'Twas the Night Before Scandal (The May Flowers Book 8)

by Merry Farmer

  Sister Constance didn’t seem as certain. “That’s enough cheek out of you, young man.”

  “I’m not cheeky.” Burt bristled, assuming an air of superiority that he’d probably learned through observing all of the well-born helpers Bianca had enlisted.

  “You are so,” John said, ruffling the boy’s hair.

  Burt laughed. “Well, if I am, it’s because it’s fun.”

  “Christmas is not a time for fun,” Sister Constance insisted. “It is a time for reflection about the redemption of the world.”

  “It is?” Burt blinked, as though it was news to him.

  “Scamp,” John laughed.

  “Go on with you, boy.” Sister Constance sniffed. “You’ve led these gentlemen to our door, and now you can go on your way.”

  “Could I have a bit of a pop into the kitchens before I go, sister?” Burt asked.

  Sister Constance sighed, shook her head, and gestured for Burt to head on deeper into the orphanage. She shook her head again once he was gone.

  Harrison couldn’t help but smile and wonder if Sister Constance’s bad humor was all for show. “We cannot thank you enough for letting us drop in like this,” he said. “This is our last hope for finding the ring I’ve lost.”

  Sister Constance hummed and crossed her arms, staring down her nose at him as though he had been woefully irresponsible to lose something so valuable. Harrison had the feeling his grandmother would look at him the same way if she knew.

  “I’m afraid the sanctuary is a bit of a jumble at the moment,” Sister Constance said as she led them down a long and drafty hall. “Between the wealth of donations we receive at this time of year and preparations for our own, solemn observations of Christ’s birth, things are a bit up in the air.”

  Harrison wondered what the nun’s definition of up in the air was. As far as he could see, the building that housed the Sisters of Perpetual Sorrow and their charges lived up to its name in every way. The walls were drab stone with very little adornment. The rooms that he and John passed and were able to look into had only the most meager fires in their grates. Boys and girls in grey uniforms hunched over their schoolwork, even though it was the day before Christmas Eve, or stood reciting bits of scriptures to the young novices who had been put in charge of them. There were very few glimpses of color, which depressed Harrison’s spirits more than they were already depressed. All in all, Sister Constance’s orphanage was a stark contrast to the warmth and happiness of Mr. Siddel’s establishment.

  “Here you are, my lords.” Sister Constance stopped just inside of a mid-sized chapel at the end of the long hallway. It looked as though the chapel were a much earlier structure than the rest of the building, as if the orphanage had been tacked onto a centuries-old church. “You are more than welcome to search for your ring here.”

  “Thank you, sister,” John said with a solemn bow. As soon as Sister Constance left them to their search, John cracked into a grin. “Can you imagine the sort of life a child would have in a place like this?”

  “At least the ones we saw looked well-fed and warm,” Harrison replied with a sigh, glancing around.

  The chapel was as much of a jumble as Sister Constance implied it would be. Several of the pews at the back of the room were stacked with crates and baskets of donations that looked like those that had been given at the hall in Clerkenwell. But there were other boxes and sacks of things piled at the front of the room. In addition to that, several movable racks of clothing lined the edges of the room where various alcoves for stations of the cross stood. Beyond that, there were building supplies in one corner of the room, and a rather rickety scaffolding appeared to be holding up a section of the roof.

  “Well, I suppose the only way to find the ring is to start looking,” Harrison said with a sigh.

  They headed to the first row of pews holding donations and started their search. As impressed as Harrison was with the generosity of those who had given to Bianca’s cause, shifting through crates of books and old clothes left him with even more of a sense of urgency.

  “I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t find it,” he said, half to himself.

  “You’ll do what you have to do,” John told him from the pew across the aisle as he searched himself. “You’ll do what any man does when they find themselves in a particular situation like this.”

  Harrison glanced up from the basket he was rifling through to find John grinning at him like a fool. He matched that grin with a wry look of his own. “And I suppose you would do the same thing if you found yourself in a similar position?”

  “Ah,” John replied. “But I would never find myself in that position, because I would never be so silly as to find myself in love.”

  A small thump sounded from the corner of the room near the door. Harrison glanced casually in that direction, but the doorway was empty. All he saw was one of the racks of clothing and a pile of crates that were stacked nearly to the ceiling beside it. For the briefest of moments he thought that he saw a flicker of movement, but he chalked it up to the draft that ran through the building blowing some of the hanging clothes.

  “Come off it,” he continued, shaking his head at John as he moved on to the next pew and the items it contained. “You’re even more in love than I am, if such a thing is possible.”

  “Ha!” John barked, stepping into his next pew as well. “No one could possibly be as deeply in love as you are.”

  “Oh, no?” It was Harrison’s turn to laugh. “Spare me. You’ve been dancing around Diana since Reese’s house party last year.”

  “Dancing around someone is not the same as being madly in love with them,” John said. He abandoned the crates in his pew and strode up to the front of the chapel to see what was waiting there.

  Harrison sorted through a basket at the end of his pew, and when he found nothing, he gave up with a sigh and move up the aisle to join John near the chancel. “You can pretend all you like, but you and Diana flirt shamelessly at every opportunity.”

  “That’s not flirting,” John chuckled. “If I was going to flirt with Diana, you would know it.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Harrison thought he spotted another bit of movement. But when he turned to the side aisle, once again, he saw nothing but the clutter that packed the alcoves. He might have heard something that sounded like whispering, but as likely as not, it was mice. Churches were full of them, after all.

  “If what you and Diana are engaged in isn’t a flirtation of the highest order,” he went on, turning his attention back to the work at hand, “then I don’t know what flirtation is.”

  “You said it, not me,” John laughed.

  “Ah, but I most certainly do know what flirtation is,” Harrison went on, a bit wistfully. “I only wish there were more I could do with Bea at the moment than flirt with her.”

  “Nothing is stopping you from making your grand declaration—oh! Is this it?”

  Harrison abandoned the sack of old shoes he was searching through to join John on the other side of the aisle. Again, he could have sworn he heard a thump or clatter of some sort, but when he looked over his shoulder, nothing was there.

  He turned his attention to the box of sundries John had uncovered in an old suitcase that had been left at the edge of the pew. It contained several ring boxes, but it was clear at a glance that none of them were the one containing his great-grandmother’s ring.

  “What on earth is this?” he asked, leaning closer to John as he reached for a bright red velvet ring box. He opened it, only to find it was empty.

  “Can you imagine the monstrosity this must have contained?” John asked. “Red velvet.” He snorted. “I mean, really.” He took the box from Harrison and leaned in closer. “Only a bit or bauble given by a man to his mistress should be housed in red velvet.”

  Harrison cleared his throat, his face heating. They were in a bloody church. They shouldn’t have been discussing things like mistresses or gifting them with gems mere yards away fr
om the Holy Bible. Because of that, he hunched closer to John, almost as though the two of them were engaged in some sort of conspiracy, and whispered, “Not in church, John. Besides, I thought you looked down on men who kept mistresses.”

  “I do,” John said, playing along and whispering as though they were naughty schoolboys. “But I also recognize that these things happen.”

  A creak sounded from the opposite end of the room that had Harrison flinching back, as though they’d been caught. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched, but when he glanced around, the chapel was exactly as it had been before. The only thing he could figure had caused the creak was the scaffolding supporting the section of the roof.

  “Do you suppose this is safe?” he asked, stepping away from John and moving to examine the structure.

  “It looks sound enough.” John followed him.

  Harrison stared up at the ceiling, then went so far as to climb a few rungs of the scaffolding to make certain the whole thing was in good shape. As far as he could see, there was a door of some sort in the ceiling that was tightly closed. He figured it had been used at some point in the church’s history to climb out onto the roof in order to clean or chase away birds. Perhaps there had even been a belfry on the other side. Either way, the trapdoor was securely fastened with a latch.

  “It looks fine,” he said as he climbed back down the scaffold to resume his search. John followed him back to the pew with the collection of ring boxes. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I wonder if the scaffolding is there because they plan to seal the door.”

  “Who knows?” John shrugged and the two of them got back to work.

  A few minutes later, Burt skittered into the chapel, glancing over his shoulder as if someone were chasing him.

  “And what are you up to, lad?” John asked with a grin.

  Burt stopped so suddenly that he nearly fell over. “I didn’t see you in here, my lord,” he said, his face going pink.

  “Well, as long as you’re here, why don’t you make yourself useful and help us search,” John said.

  “Um.” Burt jerked this way and that, either looking for whoever he thought was chasing him or for an excuse to get out of doing work. His eyes alighted on the scaffolding in the corner, and his expression flickered to a grin. “All right, my lord. If you insist.”

  “I do,” John said.

  Burt ambled his way up the center aisle, hands in his pockets—which seemed to be filled with something, though Harrison could only imagine what it was—until he reached the chancel. “Maybe it fell up here,” he said, climbing up a few steps and turning in a circle as he looked up at the ceiling.

  Harrison ignored the boy. He had always been eager to get out of work whenever possible at that age himself. But at the moment, he was highly motivated to do the work in front of him.

  Only, within a few more moments, it was clear that the ring wasn’t there.

  He straightened, huffing a sigh. “If only—”

  His words were cut off by a clatter near the chancel. He and John both whipped around to see what it was, but again, eerily, it was nothing. Burt, too, looked startled from where he was perched halfway up the scaffold.

  Harrison cleared his throat and turned to John. “If only I had gone straight home after visiting Grandmama the other day. I could have avoided this whole thing.”

  “You were eager to help out with the cause,” John said, shrugging and giving up his own search. “And, I suspect, you were eager to see your sweetheart again.”

  “I probably was.” Harrison let out a breath and pushed a hand through his hair. “That’s the last time I do something impulsive. It’s not worth the risk. I should have known better.”

  “Everything will work out for the best,” John said, thumping his back and starting up the aisle to the back of the chapel. “You’ll see.” They made it halfway to the back of the church before John glanced over his shoulder and called, “Burt, are you coming?”

  “Yes, my lord. Right away, my lord.” Burt scrambled down from the scaffolding and dashed down the aisle to join Harrison and John, all arms and legs.

  “What were you doing up there anyhow?” John asked as they exited the chapel.

  “Getting a better view, my lord,” Burt said, mischief in his eyes. “Ain’t that what they always say to do? When you can’t figure something out up close, take a step back and get a better view?”

  “You’re absolutely right,” John said, thumping Burt’s back. “You hear that, Harrison? We have a philosopher here. If things seem bleak up close, take a step back and reassess the situation.”

  Harrison laughed and shook his head, though he didn’t see how stepping back from a missing ring and his undying love for Bea was going to help anything. What he needed to do next was face the problem head-on and propose like he should have all along, whether it was the stuff the poets wrote about or not. Otherwise, he ran the risk of letting Bea, and his life, get away from him.

  Chapter 7

  “Ow!” Bea let out the exclamation as Diana trampled on the hem of her dress, then immediately stifled her outburst with a hand to her mouth.

  She and Diana were hunkered behind a rack of old clothes in various states of repair, concealed from view—she hoped—from Harrison and John. The men had yet to notice they’d snuck into the chapel as they picked through the donations. They’d reached the first pew at the front of the room. Bea couldn’t imagine what they were looking for. They didn’t appear to be sorting the donations. From the moment she and Diana had crept into the room, all they seemed to be doing was looking through them, as though they were vegetables at market and the two were deciding what they wanted to have for supper that night.

  “Ssh.” Diana silenced Bea with a wave of her hand, then swayed toward the clothing hanging in front of them. With all of the grace of a burglar, Diana parted the coats, shirts, and bodices to peer out through the donated clothing at the men. “They’re up to something, I just know it.”

  Bea rocked back, sitting on the edge of the stone outcropping that made up part of the alcove behind the rack. “While I will agree that their behavior is suspicious,” she whispered, “I hardly think they’re up to no good.”

  “It’s John,” Diana murmured over her shoulder. “That man is always trouble.”

  Bea pressed her lips together and stared at Diana’s back. She loved her friend like a sister, but Diana most certainly had a blind spot where John was concerned. If she would just loosen up her tight hold of her pride and admit she had feelings for the man, her misery could be resolved.

  Then again, knowing and admitting that she was in love with Harrison hadn’t done Bea a lick of good. Not when she had made a fool out of herself for his sake, and not when she was reasonably certain she stood on the precipice of making a fool of herself again that very moment. She and Diana were poor spies, and Bea was convinced the men would realize they were there at any second.

  Movement near the door to the chapel caught her eye, and Bea turned slightly to see Burt dash into the room.

  “And what are you up to, lad?” Bea heard John ask.

  “I didn’t see you in here, my lord,” Burt answered.

  Bea stood and crept over to the rack of clothes through which Diana was spying.

  “Well, as long as you’re here, why don’t you make yourself useful and help us search,” John said.

  Burt moved forward, though with her limited range of vision behind the curtain of coats, Bea could only assume he went to the chancel instead of actually seeing him.

  “So they are searching for something,” she whispered to Diana.

  “He’s searching for his soul, if he knows what’s good for him,” Diana growled.

  Bea sent her friend a flat look and leaned back. She hooked her hand in the crook of Diana’s arm, pulling her away from her spying as she went. Diana looked livid at being interrupted, but kept her mouth shut. Then again, she didn’t need to speak. Bea could tell just how frustrated she
was by the fury in her eyes.

  “Diana, really,” Bea whispered, sending a quick glance in the direction of the men, even though they were blocked from view. “This vendetta with John has become childish.”

  “He is the one who is childish,” Diana hissed in return, stepping close to Bea so that they could remain as quiet as possible. “Only a man-child would play pranks on unsuspecting orphanages at Christmastime.”

  Bea let out a breath and fought not to roll her eyes. “Are you certain that this fixation with John as a prankster isn’t because you, like me, are desperate for a proposal that has been painfully slow in coming?”

  Diana squeaked in indignation, then clamped her jaw hard and pressed a hand to her mouth. She sent a furious glance in the direction of the men—one that was so sharp it could have cut right through the donated clothes—before glaring at Bea. “I wouldn’t marry John Darrow if he were the last man on earth. Why, he’s arrogant and devilish and…and arrogant, and I would never—”

  A change in the men’s conversation stopped Diana in the middle of her rant. She and Bea rushed back to the rack, doing their best to stay hidden while watching Harrison and John walk up the aisle and out of the chapel. Burt left with them.

  Bea and Diana stayed where they were, bodies tense, holding their breaths, until the sound of the men’s footsteps and their conversation faded into nothing. Once they were well and truly gone, Bea stepped out from behind the clothes and walked toward the front row of pews. She heaved a sigh as she sank into the pew.

  “I should face the fact that he’s never going to propose,” she said. “Clearly, he has far too many important things occupying his mind to bother marrying me.”

  “Now who’s being childish,” Diana said, marching up to her and crossing her arms.

  “I am being the opposite of childish,” Bea said, sitting straighter. “I am facing the truth of a situation that, I fear, I had built up in my mind to be something other than what it is.”