February 9, 1889 Early Morning
Wynmar Park sat at the top of a hill with a gradual incline on the east side and a steep drop on the west. The Rose Room, where Mira, Liza, and Maureen had been put up, had a view of the fields beyond the drop.
The snow had let up during the night, leaving a pristine blanket of white all the way to a line of trees at the far end of the property.
Mira sat in the window seat and looked out over the quiet, winter morning. The other women were still asleep.
She traced the edge of each window pane, the cold seeping into her fingertips.
Dark horses with red-clad riders moved across the snow towards the woods.
Dogs ran beside them. It seemed Mr. Risewell had his hunting party after all.
She had heard some movement in the house—that was what had woken her.
She knew she probably ought to be thinking over the case.
If Byron had gone on the hunt, when would they confront Monty and what questions would they ask?
Had the Risewells brought their footman with them to the dinner party at the Royal Crescent?
Was he the accomplice who unlocked the window in Mrs. Sherard’s room?
No matter how much she tried to focus on the case, her thoughts kept returning to Byron and his family.
On her first meeting with Castel Sherard, she found him cold, disagreeable, and calculating.
He certainly placed a greater importance on status, hierarchy, and propriety than even her uncle did.
But he seemed to truly care about his brother, despite the age difference between them and despite Castel’s clear disdain for Byron’s career choice.
When they had spoken at Sutherland’s party all those months ago, she could tell he held real guilt over Byron’s memory loss.
He felt as if it were his fault for bringing the case to him.
At this point, it seemed as if they were on friendlier terms.
If Castel was cold on their first meeting, his sister, Mary, was frigid and openly hostile.
Mira closed her eyes, letting her head fall against the window frame, as the memory of their first meeting, less than a week ago, flooded her mind again.
Why had she been so careless? She wasn’t sure how she would ever overcome that embarrassing first impression.
It shouldn’t matter. Byron loved her. He was willing to give it all up, and she loved him for it. But she didn’t want to force him to choose.
And then, there was Byron’s mother. Mira didn’t know what to think of Mrs. Sherard.
She held the same tenets as her two eldest children when it came to status and family standing.
And yet, Mira felt as if something had shifted when they spoke in the garden about Byron’s name.
Some warmth had shone through for a moment before that icy exterior slid into place.
Why would a mother hide her warmth from her own children?
Or had Mira imagined the warmth, hoping for some maternal connection that wasn’t there at all?
A knock sounded at the door, rousing Liza and Maureen from their slumber. Mira opened the door. This time it was Theresia Risewell, laden with more clothes.
“My apologies,” she said. “I didn’t realize you weren’t all up.”
“I’ve been up for nearly an hour,” Mira said, opening the door farther so that Theresia could come in.
Liza pulled a blanket around her shoulders. “It’s no bother.”
Maureen stifled a yawn. “Has the snow stopped?”
Theresia nodded, setting the clothes on the bed. “Most of the men have headed out to hunt. I thought we could have some breakfast and then walk to the bottom of the ridge to meet them when they return.”
“Did Mr. Blayse go?” Liza asked. When Theresia nodded again, Liza said, “Oh, I’ve always wondered what he would look like in hunting pinks.”
“All the men went, except for Admiral Hoddle,” Theresia elaborated. “He couldn’t be roused this morning.”
“I’m not surprised,” Maureen said. “He never was an early riser, especially after a party.”
***
After breakfast, the walking company set out along the snowy paths.
They took a long route down a switchback to the west of the estate in order to avoid the steeper sections.
A few flurries flew around them, but it was pleasant enough.
The group was comprised of Mira, Liza, Maureen, Theresia, and Aunt Eleanor who insisted on coming as soon as she discovered their object.
“So many young men, all with their blood up after a hunt,” Aunt Eleanor muttered under her breath, though Mira was certain she wasn’t the only one who heard it. Eleanor said a bit louder, “And to drag an old woman through the chill and snow.”
“You didn’t have to come,” Liza said. “You could have stayed up at the house with my mother.”
“It isn’t right for you young ladies to be unaccompanied.”
They came to the base of the hill with the steep slope to their right and continued down the path, boots crunching over the snow.
Mira increased her pace so she could walk next to Theresia.
She wasn’t exactly certain how to ask the question she wanted in a way that wouldn’t cause suspicion.
If the Risewells were working with the thieves, it wouldn’t do to put them on their guard.
But she was so curious about that bit of gossip she overheard the night before, and, if Byron was questioning Mr. Risewell during the hunt, she ought to do her part.
“I heard that your family leases this estate every year, is that right?”
Theresia inclined her head. “My father is an avid hunter, as you probably noticed, but we don’t have the land to raise birds and deer and still have enough pasture for the horses.
We split our time between our home outside of London in the summer and here in the winter.
The Estfields have an annual holiday, and my father doesn’t have to maintain the game. ”
“That’s reasonable enough. Does Wynmar take much upkeep, then?”
“Oh, not really. The Estfields leave their gardeners and stewards.”
“Then you really only have to worry about the manor staff. And I’m sure you bring your staff with you from London, so that isn’t much of a change.”
“Oh, no. We always hire most of the staff here new each winter. My father prefers the house in London to remain open while we’re gone.
You see, he returns to London a few times during the winter to check on his business assets.
We only bring our grooms along to take care of the horses.
I wouldn’t trust my horse, Verona, with anyone else. ”
“That’s funny,” Maureen said. “I’ve heard tell that you brought gardeners with you.”
Theresia laughed. “People fixate on the strangest things, don’t they? Mr. Sharpe was our gardener years ago, but he proved to do better with horses than horticulture. And he’s an excellent gamekeeper too.”
They came around a bend and Mira froze in place. There, up ahead, was a dark mass just off the path.
“What is that?” Maureen asked, her voice shaky.
“I think it’s a body,” Mira said, picking up her skirts. “I say!” she called as she approached, praying that whoever it was was still alive.
There was no answer, and as she came closer she discovered it was the body of a man, face down and half covered in snow.
She swallowed and crouched beside him, turning him over. His face was blue with cold, cloudy eyes staring at the grey sky, blood coating his forehead and coloring the snow beneath him.
Maureen screamed, taking several steps back. “No. Not again. No.”
“Why...” Theresia said. “That’s Silas.”
Hands shaky, Mira removed one of her gloves, pushed the collar of his coat back, and pressed her fingers to his neck.
Nothing.
Her heart and mind were racing. Was it murder?
An accident? Suicide? She looked up the side of the slope.
If he had fallen, whatever the cause, the snow had covered any mark of his descent.
There were no other footprints aside from theirs.
Theresia was frozen beside her. Aunt Eleanor had a hand over her mouth in a state of shock.
Maureen was pale as a sheet, staring at the blood in the snow.
Liza put her arm around her. “Shh. It’s going to be all right.”
“There’s so much blood,” Maureen cried.
Mira took off her coat, draping it over the body to hide it from view. “Liza, will you and your aunt take Miss Harris back to the house?”
“Of course. Come along, Maureen. We’ll get some tea made for everyone.”
“But . . . the blood.”
“I know. You’ll be all right.”
Mira turned to Theresia. “Miss Risewell, did Dr. Turpin join the hunt this morning?”
“Y-yes. He did.”
“Do you think you—” she stopped mid-sentence. She was going to ask if Theresia would be up to fetching the doctor and Byron from the hunt, but the poor woman was shaking like a leaf. “Would you mind if I borrowed your horse?”
Theresia shook her head, pointing. “The stables are on the north side. T-there’s a path up ahead.”
“Good. Does Wynmar have a telephone?”
“In the study.”
“Go and call the police, then. Even if it is an accident, they will want to make sure.”
Theresia dragged her gaze away from Silas for the first time since they discovered the body and locked eyes with Mira. After a moment she took a sharp breath and turned, hurrying after the other women.
Mira hated to leave the body, but she needed to fetch Byron and the doctor. She turned in the opposite direction, running towards the path Theresia had pointed out.
As she rounded the bend she ran headlong into Admiral Hoddle. He stabilized them both with hands on her shoulders, sideburns thick with snowflakes, as if he had been outside for some time.
“Why, my dear girl, what’s happened?” he asked, voice lilting and warm. “You’ll catch a chill running in such a state!”