Chapter 3 #2
“Then you have no one but yourself to blame.” She leaned back again.
“It would have neither been polite nor good ton for me to walk up to you and say: ‘I was at the festival when your brother died,’” she declared.
“If you had broached the subject to me, of course I would have answered you. That you didn’t led me to believe the others had told you all. ”
Cecilia’s eyes widened as she silently cheered the woman’s blunt response. She and James exchanged glances. James winked at her, a slight smile holding back a laugh at his cousin’s expense.
Gideon paced the room, a deep frown pulling his brows together and his lips in an ugly downturn.
“Oh, stop it, Gideon. You have more important things to ponder,” Mrs. Norcroft said, exasperation evident in her voice. “It took you over six months to claim Pomum, leaving your poor staff to shuffle through without direction.”
“It took me six months to settle my affairs in Exeter, finish up what work I could for my clients and move others to another solicitor.”
He turned to her. “And yes. I am chagrined at what you say. But now I wonder what else I do not know that I should? What other assumptions have I made? Were they both murdered? My father and Jasper?
“That is going too far. You’re being childish,” Mrs. Norcroft snapped.
“No, he isn’t,” James countered. “Those are two good questions.” He finished his glass of sherry and set it beside him.
“To investigate who is responsible for the events that have troubled you, we will need to determine the state of those questions as well. Hopefully we can set those aside swiftly; however, they need to be addressed. Most likely the old earl died accidentally; however, he should discuss with the grooms the state of the horse and the horse’s saddle the day the earl was thrown to rule out any other suspicions. ”
“There is so much to learn, so many paths to follow,” Cecilia said. “One hardly knows where to begin.” She looked about the room. They all had contemplative expressions.
James reached into his jacket pocket for his paternal grandfather’s silver snuffbox. Though he’d given up the affected habit when he married Cecilia, he liked to hold the box in his hand and rub his thumb over the incised top. It served as a relaxing, centering habit.
The snuffbox was not in his pocket. He searched the other side of his jacket. Still no snuffbox. Where could he have left it? He always carried the memento of his grandfather. He let his eyes close to think where he’d last held it.
In the estate room, where he and Gideon had been poring over estate maps. He could almost see it on the corner of the desk. He rose to his feet.
“If you will excuse me for a few moments, I’ve recalled I left my snuffbox in the estate room. I’d like to get it.”
“I didn’t know you took snuff,” Gideon said.
“I don’t. Not any longer. It was my paternal grandfather’s box. I like to keep it with me,” he said easily.
He noted Cecilia looked at him quizzically but refrained from commenting. He nodded to her as he walked toward the door.
James descended the stairs to the ground floor at a good clip. The entrance hall was deserted, not a footman in sight. Odd. He turned right toward the east wing. A single wall sconce lit the dark hallway, its feeble candlelight failing to extend as far as the estate room door.
James walked down the hall. The door to the estate room stood partially open. James’ brow furrowed, all his senses on alert. He was sure he had closed it when he followed Gideon out of the room. Perhaps a servant had been in since then. He pushed the door open further, listening.
The drapes had not been drawn for the night.
A slant of a softer darkness fell across the desk.
James walked around one corner of the table to where he’d sat.
In the dim light, he saw his snuffbox where he’d left it.
He picked it up, its silver metal form cool in his palm.
He ran his thumb back and forth across it—his thinking habit.
He playfully tossed it up once and caught it, as he often did, then he tucked it in a waistcoat pocket.
He looked around the room again. Something niggled at him. Something was different. He stood still. Careful. Listening.
Then he saw it. A note left in the middle of the table. A corner weighted in place with the inkwell.
James picked it up. It was too dark to read in this room.
He cast a last look around, then left the room, careful to close the door behind him.
He strode purposefully to the wall sconce and its circle of light.
He held up the note. The paper was plain, but of good quality. The writing looked neat, educated.
Thou art falser than vows made in cider.
James stared off down the dark hallway, trying to place the origin of this phrase.
It had a Shakespearean flavor, but not one he could place.
He read it again. Thou art falser than vows made in cider.
Someone does not like Gideon as the earl.
James wondered why. Surely their objection cannot center on his height.
James continued down the hall to the entrance hall and quickly went up the stairs to the first floor. Before he reached the door to the parlor he heard his cousin’s voice.
“No! Absolutely not!”
He pushed the door open.
“James, you are just in time,” Cecilia said. She rose to her feet and went over to drag him into the room. She urged him to sit by her on the settee. “Mrs. Norcroft has had the most brilliant idea.”
“No,” repeated Gideon. “No dinner party.”
Cecilia ignored him. “James, Mrs. Norcroft has suggested Gideon host a dinner party to introduce us to the surrounding neighbors. This will allow us to greet the most people in the shortest amount of time. She can provide the list and work behind the scenes to ensure those invited attend.”
“No, James, don’t let them talk you into a party when we have serious events occurring,” Gideon told him.
“In view of what I have just found, I think a dinner party is a splendid idea,” James said evenly.
“What did you find?” Gideon growled, obviously not wanting to let go of his dinner party objections.
James pulled the note out from his waistcoat. “This. It was in the middle of the desk in the estate room.” He handed the note to his cousin.
“Thou art falser than vows made in cider,” Gideon read aloud. “What does this mean?”
Cecilia shook her head. “I can’t place it, though it sounds like another Shakespearean allusion. Mrs. Norcroft, do you recognize it?”
Mrs. Norcroft tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowed. “As You Like It, perhaps? Vows made in wine?”
James’ expression brightened. “I think, dear lady, you are correct. Gideon, what these notes tell us, along with Cecilia’s seeing a man in the distance walking away from the fire, is your enemy is educated and clever.
He is having fun, but for what reason I cannot deduce.
It is possible whoever this person is, he will be pulled into a dinner party net through which we might surmise his role. ”
Gideon glared at James for a moment, then he crossed the room to grab the brandy bottle and held it up. “Anyone to join me?”