by Cindy Anstey
“And how does that relate to my position as a Runner? I’m not here looking for poachers.”
“Anyone in authority is seen as a threat, Mr. Fraser. A Runner, an officer of the law … he’s dangerous, even if he says he’s trying to solve a murder.”
Jeremy sat up straighter, swallowed in discomfort, and looked at the other customers of the Unicorn and Crown. “But I’m here to investigate a murder, not haul anyone up before a judge because of a brace of hares.”
Unfortunately, Jeremy in his anxiety spoke louder than was necessary, and his voice carried across the room. He sighed deeply when he saw heads turn and the hostile expressions that accompanied the glances.
“They’s not likely to believe you, Mr. Fraser. If I were you, I would not advertise your association with the Runners. It might get you killed.”
CHAPTER THREE
Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
The next morning, Sophia paced the entrance hall while her cousin fetched her bonnet. They were off on an errand: Aunt Hazel had mentioned that a pendant was due to be retrieved from the jeweler, and Daphne had been quick to volunteer their help.
Sophia chewed at her lip as she paced. Daphne had yet to say anything about the matter that had brought Sophia racing to Allenton Park. It left Sophia wondering if her concerns for her cousin’s welfare had been misplaced.
Striding back and forth across the hall, Sophia tried to devise a conversation that would lead to the subject of Andrew’s murder and the concerns Daphne had mentioned in her letters. She spun at the sound of an approach above her and watched as Daphne skipped down the stairs, skirts in hand.
Near the bottom, Daphne’s step hitched and she pitched forward. Without a thought, Sophia rushed to the stairs, catching her cousin as she crashed into the handrail. They landed together in an ungainly heap on the floor, thoroughly mussed but unhurt.
“Are you all right?” Sophia asked, her heart pounding.
Daphne gasped for air, a hand pressed to her bodice. “I think I tripped,” she said needlessly, clambering to her feet and straightening her gown.
Sophia did the same, tugging the bows at her elbows into place. “I have not known you to be clumsy before.”
Daphne’s hand paused halfway across her skirt. “It wasn’t me. I tripped over something.” She turned to look up the stairs.
Just above her, the culprit lay on its side, its head hung over the tread. “There. See, it wasn’t my fault. I tripped over a toy horse.”
Sophia frowned and then leaned closer, slowly reaching to pick up the toy. “Seems a strange place for this. You could have had a bad fall. Broken a limb or cracked your head.”
“True, absolutely true.” Daphne stared at the thing, taking it from Sophia and slowly turning it over, as if mesmerized by it. “It should be in the nursery … Someone could have been seriously hurt if they tripped and didn’t have a cousin to catch them.” Daphne’s complexion became ruddy and her breathing shallow.
“Nothing worthy of concern,” Sophia said quickly. “I’ll mention it to your housekeeper, Mrs. Curtis.”
“Come to think about it, the nursery was cleared out years ago. This must have come from the attic. Why is it on the stairs?” Daphne’s tone was suddenly high and squeaky. “Someone put this toy here deliberately. Only the family uses these stairs. Someone tried to cause an accident!”
Sophia stepped to her cousin’s side, taking her arm, and propelled her toward the door. “Shh,” she murmured. “There is an explanation—a nonlethal explanation. We just need to ferret it out.”
Daphne pulled Sophia to a stop. “Someone just tried to kill me.”
Sophia thought her cousin was being a tad dramatic, but an investigator should not jump to conclusions. “I’m sure there are other possibilities.”
Daphne hesitated, then nodded. “Of course, there are…” She paused, waiting for Sophia to supply all those other possibilities.
“Um…” Sophia hesitated. “The footmen were transporting donations to the church, and the horse fell out of the box. Or perhaps Aunt Hazel offered it to one of the staff’s children … Um … or…”
Daphne shifted, dropping the toy horse on the table by the door. “Or someone tried to hurt me.”
Sophia noticed the substitution of the word “kill.” Daphne clearly saw that stating she had been subject to a murder attempt was a bit excessive. But why would someone wish Daphne permanent harm? Sophia was fairly certain that there would be a logical explanation for the toy being on the stairs; she just hadn’t thought of it yet.
“Let’s not think on it for a few minutes.” She hoped the respite would allow Daphne the time to get her thoughts together.
Sophia took a deep breath of fresh air as soon as they stepped through the door, and watched Daphne do the same. They both needed to find calm in order to think clearly.
“Let’s head into town and fetch the pendant for your mother.”
Distraction was a good way to comfort a witness; Sophia had read the comment in Investigating Murder and Mayhem.
It seemed as good a plan as any.
* * *
“Odd. All very odd,” Daphne said as the front door closed behind them. She hooked her arm through Sophia’s and they started down the drive, matching their paces. All was calm.
And yet, Daphne did not avail herself of the calm. “This past year has been dreadful,” she said before they had taken more than ten steps. “I’m so glad you’re here. I have been living with an all-consuming fear the entire time with no one to talk to.” Daphne’s tone was slightly theatrical. “The murderer is still here. Here, in West Ravenwood. Biding their time, preparing to strike again.” She paused and turned to Sophia, eyes wide with panic.
Had Sophia been of a more susceptible nature, the pronouncement would have caused her great concern. She patted Daphne’s hand to offer comfort. “Tell me why you think so,” she said, trying to adopt a mature, worldly tone.
Sophia gave her cousin’s arm a squeeze and they continued to walk, nodding to the gardener as they passed him trimming the hedges.
“Father said as much to Constable Marley. He insisted that the constable redouble his effort to catch the killer, said time was running out.”
Sophia nodded, agreeing internally that time was indeed of the essence. Memories were fading and the scene of the crime would have altered. Clues would be few and far between, disappearing under the weight of time. Still, to say as much to Daphne would be unkind—her cousin was already in such a state.
“That is rather ambiguous, Daphne. Uncle Edward might have meant that time was running out for the discovery of Andrew’s murderer, not that there would be another victim.”
Daphne furrowed her brow and twisted her mouth. “Yes, I suppose that is true … but we still have cause for concern.” She took a deep breath and swallowed visibly. “Constable Marley came to see Father again yesterday, before you arrived. I didn’t hear what was said as the interview took place behind closed doors in Father’s study … But I could tell they were shouting at each other.”
“Shouting? Uncle Edward?”
“Yes, exactly. Father seldom shouts. I snuck up to the study door for a listen, but Mother caught me and I had to return to the library. And then when the constable was leaving, he yelled back at my father from the entrance hall. Heard him plain as day.”
Sophia waited for Daphne to continue, but apparently she thought her explanation complete. “What did he shout?” she asked, guiding her cousin through the gate and onto the main road.
Daphne blinked and looked around as if suddenly aware of her surroundings. She increased her pace, pulling Sophia into a quickstep. “He said, ‘If you keep it up, you will be arrested.’”
Sophia startled. “Arrested? That is a rather odd threat. Uncle would never break the law; Constable Marley would have no cause to arrest him. A man—particularly a gentleman—cannot be brought before a judge without a valid reason.”
“How do you know that?” Daphne a
sked, tucking a strand of hair under her bonnet ribbon.
“I read it somewhere,” Sophia replied vaguely. She could have been more exact—Chapter Seventeen, page 231 of Investigating Murder and Mayhem—but as much as Daphne knew of Sophia’s interest in detecting, she didn’t really understand.
“So I need not worry that Father will be taken away,” Daphne said, brightening. “Excellent.” She sighed with relief. “We have more than enough to worry about.”
Sophia clamped her mouth shut. Innocent men had been accused before. She would not know if the threat to Uncle Edward was real until she met the constable herself. Most such appointed men were reasonable and clear thinking, but there were others who enjoyed their power a bit too well and liked to throw their weight around.
Sophia let her cousin’s fears settle down for some minutes before asking, “What other worries?”
Daphne stopped walking, pulling Sophia to a standstill with her. “I told you, Sophia. Father’s temper is on edge over the least little thing. Why yesterday, I rode Misty, my thoroughbred mare, through the upper field, and Father berated me in front of William. Really, I only knocked down a row of barley … maybe two. But he scolded me for ten whole minutes! And when I returned from my afternoon stroll about the garden with Miss MacIntyre—my governess—my skirt hem was rather muddy, which is not to be wondered at as it had rained the day before. Still, he blamed Miss MacIntyre and sent her packing! Can you imagine? Seeing my governess off because I got my skirts a little dirty!”
Sophia opened her mouth to respond, but her cousin was not done.
“He’s not quite right, Sophia,” Daphne said, gesturing toward her head. “And I can only say this to you because you are family … I would never say such a thing to someone like … Charlotte. No, Father is not acting like Father. He hides in his study scribbling on paper, muttering to himself.
“And then there is Mother. She’s so easily distracted. We’ll be talking, discussing important matters—such as the color of my next ball gown—and Mother will turn to me and say ‘Would Andrew like a puppy?’ My dead brother! Would my dead brother want a puppy? Really?!” Daphne shook her head vehemently, knocking her bonnet askew. “You see what I have to put up with. And then William snaps at me for singing in the garden—says it disturbs the bees. I can’t do anything right. I can’t say anything right.”
She looked near to crying and Sophia reached out, pulling Daphne in for a cousinly hug.
Squaring her shoulders, Daphne swallowed and then straightened her bonnet. “I have started restricting my conversation. Talking about the weather or what’s for supper. Voicing my opinion on anything gets everyone’s back up and so I say nothing. Well, I might mutter under my breath, or write a letter to you or talk to Charlotte or cry on Miss MacIntyre’s shoulder … which I cannot do anymore.
“And all the while, I keep thinking if only we knew what happened to Andrew. Why he was killed, who killed him. Then we could put him to rest, get on with our lives. Father would stop trying to solve the mystery, Mother could remember she still has another son and a daughter, and William could stop blaming me for everything!” Daphne turned to face the road once more. “Everything,” she whispered, then continued to walk.
Sophia stared after Daphne for a moment before hurrying to catch up. She put her arm through her cousin’s and gave her an affectionate squeeze.
Daphne did not realize that she was acting out of character as well—anxious and troubled. The whole Waverley family was in desperate need to know what had happened to Andrew. And yet, as Sophia strolled down the road toward the market town of West Ravenwood, she found herself momentarily distracted by a simpler question.
Who is Charlotte?
“He was rather handsome,” Daphne suddenly said with great enthusiasm.
Sophia startled, surprised by the abrupt change of subject and mood of her cousin. “Who?”
“The Runner. Dreamy blue eyes.”
“Were they?” Sophia asked. She supposed the young gentleman’s eyes were engaging, his expression approachable … Perhaps that was what Daphne meant by dreamy. But more importantly, the Runner was a Runner! It was most exciting to see a detective in action … well, sort of in action.
Uncle Edward had made short shrift of his arrival, practically giving him a heave-ho out the door. She would have loved to have been there while the Runner had asked his questions. To talk to him about his approach to solving the murder of her cousin nearly a year after Andrew had been killed. There was so much she could have learned, speaking to this officer of Bow Street.
Still, all was not lost. He was not gone but was staying in West Ravenwood, meeting Uncle Edward this afternoon. She would make certain she was nearby during that meeting. But before their meeting, she would talk to Constable Marley and get the unemotional story behind Andrew’s death.
“Is the haberdashery near the jeweler?” Sophia asked.
“Down a block and on the other side of the street. Did you need some fabric or needles?”
Sophia lifted her shoulders in a lackluster shrug. “I wish to talk to the constable about Andrew.” She was not sure what Daphne’s reaction would be. Daphne knew of Sophia’s aspirations to be a detective, but did she really wish for Sophia to investigate her brother’s death, or had she simply wanted a companion with which to commiserate? “Constable Marley runs the haberdashery, I believe.”
“Yes, he does. That is an excellent idea. Perhaps you can help each other solve the mystery, although, Constable Marley has become rather prickly about the subject. We can stop by the haberdashery after we pick up the pendant.” Daphne grabbed Sophia’s hand. “The Runner might be there.”
“Mr. Fraser?”
“Yes, him.”
The sound of an approaching coach sent Sophia and Daphne to the side of the road; they watched it pass and then stepped back onto the gravel. Within a block they had passed the Unicorn and Crown, and Sophia found her thoughts wandering to the intelligent blue eyes of one Mr. Jeremy Fraser.
* * *
The haberdashery was a narrow sewing notions shop squeezed between a dry-goods store and a stationer on the main road. Crowded with wares, a restricted aisle to the back office was where Constable Marley ran the policing of the town. Sophia and Daphne were forced to wait while a sour-faced woman and her daughter finished purchasing a set of colored pencils. Once the girls had maneuvered their way to the back, they stood before a closed door, listening to loud but indistinct voices on the other side. Sophia lifted her hand to knock, hesitant to interrupt.
Suddenly the door was flung open to reveal a large man with jowly cheeks and small eyes. Constable Marley was showing Mr. Fraser out of his office.
“What you fail to realize, young man, is that it is an insult. Yes, an insult. Asking the Bow Street Runners for assistance while I be handling the case is the same as saying that I’m not doing me job!” An angry flush climbed up Constable Marley’s face. “You will have to get your information elsewhere. Mr. Waverley has no business interfering.”
“It is very much his business! What father would not try to discover who had killed their child?”
Constable Marley harrumphed—a raucous clearing of his throat. “That gives him no right to consult the Runners without notifying me!”
Mr. Fraser, who was facing the door, glanced out the opening and met Sophia’s questioning gaze. His expression cleared almost immediately, and he smiled in a way that left Sophia slightly breathless and confused. Then he returned his attention to the constable. “I believe there are others who wish to speak to you, sir.”
The constable whirled around, lifting his lips into a smile—with no true benevolence—in the girls’ general direction. “Young ladies, what can I do for you?” His eyes lit on Daphne with recognition, and he nodded with a modicum of respect.
Sophia took the lead, stepping slightly forward. “Good day, Constable. I am Sophia Thompson, cousin to Miss Waverley. My father and I arrived yesterday at Allenton Park. We,
or rather I, was hoping to discuss the progress of my cousin Andrew’s case. I understand that there has been a development—”
Constable Marley held up his hand, silencing her with a look. “No. I will not discuss this case with you or Mr. Fraser. You can discuss it among yourselves if you like, but I will not participate. I am tired of the whole mess. There are no answers to be had. The only person acting out of order, in a suspicious-like manner, is Mr. Waverley. Sneaking through the underbrush, poking at the shrubberies. And I will not be party to finger-pointing without evidence. I’ve better things to do.”
“But—” Mr. Fraser began.
“Off you go.” The constable shifted out of the doorway. “I’m sure Miss Thompson will be able to fill you in. If not, Miss Waverley will do the job.”
Sophia offered Constable Marley a lackluster smile. “We can hardly walk down the street together, chitchatting as if we had been introduced when, in fact, we haven’t.” She waved her hand in a circle between Daphne, Jeremy, and herself. “Might you do the honors, Constable?”
After chuntering for several moments, the constable did just that. Both parties bowed or curtsied. And then, without so much as a “Have a nice day,” they were escorted out of the store.
Out on the street, Sophia looked at Mr. Fraser with curiosity, ignoring the other pedestrians jostling past. There was nothing about him that declared his association with the famed police force of Bow Street. He wore no uniform, but rather the usual gray jacket and waistcoat of a gentleman; a watch fob hung from his pocket. His expression was kindly, his eyes intelligent, and he projected an air of strength. It was all very reassuring … until he spoke.
“That didn’t go as planned.” Mr. Fraser chewed at the corner of his mouth. “I am as uninformed now as I was when I arrived.” He glanced at the girls, focusing on Daphne. “I don’t wish to be indelicate, Miss Waverley, but would you be willing to discuss the death of your brother? Constable Marley told me Andrew was the victim, but little else.”
