Chapter Fifteen #2
“Her answers on the day did seem to come too easily to her,” he offered, “And when I was riding home yesterday afternoon, I witnessed the death of another crow flying above Long Acres. He has quite some aim, Mr Leek.”
“So good he could shoot a man dead from a distance in the dark,” Sarah was dry.
Lord Deverell watched the couple dance for a moment, his expression troubled. Then he turned back to glance at Sarah, his face relaxed and he broke into a smile.
“I believe this is a tomorrow problem,” he decided, “I’m far too captivated by how beautiful you are to even think of Mr Leek.”
Sarah blushed again and allowed him to lead her back to where her father and the Miffords stood. She pushed Mr Leek from her mind and focused instead on trying to enjoy what was promising to be the most exciting night of her life.
The room was now packed to the gills with villagers who, to Sarah’s romantic mind, had never looked so gay and festive. She stood beside the earl as they conversed with Mary, Mr Mifford, and her father, conscious of the curious glances they drew.
She did not care a fig if people were watching, in fact she couldn’t blame them. In his dark evening suit, with a white cravat at his neck and his dark hair swept back with pomade, Lord Deverell was the most handsome man in the room.
He must have felt her staring, for the earl turned and caught her eye.
“Shall we try for a second dance?” he questioned lightly.
She nodded her assent and allowed him to take her arm to lead her back to the dance-floor.
They danced three more sets together, each more exhilarating than the last. Lord Deverell was such an accomplished partner that Sarah barely noticed her aching feet.
But by the end of the third dance, her cheeks were flushed and her throat dry, so she gladly let Mary drag her toward the refreshment table in search of lemonade.
“I don’t mean to sound like my mother but I do believe that I hear the peel of wedding bells in the distance,” Mary said mischievously, as she handed Sarah a glass.
“Lord Deverell has not mentioned anything at all about marriage,” Sarah protested.
“It’s hard to have a conversation whilst staring lovingly into someone’s eyes,” Mary said sagely, before adding innocently, “Or whilst kissing.”
“Your Grace,” Sarah exclaimed, feigning shock at the idea.
“You were never a good actress, Sarah,” Mary grinned, “Thank heaven you shall soon be a countess.”
Sarah knew that protesting further would only encourage her friend, so she settled for sipping her drink quietly as she gazed around the room.
Many had taken up residence on the benches that lined the dance floor, observing the dancers.
Amongst them, Sarah spotted Mrs Vickery.
Dressed in severe black and wearing an expression to match, the housekeeper looked as though she was attending a funeral rather than an assembly.
Her arms were folded across her chest, and she seemed to be watching the crowd with barely concealed displeasure.
“If she and Mrs Canards did not dislike each other so much, they’d be fast friends,” Mary observed, as she followed the line of Sarah’s gaze.
“Oh, she’s much kinder than Mrs Canards,” Sarah answered, thinking of how the housekeeper had jumped to her father’s defence. “Will you excuse me a moment, I’ll just go say hello.”
She approached the housekeeper cautiously; Mrs Vickery’s granite posture and forbidding scowl did not exactly invite social pleasantries.
“Can I help you, Miss Hughes?” the housekeeper questioned, as she spotted Sarah hovering.
“I just wanted to thank you again, for coming to my father’s defence,” Sarah said, slipping onto the bench beside her.
“Your father is a good man,” the housekeeper sniffed. She cast a disdainful eye at the dancers that made Sarah think she did not often bestow platitudes on others.
“Are you enjoying the dancing?” Sarah ventured, though she already knew the answer.
“Assemblies are dens of iniquity, Miss Hughes,” Mrs Vickery replied. “Over-loud music, under-cooked gossip, and people too fond of drink or other people’s husbands.”
“Oh,” Sarah said, slightly taken aback. “Well, yes. But the lemonade is very nice.”
Mrs Vickery didn’t dignify that with a reply.
Sarah was just wondering how on earth she might steer the already awkward conversation toward the night of the murder, when Mrs Vickery rose to her feet.
“I must return to Long Acres to water the night-blooming cereus,” Mrs Vickery said stiffly. “It only flowers once a year, and only after dusk.”
“You’re very dedicated,” Sarah offered, wondering why Mr Leek did not undertake such a burdensome task.
“Horticulture is a vocation,” Mrs Vickery inclined her head, “Good evening, Miss Hughes.”
Sarah watched her sweep from the room, struck by an unexpected pang of pity for the lonely housekeeper. The swish of her black skirts reminded her of the crows circling above Long Acres. Corvids were a misunderstood bird, perhaps so too was Mrs Vickery?
The glass of lemonade in her hand now empty, Sarah made for the ladies’ convenience room downstairs. She was just adjusting a hairpin in front of the mirror, when she heard the sound of raised voices from outside in the corridor.
“I won’t be made a fool of,” she hear a woman cry.
“Keep your voice down!” a man replied, in a low voice that Sarah could have sworn belonged to Mr Leek.
“Oh, I’ll do more than raise my voice,” the woman snapped. “Spread lies about me, will you? I swear to God, if you ever speak my name again, I’ll shoot you stone dead!”
Sarah froze, her pulse quickening. The woman’s voice belonged to Mrs Fawkes, she was certain of it.
She tip-toed toward the door to peer out but by the time she reached it, the couple had already disappeared.
Heart pounding, Sarah lingered in the doorway a moment longer to make certain they were gone.
She then rushed up the stairs to the assembly room, scanning the crowd until she found Lord Deverell. He was conversing with Northcott and Lord Crabb, but as soon as he caught sight of her, his expression sharpened.
“Is something amiss?” he asked quietly, as he reached her side.
“I just overheard something downstairs,” she whispered. “Mr Leek and Mrs Fawkes were having a terrible argument, she threatened to shoot him.”
“Did she say why?” Lord Deverell asked, his brow furrowed.
“Something about him spreading lies about her,” Sarah answered helplessly, wishing that she had caught more of the fight.
“We’ll follow it up properly tomorrow,” Lord Deverell assured her. “To see if it might relate to the murder, or if it was just a lover’s quarrel.”
Sarah nodded, wondering how she could return to the festivities as though nothing had happened. And yet, when the next set was called and Lord Deverell offered her his hand, she found herself accepting it without hesitation.
They danced the remaining sets together, and each turn about the floor seemed to sweep her further from her worries.
In his arms, she forgot about everything—even about the murder that had brought them together.
All that existed was the music, the warmth of his hand against hers, and the feeling of longing in her heart.
It was not until the next morning, when Anne burst into her room, that the spell shattered.
“Miss Sarah!” the maid gasped. “It’s Mr Leek;he’s been shot!”