by Jen Turano
Stepping through the door, and then discovering the Huxley butler shutting that door and making a great show of locking it, Permilia found herself unsurprised to discover the sense of foreboding turning into a feeling of downright alarm.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
The pleasant warmth Asher had been feeling ever since Permilia had proclaimed him dapper while not even taking notice of Harrison, who never went unnoticed by the ladies, diminished ever so slightly when he heard the distinct click of what almost sounded like a lock being set into place.
Slowing his steps, he turned and felt every vestige of warmth disappear when he saw the Huxley butler, Mr. Barclay, stuff an old-fashioned key in the inner pocket of his tailored jacket.
“I say, Mr. Barclay,” Asher began, withdrawing his arm from Permilia’s even though he’d been enjoying the feel of her arm in his. “Is it truly necessary to lock the door since you’re available to man it?”
Mr. Barclay patted the spot where the key had just been safely stored away. “One can’t be too careful these days, Mr. Rutherford. And ever since Miss Griswold burst right into this very house the other day—uninvited, if you’ll recall—I’ve taken to making certain the front door is now locked at all times.”
“Why is everyone dawdling?” Miss Mabel called from somewhere down the hallway, having already vanished from view.
“We’d better catch her,” Permilia said, taking hold not of his arm but of his hand, a more intimate gesture, in Asher’s point of view, and one that had the sense of warmth returning. Pulled into motion a second later, he headed down the hallway, coming to a stop right beside Gertrude and Harrison, who were perusing a few of the portraits hanging on the walls.
“And here I thought some of Mrs. Davenport’s ancestors were eerie,” Gertrude began, jumping on the spot right after those words left her mouth when Miss Mabel marched up to them, looking exactly like she might be losing patience with their dawdling.
“If you’ve forgotten, tea is rarely served in the hallway,” she said, stopping right beside Gertrude, who was looking rather guilty.
“Do forgive us, Miss Huxley,” Gertrude began. “I’m to blame for the continued dawdling, but I was just admiring the portraits of your ancestors, although I have to say I’ve never seen ancestors who were so similar in appearance.”
“All the portraits hanging in this house are of my father,” Miss Mabel returned.
Gertrude blinked. “How . . . unusual, but . . . surely there must be a portrait of your mother somewhere in the house, and I would hope there’s one of you and your sister as well.”
“I’m afraid not.” Miss Mabel’s brow furrowed. “I don’t believe you and I have ever been introduced. I know that you’re Miss Gertrude Cadwalader, though, companion of Mrs. Davenport, a lady who wasn’t always as peculiar as she is these days, but I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”
Gertrude blinked right back at her. “I’m sure I’m not aware of anything of the sort. However, since I’m not one to discuss my employer or her business, let us return to our proper introduction. I am Miss Gertrude Cadwalader, and I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Huxley.”
“You may call me Miss Mabel.” She turned her attention to Harrison, looked him up and down with a very considering eye, and then nodded. “You are, of course, Mr. Harrison Sinclair, a gentleman who distinctly reminds me of Permilia’s father.”
Permilia tilted her head and considered Harrison for a moment. “I suppose he does resemble Father, although I don’t think Father is prone to wearing the color purple.”
Miss Mabel nodded as she walked around Harrison, again looking him up and down. “True, this is true, but this young man is built along remarkably similar lines as your father, however . . .” She lifted her head and smiled rather coyly at Harrison. “I’m sure I should beg your pardon for ogling you, Mr. Sinclair, but at my age, I’ve gotten quite used to ogling whomever I please.”
Harrison, instead of appearing to take even the least bit of offense, grinned. “How charming it is to learn you know my name, Miss Huxley, but if you’ll allow me to do the proper?” He stepped closer to her before she could reply. Taking her hand, he placed a kiss on it and then stepped back. “I am Mr. Harrison Sinclair, and it’s a true pleasure to meet you, Miss Mabel Huxley.”
“The pleasure is all mine, dear,” Miss Mabel all but purred. “Do tell me, how is that schooner progressing, the one that’s rumored to be one of the fastest ever built, and the one that’s taken you three years to assemble?”
“You’ve heard about my schooner?” Harrison asked.
“As I mentioned before, I’m a lady of a certain age, and since I reached that certain age as a confirmed spinster, I’ve gotten incredibly adept at observing my surroundings and the antics that transpire within those surroundings.”
“Forgive me for pointing this out, Miss Mabel, but we’re currently nowhere near the docks, where my schooner is being assembled.”
“No, we’re not” was all Miss Mabel said to that before she headed off down the hall again. “Come along,” she called over her shoulder.
“Is it just me or do any of the rest of you feel as if we shouldn’t be here?” Harrison asked, taking Gertrude’s arm while Asher took Permilia’s hand and tucked it firmly into the crook of his arm.
“I think we should make a pact right now to drink the tea as quickly as we can and get out of here as quickly as possible,” Asher said, eliciting immediate nods all around.
“Gertrude and I already have plans to visit Miss Snook’s School for the Improvement of Feminine Minds,” Permilia began. “We can use that as an excuse to leave within the hour.” She smiled. “You’re more than welcome to join us.”
For some curious reason, Asher did not feel the need to balk at that idea at all. “That sounds like a delightful place to visit,” he said right as Miss Mabel marched back up to them, planting her hands on her hips.
“We’ll never get around to having tea at this rate,” Miss Mabel said.
Before Asher could do what he was rumored to do so well, soothe away the temper of an annoyed lady, Harrison stepped forward. Smiling one of his most charming smiles, he took hold of Miss Mabel’s arm. “Allow me to escort you into the . . . library?”
“That is where my sister is at the moment.”
“Wonderful,” Harrison exclaimed before he headed down the hallway, his charm having Miss Mabel smiling by the time they reached the library door.
“I should probably allow Henrietta to know you’re here before we walk in on her,” Miss Mabel said. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She released Harrison’s arm and disappeared through the library door.
“Since Miss Henrietta is the one Miss Mabel believes issued us the invitation, wouldn’t you imagine she’s currently anticipating our arrival?” Permilia asked.
“One would think that would be the case,” Harrison returned right as Miss Mabel edged out of the library and frowned.
“This is going to seem rather curious, but Henrietta’s sleeping.”
Gertrude nodded. “That happens with Mrs. Davenport all the time, and if Miss Henrietta is anything like Mrs. Davenport, she won’t appreciate being awakened, so perhaps we should just come back another time.”
“But what about my maudlin feelings and how the tea was going to improve those feelings?” Miss Mabel asked.
Summoning up a smile, one that proved she was quite adept at dealing with women in possession of maudlin feelings on a frequent basis, Gertrude inclined her head. “If you’re of the belief your sister truly wants to soothe your maudlin feelings away, we’ll be more than happy to wait right here while you wake your sister up and inform her that her guests have arrived.”
“Excellent,” Miss Mabel said. “I’ll return directly.” With a swish of her skirt, she edged through the partially open door to the library and vanished from sight again.
“Even if Miss Henrietta is prone to napping, I find it incredibly peculiar that she’d fall asleep when
she only sent out those invitations to tea a short time ago. She must have remembered that she’d requested our presence at one,” Permilia whispered.
“It is peculiar, and does nothing to reassure me that all is right in the Huxley house,” Asher said quietly. “Which means we might . . .”
Whatever else he’d been about to say was forgotten when what could only be described as screeching suddenly rang out, the screeches clearly coming from an irate Miss Henrietta.
“Why in the world would you wake me, Mabel? I told you I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’d just dropped off into a pleasant dream, one where you were not present, which rarely happens, as you very well know, and now . . . Well, here you are, standing in front of me and looking far too cheerful about it.”
“Stop hollering at me,” Miss Mabel yelled back. “I wouldn’t have felt compelled to wake you if you hadn’t felt compelled to invite guests over to tea, guests you apparently forgot about, but guests who are right outside this door right this very minute.”
“There are not guests at the door.”
“I assure you, there are.”
When the sisters launched into a rather heated bickering exchange, Asher decided to take matters into his own hands, proving to Miss Henrietta without a shadow of a doubt that guests had, indeed, come to call—although . . . it was becoming downright concerning that neither sister seemed to have remembered they’d invited guests over in the first place.
“Good afternoon, Miss Henrietta,” he said, pushing open the library door and stepping just over the threshold, his gaze settling on Miss Henrietta, who was sprawled on a fainting couch located directly beside the fireplace.
Pushing herself upright, Miss Henrietta blinked, rubbed her eyes, then scowled at her sister. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d invited Mr. Rutherford over, or”—she craned her neck—“Miss Griswold, and another young lady who might be Miss Cadwalader, and”—her eyes widened as she took to smoothing down her hair—“Mr. Harrison Sinclair.”
Miss Mabel, who’d been in the process of moving over to a chair situated in front of the fireplace, stopped midstep and turned. “I didn’t invite them. You did.”
“Why would I go to the bother of inviting anyone for tea? You know I’ve never been the social one of the two of us.”
Miss Mabel immediately stuck her nose in the air. “I thought you’d done so in order to cheer me up, given the despair I’ve been feeling of late over never pursuing the affection I once felt for George, and then missing another opportunity of doing just that when he returned to town. If only I had sought him out when he first traveled to the city on business, he might not now be tied to that shrew of a woman, the former Ida Webster.”
To Asher’s concern, Miss Henrietta narrowed her eyes and released a distinct scoff. “Honestly, Mabel, since when have you taken to embracing that fantasy you spread about years ago, the one where you held George Griswold in high esteem but were kept apart from him because of Father?”
Miss Mabel turned a rather sickly shade of white. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Henrietta. You know I held great affection for George, as well as a few other gentlemen who wanted to court me, and I have mourned the lack of anyone returning my affections for decades.”
“You loved the idea of George and the other gentlemen because it annoyed Father, a man who wanted you to marry well to elevate his social status in life. And considering Father suffered a very convenient yet unfortunate death not long after he forbade you to see George again—along with quite a few other men, if my memory serves me correctly—it’s always been my belief that you used the loss of those gentlemen as an excuse to finally justify taking care of Father once and for all.”
As the library fell completely silent, Asher chanced a glance at Miss Mabel, finding that the whiteness of her face was rapidly being replaced with red. Realizing that an intervention was going to be necessary before someone got hurt, he took one step forward, but before he could reach Miss Mabel’s side, she let out a shriek that sounded exactly as if it had come from a banshee before she bolted into motion and launched herself in the direction of her sister.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Because Asher and Harrison both seemed reluctant to intervene with what could only be described as a brawl between the two sisters, Permilia realized it was going to be up to her to stop the nonsense occurring right in front of her eyes. However, because Ida had never bothered to explain what was expected of a society lady when faced with this particular situation, Permilia found herself hesitating for just a second as she debated which of the two options that sprang to mind would be most acceptable.
Deciding the sisters would be less than pleased if she were to fire the pistol she’d tucked into her walking dress at the ceiling—especially because the ceiling was painted with a lovely scene of what seemed to be some type of cherubs—Permilia went for option number two, that involving a vase of fresh flowers.
Dashing across the room, she plucked the vase from the table, plucked the flowers straight out of it, dropping them on the floor, and then tossing the remaining water, of which there was a great deal, directly over top of the sisters, who were kicking, biting, and pulling hair.
In the blink of an eye, the kicking stopped, as did the hair pulling, and the screeches they’d been making took to sounding more along the lines of sputters.
Taking a step away from the fainting couch, Permilia handed the vase to Asher, who’d moved up to join her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she tilted her head and regarded the ladies, who were dripping water all over the floor as they struggled to get to their feet.
“What in the world possessed you, Permilia, to douse my sister and me with water? I assure you, we squabble with each other frequently, so your interference was not needed, nor wanted.” Miss Mabel shoved a hank of sodden hair out of her face before she settled a glare on Permilia.
“I couldn’t simply stand by and watch the two of you pummel each other, which I do hope is not a frequent happenstance, since it’s barbaric,” Permilia returned. “If you’ve neglected to remember, you currently have a library filled with guests you invited for tea, and forgive me, but forcing us to witness your appalling behavior is not making any of us thankful we accepted your invitation.”
“As I do believe I mentioned before, Permilia, I didn’t invite you to tea,” Miss Mabel said. “Henrietta did, so if you feel compelled to take someone to task, take her, not me.”
Miss Henrietta released a bit of a snort. “I have no idea what nonsense you’ve taken to spouting now, Mabel, because I assure you, I did not invite anyone to tea. And, if I had, I certainly wouldn’t have taken to snoozing right before those guests were expected to arrive because, even for me, that would have been beyond the pale.”
The sense of foreboding Permilia had been feeling when she’d first entered the house returned with a vengeance, especially when Miss Mabel and Miss Henrietta exchanged significant looks right before Miss Mabel squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Well, right then, everyone has to leave . . . immediately.”
Before Permilia could ask a single question, she found her hand taken firmly in Asher’s while Harrison did the same with Gertrude, and mumbling what must have been the expected pleasantries, Asher pulled her toward the door at a fast clip.
Before they could make it through that door, however, they found their path blocked by the man Permilia only knew as Richard Coeur de Lion and . . . Mr. Jasper Tooker, nephew of the Huxley sisters.
“Ah, Miss Griswold,” Mr. Tooker exclaimed right as Asher stepped in front of her, a protective gesture that distracted her from everything else that Mr. Tooker said as she simply seemed to melt right there in the midst of the Huxley library, melt because Asher really was a very upstanding sort of gentleman, willing to defend her, which she found quite intriguing, especially since . . .
“ . . . truly unfortunate that both of you saw fit to bring uninvited guests, and do know that I will be most
distressed about having to do away with them.”
Shaking herself directly back into the conversation, Permilia peered around Asher and found that while she’d been lost in a lovely daydream, Mr. Tooker had pulled out a pistol and was even now pointing it directly Asher’s way.
“What do you think you’re about, Mr. Tooker?” she demanded, trying to edge around Asher but finding he didn’t seem very keen to allow her to do that, what with the way he kept weaving back and forth, blocking her forward momentum.
“You seem to be a bright sort, Miss Griswold,” Mr. Tooker returned, looking around Asher to catch her eye. “I’m sure you’ll be able to puzzle out that I’m tying up a few loose ends, ones that I certainly don’t want haunting me for the rest of my days.” He smiled a smile that did little to reassure her. “However, since I’m also certain everyone has numerous questions they’re dying to ask me, and I’m not an unreasonable man, if all of you will kindly take a seat in the library, I’ve asked Mr. Barclay to fix us some tea. Doesn’t that sound delightful?”
“Surely you realize that offering us tea while holding us hostage before you then attempt to do away with us is an offer we’re hardly going to be eager to accept,” Permilia began. “And given that there are any number of Pinkerton agents right outside this very house, I’m sure I have no idea how you believe you’ll be able to get away with what clearly sounds like murder.”
“Come now, Miss Griswold, you don’t truly believe that I waltzed into the house using the front door, do you? That would have drawn unwanted notice, and I can assure you, notice is not something I care to attract. That’s why I won’t be exiting the house through the front door, nor the back door, for that matter.”
“How will you leave, then?” she pressed.
“He must know about the tunnels,” Miss Mabel whispered.
“Tunnels?”
“The ones our father built that can be accessed from the two lots on either side of the house,” Miss Mabel explained. “They were supposed to give him access to his other wives, but . . . well . . . that didn’t quite work out as he’d planned.”