February 8, 1889 Morning #2
She stood, handed the cane back to Mrs. Sherard and rubbed the dirt from her hand with a handkerchief. “Thank you. You don’t happen to remember making these holes with your cane, do you?”
“No. I haven’t been in this courtyard since early January, and it has rained some since then.”
Silence settled between the two of them and Mira wasn’t sure what to do with it. The garden was quiet, with the exception of a few birds chittering away as they feasted at a porcelain bird feeder.
“There is something I’ve always wondered, if you don’t mind me asking,” Mira said, testing the waters.
Mrs. Sherard inclined her head, but didn’t look in Mira’s direction. She took that as invitation to continue.
“You named him Byron Ambrose Sherard, with Byron as the first name. Yet you all call him Ambrose. I know it’s a family name, but then, why not use Ambrose as the first given name?”
Mrs. Sherard smiled a little, her gaze growing distant and unfocused. “When I was a girl, I loved to read poetry. Lord Byron was a particular favorite of mine. As I grew older, I thought it would make a fine name for a son. Little did I know, I would marry a reverend.”
Mira was surprised at the warmth in her voice and her candor. It didn’t match her earlier demeanor whatsoever. She was so forthright.
“My husband didn’t care much for Lord Byron.
Said he was overdramatic and his lifestyle scandalous.
I suppose that was true, but his poetry was beautiful, and he died a hero in Greece.
After Castel, Philip, and Simon, rest his soul, then Ralph, all family names, my husband agreed that if we had another son, I could name him Byron.
When the time came, he wasn’t as agreeable to the idea, so we compromised.
His middle name would be Ambrose, after the saint, and we called him that. ”
“You mean, Ambrose isn’t a family name at all?” Mira asked.
Mrs. Sherard shook her head. “Whenever someone would ask, we would say it was. All the rest of the boys were named from the ancestral line.”
Byron, Castel, and Mary were making the trek back across the lawn. Mira lowered her voice.
“Does he know?”
Mrs. Sherard glanced her way for the first time, a twinkle in her eye. “I’m not sure that he does.”
Once her children were within hearing distance, it was as if a wall came up between them again.
“The shed was unlocked,” Byron said, and Mira couldn’t help but make the comparison between him and the famous poet. Perhaps not quite so brooding, but certainly as handsome. “Did you find anything else here?”
Mira pointed out the holes on either side of the door. “I’m not sure if these are related, but they are too uniform to have happened accidentally.”
Byron crouched to the ground. “I’d agree. If I’m not mistaken, these holes were made by a couple stakes, driven into the ground, likely with a wire across them.”
“Why would the gardener do that?” Mary asked.
Byron looked up at his sister. “The gardener didn’t. The thieves did, to ensure their escape should anyone in the house notice them. Tripwires.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Castel said. “The burglaries at Bournemouth and Ascot last month used the same method.”
Byron stood, stretching his back. “I really ought to find time to catch up on my newspapers. What was stolen in those cases?”
“Jewelry,” Castel said. “I only paid attention to it because the first happened to the Austrian-Hungarian ambassador and the second to the Secretary of American Legation. The Foreign Office likes to keep track of those sorts of things. Almost ten thousand pounds worth of jewels between the two of them.”
Byron whistled. “That is quite a sum.”
“Could the burglaries be connected?” Mary asked.
“It’s possible,” Byron said. “You mentioned on Monday that there had been more burglaries here in Bath, yes?”
“Three. One being within our circle. The Meredeths had a necklace stolen a week before our robbery,” Mary said.
“Shall we take the conversation inside?” Mrs. Sherard stated, already moving.
Once they were seated in the parlor again, Byron said to Mira, “You seem to be deep in thought. What’s your view?”
The whole company of Sherards turned to her and her stomach twisted.
“The window bothers me,” she said, trying to focus only on Byron.
“If we extrapolate from the discernible facts, the thieves set up a wire to trip anyone, should they be discovered. They borrowed a ladder from the shed and accessed the window with it. But the latch is on the inside. The thief wouldn’t have been able to pick the lock and the window wasn’t forced.
” She straightened her shoulders, finally looking at the rest of the family.
“So someone had to have unlocked it from the inside.”
“I’ve been wondering that too.” Byron pulled out his notebook and flipped to a new page. “Did any of your guests leave the group at any time?”
“Surely you aren’t suggesting that it’s someone in our circle,” Mary said, incredulous.
“We can’t rule anything out yet,” Byron said, raising an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Mrs. Risewell and Miss Risewell both left to freshen up between courses,” Mrs. Sherard said. “And Miss Harris stepped outside for some air before joining the ladies in the drawing room.”
Castel frowned. “Admiral Hoddle asked for directions to the WC after the women left the dining room.”
Byron hummed. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.” He looked up at Mira. “We’ll need to make some inquiries.” After a disapproving look from his sister, he said, “Discreetly, of course.”
Mrs. Sherard stood and pulled a cord near the fireplace. A faint ringing sounded, and a few moments later, the butler appeared.
“Greerson, I need you to send a note to the Risewells asking if they might allow for some additional guests for the ball this evening.” She turned to Mira. “How many were in your party with the Renaldis?”
Mira blinked. “One gentleman and four ladies, counting myself.”
Mrs. Sherard nodded, speaking to Greerson again. “You’ll want to verify that Ambrose is invited as well. Send one of the footmen in the carriage and make sure that he doesn’t return without the response.”
“Yes, madam,” Greerson said, leaving the room.
“There. That’s settled,” Mrs. Sherard said. “You best let your friends know, Miss Blayse, as I doubt the Risewells will refuse.”