Escaping Notice

by Amy Corwin

  The glimmer of a smile lit Miss Leigh's eyes. “Do not be silly — I did not mean — that is, go to bed.”

  Helen nodded, her chest tight. She could not stay at Ormsby forever. But how could she explain? Miss Leigh would be furious with disappointment.

  What a terrible tangle.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Industry is necessary for all, that they may lead a useful life ….” —The Complete Servant

  The next morning, Edward watched the three witches leave the house together, their black skirts flapping around them like crows’ wings. Crow-witches, he thought with satisfaction. The trio headed for the stupid boxwood maze in the middle of the garden, as if they had a hope of navigating it without getting lost. And he hoped they would get good and lost for hours. Maybe forever.

  He grinned, gleefully imagining some crotchety old gardener pruning the boxwoods and coming upon three skeletons in the center of the maze, still wearing shiny black dresses and knitted shawls. He would be sure to come running out, screaming in horror.

  Edward watched them and waited until they entered the maze. When the last flicker of black disappeared behind the squared edge of green shrubbery, he dashed into the side door leading to the workroom.

  For once, he managed to sneak through the busy kitchen without the massive cook catching him and setting him to another dismal task. He slipped up the servants' stairs to the second floor. Then he faced the daunting task of deciding which room belonged to Miss Leigh. The first two doors he opened led to rooms which he felt sure were unoccupied. The wardrobes were empty, and dust sheets protected the covers on the beds.

  The next room took a little longer to eliminate, but he eventually decided it belonged to Aunt Elvira, based upon his discovery of a letter addressed to her, lying on the small desk under the window. A connecting door led to another bedroom. He paused there, but in the end decided it must belong to Aunt Esther. Her plaid travelling shawl was folded up on one of the shelves in the wardrobe.

  No-one else, not even Miss Leigh, would own such an ugly thing. Closing the door behind him, he stepped into the hallway. He glanced around and frowned. There were at least a dozen more doors down the long hallway. It would take him all day at this rate.

  Giving it some thought, he decided Miss Leigh would have wanted her sisters close, but not too close. And Miss Leigh would want a nice big room with windows facing the front of the house. That meant he should try one of the doors across the hall and a little further down.

  He ignored the two doors directly across from where he stood. The door exactly in the middle of the hall looked the most likely to him.

  He ran down to it and thrust it open. The bed was neatly made, but there was a silver brush and comb precisely aligned on top of a small table. A ewer filled with water stood in a basin on a washstand in the corner, with a pair of embroidered linen towels hanging from the wooden rack attached to the side.

  His heart pounded. He knew he had found the right room. Glancing over his shoulder, he checked the hallway. Then he slipped inside and closed the door behind him. In a small spurt of panic, he opened the door again and examined the hallway. The thick wood muffled sounds. He might not hear if the crow-witches returned.

  But he had to risk it for Helen. She’d be so grateful if he presented the necklace to her. His heartbeat tripled briefly with anxiety at the thought that she might then leave. He would never see her again.

  No. She’d be grateful. And anyway, he was planning to join the navy. In a few years, he would come back and marry her. Finding the necklace would guarantee she’d wait for him.

  And being a clever lad and well-used to hiding things from his aunts, he knew precisely where to look. It was only a matter of minutes before he found an entire collection of jewelry: all sorts of odds and ends, including several necklaces. But only one had a huge green emerald, as big as a duck egg, right in the center.

  He slipped it into his pocket and then hesitated over the rest of the hoard. It was a true pirate’s treasure, including several rings. One had a large green stone, the color of a new leaf and much lighter than the emerald in the center of the necklace, but still nice. He could give it to Miss Helen to seal their engagement.

  He turned it over in his hands and even put it on his thumb to examine more closely. In the end, he sighed and plucked it off his finger and returned it to the drawer. While Miss Helen would be relieved to get her necklace back, he was not sure how she’d feel about the ring.

  She might ask questions and if Miss Leigh saw it on Miss Helen's finger, well, he did not want to cause trouble for her. He had plenty of experience in that quarter with the aunts, so he’d have to buy her a ring later. There would be plenty of time. When he was in the navy, he’d have his pick of jewels from anywhere in the world; India, South America, or even China. It would be a fabulous gem, too, and not just a faded green thing that was probably just paste, anyway.

  He closed the drawer and glanced around. The room looked as coldly tidy as it had when he entered.

  His streak of luck held when he left the room. The hallway was still deserted. He made it down to the kitchen before his good fortune ran out.

  “Ah, there he is,” cook said. She hefted a huge basket in one meaty hand and thrust it at Edward.

  “Not more potatoes,” Edward muttered.

  The cook laughed. “Peas today, as a change. Just shell 'em and bring the lot back. If you get 'em back within the hour, I'll have a bun and glass of lemonade standing fresh on the sideboard for you.”

  Edward nodded, not particularly impressed with the prospective treat. Nonetheless, he took the basket willingly enough and went to the workroom. If anyone came back, he would be calmly occupied.

  No-one would ever suspect that he had stolen Miss Helen's necklace right out of the bedroom of one of the crow-witches of Ormsby.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Exercise due diligence as to what are the particular duties of your station.” —The Complete Servant

  A few days later, Hugh took a turn in the garden in an attempt to clear his mind. His first decision involved his aunt. She had most assuredly recovered enough to be questioned about the jacket and cap. The color of the hair discovered in the cap was debatable, but the fact remained that the clothing had been found in her possession. The odds were, it was her hair.

  And considering some of the clothing she had worn in the past, it seemed likely that the garments belonged to her. Her bizarre wardrobe ranged from the excessively frilled-and-furbelowed to the inappropriately masculine. In short, she had no discernible taste, although he had to admit her recent appearance had unaccountably improved.

  He did not know why. Frankly, he did not particularly care either, unless it made her happy enough to improve her disposition. She was one of the most ill-tempered women he knew, but despite this, he still found it difficult to believe she hated him enough to kill him. Her mercurial temper rose in quick outbursts, but seldom lasted.

  It had to be someone else, some unknown enemy he could leave to Gaunt to expose.

  Perhaps it was someone like his previous fiancée, Miss Peyton, or her lover, Lord Greeley. Gaunt was free to question them and do as he wished. Hugh felt no desire to protect either one. Miss Peyton had skillfully excised a small piece of his heart and a slightly larger bit of his confidence, and the twinges of pain reminded him that he owed her no debt. In fact, he found it difficult to remember precisely what she looked like. Perhaps he thought too much about Miss Helen Archer, instead.

  Although she had not laughed and pushed him heartlessly away when he kissed her, he realized that once their adventure ended, he would still be the same dull man who preferred the country to the city: the farmer earl.

  As soon as she found her necklace, she would be gone with a smile and a wave.

  In a sour mood, Hugh noticed a trio of ladies, including his aunt. He followed them from the garden into the house and caught up with them as they passed through the wide French doors leading
into the library.

  “Miss Leigh, may I have a moment of your time?” he asked in what he hoped sounded like a diffident and respectful manner.

  “Now?” She adjusted her black shawl on her narrow shoulders, staring at a point just past his head.

  “If it is not too inconvenient.”

  She glanced at her sisters. They frowned at her, clearly disliking his interruption. Miss Elvira pursed her lips and puffed her cheeks several times as if holding back a mouthful of fiery words. To his surprise, however, neither sister said anything, despite their scowls.

  “Oh, very well. What is it?”

  “Would you care to step into my office for one moment?”

  She stared at him. He kept his face carefully blank, although he had difficulty in not laughing. She was clearly trying to judge if he wanted to get her alone because he had lewd designs upon her person.

  Since he did not grab her there and then, she nodded before turning to her sisters. “I'll join you in the sitting room in five minutes.”

  The other two ladies stalked away, whispering in aggravated tones, no doubt discussing his excessively forward behavior in daring to speak to their sister.

  Aunt Eloise walked briskly to his office and stood pointedly in front of his desk chair. She did not take a seat. This effectively prevented him from sitting, even if he dared to do so in her presence.

  When he studied her, he noted uneasily that she still appeared ill. Her skin remained gray despite her walk in the fresh air, and her lips were bluish. She looked as though she had not slept in days. Her watery, red-rimmed eyes were set in deep hollows and her puffy eyelids had a few crusty flakes adhering to the base of her thin eyelashes.

  Pity almost got the better of him.

  “Well, what is it?” she asked.

  “I apologize for bothering you —”

  “Just get on with it. I suppose it has to do with some irregularity in the books?”

  “No, Miss Leigh,” he replied, struggling to suppress his astonishment. He would have to take a closer look at the ledger book.

  Edging round her, he pulled open the bottom desk drawer and took out the dark blue jacket and cap. When she saw what he held, her face turned even more pale. Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, he feared she would faint.

  Her thin, heavily-veined hand clutched the back of his chair, but she finally took a deep breath. Her chin rose.

  He had to admire her, even if her reaction seemed to confirm his worst fear. If any woman ever appeared guilty, it was Miss Eloise Leigh.

  “One of the servants found this cap and jacket. Is it yours?”

  “Yes!” She tried to grab the articles out of his hands.

  He threw them back into the drawer and shut it. Then he stood in front of it, blocking access. “I apologize, but I must ask you a few questions.”

  Eloise's thin body quivered, creating a rustling sound like dry leaves amidst her skirts. “Questions?” Her voice rose. “Give me my property, young man! Then you and your thieving sister may leave. And do not expect a reference.”

  “I'm sorry, Miss Leigh, but we were hired by Mr. Petre. At the earl's direction.”

  “Your sister stole that jacket — she must have!” Despite her words, she sounded more afraid than angry.

  “It is true that my sister found the jacket and cap in your wardrobe. However, it was growing mould and smelled musty. She took it down to the washroom to clean so that the rest of your clothing would not mildew. I took them.” He held up his hand and changed tack. “You may recall Mr. Gaunt? He was hired to look into the accident.”

  “What is there to look into?” The hollows around her eyes grew darker and deeper.

  “The loss of the Twilight may not have been an accident,” he replied gently. “And someone dressed in a dark blue jacket and wool cap was noticed nearby.”

  “I don't understand. Are you accusing me of doing something to the Twilight? Do you think I would murder my own nephew?”

  “Did you know Mr. Lionel Castle would be on the Twilight? Was he not supposed to be visiting a friend? A vicar?”

  “Yes — yes, he was.” She sounded triumphant, as if that proved her innocence. Then realization drained her face to a stark, paper-white. “You think I wanted to murder the earl? Why? Why would I do such a thing?”

  “Only you can answer that question.”

  She stuttered, fists at her sides, her face alternating between a livid flush of rage and a pallor that exposed the ravages of her illness and something else — something that looked like guilt. Or fear. He couldn’t gauge which. Nonetheless, either way it twisted his gut.

  He had already lost his brother. Despite their frequent arguments, Hugh was unprepared to lose Aunt Eloise, as well.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, in a more gentle voice.

  Her lips shook. With obvious effort, she pressed her mouth into a tight line and took a long, rattling breath, striving for control. “I suppose Mr. Petre hired you to inquire into the affair, although I was not aware that there were female and child inquiry agents, too.”

  “I am not aware of any, either.”

  She stared at him. With relief he noted a touch of color in her face. Some of the stiffness in her shoulders eased. “Are you not an inquiry agent?”

  “No,” he replied with absolute honesty.

  “Then you have no business asking impertinent questions.”

  “The earl's business is my affair. I did not mean to distress you, but we cannot ignore this tragedy.”

  “No. However, you may believe me when I say I harbored no ill-will towards either of my nephews. They gave me a home. They were the only family I had.” She grimaced and waved a hand. “Other than my sisters. And while the earl may have elected to ignore my advice, I loved him. I loved both of them.”

  He glanced down at the wide toes of his heavy shoes, embarrassed. “Then the jacket and cap?”

  “I — I wear them in garden. They are mine, as I told you.”

  “Garden?” he asked in disbelief. To his knowledge, she had not plucked a flower — much less thrust a trowel into dirt — in the whole time she had lived at Ormsby. “You are a gardener?”

  Her nose twitched. The tip turned deep vermillion in reaction to her lie. “I said so, did I not?”

  “I was just surprised. The gardens … well, that bed of foxglove near the stables is getting overrun by wild thyme. But I suppose you have been busy with other matters since the disappearance of the earl and his brother.”

  “The weeds overrun everything so quickly,” she said with wary confusion. Her gaze flickered around the room.

  “I beg your pardon, but you are not really interested in gardening, are you? There are no foxgloves there. Nor is there any wild thyme, if it even exists at all in England.”

  “The garments are mine. That is all you need to know.”

  “Very well. Then why were they crumpled and wet in the back of your wardrobe?”

  “Obviously, they must have got damp the last time it rained. We had a storm, if you recall.”

  He could not forget. The gale had torn the Twilight apart and left them all heartsick.

  “Then why did you not give them to the maid to wash and iron?”

  “I had other matters occupying my mind,” she replied drily.

  The glimmer of sardonic amusement in her sunken eyes surprised him. Hugh felt a sudden shift, as if seeing her for the first time. How little attention he had paid to her, although she had lived with them for almost twenty years.

  Lionel had always been the one who had clung to her and wanted her to stay at Ormsby after their parents died. At seventeen, Hugh had been ready to break free from the yoke of female control and wanted to run the household to his liking as the new earl.

  What else had he missed in his single-minded determination to be the man his father expected him to be? Certainly, he had missed whatever it was that had allowed Greeley to walk away with Miss Peyton.

  He bowed slightl
y to Aunt Eloise. Was it time to throw off his disguise and resume the role of earl?

  No. Not yet.

  Her answers only left more questions. She had never adequately explained what she was doing with the jacket and cap, and though she claimed to love her nephews, that did not mean she would not try to kill one of them.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “ … intrinsic merit is a much greater recommendation than extrinsic appearance.” —The Complete Servant

  Towards evening, Helen slipped into Miss Leigh's room. The three sisters were occupied with crewel work in the drawing room and seemed likely to stay there until dinner. With luck, Helen could get the necklace and …. Her step faltered. She was not sure how she wanted to proceed.

  How could she leave and abandon Edward and Hugh? And then there was Miss Leigh. She was obviously still ill, and her sisters seemed determined to make matters worse.

  Helen sighed. She’d discuss matters with Hugh when she had the necklace. No sense borrowing trouble now. She opened a drawer in Miss Leigh’s wardrobe and prodded through the tangled mess of jewelry, ribbons and other pretty odds-and-ends. Her fingers grew cold as she dug deeper and deeper without finding the Peckham necklace.

  Tension tightened her shoulders. She pulled the drawer out and dumped the contents onto the bed. Her hands shook as she spread out the contents. There was no doubt, the necklace was not among the other jewels.

  She grabbed handfuls of ribbons and necklaces and stuffed them back into the drawer. Then she whirled round and starting pulling out other drawers. As her efforts grew more desperate, she stopped every few minutes to take a deep breath and calm herself. She could not leave evidence of her search. She had to think.

  Finally, she stood in the middle of the room, twisting her hands.

  Think! Had Miss Leigh hidden it? Worse, had she given it to one of her sisters as a gift?

  Oriana would be furious when the truth came out. Helen would be humiliated, and she deserved it. She had bungled the entire thing.