heated tone as her first remark.
“I’m leaving in the morning with Trevor. I’ve already sent word to Mr. Fitzhugh that I’m returning and not to come and join us. Don’t try to stop me.”
Following her pronouncement, the office door banged shut.
Chapter NIne
A moment later, the library door opened and shut again, and I could hear Father call after her.
“Iris, you can’t be serious. Please reconsider.”
Their footsteps passed the office door—hers, a stomping march, followed by his, a quick staccato as he ran to catch up to her. They both stopped at the stairs. He must have reached her at that point. I moved to leave our hiding place, but Constance held me back. A fortuitous precaution because the next snippet of conversation we heard was my father cajoling his sister.
“Iris, let’s talk about this. Come into the library.”
Constance and I flattened ourselves even closer to the paneling. Now, not only did I notice the scent of her clothes and hair, but also became very aware of the warmth of her body, the touch of her breath against my neck. Sensations stirred within me once again. My heart seemed to pick up its pace and my breath came quicker. A part of me wanted to touch her hair, but I knew any movement behind the curtain could be detected. Instead, I straightened my back and willed my attention to the other side of our velvet screen, painfully aware that if I didn’t control my breathing, I could give us away.
The door opened and closed, and two set of footsteps signaled Father had convinced his sister to discuss her departure in private. The sound stopped about halfway into the room. Some shuffling indicated they had taken seats on the couch in the center near the fireplace.
“Iris, dear, we hardly see each other anymore. And Trevor…the last time I saw him he was still wearing shifts.”
“If we don’t see each other more, it’s because you refuse to come to London. But that’s not the issue at the moment. My safety and that of my son’s is. My nerves can’t take any more stress. People attacked. Dead bodies. Someone in this house is a murderer, and I, for one, am not going to wait around and be the next victim.”
She rose from her seat and marched to the door. “I have already told the servants and Miss Bowen to pack my things and Trevor’s.”
“You’ve missed the morning train. There won’t be another until afternoon. By the time you get to London, it will be late. At least wait until tomorrow. In the morn—”
“I can’t shut my eyes, let alone sleep here one more night. I keep seeing that…that…scene in the greenhouse.”
“I can talk to Violette. See if she can’t make you a sleeping draught. Stronger than what you’ve had, if needed.”
&nb
sp; “The only sedative I need is a few hundred miles between me and this house.” She sniffed and her voice quivered as she continued to speak. “I had such high expectations for the holidays. Such happy memories growing up here. I’d hoped for Trevor to have the same. It’s all been ruined. Thanks to those dreadful people you let into our home.”
The sentence ended in a sob, and I had an overpowering urge to run and comfort her. I certainly could see her point of view. I couldn’t think of the greenhouse without bile rising in my throat. The image of Mr. Moto would forever be etched into my brain. At the same time, the thought of her leaving and taking Trevor created the same hollow feeling within me I had felt when he told me of his mother’s plans to return to London during the chess game a few days ago.
I realized I had grown accustomed to my young cousin. True, his constant questions were annoying, but I had enjoyed sharing some of my knowledge with him. At Eton, when I had tried to point out some fact with the other boys or sometimes even the instructors, it was not always well received. Trevor, however, hung on my every word and was quite disposed to hearing what I had to share.
“I had no idea… I won’t stop you. I’ll arrange for Simpson to take you to the station in time for the afternoon train.”
Another rustling. The two rose to their feet.
“I’ve already written to Rose and told her not to come. That it is not safe here.”
When they reached the door, Iris gave a startled cry, and my mother’s voice floated into the room.
“So sorry, Iris. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’d heard you were out of bed, and I wanted to—”
“You’ll have to find someone else to push your vile concoctions on. I’m leaving. Today. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to oversee the packing.”
The door closed again. This time I was the one to restrain the other from making a too hasty exit from our hideaway. A swishing of skirts informed us that my parents continued to occupy the room. I’d imagined they would stay for a private—well, not as private as they thought—conversation. After all, social convention would not have allowed them to discuss my aunt’s pronouncements beyond closed doors.
“I can’t blame her, you know,” Father said.
“I suppose not. I’m sorry, my dear. I know you were looking forward to having everyone here.”
“This Christmas hasn’t exactly been what I had planned by any means. And I still haven’t found the opportunity to inform her of Miss Bowen’s actions. I’d hoped to tell Thomas when he joined her in a few more days. Now, I suppose I’ll have to write instead. If it weren’t for all that has happened, I might suggest we follow Iris back to London. At least then, we’d all be together.”
“Perhaps we could—?”
Mother’s thought was cut off by screams echoing down the stairwell. By now, Aunt Iris’s wails were familiar to the whole household. I held Constance back until I heard my parents exit the room.
Once I knew we were alone, I checked at the door before I flew up the stairs, Constance at my side, to join a number of servants on the upper floors.
My first thought was that she had found another person injured—or worse. When it became clear her cries were coming from the third floor, my throat tightened. Only one person’s mishap would have caused my aunt’s anguished shrieks. That thought spurred me into taking the steps two at a time, shoving my way past others, all the way praying I was wrong, and she’d found a mouse or something else as innocuous.
By the time I reached the children’s room, Aunt Iris was seated in a chair, my parents on either side of her. Father fanned her with his hands while Mother held one limp wrist. Miss Bowen sat on the edge of Trevor’s bed. An open trunk stood at the end. Several piles of clothes were stacked about it. The governess’s face was drawn and white, a reflection of her employer’s. Even their lips were white. Iris had stopped shouting and lapsed into a sort of catatonia.
Blood pounded in my ears from the exertion and the conclusion that Trevor was the cause of both women’s distress. I froze in the threshold, unable to enter and hear her pronounce what I already knew. I glanced about. Aside from my parents, none of the household was present. That the colonel wasn’t there didn’t surprise me. But neither was Ernest nor Mycroft.
Constance stopped at my side and whispered, “What happened? Where’s Trevor?”
I shook my head, my voice failing me. She would have to wait for someone else to share the particulars.
As if in response to Constance’s whisper, Miss Bowen drew in a deep, shaky breath and recovered herself enough to mutter repeatedly, “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”
That pronouncement broke my paralysis, and I asked the question that everyone else carried on the tips of their tongues.
“What happened to Trevor?” All turned to me, even Iris. Constance’s open mouth made me aware that panic had made my question come out too loud for the room. I cleared my throat and asked in lower tones, “Where is he?”
Miss Bowen found the strength to reply.
“Mrs. Fitzhugh told me to pack Trevor’s things. He was upset. Said he didn’t want to go back to London. He was having a temper tantrum and grabbed some of his clothes and threw them to the ground. I told him to go to the schoolroom until he could behave. He stomped out. I thought he was in there. But when Mrs. Fitzhugh came here—”
Her choked sobs prevented her from continuing, but my aunt was able to finish the thought. “My son. My son,” Iris murmured, “is m-m-missing.”
Father exchanged a glance with my mother in a silent discussion. From the creases about their eyes, I knew they were both concerned, but also knew they would diminish it for Iris’s sake.
“Now, now, my dear,” Father said, “we don’t know that he’s missing. He’s a boy. They tend to take off by themselves. Sounds very much like he went off in a huff. Maybe to hide so you can’t go today. More than once we’ve searched the house for Sherlock or Mycroft only to find them engrossed in some pursuit and totally unaware that the whole house was searching for them.”
“We’ll send the servants to join with all of us to seek him out. I’m certain he will be found in no time,” Mother said. She raised her gaze to the governess. “When did you last see him?”
“When I sent him to the classroom. About an hour ago.”
Another glance between my parents, and again, I could read the silent discussion passing between them. In an hour, the boy could go far. And if unfamiliar with the area, get quite easily lost in that amount of time. Aunt Iris didn’t allow him to stray far from the house, and if he had decided to go into the woods…
A shudder passed through me, and I forced my thoughts away from that scenario to focus on what my mother was saying to her sister-in-law.
“I think it best if you were to lie down completely. Mr. Holmes and I will take personal charge of the search and keep you informed of anything. Mr. Holmes, why don’t you and Miss Bowen take her to her bedroom? Prop up her feet and make sure her corset isn’t too tight to allow circulation. Then, if you will meet me in the kitchen, Mr. Holmes, we’ll ask the servants if any of them have seen Trevor.”
With a nod, my father helped his sister to her feet, and he and the governess led her toward the door. Constance and I stepped back to let them pass.
I couldn’t stop thoughts I was certain were identical to those racing through my aunt’s head. Trevor, cold and shivering, scared and possibly injured, unable to return to the house. My legs shook, barely supporting my weight, and I leaned against the wall, its firmness bracing me.
Mother paused upon entering the corridor to speak to me. She laid a hand on my cheek. “You’re almost as pale as Iris.”
“Trevor—” I paused and licked my lips. “Do you think he’s all right?”
Her smile failed to reassure me. “Under normal circumstances, I’d say he’s fine. You probably don’t remember, but when you were about five, you disappeared one afternoon. The whole household went on the search. First the house and th
en the grounds. You’d gone out to your uncle’s workshop. He’d been busy and thought you’d left. Ernest insisted you weren’t there until we searched the place and found you asleep on the cot in the back.”
I blinked, trying to keep my darkest fears from overcoming me. As always, Mother seemed to have read my mind. She cocked her head to one side and studied me before speaking again.
“You know, Sherry, dear, you and Constance are most familiar with your cousin at the moment. What interests him? What might have lured him away? And where? Put that information to work while we organize the rest.”
I nodded, grateful for something to do. After she moved past us and down the stairs, I turned to Constance. “Let’s go to the schoolroom.”
“I don’t think—”
“That he’s there? I agree, but he may have left something to show where he did go. It was the last place we know he was.”
She followed me into the room, and I studied the now-deserted space. After a cursory review, my gaze fell on the teacher’s desk. Black smudges marked its surface. These were new.
While I moved in that direction, Constance moved to a cupboard and opened it.
Rubbing my fingers across the desktop, I asked her, “Do you truly think he’s hiding there?”
“No,” she said, shutting the cupboard doors, “but everyone assumes he’s no longer in here. You said this was the last place anyone knows he was. Maybe he’s just hiding.”
I stared at charcoal smudges on my fingers and around a clean area on the top. Someone had been drawing on paper and taken the sheet with them. “Why wouldn’t he just come out? Surely he knows we’re all searching for him.”
“Precisely,” she said and moved to another cupboard. “He could be too frightened now to tell everyone he’d been hiding on purpose.” She sighed when that cupboard revealed only stacks of old papers.
After a final glance at my fingertips, I lifted the lid on the desk.
The Adventure of the Murdered Gypsy Page 16
