“No,” Mrs. Merriweather replied decisively. “I should like to go look again at the place where Tom was killed.”
“Why?”
“I’ll explain when we get there.”
True to her word, Mrs. Merriweather conferred with Ariel as to precisely how Tom’s body had fallen and then said, “I believe Tom must have been running that way, which means, since I believe him to have been shot in the back, that the person with the pistol must have been firing from this direction. Let us see what we find if we look into the rooms along the way.”
Ariel made no objection. If Mrs. Merriweather believed she could find something useful in solving Tom’s death, she was more than content to help her. Tom had been a kind and gentle, albeit simple, soul, and she missed him.
Indeed, it was Ariel who noticed that something was wrong in the third storage room on the right. At first it was only a nebulous feeling, but gradually she realized what it was that was disturbing her.
“Someone has been in here,” she told Mrs. Merriweather, “and rearranged a number of boxes against the wall.”
“How do you know?”
“My father and I were in this room less than two weeks ago. He was looking for something important, something he feared had been misplaced.”
“Did he find it?”
Ariel shook her head. “No. But I remember how particular Papa was to have everything up on the shelves just so. And how he commented that he supposed it didn’t matter since we were the only ones who ever came in here, but that it mattered to him nonetheless. I laughed at him at the time, but it doesn’t seem very funny right now.”
Mrs. Merriweather patted her shoulder. “No, it wouldn’t,” she agreed sympathetically. “Very well, do not touch anything, nor even go any further into the room, but tell me what else you may be able to notice.”
For some moments, Ariel bent to the task, quite literally stooping down to study the floor as well as standing on tiptoe to see as high as she could. Finally she turned to Mrs. Merriweather, a troubled look upon her face.
“It may be simply my imagination,” she warned the older woman.
Mrs. Merriweather nodded. “Perhaps. But I should like to hear your thoughts anyway.”
Ariel spoke slowly, choosing her words with great care. “I remember that the floor was very dirty in here. I said something of the sort to Papa, that we ought to have Tom sweep, but Papa said the things in this room were very valuable. He did not wish to risk anything happening to any of them and would rather have a dirty floor than let anyone but ourselves into the room. I also remember that he locked the door as we left. He always kept it locked.”
“But it is not locked this morning,” Mrs. Merriweather said slowly. “And the floor, at least in the middle, shows a jumble of footprints. So a number of people, or one very active person, was in this room since that day you were in here with your father.”
“I wonder if that is what Tom saw, and the reason he was killed,” Ariel said softly.
Mrs. Merriweather nodded. “I should think it quite possible. Just what is—or perhaps I should say what was—in this room, Miss Hawthorne?”
“This was the room Papa kept the things from Egypt that were brought back almost twenty years ago. Papa put some of the things on display, but of course there isn’t room for everything to be out. And the most valuable smaller pieces are kept in here. If a scholar wished to study these objects, Papa would give him a small room in which to do so and bring them to the person one by one. He was so careful, you see, because at one time there was so much desire for Egyptian things that one or two objects were actually taken from the main rooms where they were on display.”
Mrs. Merriweather drew in her breath in dismay. “Yes, I remember when all the most fashionable ladies were having their drawing rooms done up in Egyptian themes,” she said slowly. “And I am not certain it has ever gone entirely out of fashion. I would not be surprised to discover that Tom interrupted the theft of objects from this room. Very well, since we have sorted out everything we can sort out simply by standing here, we may as well actually go into this room and examine the objects that are here!”
Ariel agreed. She moved briskly to the far side of the room and began to lift down boxes. Several times she frowned, uncertain. Eventually she got to the one that held her father’s special treasure. It wasn’t the most famous piece. The Rosetta Stone was the best known and most important one. But this was her father’s personal favorite. It was a small statue of a cat that he kept in a wooden box on the shelf. The box didn’t feel empty, but the moment Ariel lifted the lid she gave a cry of dismay.
Instantly Mrs. Merriweather was at her side. “What is it, my dear?”
Ariel lifted the statue out of the box. “This isn’t right,” she said with a frown. “It looks almost right. And if one didn’t know it so well, one would never guess. But Papa used to take this piece out often and show it to me. There was a small imperfection near the paw that this piece does not have. Someone has made a careful copy, but missed that detail.”
Mrs. Merriweather nodded. Her expression was grim as she said, “I can well imagine this would be worth a great deal—or rather the original would have been. I wonder if someone would have considered it worth committing murder for.”
“But if someone wished to steal something,” Ariel said slowly, “why would they take this piece and not something like the Rosetta Stone, which is far more valuable?”
“Precisely because the Rosetta Stone is so well known, one would not wish to risk being caught with it,” Mrs. Merriweather suggested. “In any event, if one wished an object simply to look at, I would think this small statue of a cat would be more desirable. After all, it was your father’s personal favorite for just that reason, I presume.”
Ariel nodded. “So it was.”
“Put it back, my dear,” Mrs. Merriweather said briskly.
“Put it back?”
Mrs. Merriweather smiled at the note of incredulity in Ariel’s voice. “Yes, put it back. And when we leave this room you are going to lock it up. You do have a set of keys, do you not?”
Ariel flushed. “I am not supposed to have keys,” she said.
“But you do, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then you may lock the room. I do not, however, believe we need inform any of the gentlemen, or the Bow Street Runner, that you possess a set of keys. It will be far more handy if they do not know or guess.”
Ariel found this view of matters most interesting and made not the slightest objection to Mrs. Merriweather’s plans. She did as the older woman told her, and a few minutes later they were back in the corridor outside the room, the door securely locked against further intrusion.
“Though we must assume,” Mrs. Merriweather said thoughtfully, “that whoever was in this room also has a set of keys. One wonders how many such sets there may be in existence, and who has hold of them.”
Ariel might have tried to speculate, but at that moment, one of the men who worked at the museum rounded the corner and spotted them. He seemed rather taken aback to find them there.
“Miss Hawthorne! What are you doing here? We thought you had gone home.”
“Yes, yes, quite right, so she should, and so I have been telling her,” Mrs. Merriweather said brightly. “We are looking for my husband. Colonel Merriweather. Have you perhaps seen him? It is such a warren of corridors and rooms here that we became quite turned around and lost. But now that you are here, you can show us the way to the room where Colonel Merriweather and Captain Stanfield are working.”
If the young man thought it odd that Miss Hawthorne could have gotten lost in a place she had known most of her life, he did not say so. Perhaps he was distracted by the very beguiling smile bestowed upon him by Mrs. Merriweather. Or perhaps he chalked it up to grief. At any rate, he did not ask any further questions. Instead he led them, as requested, to the hall with the artifacts Wellington had donated.
It was quite a t
empting thought to Ariel to point out that he was not taking them by the most direct route. But then, he was one of the newer members to Papa’s staff so perhaps he had not yet learned his way about. In any event, to have said anything aloud would have put paid to Mrs. Merriweather’s tale of the two of them getting lost in the building. So she merely followed silently and mulled over what she and Mrs. Merriweather had found. The young man left them the moment he had directed them into the correct room.
“There you are,” Colonel Merriweather said, with relief when he saw them.
“We were quite worried when we realized that both of you were nowhere to be found,” Captain Stanfield added, coming forward as quickly as his injured leg would allow.
Stanfield spoke the words to both ladies, but his eyes were on Ariel. And she felt herself grow warm under his intense scrutiny. Was it possible, remotely possible, that he, in some small way, cared what happened to her?
It was a thought she had not allowed herself to have before, but now it seemed to crowd out all other possibilities. Until, that is, Mrs. Merriweather’s brisk voice recalled her to her senses.
“I believe that Miss Hawthorne and I have, perhaps, had quite enough excitement for today. We shall see you back at Lady Merriweather’s house later, Andrew.”
Ariel would have protested, but a sharp glance from the former governess stopped her. And, to be sure, she was curious as to what the woman planned for them to do next. She was fairly certain it was nothing so tame as simply going straight back to Lady Merriweather’s house. She was quite right.
“Shall I accompany you ladies home?” Captain Stanfield asked.
“Oh, no, that will not be necessary,” Mrs. Merri- weather said brightly.
The colonel frowned. “It might not be a bad notion,” he said. He paused and peered shrewdly at his wife. “You do mean to go straight home, don’t you?” he demanded.
“I, er, thought I ought to take Miss Hawthorne shopping,” Mrs. Merriweather said.
“Shopping?” both men echoed incredulously.
Mrs. Merriweather sighed. “Do none of you have any sense of propriety? Miss Hawthorne has lost her father. Do you not think it would be proper for her to wear some sort of mourning garb other than the one black gown she owns? It is imperative we find her something to signify that she has lost someone dear to her. Now do you still wish to accompany us?”
The men quite literally, rather comically and very hastily backed away. “No, no, that is quite all right. We would not wish to intrude.”
Mrs. Merriweather wasted no further time but took Ariel’s hand and led her to the entrance of the museum where the colonel’s carriage was waiting, the coachman lounging very much at his ease. Mrs. Merriweather gave the fellow directions and bustled the younger woman inside.
Only when the carriage was on its way did Ariel have a chance to speak. “Papa did not believe in wearing mourning clothes,” she said firmly.
“Good. Then we need not bother with a mantua maker,” Mrs. Merriweather said briskly. “An arm band or some such thing will suffice. Your clothes are sober enough to satisfy. But with that tale, we have managed to escape the company of my husband and Captain Stanfield so that we may visit your father’s solicitor on our own. I was able to discover Mr. Renfred’s direction from Lady Merriweather’s majordomo before we left the house this morning.”
Ariel leaned back against the squabs. “You think of everything,” she said.
“I try,” Mrs. Merriweather agreed with a sniff of satisfaction. “I try.”
Soon enough they were being shown into the solicitor’s office. The clerk had tried to fob them off with a tale that Mr. Renfred was too busy to see them, but Mrs. Merriweather, who had tamed wild daughters and faced down earls and other peers in her day, had no trouble riding roughshod over the poor fellow so that he had no choice but to show them in at once.
Mr. Renfred was made of both sterner and shrewder stuff than his clerk. He took Mrs. Merriweather’s measure in one glance and did not even attempt to distract her from her goal.
“I heard about your father’s death, Miss Hawthorne, and meant to call upon you in a few days,” he said when he had seen them both seated. “I presume you will wish to know in what position you stand with regard to financial matters.”
Ariel nodded. “Papa never discussed money with me, and I have no idea whether he left me a pauper or not.”
Mr. Renfred’s gaze softened, and he removed his spectacles to polish them. When he put them back on his nose he said with proper gravity, “I am very sorry to hear of your father’s death, Miss Hawthorne. He was a good man as well as a very clever one. Clever with money, I mean, and that is a fortunate circumstance for you. Your father left you well provided for. You will have three thousand pounds a year, which will provide you with quite a nice dowry, I should say.”
“Three thousand pounds? A year?” Ariel blinked at the solicitor in disbelief. She turned to Mrs. Merriweather, as though instinctively feeling she might be better able to answer her next question than the solicitor. “But if Papa had so large a fortune, why did he insist that we live as we did?”
Mrs. Merriweather shook her head. “That I cannot answer, my dear. I must suppose his concern was to provide for the future. Or he had some purpose to which he meant someday to put those funds. I am afraid we
shall never know, now that he is dead and we cannot ask him.”
“I can tell you,” the solicitor said, polishing his spectacles yet again. “Your father came into a small amount of money and asked me to invest it for him. He planned, Miss Hawthorne, to take whatever gains there were and travel to Egypt, after you were safely wed. Or so he told me. It is a great pity that he died without knowing that his investments have prospered far beyond any expectations he or I had for them, for I did not have a chance to tell him. And now I shall never be able to do so, nor shall he be able to take that trip that apparently mattered so much to him. But you, Miss Hawthorne, will benefit from his good fortune. You will never need to worry about finding yourself destitute, as too many ladies sometimes do.”
In something of a daze, Ariel rose to her feet. “Thank you,” she said, and started for the door.
The solicitor’s voice stopped her. “I know you must be overwhelmed right now, Miss Hawthorne,” he said kindly. “But I pray you will allow me to advance you some funds, until arrangements can be made for a steady allowance to be paid out to you. You need only let me know what you wish it to be, and I shall arrange everything.”
Ariel waited while the solicitor fetched funds set aside, he assured her, for just such a purpose as this. She left his office with quite a large sum tucked into her shabby reticule, but she felt more overwhelmed than ever.
Beside her, Mrs. Merriweather said, in her brisk, practical voice, “I think, my dear, that we had best go shopping after all.”
10
Ariel did not recognize herself in the looking glass Madame Salvage kept for the use of her customers. Papa had said he did not want her to wear mourning when he died, so the dress she was trying on was dark blue, rather than black. But it was of a finer fabric than she had ever worn before, and the cut far more flattering than any of the gowns she had made for herself over the years. There was a tiny place in her heart that was angry Papa had never let her know such a wonderful feeling before, while he was still alive.
When she had believed they could not afford for her to patronize a mantua maker, it had not mattered to Ariel. She understood and had never plagued her father over the fact. But it mattered now.
Mrs. Merriweather seemed just as pleased as Ariel with what she saw. She nodded approvingly to the mantua maker and said, in a matter-of-fact tone, “I believe Miss Hawthorne may wish to order a number of gowns from you, Madame Salvage, if you can provide some today and promise the rest of them quickly. And, of course, six months hence, she will need quite a few more brightly colored gowns. To that end, I wonder if you might be willing to perhaps adjust the price?”
Ariel drew in her breath in shock at Mrs. Merriweather’s audacity. But apparently it was not as shocking as it seemed, for Madame Salvage agreed with great alacrity to the suggestion and soon the two women were deep in
discussion of just how much could be done with the cost of all the gowns Mrs. Merriweather thought she ought to order.
Ariel supposed she should put a stop to this extravagance. She supposed she ought to insist she did not need more than one or two. But the fabric felt so soft against her skin, and the way she looked in the mirror was so appealing, that she could not summon up the strength of character to refuse the rest of the gowns. Not when it meant she could toss away all her older, unflattering clothing and look like this every day from here on out.
Besides, she soothed herself, from what Mr. Renfred had said today, Ariel could afford such extravagance— at least this once. And so she allowed herself to be persuaded. It was a very self-satisfied Mrs. Merriweather, and a tremulous Ariel, who left the now very happy Madame Salvage’s establishment a short time later. Nor did it hurt that even Lady Merriweather, when shown Ariel’s new finery when it arrived at the house a short time after they did, unbent sufficiently to bestow a more approving smile upon her than anything she had yet shown her thus far. If clothing could make such a difference, Ariel found she was glad she had let her objections be overcome!
Mrs. Merriweather had distressingly perceptive eyes. She watched Ariel, and when there was a quiet moment, drew her aside for, as she put it, a comfortable coze.
“What do you mean to do with yourself, now that you know you need not worry about funds?” Mrs. Merriweather asked.
Miss Tibbles Interferes Page 8