February 8, 1889 Evening #2
“Underneath the trappings of polite society, there is a calculated ruthlessness,” he said.
“For instance, one could describe the conversations here as idle gossip or one could liken it to a type of reconnaissance. The socialites who know the most are the most dangerous, and there is a strategy in knowing when to speak and when to remain silent.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way,” Mira said.
Silas clapped Bertie on the shoulder. “And there’s always the rivalry that comes from pursuing the same debutante, eh?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.” Bertie’s demeanor chilled and he stepped away from Silas. “If you’ll excuse me.” He gave a short bow and left the group.
“An odd duck, that one,” Silas said.
“He hasn’t been the same since his brother died,” Maureen said with a sigh. “Killed in the war last year, poor man.”
“Yes, quite sad,” Silas said, pulling out his pocket watch. “I think I’ll pop out for a bit of fresh air, if you ladies don’t mind. It’s getting a bit stuffy in here.”
The room was warm, although less so now that the numbers had dwindled some. It appeared the families with younger children had left.
“Oh, of course. Please do,” Maureen said.
Silas tucked his watch away and left their company.
“He’s so interesting,” Maureen said. “I can’t imagine why Theresia doesn’t like him.”
“You mean, in a courting sense or generally?” Mira asked.
“Both. I mean, if you don’t like someone generally, how would you ever withstand a courtship with them? Of course, I’ve never been courted myself, and likely never will, so who am I to say anything.”
“Don’t say that. You’re not even twenty yet.”
“Oh, I don’t mean because of my age or looks or anything like that. No. I simply don’t think Admiral Hoddle is over-keen on my meeting any eligible men.”
“Why do you say that?” Mira lowered her voice. “He isn’t misusing your estate, is he?”
“Heavens, no. He doesn’t have any real access to the trust at all.
That’s all handled by my father’s solicitor.
No, it’s just a feeling I get whenever we talk about my getting married or moving.
I think he may just be attached to my aunt’s house here in Bath.
Which is strange, since he’s only been living there a month or so. ”
“That reminds me,” Mira said. “I had meant to ask you to introduce him to me.”
“I’d be happy to.” Maureen linked her arm with Mira’s and looked about the room. “I’m not sure where I saw him last.”
“He was near the fireplace earlier.”
“Oh, that’s right. On his third whiskey, if I remember correctly. He’s not there now.” Maureen picked up a plate from the table. “Perhaps we should bring him a peace offering.”
They took a few minutes to sample and comment on the refreshments before making their way around the room. They passed Theresia and the Risewells as they walked.
“Why do you think she dislikes him?”
“Who?” Maureen asked.
“Theresia and Silas. You said it was a general dislike. I wondered why.”
“Clash of personalities, I suppose. Although, I think I already told you that Theresia doesn’t really like any of her suitors. We aren’t close enough for me to ask why, and even if we were, I don’t know if she’d tell me.”
They searched the whole ballroom, passing in and out of conversations with no sign of Admiral Hoddle. After the better part of an hour, Maureen said, “Does it seem to you that there aren’t quite so many people as before?”
Mira glanced about the room. Sure enough, the numbers had dwindled significantly. Only about thirty or so people left and Admiral Hoddle wasn’t among them.
“It is getting late,” Mira said.
“Not for the Risewells. They keep all hours. There’s a side door along that hall there, maybe Hoddle went out on the veranda,” Maureen said, pulling Mira along.
The hallway was dimmer than the ballroom, which surprised Mira as it was lined with windows on the west side and the moon was half full. It was also quite a bit colder. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eleven.
“I do hope he hasn’t left me here. I didn’t think the carriage would be coming until after midnight.”
“If he has, there’s enough room in ours.”
Maureen opened the side door and a chill wind rushed around them, sharp bits of ice stinging their cheeks. A heavy snowfall was descending, with several inches already on the ground. Mira helped Maureen push the door closed again.
“I certainly hope Admiral Hoddle didn’t go out in that,” Mira said.
They returned to the ballroom and found Byron, Walker, and the Renaldis standing together.
“Why, Liza Renaldi!” Maureen said. “It is so good to see you.”
“You as well,” Liza said, giving Maureen a hug. “I haven’t seen you since your—”
“Yes. I know,” Maureen said, too quickly.
Mira shared a glance with Byron. She’d have to ask Liza what she knew about Miss Harris, but now was not the time. Instead, she covered for Maureen. “Have you seen the snow?”
Byron nodded. “Someone noticed it worsening about thirty minutes ago, hence the mass exodus. I only heard about it five minutes ago, but with the way it is coming down, I doubt anyone got ahead of it.”
“I hope no one gets stuck on the road,” Liza said. “That would be dreadful.”
“Did the Admiral go too?” Maureen asked.
“I haven’t seen him since ten or so,” Byron said.
The Sherards joined their group, Mrs. Sherard looking particularly drawn.
“Mamma, do you need to sit down?” Byron asked, coming to her side.
“No, no. I need you to hire another carriage,” Mrs. Sherard said.
Byron frowned.
Mary said, “Benson has informed us that the carriage became stuck in the mud as he brought it around. When he and one of the staff here tried to free it, the horses moved too fast and the axle snapped.”
“Which is why we must call for another carriage. If we are going to leave, we ought to do so in short order,” Mrs. Sherard said.
“Mamma, the weather is bad enough, I don’t think it would be wise for us to travel, regardless of the carriage.” Byron said.
“I agree,” Mary said. “It wouldn’t do for you to catch your death of cold. And how are we to hire a carriage all the way out here?”
Mr. Risewell approached. “I am so sorry for the inconvenience.”
“You couldn’t have foreseen the weather changing so abruptly,” Mrs. Sherard said.
“If I had known an hour ago how much it would snow, I never would have let anyone attempt the journey.” Mr. Risewell said.
“I have already informed my staff that our guests will be staying the night. I’m afraid we only have six extra rooms, but if everyone is game, I think we’ll manage.
” After a moment, he added, with a laugh, “And if the weather clears up well enough, we might even have a good hunt tomorrow! Just give us a few minutes to sort things out, and in the meantime, if you can divide yourselves into proper sleeping arrangements, I’d be much obliged. ”
Mira looked at the remaining group: Dr. Turpin and his wife were there, Bertie Corbet stood off on his own, and there was Admiral Hoddle. She hadn’t seen him come in. She nudged Maureen.
“I think, considering the circumstances, the introduction can wait until tomorrow,” she said.
“Oh yes, that’s probably best.”
***
Mira hoped that the accommodations would allow her to glean information one-on-one from Theresia, Maureen, or Liza. Unfortunately, due to the lack of rooms, she wouldn’t have the opportunity.
“It was incredibly generous of the Risewells to put us up like this,” Liza said, running her fingers through her hair.
“Oh, they couldn’t very well throw us into the storm,” Maureen said.
A knock came at the door and Mira stood to open it. The same footman that had gestured them into the ballroom stood there with a stack of clothes in his hands.
“Miss Risewell asked for these to be sent over,” he said, his head turned to the side.
Something about his voice was vaguely familiar. He was fairly short and stocky, but in the dim light it was difficult to see his face. “Thank you,” she said, stepping aside. “Can you put them on the dresser, please?”
He seemed surprised, hesitating for a moment before entering. A gas lamp was on the wall above the door and as he passed beneath it Mira caught sight of a small scar on his cheek.
“What was your name?” she asked, hoping to hear more of his voice.
“Fitzwilliam, miss,” he said, still avoiding her gaze.
She nodded. “You don’t happen to know where my brother’s room is, do you?”
“Brother, miss?”
“Walker Blayse. I believe he’s with two other gentlemen.”
“Oh, yes, miss. He’s in the blue room. On the far end of this landing with Mr. Constantine and Mr. Sherard. Would you like me to take you to him?”
“No, that’s alright,” Mira said. “I just wanted to know. Thank you, Fitzwilliam.”
The footman nodded and left the room. Mira drummed her fingers on the top of the dresser.
“What was that about?” Liza asked. “You already knew which room was Walker’s.”
“I was just testing something,” Mira said.
Maureen paused in braiding her hair. “Your Mr. Sherard must really bear a resemblance to this Constantine fellow. First Bertie and then the footman? Any chance they are secretly twins?”
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Mira said, changing into the borrowed nightclothes and wrapping herself in a dressing gown. The more she thought about it, the more she was certain that her hypothesis was correct. Though she didn’t want to give anything away to the footman.
After fifteen minutes of idle conversation, she cited a need for the WC and left their room, heading for the blue room. She tiptoed across the carpet, hoping that the footman wasn’t keeping an ear out.
She knocked on the door and Castel opened it, his brow furrowing.
“Dare I ask what you are doing here in such a state?”
Mira’s cheeks burned. “It is perfectly acceptable for this time of night. May I come in?”
“Who is it?” Walker called from inside the room.
“Your sister, who I hope is here for you and not my brother.”
“May I come in?” Mira repeated.
Castel stood aside, and Mira stepped in. Walker sat on the edge of the bed. Byron looked up from where he was writing at the desk, his hair rumpled and shirt half unbuttoned. He left his writing, evidently not noticing his own state of undress. Castel closed the door behind her.
Before anyone could ask her what was wrong, she asked, “Did you notice the footman?”
Byron frowned. “Which one?”
“The one helping us with our rooms. I recognized him. I’m almost positive that he’s Charles Montague.”
Byron’s frown deepened. “I’m afraid I’m a bit fuzzy on that name.”
Walker spoke up. “Wasn’t he the one you met with in Reading?”
“Yes. Monty.”
“The thief.” Byron’s eyes sparkled.
“Reading?” Castel said. “This wasn’t that business with the sheep, was it?”
“You heard about that?” Byron asked.
Castel shrugged. “I keep in touch with Wensley. How else am I to know anything about your work?”
“But don’t you see,” Mira said, “if he’s here, then he must be involved with the thefts.”
“We don’t know that for certain.” Byron tapped his finger on his chin. “And we don’t know for certain if it is Monty.”
“He referred to you as Mr. Constantine, even though I didn’t mention you at all, and he has a scar on his cheek.”
“From the parrot,” Byron said, clicking his tongue. “Does he know that you recognized him?”
“I don’t think so. I tried to be discreet.”
“In some aspects, certainly,” Castel said, tone dry.
“That was quick thinking on your part,” Byron said, ignoring his brother and opening the door again. “You’d best get back before anyone notices. We can question him tomorrow.”