Captain Stanfield watched as Miss Hawthorne packed up her things. He worried about her. She looked exhausted, and he was certain that her father would neither notice nor particularly care. In spite of his resolve to keep his distance, he could not help but say, “You need not have stayed so late, Miss Hawthorne. Your father and I could have continued this work on our own.”
She shook her head. “Who would have taken notes? You cannot, not when your right arm is injured like that. And Papa is hopeless at doing so.”
William hesitated, then found himself asking impulsively, “Do you not mind being used in such a way? Particularly as I cannot think your father ever gives a thought to your comfort.”
There was a wistful look in Miss Hawthorne’s eyes behind those spectacles that always seemed a trifle precariously placed on the bridge of her nose. But when she answered, it was with a brisk air of composure. “I wish to be here, at the museum, and in helping my father I am able to do so. I cannot think the price so very high. Indeed, I think it would be worth almost any price to be able to be around such wonderful things all day long.” He wanted to press the point, but instead he reminded himself that this was not why he was here. Never mind that he wished he could see Miss Hawthorne laughing and carefree. That was not his affair. He had a task to focus on, and it was time he did so again!
So now Captain Stanfield smiled at Miss Hawthorne, a trifle distantly this time. His voice was cool as he said, “I see. Very well. In any event, I am grateful to you, Miss Hawthorne, for your assistance. But now, I suppose I had better go find your father and discover at what time he wishes me to arrive tomorrow. He said something about a meeting and that I might not be needed until later than usual.”
Then, with a smile and a bow, he left her. Stanfield leaned heavily on his cane—at least until he was out of sight. Then he suddenly became surprisingly agile as he slipped around a comer and listened for voices. He heard one he recognized and followed it until he found Mr. Hawthorne talking with a gentleman William didn’t know. By the time they noticed him, the limp was as pronounced as ever, his cane landed loudly on the hardwood floor with each step again, and Stanfield looked every bit the exhausted young veteran he purported to be.
At the sight of him, the other two men broke off their conversation and Mr. Hawthorne hurried to William’s side. “Here, now, Captain Stanfield! You ought not to have exerted yourself in such a way,” Hawthorne protested. “I would have come and found you shortly. Or you could have sent my daughter to find me.”
“I didn’t wish to put either of you to such trouble,” William said with a wan smile as he sat down on the chair Hawthorne urged him toward.
“Nonsense! It would have been good for Ariel! Now, what did you wish to speak to me about?”
Stanfield hesitated. “It seems foolish now, but I meant to ask at what hour you needed me tomorrow. I had intended to arrive at the usual time, even if you expected to be busy, but I think perhaps I’ve put myself to a greater strain than I anticipated. Now I find that I must ask whether you would mind if I went, in the morning, to see a surgeon and came at noon instead.”
“My dear boy, I shouldn’t mind at all!” Mr. Hawthorne said with some hint of alarm in his voice. “I had no notion we were working you so hard. You ought to have told me it was too much for you.”
Stanfield waved a hand. “I shall be fine. I simply need to be a little more careful. I am only sorry to disappoint you this way.”
“I am not in the least disappointed in you,” Hawthorne countered. “You have been of the greatest assistance. Come, I’ll help you out to the street and find a hackney to take you home.” He paused and turned to speak to the other man who had been silent through all of this. “I shall be back shortly and we may talk some more then.”
Hawthorne was as good as his word, and William soon found himself headed for the rooms he had hired years ago. They were not at a fashionable address, nor particularly elegant, but they would do. In any event, he was often away, and it was, he told himself firmly, far better than staying at his parents’ town house and having both his mother, and even his sisters on their frequent visits, badgering him to marry. It was useless to point out that he was a younger son and his marriage couldn’t possibly signify to anyone. But once his mother and sisters took a notion in their heads, there was no turning them from it. Far better to live in shabby rooms he scarcely noticed than subject himself to that nonsense!
In the museum, in her father’s office, Ariel stared at the piles of papers and books and artifacts that covered every free surface. One of these days she really ought to try to organize things for him. But she had tried that once before, and he had not been in the least grateful to her for doing so. She sighed. It was not that she was precisely unhappy, but this was not quite how she had envisioned her life either.
There had been a time when she had dreamed the same sort of dreams for herself that every young woman dreams. A time when she had thought that someday she might find someone to love. The past few years had taught her how foolish such dreams were—at least for her.
Naturally, her father chose precisely that moment to return. “Is something wrong, my dear?” his concerned voice came from the doorway.
Ariel turned away briefly and then back to greet her father, a smile now fixed as firmly in place as her spectacles. “No, of course not, Papa. I am just tired, I suppose.” She paused, then added, “Captain Stanfield seemed tired as well.”
Hawthorne came forward and peered anxiously into his daughter’s face, but then seemed to take her at her word. He sighed. “I must admit that I am somewhat concerned about Captain Stanfield. He seems very weak. One would have thought that so many years after the war was over, he would be stronger by now. No doubt his recent tumble from a horse has made matters worse, but I suspect the truth is that the war ruined his constitution, and we must make allowances for that and take care not to press him too hard.”
“I think you may be right. But I am also concerned with how tired you appear to be, Papa,” Ariel countered. “Won’t you come home with me now?”
He hesitated, and then shook his head. “You go ahead,” he said. “There are some things I must finish up here first. But I shall be along as soon as I have.”
Ariel wanted to refuse. But she didn’t. She knew her father too well to think he could be swayed, once he had made up his mind.
“Very well, Papa. I shall see you at home. Please do not stay too late.”
He nodded and let her go. Ariel did not see, nor did Hawthorne, the man who lurked behind the half-open door and who quickly slipped out of sight as she gathered her things. Nor did she notice him watching as she climbed into a hackney to head for home.
* * *
It was late, very late, when Stanfield entered a nondescript building in a nondescript part of town. He had intended to come in the morning, but the note delivered to his rooms summoned him here tonight.
By the time he reached the top of the stairs, the door was open to the office he sought. Thornsby, the man who had summoned Stanfield, wasted no time waving him to a seat.
“Well? You have been there a week. What news?” Thornsby asked.
“I am in place, and everyone takes me to be the invalid I seem to be,” William said with no little satisfaction. “I am trusted and may move about as I wish.”
“No one suspects you?”
William shook his head. “I am perceived to be a harmless fellow.”
“Very good. And you are making progress? Have you found a way to stay in the museum overnight?”
“Not yet. I am still feeling my way. But Hawthorne and his daughter trust me. She is his assistant, by the by. And the clerks and other scholars there have also become accustomed to the sight of me. But there is someone I should like to know more about. A man named Colonel Merriweather arrived today. I knew him in the Peninsula and he was well thought of there. Hawthorne asked him to come and help sort out the artifacts.”
“So?” Thornsby aske
d.
William hesitated. “They were closeted together for a time this afternoon, Hawthorne and Merriweather. I tried to overhear what was said, but without much success. I should like to know if Colonel Merriweather poses a threat to what you wish me to do.”
The other man nodded. “I’ll find out and send you word as soon as I can. Meanwhile, continue as you have. There is a great deal of money to be made, stealing from the museum, but only if everyone plays his cards just right. So keep your eyes open and your wits about you!”
William nodded. There was a grim look about his eyes and mouth. “I shall,” he said. “I’ve no desire to add any more wounds to the ones I already have.”
“You go armed?” the other man asked.
William grimaced and drew the pistol out of the sling. “Everywhere,” he said. “Nothing and no one shall stop me from my purpose.”
“Good. You had better go now. I am expecting someone else soon. You had best go out the back way.” William nodded, rising to his feet at once. He moved silently and with a grace and skill that belied the injuries that seemed so evident during the day. Nor was there any trace of diffidence in his manner. Had the Merri- weathers or the Hawthornes chanced to see him now, they would have been very surprised indeed.
4
Ariel arrived at the museum some time after her father. He had come home so late and then been gone when she woke that morning, and it worried her, for he was keeping more and more secrets lately. And that was not like him. Her father had always been the most open of men. It worried her that he did not seem to feel he could tell her what he was doing, what it was that kept him so preoccupied these days. It had something to do with the museum, she was sure, for that was all she sometimes thought he cared about. But beyond that she knew nothing except that sometimes he came home after she was asleep, or left before she woke. And on such days his face always seemed lined with worry.
As she stepped down from the carriage, she bumped against someone, nearly knocking the spectacles off her nose. She turned to find Captain Stanfield reaching out his good hand to steady her. It was very early, even for her to be here, and certainly well before the time of noon that Captain Stanfield had told her father to expect him. He seemed equally taken aback to find her there so early.
“I thought you were not coming until later,” she said.
He seemed to color up. “I, er, the surgeon could not see me this morning, so I thought I might as well come along and see if there was anything I could do to help. You are here remarkably early yourself.”
Before she could answer, before she could decide whether or not to confide in him her fears concerning her father, another carriage arrived and deposited Colonel and Mrs. Merriweather right beside them. Ariel could not decide whether she felt relieved or disappointed.
They had begun the customary round of greetings, when suddenly a sound came from the direction of the museum. Tom stood in the doorway, shouting something unintelligible but betraying his distress. They all hurried toward him, and he promptly disappeared back into the museum.
It was in the hall where they had been working that they found Ariel’s father. He lay facedown among the artifacts they had been sorting through the day before. And he was unmistakably dead, stabbed with a Moorish- looking dagger that had been one of the spoils of war brought back from the Peninsula and donated to the museum.
To Ariel, it was as if the voices of the others came from a distance. Instinctively she reached out to grasp onto something, but there was nothing nearby. She heard the clatter of the captain’s cane falling to the floor, and then a strong arm came around her waist, holding her up.
“Courage,” Captain Stanfield’s voice came from beside her.
“Are you faint?” Colonel Merriweather demanded. “There is a chair over here. I shall get it for you.”
He was as good as his word. He brought over the chair and helped her sit down in it. Ariel was grateful for his solicitude and for the captain’s. “Is Papa really dead?” she asked, knowing what the answer was but some part of her still hoping she was wrong.
Captain Stanfield placed an encouraging hand on her shoulder. “Yes,” he said.
And then Mrs. Merriweather knelt beside Ariel, peering closely at her face. The older woman’s voice was steady but gentle as she asked, “Do you have any relatives, my dear? Anyone we could send for to come and be with you?”
Ariel shook her head. Her voice was strained as she
replied, “Papa had no family. Nor did Mama. None that I know of, at any rate.”
The colonel’s voice intruded now as he said softly to his wife, “Hawthorne was the last of his line, and his wife was an orphan. That was the reason he could indulge his fancy and come to work at the museum. No one to stop him, you see.”
“What about friends?” Captain Stanfield suggested.
“Papa had friends, but I did not know them very well,” Ariel replied. “As for me, I-I have none. I was too different from the other girls my age, and while Papa’s friends would be kind, I do not think I could ask any of them to stay in the house with me. Papa scorned the notion of propriety, but I find I cannot be quite so casual about it as he was.”
“I should think not!” Mrs. Merriweather said indignantly. Her voice took on a hint of urgency as she persisted. “If I were to escort you home, Miss Hawthorne, would your housekeeper be there? A maid? Or anyone?”
Ariel shook her head again. “Papa kept no household staff. He thought it a useless indulgence. There was a woman who would come to clean at times, but today is not her day. We sent our laundry out, and I did all the cooking.”
The colonel patted her hand awkwardly. “You must be brave, my dear,” he said. To the others he said, “We shall have to send for a Bow Street Runner. Perhaps Tom could go.”
“No! You cannot send Tom,” Ariel protested. “He must already be upset at having found my father this way. In any event, he would find it much too hard to explain what has happened in a way that a Bow Street Runner would understand.”
That gave the colonel pause. He turned and looked at Tom, who was shifting his weight back and forth, his face clearly contorted with distress. “Yes, of course,” the colonel said quietly. “Quite right you are, Miss Hawthorne. Stanfield, perhaps you would be so good as to go to Bow Street and fetch a Runner?”
“Of course.”
“Good. But be careful as you go back through the museum,” the colonel warned. “Hawthorne looks to have been dead for some time, but I could be mistaken. And one wouldn’t want to startle the person who did this and have him attack you!”
As Tom sat down on the floor and began rocking back and forth in distress, Ariel watched Captain Stanfield move from the room as swiftly as his injured leg would permit.
The colonel and Mrs. Merriweather began to discuss her situation, but Ariel could not bring herself to greatly care. Still, she listened.
“We must do something for Miss Hawthorne,” Mrs. Merriweather said in a low voice. “You heard her say that she has no relatives, nor even a household staff, to be of support to her right now. Perhaps we should stay with her?”
“What would my aunt think of that?” the colonel asked impatiently. “And who would look after Elizabeth? There will be no one at the Hawthorne house who could do so. You surely are not suggesting we leave our daughter behind?”
Mrs. Merriweather sighed. “No, of course not. I am simply worried about Miss Hawthorne.”
“Well, and so am I,” the colonel agreed. “That is why I shall arrange for someone to stay at the house with her. Perhaps a couple, a husband and wife, who can watch over things and help to deal with all the funeral arrangements that must be made. But first we must speak with the Bow Street Runner.”
“Yes, and before he gets here someone should see what they can puzzle out about this murder,” Mrs. Merriweather said roundly.
The colonel snorted. And then he said, with no little exasperation, “I suppose this means, Marian, that you are going to
insist upon being a part of all of this? Even though you know that I do not like the notion of you being involved with death again.”
Mrs. Merriweather regarded her husband with a withering expression as she retorted, “It was not my notion to come to London and meddle at the British Museum. Mr. Hawthorne was your friend, not mine. But since I am here, you cannot keep me out of things.”
The colonel grumbled; he distinctly grumbled. Marian did not let it deter her. She glanced at Miss Hawthorne. The young woman seemed stunned, but not about to faint. Good. Marian could turn her attention back to her husband.
“I think you had better tell me everything that Mr. Hawthorne told you yesterday,” she said briskly, though so softly that she hoped Miss Hawthorne would not overhear her. “I thought at the time that it must be something important, and it seems I was right.”
“I don’t like this, Marian,” the colonel repeated.
Mrs. Merriweather nodded toward the body. “I suspect Mr. Hawthorne likes it even less. But now that there has been a murder, the best thing you can do is share with me whatever you know and let the two of us work together to resolve the problem.”
“Hawthorne spoke to me in confidence.”
“And now you will tell me in confidence.”
“It is not proper.”
Mrs. Merriweather drew herself up to her full diminutive height. “I was a governess for twenty years, my dear,” she said with some asperity. “I think I may know something of what is proper and what is not, and murder is always improper! The need to discover who did this surely outweighs all other considerations.”
Miss Tibbles Interferes Page 3