To Write a Wrong

by Jen Turano

  Unfortunately, swatting away a bothersome bee while climbing turned out to be a less-than-stellar idea because before she knew it, she was plummeting through the air.

  A second later, she released an oomph as she hit the ground, the thought coming to her that she might have been a touch premature proclaiming she could embrace the role of sophisticated lady because there was absolutely nothing sophisticated about being sprawled in a mud puddle while under the watchful eye of a client—and an incredibly handsome client at that.

  CHAPTER

  Six

  “I’m beginning to wonder if you were right and that the person trying to kill you might be a complete stranger to you after all.”

  Turning, Herman discovered Agent Cooper Clifton standing two feet away from him, the man’s ability to steal up on a person incredibly unnerving, although given how many times the agent had stolen up on Herman over the week he’d been working undercover as Herman’s coachman, one would have thought the man would have stopped taking him by surprise.

  “Why do you wonder that?”

  “Well, not only have there been no attempts on your life since we arrived at your Hudson estate two days ago, but everyone I’ve spoken with here has nothing but nice things to say about you.”

  “You sound disappointed about that. I, on the other hand, would hope most people do have nice things to say about me.”

  “I’m sure you do, but it makes the task of determining who wants you dead more difficult.” Cooper ran a hand over his face. “Murders are usually committed by people known to the victim, but if that’s not the case with you, it means we’re dealing with an unknown. It could be anyone—even one of your readers who might have taken issue with the way you ended one of your books, or perhaps didn’t care for how you killed someone off in a story.”

  “I haven’t killed off anyone who didn’t deserve an unfortunate end.”

  “What about animals?”

  “Who wants to read about Fluffy the rabbit coming to an abrupt end?”

  “I take it that means you avoid animal deaths, but . . . you’ve written about a Fluffy?”

  “Since you’re unfamiliar with Fluffy, I’m going to assume you’re not a reader of my mysteries.”

  “I’ll make sure to remedy that straightaway,” Cooper said. “I have the newest Montague Moreland book to read, though, before I tackle one of yours.”

  “Montague Moreland does seem to be a reader favorite these days. He certainly has a way with writing dastardly plots into his stories.”

  “You read Montague Moreland’s work?”

  “Indeed. It’s imperative for me to keep abreast of what other popular writers are writing, which allows me to plan accordingly for future projects.”

  “Daphne mentioned that exact notion to me not long ago. She enjoys barraging me with questions about my investigations and then discussing how she can use what I disclose in her writing.”

  Herman frowned. “She uses details from your Pinkerton cases in her poetry?”

  “I’m not sure she’s using those details in any poems because she hasn’t shared any verses that center around missing people or bank robberies,” Cooper said. “Truth be told, I’m somewhat hesitant to believe poetry is her genre of choice.”

  “And here I thought I was the only one who wasn’t convinced Daphne’s a poet. Any thoughts as to why she tells everyone she’s a poet if she’s not?”

  “It’s Daphne. Who knows what goes on in that complicated mind of hers?” Cooper shrugged. “But she might refuse to disclose what she really writes because women, and the talents they possess, are often deemed inconsequential by men.”

  “An interesting theory and might exactly explain why Daphne withholds the truth about her writing from everyone,” Herman agreed. “I’m afraid the writing world most definitely holds women in disdain, unless they write books targeted toward a female audience. Even then, women writers don’t receive the same level of respect men do.”

  “What I’ve come to realize during the time I’ve worked with the Bleecker Street Inquiry Agency,” Cooper said, “is that women and their abilities should not be dismissed out of hand. The ladies involved with the agency are some of the brightest ladies I’ve ever met and have proven they have much to offer in the field of investigative work.”

  “It’s still unusual that Daphne would use poetry as her genre of choice when she talks about her love for the written word.”

  “It’s probably because there are very few people who enjoy listening to poetry. Most certainly don’t enjoy listening to bad poetry, something Daphne seems to excel at composing.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t pressed her about what she really writes.”

  “And spoil the fun of her making up ridiculous verses on the spot? I think not.”

  “Speaking of Daphne . . .” Herman pulled out his pocket watch. “She should be arriving soon.” He lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the sun, no trace of a carriage on the long drive that wove its way through a good portion of his six-hundred-acre estate. “I’m currently risking my grandmother’s discontent by abandoning my guests to wait for Daphne, but I thought it would be wise to be immediately available to her once she arrives. Her nerves might be questionable since she’s traveling on her own. I would hate to leave her swooning on the front vestibule before she’s had a chance to convince everyone she’s a sophisticated woman of the world.”

  “Maybe we should have brought Daphne along with us instead of having Ann and me arrive with you at your estate two days ago before your guests arrived.”

  Herman’s lips curved. “Monsieur Villard was adamant that he needed additional time to finish up Daphne’s wardrobe. He had a frantic look in his eyes when he made that declaration, something Daphne noticed as well because she was quick to assure everyone she’d be fine traveling on her own.”

  “Time will tell about that.” Cooper’s gaze settled on something behind Herman. “Someone just walked through the front door, so this is where I’ll take my leave.” With that, Cooper strode down the steps that led to the circular drive.

  “I hope I didn’t interrupt an important conversation with your coachman.”

  Turning, Herman found his grandmother, Mildred Henderson, heading his way, her attention settled on Cooper as he walked down the drive toward the coaching house that was out of sight of the main house, and past the Gentlemen’s House, where any unmarried male guests stayed.

  Mildred was looking well turned out in an ivory afternoon gown, her gray hair swept back from her face and secured in a knot at the nape of her neck. That she was almost seventy years old came as a surprise to many people because she could have easily passed for sixty. She, on the other hand, often claimed she would look even younger if she’d not suffered so much heartache in her life.

  It was Herman’s opinion that his grandmother’s decision to step away from the hustle and bustle of life had been an unfortunate one, because the grandmother he had known from the time he’d been born until he’d turned ten had been full of fun and possessed an exuberance for life. Those qualities disappeared the moment she’d learned her husband, son, and daughter-in-law had been lost at sea.

  Mildred had started to suffer horrible attacks of anxiety from that point on, those attacks increasing whenever she became worried about Herman. She’d eventually begun taking to her bed every time he came down with so much as a simple cold.

  Herman’s concern for her well-being had steadily grown over the years, which was why he hadn’t balked when she’d taken a marked interest in matchmaking. Lately, that interest had seen her abandoning her preference to hide from the world, as she’d begun planning events such as the house party they were currently hosting. Herman took her willingness to host a house party as a step in the right direction, even though her matchmaking efforts were somewhat awkward for him since he’d been having a difficult time relating to any of the young ladies his grandmother wanted to become the future Mrs. Herman Henderson.

&nb
sp; It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with those ladies. Truthfully, they seemed delightful, except for the pesky feeling he had that none of them were the least bit enthusiastic about spending time in his company.

  It was troubling, this lack of enthusiasm from the ladies, and left him in the unenviable position of spending an inordinate amount of time standing beside young ladies who seemed as if they wanted to be anywhere except standing next to him.

  “Shall I assume that I did interrupt an important conversation with your coachman, one that might concern something troubling you’re reluctant to disclose to me?” Mildred asked, stepping closer and pulling him from his thoughts.

  He took hold of her arm and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Nothing troubling has occurred, Grandmother. Cooper and I were merely discussing horses. Nothing for you to fret about.”

  “But your new coachman has given me something to fret about,” Mildred argued. “You’ve not told me anything about the man, nor what happened to Jenkins.”

  “Nothing happened to Jenkins. He merely took a few weeks off because he needed to visit his family.”

  Mildred’s gaze sharpened on Herman. “Jenkins is an orphan. What family could he be visiting?”

  Clearly, even though his grandmother had been hiding herself away for years, her mind was still sharp as a tack because Jenkins was an orphan, something Herman had forgotten. He summoned up a smile.

  “On further consideration, I believe Jenkins may have mentioned he was off to visit an old friend who was like family. As for my new coachman, all you need to know is that Cooper came highly recommended. But speaking of new hires, how are you enjoying Miss Ann Evans?”

  Mildred swatted away a fly that was buzzing by her head. “Ann is a charming young lady who is very solicitous of my nerves. She’s even offered to read some books to the ladies to keep them entertained if they don’t feel up to participating in some of our more vigorous activities planned, such as croquet.”

  “I never realized croquet was considered a vigorous activity.”

  “It entails walking about the lawn while swinging a mallet, so it’s a very vigorous activity indeed. I’m certain many of the ladies gathered here will not want to participate in that type of activity, which is why it was lovely of Ann to volunteer to read to the ladies during the croquet match.”

  “Then I’m glad she was available to take up the post of paid companion to you.”

  “As am I. However, with that said, I’m concerned about all the new hires. You’re not hiding something from me, are you?”

  Before he could summon up an appropriate response to what was turning into a tricky conversation, the sound of hooves pounding against the cobblestone drive drew their attention.

  The oddest inclination to laugh struck when a most unusual carriage raced into view. It was pure white except for the gold gilding that made up the trim and was drawn by four magnificent black horses that were wearing gilded harnesses and had gold feathers woven into their manes.

  “Who in the world is that?” Mildred breathed. “Or better yet, why would anyone be agreeable to travel in a carriage moving at such a frightening rate of speed?”

  He braced himself for what was certainly going to be another difficult conversation. “I believe that’s my new secretary.”

  Mildred cocked a thin brow his way. “You’ve hired a secretary?”

  “Did I neglect to mention that?”

  “You did—and on purpose if I’m not mistaken, probably done so as to spare the state of my nerves.”

  “I do try to avoid upsetting you.”

  “You’re failing miserably at that right now.” Mildred lifted her chin. “Do not tell me that you’ve decided to get rid of poor Sheldon, have you? That would be difficult to explain to his mother.”

  “I’m not getting rid of Sheldon. Besides, he’s my assistant, not my secretary, and the only reason I’ve hired a secretary is because I need someone who can type.”

  Mildred opened her mouth, additional questions clearly on the tip of her tongue, but before she could speak, the carriage pulled to a less-than-smooth stop beside the numerous steps that led to the front vestibule. Upon closer inspection, it turned out that there was not one but two coachmen sitting on the driver’s seat. One of those coachmen Herman recognized as Monsieur Phillip Villard, whom he’d met not long after Daphne had taken her unfortunate tumble into the mud puddle during Cooper’s physical exertion lessons.

  Phillip was looking quite unlike his usual dapper self, although he had tucked what appeared to be a fashionable pocket square into the left breast pocket of his livery uniform, something a real coachman would have never worn, but something a stylish gentleman such as Phillip would have been hard-pressed to leave the house without.

  Phillip took that moment to reach over and take the reins from his grinning counterpart, who turned out to be Miss Elsy Evans, who was wearing men’s livery in an interesting shade of purple, her hair cleverly concealed underneath a top hat. Elsy straightened that hat before she leapt lightly to the ground and strode to the carriage door.

  Anticipation began to build as Elsy opened the door. A second later, a lady’s shoe came into view, and what a shoe it was. Made of an ivory-colored leather, it was a shoe one would expect to see in a fashion magazine—and a high fashion magazine at that.

  A flutter of fabric drifted over the shoe as the lady wearing it stepped to the ground, and Herman felt his lips twitch when the lady wobbled in an obvious attempt to gain her balance.

  Herman lifted his gaze and blinked, finding it almost impossible to fathom that the stylish, incredibly sophisticated, and yes, worldly lady standing outside the carriage was the same lady who’d been dressed as a pirate the first time he’d met her and dripping in mud the second.

  He’d not believed Daphne when she’d claimed she could adopt a sophisticated look, but there was no question she’d done exactly that, or any question that the lady now adjusting spectacles that sparkled in the sunlight in no way resembled the Daphne Beekman he’d come to know.

  Frankly, he didn’t know what to make of her, nor did he know why he was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe in a normal capacity, but before he could dwell on any of that, his grandmother turned to him with a frown.

  “On my word, but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a secretary who looks like that,” Mildred said before she waved a gloved hand Daphne’s way. “Honestly, Herman, what could you have been thinking? Surely you must realize that every lady here who might be interested in securing your affections will most assuredly see your new secretary as a distinct threat.” Mildred squinted in Daphne’s direction. “Is it my imagination or does she have the look of an adventuress about her?”

  “She’s not an adventuress, nor is she here to win my affections. She’s simply here to type up my latest manuscript, and—”

  “Herman,” Daphne suddenly called, drawing their attention. “Be a darling and help me get Almira up the steps. She’s heavier than she looks, and I wouldn’t want any harm to befall her.”

  Mildred raised a hand to her throat. “Dare I hope you’re not about to tell me Almira is yet another person you neglected to inform me you hired?”

  “Almira is Miss Beekman’s typewriter.”

  “How very odd,” Mildred muttered before she squared her shoulders. “But Almira the typewriter aside, surely I misheard Miss Beekman and she did not just address you by your given name—or worse yet, call you darling.”

  He’d been hoping his grandmother hadn’t heard that, but evidently, her hearing was just as sharp as her mind. “I believe she asked if I’d be a darling and help her with her typewriter, which is a great deal different than calling me darling.”

  “But she did call you Herman.”

  His mind whirled with numerous explanations, not one of them seeming very credible, probably because he had no idea why Daphne had decided to use his given name instead of maintaining the formal manner of address most secretaries kept with their e
mployers. He forced a smile. “Miss Beekman enjoys adopting a level of informality with everyone she spends a lot of time with, and, in fact, prefers for me to address her as . . . Daphne.”

  Mildred’s eyes widened. “Does she now?” She glanced Daphne’s way, considered her for a few seconds, then returned her attention to Herman. “And you indulge Miss Beekman’s preference for informality?”

  His collar began to feel incredibly snug. “I might have used her given name upon occasion, but there really isn’t any harm in that.”

  Mildred went from looking like a kindly grandmother to a formidable matron in a split second as she seemed to swell on the spot. “Of course there’s harm in it.” She moved closer to him. “I’ve spent the last twenty-odd years protecting you, and yet I’m getting the distinct impression that Miss Beekman is going to pose more of a danger to you than anything I could have ever anticipated.” She shot another look to Daphne. “Do know that I’ll be keeping a close eye on her, and if I’m proven right about that danger, I will not hesitate to see her removed from your vicinity, even if that means I have to toss her on the first available boat sailing down the Hudson myself.”

  CHAPTER

  Seven

  Daphne hefted Almira from the carriage and set her down on the cobblestone drive, giving a swat to Phillip Villard, who was in the process of fiddling with her bustle, which would certainly come across as peculiar if any of Herman’s guests were to take note of it since Phillip was currently dressed for the role of coachman, not dress designer.

  “Really, Phillip, stop that,” she said when her swatting had no effect on the man as he continued his fiddling.

  “I’m not sending you off to meet Herman’s guests with your bustle askew,” Phillip shot back. “You’re wearing an original Monsieur Villard traveling gown. It deserves to be seen in pristine condition. Bustles that are askew hardly lend a gown a pristine air, although how your bustle got in such a deplorable state is beyond me. It was perfectly in place when you got into the carriage before we left the city.”