Show us your insect collection. Unfortunately, he had never mentioned it to her directly. He had to volunteer information of its existence, or else he might suspect she had been eavesdropping.
The young lord frowned. “I suppose I could show you the conservatory. What say you, ladies? It’s on the far side of the manor, but it’s quite an impressive display, if you share my interests.” He dropped his gaze to Miss Young, a small smile curving his mouth.
“I’m fascinated already. Annie?”
Her smile had slipped. She hid behind her hair again. “I would dearly love to see your conservatory, my lord.” Her cheeks turned pink, hiding her freckles.
“As would I,” Miss Young said, louder. She cast an adoring expression up at Northbrook. “You already know I share your interests.”
Mrs. Fairchild, of course, refused to let her charge out of her sight. Katherine resolved to ignore the glare directed at her. Cheerfully, she engaged in conversation with the group, trying to keep up the appearance of delight despite the way Annie sank further and further into herself. The young woman pressed her lips together and didn’t say a word as they traversed the length of the manor to reach the far side.
However, the moment they got close enough to the modest glass-walled edifice to see the inside, which seemed to be draped with some sort of fine netting, Annie’s face lit up. “My word, it’s magnificent!”
It is? To Katherine, it didn’t seem particularly impressive. Whatever material was draped and pinned to the walls, it obscured the interior. Shadows, almost certainly insects’, flitted here and there. It looked like something out of one of her nightmares.
Lord Northbrook’s shoulders relaxed, and he directed his boyish smile to Annie. “Thank you, Miss Pickering. I admit, it is my pride. Shall we go in?”
“Please,” Miss Young said with a sniff. Although she remained on his arm, he hadn’t been speaking to her.
He released her so that he could open the door. While the women stepped past him, one by one, Northbrook nodded stiffly to each.
Hoping that Annie would capitalize on the moment, Katherine stepped in after Mrs. Fairchild, leaving her charge with some semblance of privacy with their host. Unfortunately, Annie didn’t say a word. Blushing, she dipped a curtsey and hurried inside with wide eyes.
The door opened into a hollow warmer than the outdoors. The air was a bit heavy. The ladies crowded together in a mere five-foot swathe before a netted curtain barred their path into the conservatory proper. The finely woven fabric was tied shut in the center.
Katherine thought it could be dyed in a mottled, chaotic fashion. However, as one of the spots of brown twitched, she realized that she in fact stared at a canopy of butterflies, which clung to the opposite side of the translucent curtain.
Miss Young, on the other hand, didn’t appear to realize that the curtain was formed of insects. Exclaiming over its beauty, she reached for one of the bows tying it shut and tugged on the string. Seconds later, she had all the fastenings undone.
Stepping into the conservatory, Lord Northbrook snapped, his voice thick with alarm, “Not yet, Miss Young—”
The moment she shoved the two sides of the curtain wide, the butterflies took to the air. Miss Young screamed and covered her head. Lord Northbrook slammed the door shut. “Don’t let them get out!”
Mrs. Fairchild seemed reduced to blind panic as a jonquil-yellow butterfly fluttered down her bodice. Shrieking, she smacked at her chest and jumped around. Katherine leaned against the glass wall and tried not to laugh. At least, until an insect tangled in her hair. Get out, you overgrown louse! She waved her hand, trying to stir the air into a breeze that would wrest it clear.
Miss Young bolted for the door with her arms shielding her head. Her matchmaker followed a step behind. As they wrenched open the door to spill into the open air, Northbrook shouted and pulled the door shut again.
The only person in the room who seemed of sound mind was Annie. She pursed her lips as she surveyed the interior and called out for a net. Northbrook blindly pointed to the wall next to Katherine, where four butterfly nets with long handles leaned against the panes.
The moment Annie started scooping butterflies out of the air with her net, twirling it expertly to catch as many as possible in a single sweep without harming them, Northbrook seemed to collect himself enough to do the same. Katherine made a token effort to help, once she’d dislodged the butterfly in her hair.
Every time she caught one, she passed it to Northbrook, who returned it to the enclosure. By the time they seemed to have completed their task, Katherine could still feel insect legs crawling over her scalp. “Do I have any in my hair?”
Northbrook, tall enough that she didn’t have to bend for him to look, inspected her and shook his head. “None.”
Katherine suspected she would continue to feel echoes of insects for months.
When she turned to Annie, whose cheeks were flushed and whose eyes gleamed with delight, she spotted a thick green butterfly nestled in her hair. “Annie.” Katherine raised a hand to her own head in horror.
The young woman must have been addled in the head, for instead of looking off-put at the insect crawling about her, she beamed. Her dimples framed her mouth. “Have I been mistaken for a flower?” Gingerly, she raised her hands to probe at her hair, searching to remove the insect.
“An oak tree is more likely. That’s a European oak leaf roller,” Northbrook answered, his voice low. He set down the net and approached Annie with his bare hands outstretched, his gloves discarded. “Allow me.”
Annie held still, though she muffled a giggle into her palm. “I suppose it was a little far-fetched to compare me to a flower. A sturdy oak tree is far more appropriate.”
Gently, Northbrook dipped his fingers beneath the belly of the butterfly, until it latched onto him instead of Annie’s hair. As he lifted his hand away, she asked, “Is it intact?”
He lowered the creature for her to see. She examined it, seeming delighted as it readjusted its wings. When she lifted a hand as if she meant to stroke it, Katherine suggested, “Perhaps we ought to let Lord Northbrook put the butterfly away before they all break free again.”
Composing herself, Annie took a step back. “Of course.” She paused as Northbrook turned, shielding the insect in case it took flight again. After a beat, the young woman added, “But it’s not a butterfly, it’s a moth. You can tell from the antennae. Butterflies have little clubs at the end of their antennae, whereas moths do not. Theirs are more feathery.”
Lord Northbrook nodded with approval as he released the moth to join its mates and tied the enclosure shut once more. He checked the gaps between the ties to ensure none were wider than his liking. “Exactly so, Miss Pickering. I’m impressed. Not many women are able to tell the difference.”
“It isn’t the only difference. Butterflies rest with their wings shut, whereas moths most often keep their wings open.” She bit her lower lip, and her cheeks colored. “But you likely know that. I’m afraid I’m a bit of an enthusiast. I tend to get carried away.” With each word, her voice grew smaller. She stared at her toes.
Northbrook gave her a disarming smile. “I have that habit as well. It’s refreshing to meet a true enthusiast.”
Annie brightened.
The young lord offered his arm. “Would you care to examine my collection, Miss Pickering?”
Initially, Katherine had thought they would be kept in cages or otherwise contained. Was she expected to walk past that curtain into a jungle of insects?
Annie looked as overcome with joy as if the earl had gotten down on one knee to propose. “I would adore the opportunity to look at them more closely!”
And Katherine, her chaperone, would be expected to accompany her. She fought not to grimace.
The door opened, releasing a wash of cooler air as Northbrook’s mother stepped inside. Her mouth twisted as she drew herself up. “What are you doing?”
Annie flinched and stepped away as
if she’d done something wrong. Fortunately, the dowager wasn’t speaking to her.
She chastised her son. “You’ve scandalized the guests! Come, you must take lunch with us and repair the situation.”
His color a bit high, Lord Northbrook shot one last look toward Annie before he escorted his mother out of the conservatory. As he shut the door behind the group, Katherine could have sworn she heard him mutter, “I haven’t scandalized all the guests.”
Then again, Katherine thought, as he resumed his stiff demeanor without once looking at Annie, perhaps it had been a trick of the wind.
Chapter Twelve
After an hour spent washing her hair, Katherine still felt insects crawling over her scalp. “Never again,” she told Emma, seated on the bed as she wrung out her hair into a towel. “I will make certain the next client I take on has no interest in insects or worms or snakes or any other unsavory creature.”
Katherine shuddered. Had she just said the next client I take on? No, there would be no more clients.
Although, if she couldn’t solve the Pink-Ribbon Murders by her birthday, perhaps she would be reduced to becoming a matchmaker, if she hoped to live independently of her father. There was a sobering thought, indeed.
After drying her hair as best she could, she coiled it onto her head, dressed in a fresh walking gown, and led Emma to the garden. Or rather, Emma led her. As they exited the manor and sidestepped a gravel walk leading into the groomed garden, something hissed. No, someone. Had someone whispered her name? She paused and scanned her surroundings.
There it was again. “Lady Katherine.”
She spotted Harriet, crouched behind a round bush at the corner of the garden proper. She was back from London! What good news. Perhaps Lyle had given Harriet some wisdom to impart regarding the murders.
But why was Harriet acting so suspiciously? She could walk up and speak to Katherine if she so desired. Instead, her maid waved a hand vigorously, beckoning Katherine closer.
When Katherine took a step closer, Emma yipped and wagged her tail. Unfortunately, she didn’t direct such shameless enthusiasm toward Harriet. Rather, the dog strained at the leash in order to greet a man exiting the manor. A man Katherine would have preferred to avoid.
The moment he spotted his admirer, a smirk pulled at the corners of Wayland’s lips. He converged on their position, his posture confident. “Lady Katherine, what a surprise. I thought you and Miss Pickering had retired for the afternoon.”
She offered him a thin smile. “As you can see, Emma had different ideas.”
A thin sneeze from behind her reminded her that Harriet was near and wanted to speak with her. Wayland frowned as he peered over Katherine’s head, but he must not have spotted her maid, for he didn’t mention her. Instead, he stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Was the dog at fault for this excursion, or are you hiding something of import?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Fishing for information again, Captain Wayland? You are nothing if not relentless, I must say.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Shall I tell you what I’ve deduced from your behavior?”
At his feet, Emma stopped begging for attention. She rolled on her back in the grass, twisting herself around the leash. Katherine knelt to untangle her. “Perhaps you would do better to search for your own clues rather than spend so much time trying to guess mine.” Giving her pet one last pat on the head, she rose to meet her rival’s mischievous gaze.
“Ah, but then I wouldn’t have any excuse to find myself in your company.”
The involuntary sound she emitted was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Flattery, Wayland? I thought you were better than this.”
His gaze caught hers. In the afternoon light, his irises seemed to hold enchanting flecks of gold. “Perhaps you should learn how to accept a compliment.”
“When you deliver a proper one, I will.”
Wayland opened his mouth, but Emma’s barking split the air as she spotted a squirrel. Katherine tightened her hold on the leash. Upon reaching the end of the leash, the pug spun on her front end to face Katherine, flattened her ears, and hunched her shoulders. Her collar popped free and dropped to the ground, along with the ribbon she wore. Yapping wildly, she raced after the offending rodent, leaving Katherine with a useless tether.
As Katherine bunched her skirts to go after her, into the heart of the garden, Harriet burst forth from her concealment. She pointed at the way she’d come, along the outer edge of the box shrubs forming the perimeter of the walks. “My lady, she went that way.”
Katherine frowned. “Harriet…”
Her eyes wide, Harriet vehemently pointed in the wrong direction. “That way, my lady. I’m certain of it. The squirrel must be running home to the large oak tree.”
Katherine squinted. The tree in question stood at least fifty feet beyond the end of the garden, its branches soaring visibly above the tall box shrubs.
Wayland scowled. “Are you blind? The dog ran this way.” He clasped Katherine’s elbow and stepped forward, leading her into the walkway.
Harriet latched onto her free arm and dug in her heels, pulling Katherine in the other direction. “No, I’m certain Emma ran in this direction. Quickly! You haven’t a moment to lose, my lady.”
Katherine wrested her arms free from both of them and took a step back. “Will you stop? I’d rather you not split me down the middle in pursuit of one unruly dog.”
“He’s leading you in the wrong direction, my lady. You must go toward the tree.” Harriet’s voice and expression were adamant.
Very well, Katherine would venture to the oak tree. However, she doubted she would find Emma there. And given that Harriet didn’t tell her the truth straight away, she obviously didn’t want Wayland to follow. Why? Had Harriet learned something about his involvement in the pink-ribbon murders?
Katherine turned toward him, hoping to chase him away. “Will you help? I’ll go around the side of the hedges in case Emma slips beneath if you’ll walk down the middle.”
Judging by the way his eyebrows lowered across his eyes, she thought he looked about to argue. With her heart hammering, Katherine offered the one thing certain to make him agree.
“If you find her first, I’ll tell you one thing about the murders.”
The corners of his mouth tipped up. “Very well, but I’ll be the one to decide what that something is. You’ll have to answer one question.”
Sard it. She had hoped to offer him something small and insignificant. He would likely ask a question for a pivotal piece of information. She prayed she wouldn’t know the answer, for if she did, he might roust the murderer from beneath her very nose.
“Very well,” she snapped. “Hurry, before she gets away.”
As Katherine turned, Wayland caught her hand. He shook it, his expression serious. “We have an agreement, Lady Katherine.”
Yes, now go.
As she hurried toward the tree, Harriet stepped up next to her. She hissed to her maid, “See if you can find Emma sooner than he. If he doesn’t secure her, I need tell him nothing.”
She took a step back. “Yes, but…” Her gaze strayed toward the tree. “Hurry. And don’t let anyone see you.”
Why? Although Katherine wanted to question her, she hurried after Wayland far too quickly. It seemed Katherine didn’t have a moment to spare.
Curious, she hastened to the oak tree. As she crossed past the tall hedges of the garden, she noticed movement along the tree trunk. A figure. Someone awaited her. On her guard, she slowed her steps as she continued into the shade of the tree.
The figure—a man—clawed at the cravat at his throat as he lounged against the gnarled trunk. His copper hair was a mess, falling across his impatient expression. The moment she stepped into earshot, Lyle straightened and turned to her.
She paused. Shouldn’t he be in London? She’d asked Harriet to fetch her information, not him! Unless, of course, he’d come to render his assistance and solve the murders wi
th her.
Her eyes widening, Katherine stepped closer. “You cannot be here.” He could jeopardize everything she worked toward.
Disgust twisted his mouth as he turned his profile to her. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to scandalize your friends. I know this is no place for a Bow Street Runner.” Contempt and loathing laced the term.
Katherine’s stomach plummeted. She held out her hands in surrender. “No, I didn’t mean that at all. I couldn’t give a farthing what these popinjays think of the company I keep. You ought to know that by now.”
His mouth set in a wary line, he asked, “Then what did you mean? I travelled here at a moment’s notice to offer my assistance in your case.”
She fought not to cringe. “Precisely that. If Papa discovers that you’re helping, he might render our agreement null and void. The terms were for me to solve a crime on my own.”
Lyle frowned. He checked the garden over his shoulder then shifted so he was better concealed by the tree trunk. His form was so lean that, to the casual observer from the manor, it likely seemed as though she stood there on her own.
“I don’t understand. If you don’t want my help, why did you send Harriet?”
Katherine nibbled on her lower lip. “I’d like your opinion on a theory. If you simply tell me whether or not what I suspect is possible, then I don’t think we’ll be violating the terms of my wager with Papa.”
Exasperated, Lyle ripped the cravat from around his throat and stuffed it into his coat pocket. Katherine tucked away a smile. He must have worn it solely for appearances while sneaking onto Lord Northbrook’s grounds—for her sake, not his. And she’d treated him abominably.
She reached out to squeeze his forearm. “I am grateful that you’re here to help.”
He blew out a breath. “This theory on which you’d like my opinion, it is the one you detailed in your letter?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I’ve noticed a similarity between the appearances of the two victims. Of an age, blond, slim—by all accounts they even came from a similar status on the fringes of society. It begs the question of the killer’s mindset and whether there could be a third victim with similar attributes, or if the first two were killed for specific reasons.”
An Invitation To Murder Page 11