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The Debutante: A Regency Mystery (The Sinclair Society Book 2)

Page 15

by Bethany Swafford


  “He wouldn’t-couldn’t-be so dishonorable.”

  Despite everything, I just couldn’t believe it of Mr. Harper. He may dislike me...or was it completely the opposite? After all, he had expressed his concern about my presence in Bath. Was it because he worried for my safety or because he was apprehensive about what I would discover?

  “Why must he plague me so?”

  Firmly, I put that line of thought from my mind. Instead, I focused on the second message. What would it tell me?

  The numerals in the corner were different, a sign it was taken from a different poem or scene from one of Shakespeare’s plays. I didn’t recognize the number, so I set it aside with a sigh. My head was spinning with all I had discovered.

  In any event, it was then I heard the sounds of the other women of the boarding house out in the hallway. Swiftly, I gathered the papers and put them back in my reticule. I pulled the chair from the door and unlocked it so that Mary Harrison could enter, which she did no more than five minutes later.

  One thing I did learn was that the Dunbar family had left Bath that morning with Rose Dunbar looking particularly ill and her older brother moving with slow, deliberate moves. Nothing else of any interest was shared, though, and my mind constantly went back to the undeciphered message that waited for me.

  However, I had no time alone to turn my attention to that message that night, and I knew in the morning I had an errand I could not avoid.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I dressed with care in a pale blue walking dress and matching pelisse. I spent more time arranging my hair than on any other morning. After all, whenever a lady made a visit, she ought to look her best.

  Once I tied my bonnet on, I stood in front of the small mirror and checked my appearance. There was no trace of a humble servant in my bearing because I was determined to be my true self. No one was going to browbeat or humiliate me.

  Taking a deep breath, I left the room and then made my way down. With the sun shining brightly and a light breeze to keep it from becoming too warm as I walked along the pavement, the day was pleasant. Though I wanted my task completed, it took every bit of willpower I had, to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  I was only halfway to my destination when I spotted something concerning: Miss Grace Anderson dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. She was just ahead of me and looked as though she had just come out of a residence.

  Quickening my steps, I hurried to reach her. “Miss Anderson,” I said, raising my voice.

  With a start, she spun to face me. “Oh, Miss Nelson.” Her voice was shaky as she sent a glance over her shoulder. “I did not expect to see you again. I heard the Dunbars left town.”

  “What has happened that has upset you?” I asked in concern, ignoring her comment about my former employer.

  “It’s nothing.”

  Spoken so quickly, she must have realized just how unconvincing she sounded, and her cheeks flushed bright red. “Come, let us walk a bit,” I suggested.

  Giving a hesitant nod, Miss Anderson fell into step beside me, and we went a short distance in silence. I guided her onto another residential street where there were fewer chances of us being seen by people. “I thought you would have left Bath with Miss Dunbar and her family,” she finally said.

  “Miss Dunbar dismissed me several days ago, so I did not leave with the family.”

  For a moment, I thought she would continue to refuse to explain. “Mr. Melbourne spoke to me about marriage yesterday.”

  So much for Mr. Melbourne’s declaration that he would give Miss Anderson as much time as she needed to reconcile her feelings.

  “And you find this distressing?” Surely, she must have expected this. Why else would the man make a point to spend so much time in her company? From my conversation with the man earlier in the week, I had expected him to hold off from this particular discussion.

  She hesitated for a moment, chewing her lip. “Yes and no. You must understand. I never imagined I would ever love another man. Jonathan Sinclair was the epitome of a gentleman, and I gave my heart to him. It almost feels like a betrayal to imagine making a life with someone else.”

  “Did you not say Mr. Melbourne reminded you of Mr. Sinclair?”

  “Well, yes, but he is different too. Some of my acquaintance have made such disparaging remarks about how I have allowed him to court me; they say that he must be a paragon of virtue or extremely wealthy to change my mind on the matter at long last. I didn’t think anyone would make so much of the matter.”

  I could well imagine spiteful, jealous young ladies making such remarks if they were aware of her previous expectations. It was easy to understand how such comments could shake a person’s balance. “What do those closest to you say about the matter? Do they have similar sentiments on the matter?”

  “My parents are delighted, naturally. I am their last child still at home, and I know they’ve worried over whether I will secure my future or not. I simply cannot shake the feeling that I am betraying Jonathan.”

  “I understand what you are saying, but there is something you ought to consider. How would Mr. Sinclair feel? From what I know of him, if he knew you were happy, he would be happy as well,” I said carefully. “You’ve had time to mourn your loss, but he would turn over in his grave if he knew you were allowing life to pass you by because of loyalty to him. He would not want that.”

  Heaving a sigh, Miss Anderson focused her gaze on the distance. “Yes. Yes, I suppose he would. I wish I could be certain, though.”

  I reached for the reticule that hung from my wrist. “Miss Anderson, I owe you an apology, and I hope you will forgive me. While I have been here, I discovered letters that Jonathan Sinclair wrote before he died, one of which I am certain was intended for you. I ought to have made more of an effort to put it in your hands.”

  Astonished, Miss Anderson came to a halt as I pulled the letter from my reticule. “A letter? For me? From Jonathan? How...? Are you sure?”

  Swiftly, as she didn’t move to reach for it, I pressed the paper into her hand. “Forget what everyone else says. They will talk about anything and everything without a care for how those involved feel. What matters is your own thoughts and those closest to you.”

  At that moment, I spoke, not as an impertinent maid who meddled where she had no business, but as Jonathan’s sister encouraging her to live her life. If only I could do the same.

  For a moment, Miss Anderson stared at me. “Yes,” she said, her eyes lighting up. She grasped my hands and squeezed tightly, crumpling the paper. “Yes, that is how I will look at it. Thank you, Miss Nelson. How is it that you are so wise?”

  “Oh, I’m not wise, simply practical.” And I had endured so much more than she ever had.

  “You have set my mind at ease once again. I suppose you think I am silly.”

  “No! Of course, I do not.”

  Her expression was full of joy when she parted ways with me at the next street. For a moment, I watched her walk away. Reassuring her had, in turn, calmed me. Seeing her happy is exactly what my brother would have wished me to do.

  I wasn’t sure why it had taken me so long to hand over the letter. Perhaps I’d hoped she wouldn’t need it, as she appeared happy when she was with Mr. Melbourne. What a shame that gossip had caused her to doubt herself. Hopefully, what I’d told her was enough to keep her from those doubts again.

  Shaking my head, I forced myself to keep walking. The brief interlude had momentarily distracted me from my task at hand, but I knew if I did not make myself go I would always find some excuse to keep away.

  Sooner than I wanted but later than I’d expected, I found myself in front of my destination: Mr. Conrad Ingram’s house. To my surprise, there was a large group gathered on the street, with many of the people whispering together. In front of the door, two constables stood as though they were guarding the place whether to keep anyone from entering or coming out, I couldn’t tell. I caught the eye of a flower seller, and I stepped over t
o her.

  “What’s happened?” I asked. “Why is everyone here?”

  “A man’s been murdered,” the young woman responded with wide eyes.

  “Murdered?” I repeated incredulously. “Who?”

  “The master of the house.”

  My breath caught in my throat, and I glanced at the house with new eyes. Conrad Ingram was dead? As best I could, I tried to hide the relief I felt at the news. He could harm me no more. “How did he die?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “The footman says he found him at the bottom of the stairs,” the flower seller said, seeming to be delighted to have someone to tell. “From what the man said, he thought at first that the dead man had too much to drink, lost his balance as he went up the stairs, and fell, breaking his neck. You know how men are with their drinking.” The worldly-wise tone the girl used held a note of sadness.

  Had Conrad Ingram died the same way my brother had? Was that a coincidence? “You said ‘at first’ they thought he fell down the stairs,” I started, deciding to focus on that detail. “That isn’t how Mr. Ingram died?”

  “Oh, is that his name? Did you know him?” The girl’s eyes brightened as she looked at me with a curious, eager expression.

  “I wish I hadn’t.”

  All of a sudden, there was someone right beside me. “What are you doing here?” Oswyn Harper asked in a low voice as he took my arm in his hand. Firmly, he pulled me away from the woman who had been divulging such useful information.

  “Why could I not stop and discover what had happened?” I asked, delighted to see him despite the circumstances. Of course, I reminded myself that I ought not to reveal I had intended to visit Mr. Ingram.

  Mr. Harper made a frustrated sound in his throat. “A lady, no matter her circumstance in life, should not be found near a murder scene.”

  “Astonishing! You have said exactly what my aunt would have told me.”

  “You would be wise to consider what your aunt would tell you in the future.” There was a note of terse anger in his voice, and I couldn’t figure out why. “You have no business here. Return to your mistress.”

  “At the moment, I am my own mistress. Then, Mr. Ingram really is dead as I’ve just been told?” I asked. I considered trying to pull free of his grip but decided to cause a scene. No doubt the flower seller was watching us walk away. “It's not just gossip?”

  “It is not. He is dead.”

  I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “I heard that they thought it was an accident, much how Jonathan Sinclair’s death was,” I said in an attempt to continue the conversation. “Is that true? How did he truly die?”

  Spinning to face me, Mr. Harper came to a stop. “Why do you insist on asking these questions? They will only bring trouble on you. Haven’t you had enough?”

  “How so?”

  He gave a short laugh. “Are you really so blind and naive? Or is this some pretense?”

  How could I not take offense at that? “Let me go so I may continue about my day!”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t hear about Daniel Dunbar’s ‘accident?’” he asked, tightening his grip on my arm. “What were you thinking? You’re fortunate the family wished to avoid scandal. Otherwise, the consequences could have been severe.”

  Did he think I wasn’t aware of that? How dare he judge my actions without knowing the full story! “I thought that I did not want to be one of his victims,” I said bluntly. “What would you have had me do? Simply allow him to do whatever he wished?”

  His gaze shifted and his jaw muscles tensed. He took a deep breath before he said, “You should have left.”

  Only someone who had not been trapped in a similar situation would say such a thing. “I would have if it were possible. It wasn’t, so I did what was necessary to protect myself.” I kept my tone even though I was angry.

  That admission brought Mr. Harper’s gaze back to mine. His grip tightened even more, making me wince. “What did Conrad Ingram discover about you that had you doing his bidding?”

  This time, it was I who could not meet his gaze. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “I think it does.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  What did I care what he thought? With a slight scoff, I shook my head and pulled away from him. He allowed me to escape his grasp. “The man is dead. All the evil he has done has come to an end,” I said, eager to put an end to this subject. “But, please, tell me. How did he die if he did not fall down his stairs? Was it an accident or something more sinister?”

  “What did he know about you? Or is it something about Juliet Sinclair that he held over your head?” Mr. Harper asked persistently. “The man was an expert at discovering secrets most would rather be kept in the dark. Is that what he did to you?”

  I couldn’t keep from laughing at how close he came to the truth. “Do you think the war would have ended sooner if Mr. Ingram hadn’t discovered Jonathan Sinclair had learned about the blackmailing and selling of information? If. Mr. Sinclair had been able to provide proof to end his terrible reign, would it have made a difference?”

  Mr. Harper went still. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone harsh. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I mean exactly what you heard me say. Jonathan Sinclair’s work was discovered, and Conrad Ingram ended his life because of it. What I wish to know is whether it would have made a difference to the war outcome?”

  “You are making wild speculations.”

  “Wild speculation? Nothing of what I said is speculation, Mr. Harper!” I exclaimed, outraged to have my words dismissed so easily. For some reason, I had expected better of him. I reached into my reticule and drew out the copy I’d made of the message. “I have the proof right here. He spoke clearly of removing Jonathan Sinclair from the situation.”

  An incredulous expression on his face, Mr. Harper snatched the paper from my hand. I watched, smugly, as his eyes moved over the numbers, and the deciphered message I had written beneath them. After a long minute, he lifted his gaze. “Where did you get this?”

  “Some unfinished and unposted letters written by Jonathan Sinclair were given to me several weeks ago. I was to deliver them to miss Sinclair as she is the only family member still alive. This was among them, and I discovered the key to solving the puzzle only yesterday.”

  “But this is not the original. The paper and ink are too bright to have been written five years ago.”

  Heaving a sigh, I shook my head again. “You’re right. It’s not. Mr. Ingram...desired to have the letters and messages in his possession, for obvious reason. However, I made a copy of everything before I handed them over. He has the originals, or he destroyed them, which would have been the smart action for him to take.”

  “Which brings me back to my question: what did he know about you that you would do as he demanded? Why would you not deliver these to your former mistress?”

  What would it take to distract him from that question? It was becoming tiresome. “Can you not see that there is something more important to be discussed?”

  “Such as? What are you trying to hide?”

  I ignored the last question. Did he expect me just to answer him? “There is the matter of who killed Conrad Ingram. Think about it. Was it someone under his power who could take no more, or someone who knew of Ingram’s work and decided to put an end to it?”

  Shaking his head, Mr. Harper turned away. “Did you not hear what everyone in that crowd was saying? He fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck. It can be construed as an unfortunate accident.”

  “You may think I am an idiot, but I assure you I am not, Mr. Harper. The woman I spoke to earlier said that was how they originally thought he had died. That means his death occurred in a different way,” I said pointedly. “On the surface, it would appear he was killed in the same manner as Jonathan Sinclair. But how did he really die?”

  Visibly, Mr. Harper hesitated. “You should just tell me,” I said, pressing my point. “You
know me well enough by now to realize that I will discover it, however I can. How long before gossip spreads and all kinds of things are being said?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do realize that,” he replied with reluctance. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But what I don’t think you realize, Miss Nelson, is that you are playing a dangerous game. Those who were traitors in the war are anxious to cover their steps. They are eliminating anyone who could give them away.”

  “I do understand that.” I couldn’t keep my impatience out of my voice. “It’s why Bridge was killed in London and why Conrad Ingram is dead now. They both knew too much.”

  “And yet you keep asking questions. You’re drawing attention to yourself in trying to clear the Sinclair name. What do you think will happen once these ruthless men think you know too much? Do you think they will just let you go? Because you are a woman?”

  I actually hadn’t imagined I would be viewed as a threat. Something of my thoughts must have been on my face. Mr. Harper stepped forward and grabbed my shoulders. “You have to stop,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “You must see that. There is no point in you endangering yourself.”

  “What will stopping now do for me?” I asked softly. “If what you’re saying is true, I have already been noticed. Regardless of what I do next, they will already think I know too much. Won’t they? It is too late to halt in the middle.”

  “Then, go somewhere safe. Let them forget about you.”

  “Where would possibly be safe? If these men are as dangerous and ruthless as you imagine, where do you imagine I would be safe from them? Why would they just forget me if I am a threat to them as you claim?”

  In his eyes, I saw his expression change. “You mentioned an aunt. Can you not visit her?”

  “For the rest of my life?” That was the most likely prospect for me, but he didn’t know that. “What kind of future would that be? I would always live in fear, wondering if the next stranger I see was searching for me. No, I would much prefer to carry on as before.”

  “And ignore the danger you’re putting yourself in? That’s not any better.”

 

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