Helen stifled a sigh of relief, as Lady Frances signaled this most miserable of all dinners was come to an end, at last. Douglas rose from his place beside her, then assisted her in rising from her own, but not as one to whom she was dear. The arm he offered was out of obligation, not affection. He cast Evie a look that was not without interest, and once again Helen’s heart writhed, as proof that it was not without life, after all. If only she could hide herself away, and be spared the agony of witnessing Douglas’ shift of devotion to another woman, the woman he would marry, and build the life that should have been her own.
Jealousy smote her, and anger toward the Carlisles blazed through her, but she was powerless to defend herself against either one. Despair filled her once more, and she resigned herself to the future she’d grown accustomed to. The future which now felt more desolate than ever before. If only Douglas were to look at her, to profess his love and devotion as he did such a short time ago, how different would be her response to him. But he did not. Aside from the arm he offered out of obligation, he walked beside her as though he were alone, and she but a dim memory, soon to pass.
Douglas’ anger burned as hotly as ever it did, as he escorted Helen to the ballroom, where already several guests were engaged in a waltz. When he imagined holding his beloved in his arms again, it was never like this, even in his worst nightmares. So sure he once was, that to him she would always be true. Instead, she insisted he marry the woman newly chosen by his father, the woman who ought to be offering encouragement of some kind, after expressing such devotion to him in the letters he received from her. And yet she did not. If his unwanted fiancé gave so much as a glance in his direction, he had yet to see it, though curiosity drew his eyes to seek hers more and more. What was the meaning of her failure to respond in kind? Though any attention given would promptly be met with scorn, he found her complete lack of interest to be less tolerable by the minute.
“Would you care to dance?” Daniel inquired of Evie, with as charming a smile as he could conjure.
What she would care to do, was to give him a sound kick, and the thought brought a glimmer of amusement to her eyes. After the unbearable tension of the past hours, imagining his response, his parents’, and her own, not to mention his brother’s, was almost enough to elicit a laugh.
Daniel felt greatly encouraged, and without further ado, took her hand and swept her into a waltz.
Douglas saw the laughter in Evie’s eyes in response to his brother, and a flame of jealousy flickered to life. He did not wish to marry her, but that did not give his brother leave to bring a smile to her face, when for the groom she professed to love, she had none.
“Douglas,” Helen said softly, as she pressed the arm that held hers, and looked up at him beseechingly.
Rather than respond, Douglas took her by the hand, then waltzed in the direction of his unwanted bride, and his interloping brother.
“I am very glad to meet you, as I said,” Daniel informed Evie, as they danced. “As you are so soon to marry my brother, it is only right we should come to know one another better.”
“I disagree, Mr. Carlisle,” Evie surprised him immensely by saying. “I already know all I care to.”
Before Daniel could recover, Douglas smoothly transferred Helen to his brother’s arms, and took his perplexing bride into his own.
Lady Frances observed with relief that the soon to be bride and groom were met at last, and without a hint of nervousness on the part of her daughter. Evie was as cool and composed as one could hope for, and at last Lady Frances’ own nervousness concerning the meeting was laid to rest.
Katharine watched the exchange of dance partners with concern.
James followed her gaze, and without a word, guided his wife in the direction of his young cousin. He did not care for the brooding look in Douglas’ eyes, and was determined Evie would have his support, and Katharine’s, if need be.
Douglas guided Evie away from his brother and Helen, then gave his unwanted fiancé an appraising look. He quite resented the lack of stars in her eyes as she looked back at him coolly, despite his intending to scorn them to extinction, if present.
“You are Miss Bannerman, I presume,” he began stiffly, for someone must say something.
“I am,” Evie responded.
“Then perhaps I should introduce myself,” Douglas said, for she seemed to have no idea. He steeled himself in anticipation of her reaction, when at last she was enlightened. It was sure to be fraught with gushing emotion, and the stars that were currently absent. He stiffened his shoulders and prepared to meet the onslaught, then informed her, “I am Douglas Carlisle.”
“As I have heard,” Evie replied steadily, and without a hint of interest.
Douglas was quite taken aback by her lack of enthusiasm. Truly, he wondered if perhaps he was not the only one to trust their correspondence to another.
“I am indeed Douglas Carlisle, though you best understand that I am not the man you supposed me to be,” he said stiffly. This was not going as he expected it would.
“On the contrary,” Evie replied coolly. “I have never been so certain.”
Douglas’ eyebrows met. Evie lifted one of her own. The look in her eyes left him feeling measured, and found wanting.
“If that is so, then already you know that I am not the answer to your dreams, any more than you are to my own,” Douglas told her stiffly. “Despite the disappointment, we would do well to make the best of it.”
Evie looked up at him evenly.
“Would we?” she replied.
To his astonishment, the coldness in her eyes eclipsed his own.
With one last measuring look, she turned and walked away.
And with that, the broadcast ended. Ug!
Miles remained perfectly still. Was he asleep? Didn’t he see for himself? How disappointed we’d both be, if he missed it!
Before I could decide whether to wake him or not, Miles groaned. He sounded kind of frustrated.
“Is that it?” he asked.
“For now, anyway,” I replied. “So you saw? The dinner, and the dancing after?”
“Yes! And now I’m dying to know what happens next,” he declared, as he sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve never been so tempted to take a Benadryl.”
I laughed, then laughed some more.
“You sound so serious,” I smiled.
“I am,” Miles admitted. “If our flight home was scheduled for later today, I’d be sorely tempted to postpone.”
“Me too,” I laughed again. “But before you resort to inducing sleep with the use of over the counter allergy medication, or suggest we spend our remaining nights here, realize that these broadcasts happen, when they happen. We don’t control when, where, what, or for how long. I don’t, anyway.”
“Neither do I, otherwise we’d still be receiving,” Miles replied wryly.
“I think you’re taking this harder than I am,” I said, as I rubbed his shoulder sympathetically, and held in another laugh.
“In my defense, this is completely new to me. Plus, I really wonder what happens next. Or what happened, since what we’re witnessing, already did.”
“Over a hundred years ago, and again I wonder why we’re seeing this,” I said. “I can’t imagine either that, or how Douglas managed to turn this around. The only thing Evie feels for him now—or when this latest broadcast occurred, rather—is distaste. Actually, she feels a lot of things, but that pretty much encompasses it. Does this parallel Sir Edmund and Ashley, somehow?”
“If Edmund warms to the idea of Countess Grieve and marries her after all… maybe,” Miles replied doubtfully. “But I wouldn’t place any bets, not with those odds.”
My phone buzzed rapidly, and my sister’s smiling photo lit the screen.
“What in the world is she doing up?” I exclaimed, as I rapidly calculated the difference in time zone. “It’s four in the morning!”
“Ask her, and find out,” Miles suggested.
I swiped to answer, then set the phone to speaker.
“What in the world are you doing up?” I exclaimed. “It’s four in the morning!”
“Only if you’re here,” my sister corrected me. “Oh my goodness! Pick me up, and take me back with you! Mom’ll sleep in at least until seven, maybe eight, she’ll never know I was gone!”
“No,” I said flatly. “We’re not in Glen Haven, anyway. It’s eleven o’ clock here, and we’re in bed. It’s four there. Why aren’t you?”
“You’re still in bed?” my sister said disapprovingly. “Don’t you have a couple of murders to solve?”
“Yes, and we need to make up for lost sleep in order to function,” I informed her. “You should try it sometime. Or better yet, don’t get behind in the first place. Don’t you have school in a few hours?”
“Nope,” my sister replied cheerfully. “The superintendent called a snow day. I got the text a minute ago.”
“Oh,” I said in surprise. “Well… fine. I guess. Is there anything else, or is that all you had to say?”
“First of all, you asked. All I did was answer the question.”
“Hi, Doreen,” Miles interjected. “Since you’re on the phone, and now that you’ve got a free day, maybe you can help us out.”
“With what?” my sister swiftly replied.
“We need to identify a particular grower,” Miles answered. “We don’t have a name, but Anika and I saw him from a distance, and would recognize him if we saw him again.”
“So you need a directory, with photos,” Doreen deduced.
“If there is such a thing for those seeking to buy or lease the rights to rose hybrids, that would be ideal,” Miles concurred. “If not, then it won’t be the easiest to compile, but it’s important that we find this guy, so…”
“What’s he look like?”
“Dark, thinning hair around the ears, otherwise bald, and overweight, when we saw him,” Miles answered.
“I’m on it!” my sister replied importantly, and promptly ended our call.
“You’re welcome,” Miles said, as I set aside my phone.
“Yes, thank you!” I replied gratefully. “That should keep her busy for a while.”
“Too busy to ask what we learned since last we spoke, which gives us the two hours between now and lunch, to do some more investigating,” Miles said.
“Oh my goodness, that was smart!” I was more than a little horrified as I imagined the time it would take to fill her in, and even more so by her response, if we refused.
“You’re welcome,” Miles said again. “Since you sound no more able to sleep than I, and your sister is at work seeking the identity of the grower Lady Carlisle welcomed into Finn’s greenhouse, then I suggest we focus our attention on Reginald Abernathy. I’d like to know if it was his company responsible for adding ensuite facilities, mold, and dry rot, to the manor’s first floor east wing.”
“So would I, so what’s our plan of attack?” I considered. “Hunt down Lady Carlisle, and ask?”
“That’s one option, but a visit to Abernathy’s office is likely to yield more information than can be had from Lady Carlisle, even if she obliges by lying,” Miles pointed out.
“Visiting Historic Restoration isn’t likely to raise her suspicions either, or her guard,” I remarked. “It would if we asked her any questions, no matter how subtly we tried.”
“Being on the receiving end isn’t something she’s accustomed to,” Miles agreed. “So, we’ll reserve that for another time, and as a last resort.”
“If the employees know the owner was killed, the office may be closed,” I considered.
“Whether it is or not, I don’t know, but it’s probable the lead detective was there yesterday. Next to Abernathy’s home, it’s most likely to produce information that will lead to a possible motive and suspect.”
“Then the office staff knows,” I said.
“They probably do,” Miles replied. “We’ll proceed with caution regardless, and not without recon. Although our method of travel defies the laws of physics, and others would find it impossible to argue convincingly that we were ever there, I’d prefer to remain under the radar.”
“Then we may have to delay our visit until tonight,” I pointed out.
“There are worse things,” Miles replied. “Such as the questions left in people’s minds should we ask for information directly, and how it could interfere with the official investigation if the detective learned there was a couple asking questions about Abernathy’s involvement in the property on which his body was found.”
“If there’s a security system installed, so much for staying under the radar by visiting after hours,” I remarked.
“Good point, and one more reason for recon,” Miles agreed.
And so, we spent the next few minutes studying google maps and google earth, to get a feel for the building and location. We re-examined Historic Restoration’s website and online photos, as well. Once we learned all we could from the sources immediately available to us, we traded in our night wear, for clothing more befitting the day. Then, Miles paged our ride. I felt bad waking her so early in the morning, Glenn Haven time, but he was right after all. Trixie was intrigued by the mission set before her, and more interested in assisting, than she was in lamenting lost sleep. After receiving a thorough set of instructions, she was on her way.
“How long do you suppose it will take?” I asked, as we busied ourselves making the bed, and otherwise straightening up our room.
“That all depends on what Trix finds,” Miles replied.
I noticed him glance at his watch, and wondered again what was keeping her so long. We were as literal in our instructions as we could be, but that was no guarantee nothing got lost in translation.
The bed was made and every article in the room straightened and restraightened, but still there was no sign of her.
“Trix,” Miles said in relief.
I turned and saw her standing beside him, looking none the worse for wear.
“What happened?” I asked, rather than demand to know what took so long.
“There’s no one in the office,” Miles translated. “It’s closed, and she searched every inch, so she’s certain no one’s there. That could change though, so…”
Miles wrapped his arm around my waist, Trixie pressed against his knee, our room at the manor vanished from sight, and we found ourselves standing in a small windowless office, facing a large desk. Behind us, on each side of the closed door, stood two chairs. They, like the desk, were purely utilitarian in nature. The framed print on the wall behind the desk, was likewise unimpressive. Considering Historic Restoration was in the business of refurbishing centuries-old properties, it wasn’t what I expected. The modern furnishings, lack of period decor, and the unassuming fluorescent light fixture, made about as much sense as they would in an antique store.
“This is Gerald Abernathy’s private office?” I questioned. “Or someone else’s?”
Trixie glanced from me, to Miles.
“It’s the only private office in Historic Restoration’s suite,” he translated. “If it isn’t his, then he didn’t have one.”
“Well… either way, I can’t imagine meeting here with potential clients,” I commented.
“It doesn’t offer much in the way of advertisement,” Miles agreed, as he moved to look behind the desk. “It’s not surprising the monitor’s still here… or that the computer, isn’t.”
“If there was ever a filing cabinet, it isn’t either,” I said.
“There’s not really any room for one,” Miles remarked, as the desk drawers slid open one at a time. “If there was anything here of relevance, then someone got to it first. That ‘someone’ was probably the officer in charge of the investigation. We’ll assume so, unless we hear otherwise. See anywhere else you’d like to search?”
“The vents,” I promptly replied. “People in movies find things hidden there all the time, so you never k
now. We might as well look.”
“It’s easily enough accomplished,” Miles replied.
The bolts in the room’s single vent unscrewed, and the grate moved aside.
“Nothing,” I noted with disappointment, as I observed the vacant interior.
“Nothing here,” Miles said, as the grate settled back in place, along with the bolts. “But, speaking of classic hiding places…”
The wall print moved aside. Behind it, was a safe.
“Oh my goodness,” I exclaimed. “Please, tell me you can open it. And mean it!”
“We’ll soon find out,” Miles answered, as he studied it intently. “I’ve never had occasion to attempt a combination lock before, but I’ve managed a variety of others.”
I held my breath as the dial slowly turned first one way, then the other, then back again. With a click, the bolt released.
A thrill of excitement shot through me as the door swung open, revealing a set of cubbyholes and an accordion file.
“Where else would he keep his business contracts?” I declared.
“This location does seem ideal,” Miles replied. The binder slid out, and came to rest on the desk. It opened, revealing numerous folders. “And it looks like you’re right; they’re labeled by property name, and address.”
I watched as he rapidly sorted through their contents, but didn’t bother trying to keep up. His super-fast reaction time made for superior speed-reading skills, and waiting for me to follow along, would only slow him down. We had a limited amount of time in which to search, and even that would be cut short if we were interrupted.
“Each of the files contain bids, contracts, invoices, and inspection reports,” Miles commented.
“But—there’s no file for Bannerman manor,” I realized with disappointment, as he reached the end.
“There are none labeled Isle of Camden, or Carlisle, either,” Miles remarked.
“If Historic Restoration spent the past few years updating the east wing, there must be a file,” I stated.
“These appear to be ongoing projects,” Miles replied. “If Lady Carlisle contracted with them to do the renovation, this is where I’d expect to find that file. But, unless it’s mislabeled, it isn’t in here.”
Ashes of Roses Page 39