“Any notion the reason it happened?” a third gentleman put in.
William shrugged. “Who knows? I might think it was scholarly rivalry, but I cannot imagine two scholars fighting—at least not physically.”
“Could someone have been stealing from the museum?” yet another voice asked.
Startled, Stanfield looked up to see a gentleman standing beside the card table and regarding him with hooded eyes. Kinkaid. He wondered if he was being baited. William chose his words with great care.
“I suppose it is possible,” he said slowly. “But what would anyone wish to steal? There is some gold and jewelry at the museum, to be sure, but so recognizable, I would think, as to make such a theft pointless.”
“Not if the person wished to melt it down for the gold and sell the stones separately,” Lord Lowell pointed out thoughtfully. “Is that what you meant, Kinkaid?” Kinkaid shook his head. “No. I was thinking more in terms of artifacts.”
That brought a guffaw from one of the gentlemen seated at the table. Unperturbed, Kinkaid said, “You may think it absurd, sir, but I assure you that there are those of us willing to pay a great deal for the sorts of things to be found in that museum.”
“And did you pay for some of the sorts of things to be found in the museum?” a fellow bolder than Stanfield asked sarcastically.
From those who knew Kinkaid well, there was a stunned silence. He, however, chose to be amused. “No, Birkett, I did not pay to have things stolen from the museum, if that is what you are asking. Nor did I arrange to have Hawthorne killed. I confess, however, to an avid curiosity as to who did. A curiosity, I would guess, that is shared by young Captain Stanfield. Particularly in light of his interest in Miss Hawthorne.”
William flushed. He decided to brazen it out. “Of course I should like to know who killed Hawthorne,” he agreed lightly. “And yes, I should like to know for Miss Hawthorne’s sake as well as for my own. But I’m no Bow Street Runner! I’ve no notion who could have done such a thing.”
Still Kinkaid stared at Stanfield, and it was as though he could read the younger man’s mind. He leaned forward as he said, “I did not have a hand in this, and I would give much to know who did. If I can be of assistance, please do not hesitate to call on me for help.”
William could only nod, unnerved by the encounter. What the devil did it mean? Before he could gather his wits sufficiently to think of something else to say, Kinkaid waved a careless hand at the group and moved away, leaving Stanfield more confused than ever. The others made jests about Kinkaid’s eccentricity, for which William was grateful in that it covered his own silence.
In another part of the ballroom, Marian Merriweather suppressed yet another sigh. Really, listening to the latest on dits was surprisingly tiresome! If only she could simply ask the questions she wished to ask. But that would have drawn undue attention to herself and perhaps even put their quarry on alert. She did not need the colonel’s warning to know how foolish that would be.
But she listened and hoped that something useful would be spoken. And eventually it was. “Mrs. Merri- weather,” one of the ladies tittered, “you were at the museum when that man was found dead, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” She spoke with a chilly reserve, and it answered very well, for the others leaned forward, avid to discuss the matter further.
“Wasn’t it a shocking sight? And that poor girl, Miss Hawthorne, forced to see her father dead!”
“I have heard she is staying with you at Lady Merri- weather’s town house,” another chimed in.
“Yes, she is. And Miss Hawthorne is a delightful young lady,” Marian said stiffly. “Indeed, she is refreshingly genuine without the slightest trace of nonsense about her.”
“Yes, but men like nonsense,” still another lady observed dryly.
“Well, of course they do! What man wishes to think his wife’s intellect may be greater than his own,” one dowager said tartly.
“One may hope that Miss Hawthorne will have the good fortune to find a gentleman who values her as she deserves,” Marian said in an austere voice.
“One hears that she already has,” the first lady said with a little smile. “Not that I think Lady Chadbourne can be pleased. She, no doubt, has hoped her son would set his sights much higher, for he might very well have done so, even if he is a younger son. But you, Mrs. Merri- weather, must know the truth of the matter.”
Marian regarded the other lady with a lift of her eyebrows that signaled both disbelief and reproof. It was a look that had served her well all the years she had been a governess, and it did not fail her now.
“I know that nothing has been said, no promises given, and Miss Hawthorne is far too wise to anticipate anything before it occurs,” she replied. “In any event, her thoughts are, as they quite properly ought to be, on her father’s death right now. She is scarcely thinking of romance when he has been in the ground less than a week.”
“Quite a proper young lady, it seems,” someone said with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
Marian turned to stare down the offender. “Indeed she is. One might wish all young ladies of the ton were as nicely mannered as Miss Hawthorne.”
Since the woman who had spoken had a daughter notorious for her wild streak, this was considered to be a home hit, and the lady retired from the lists, suddenly discovering a need to seek refreshments. In the silence that followed, Marian dared anyone else to speak against Miss Hawthorne. No one took up the challenge.
When she was satisfied they were all properly cowed.
Marian returned to the theme that interested her. “The museum,” she said lightly, “is a fascinating place. Have any of you visited there?”
And that set the talk going in precisely the direction she wished. All she had to do now, Marian told herself, was wait to see what happened and who might know what.
Lady Merriweather, meanwhile, had her own coterie of ladies and gentlemen hanging on her every word. It was an entirely new experience for her. People respected Lady Merriweather, but she had never found herself so very much in demand as she did now.
“With your nephew and his wife so involved with the murders at the museum, you must know details no one else does,” one lady said a trifle breathlessly.
“Indeed, I do,” Lady Merriweather agreed.
“How close are they to catching the killer?” asked a gentleman with exquisite politeness and respect in his voice.
Lady Merriweather began to feel a trifle uneasy. “I cannot tell you any details,” she said with absolute truth.
“Oh, Lady Merriweather, I am sure you must know much more than you are saying!” another lady trilled.
“Yes, surely your nephew and his wife confide in you,” another gentleman chimed in.
She ought to deny it; Lady Merriweather knew she was foolish to do otherwise. But the looks of admiration and respect were such balm to her soul. And really, what harm could there be in prevaricating just a trifle? It was not as though anyone here could possibly be involved. So, giving in to temptation, Lady Merriweather nodded. “Of course I am in my nephew’s confidence. He and his wife tell me everything and you may expect an interesting development very soon. Perhaps as soon as tomorrow morning. Indeed . . . But, no, I must not say another word! My lips are sealed,” she said.
“Surely you do not think we would tell anyone?” yet another lady said, leaning forward.
Lady Merriweather was tempted, so very tempted. And yet there was nothing she could say, even if she wanted to do so. Her gaze caught the eye of a gentleman, and she frowned. Something about him made her distinctly uncomfortable. His eyes went wide. Hastily she looked away and tried to bring the conversation to a close.
“I said I shan’t say another word on the subject,” she repeated. “My lips are sealed.”
When Lady Merriweather looked up again, the gentleman had moved away, and she tried to recall his name. A pity vanity kept her from wearing her spectacles. Perhaps if he hadn’t been standing to
the back of the group, she would have been able to recognize the gentleman. But as it was, she was simply grateful he was gone.
He was gone from Lady Merriweather’s circle, but not from the ball, although he did slip outside to make certain arrangements. Perhaps the old woman was bluffing, but under the circumstances he couldn’t afford to take the risk. Not when she talked of interesting developments by tomorrow morning.
A gentleman bowed to Mrs. Merriweather. “May I have this dance?” he asked.
She stared at him. Should she? It would look so foolish, a woman of her age. And this was Mr. Kinkaid! But... But she did so dearly love to waltz. And perhaps, Marian told herself, she could learn something useful from him by doing so.
Still, she might have had the strength of character to refuse had she not heard the shocked murmurs around her.
“Mrs. Merriweather? To waltz at her age?”
“Why, it would be positively shocking!”
And perhaps that was what did it, for before she knew what she was about, Marian was on her feet, holding out her hand to Mr. Kinkaid. “I should be delighted,” she said.
He grinned a most alarming grin and led her out onto the dance floor. Mr. Kinkaid, whatever his flaws of character might have been, was an excellent dancer. He was also quite capable of carrying on a conversation as he went through the steps.
“So. The famous, or perhaps I should say, infamous Miss Tibbles! What a dragon of a governess you were once reputed to be!”
Marian stiffened at that, and he laughed.
“No, please, I meant no offense,” he said hastily. “I am quite in awe of your character and determination. And you are every inch the lady. But I do hope that reputation was accurate and you have succeeded in persuading Miss Hawthorne not to take any foolish risks.”
“Foolish risks?” Marian echoed, her mind torn between a desire to learn what she could from Mr. Kinkaid and her enjoyment of the waltz.
Kinkaid gave a sigh of what might have been exasperation. “You are, all of you, far too persistent in asking questions. It could be dangerous.”
Marian stiffened. “Are you threatening me, sir?” she demanded.
He stared down at her and replied in the smoothest of voices, “I should never be so foolish, Miss Tibbles. Er, Mrs. Merriweather. I am simply trying to warn you, for your own good. There are, after all, villains in this world.”
Her eyes narrowed and her voice was curt as she replied, “Then those villains are the ones who had best have a care!”
His lips tightened in disapproval, and Marian had the sinking sensation that Andrew would say she should never have been so blunt. But her temper had gotten the better of her. Still, for the rest of the waltz Mr. Kinkaid was perfectly amiable, and at the end of it he fetched her a glass of champagne.
20
Ariel sat alone in the library. With everyone gone, the house felt empty to her. She was reading a novel in the hopes that it might divert, at least for a little while, her thoughts and concerns. It was supposed to be an engaging tale, but Ariel found that it could not hold her interest. What was it to her what some silly creature did when the least common sense would have prevented disaster?
But what else was she to do? She found it hard to simply be alone with her thoughts. Better to pretend to care about silly creatures she would have no use for in real life.
Still, Ariel could not deny that she greeted the appearance of Lady Merriweather’s majordomo with something akin to relief. Particularly when he told her there was a message for her. His disapproval was quite evident, even though it went unspoken as he stepped aside to let her see the messenger.
A young boy stepped forward and handed Ariel a folded sheet of paper. “Guv’nor told me to give it to you, if anything ’appened to ’im. Said I were to wait ten days. Weren’t to let no one see me give it to you, neither.”
This last was said with a glare at Lady Merriweather’s servant, who merely sniffed disdainfully in reply. Ariel tried to soothe his ruffled feelings. “I am certain my father did not mean to worry about him,” she said.
The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve, and his distress was evident. “ ’e told me no one, no one, were to see. And I would of give it to you at your ’ouse, but you don’t never come there no more! Took all me wits to wheedle out where you was from them wots taking care
’o yer ’ouse.”
“You’ve done the best you could, and my father would be very grateful,” Ariel said, trying to reassure the boy but not knowing how. “Perhaps you could have something to eat in the kitchen while I read the letter my father left for me?”
This last was said to Lady Merriweather’s servant, who reluctantly nodded. “That could be arranged,” he agreed. To the boy he said, “This way.”
Completely confused, Ariel waited until they were gone before she unfolded the paper. The words, written in the hand she knew so well, brought tears to her eyes. But she forced them back and began to read whatever it was her father had taken such strange precautions to have delivered to her.
My dearest Ariel,
If you are reading this message, it means that I am dead. You must go to the museum and look inside our secret hiding place. There you will find something that explains everything. Do not let anyone at the museum know what you are doing, nor the Merriweathers. Not, at any rate, until after you have read what you will find there and decide what you wish to do.
Know that I love you, Ariel, and wish it had not come to this.
Your loving Papa, Richard Hawthorne
Ariel stared at the message. She knew what he meant, of course. The second stuffed giraffe at the head of the main stairway. The question was, how was she to get
whatever was hidden there without anyone at the museum seeing her or asking questions? For that matter, by morning the Merriweathers would know of the message delivered to her and wish to know what it was about. Papa could not have guessed these would be her circumstances when he arranged to have the letter delivered. He had thought it would be easy for her to do what he wished.
She read the note again. There was urgency not only in his words, but also in the writing itself. Somehow this was terribly important, and she could not ignore what he asked her to do. But how?
Slowly a plan grew in her mind, and Ariel moved with determination to the desk in the library. There was both paper and ink there, she knew. Her decision made, she sat and penned her own note as quickly as she could, then went to give it to the boy in the kitchen.
“Deliver it into Captain Stanfield’s hands,” she said. “Only his hands. He will be at the Duchess of Berenford’s ball tonight. He has one arm in a sling and leans upon a cane. You must wait outside the ball until he leaves it, then insist he read the message at once.”
She pressed a few coins into his hand, enough to make his eyes open very wide and cause him to vow fervently that he would do just as she asked. A servant was dispatched to summon a hackney carriage to take him there.
Then, ignoring the disapproving looks from Lady Merriweather’s staff, Ariel went upstairs. There she enlisted the help of Mrs. Merriweather’s maid by the simple expedient of telling her it was to help ensure that lady’s safety. The woman promised to slip out the back way, find a hackney, and have it waiting at the foot of the street at the appointed time. She would arrive at the museum ahead of Captain Stanfield and wait for him outside. Urgent message or no, Ariel had no intention of being so foolish as to enter the place at night all on her own. Not when two men had already been murdered there. No, she would wait for Captain Stanfield, for as long as it took, and then they would be in and out in under five minutes. If she was correct that whatever her father had hidden was indeed inside the second giraffe at the top of the stairs.
For a moment, Ariel had a qualm about having sent for Captain Stanfield to join her. She suspected that had her father thought of it, he would have included him in the people he said not to inform of what she was doing. But then, her father could not have guessed to what
shifts she would be put to retrieve whatever it was he had hidden.
Once her arrangements were made with Mrs. Merri- weather’s maid, Ariel went to her own room to make other preparations before it was time to leave. Ariel sent the maid lent to her by Lady Merriweather to bed, telling her that she would undress herself when she was ready. The woman, annoyed to begin with that she had been assigned to such an unfashionable creature, made not the slightest argument, nor showed the slightest suspicion. Which was a fortunate circumstance, for she would undoubtedly have protested had she known what Ariel meant to do.
The moment she was gone, Ariel began to get ready. There was simply no excuse, she thought, as she tucked a dagger into one of the pockets under her dress, for a female to go haring off on some adventure without at least making an effort to prepare herself properly.
To be sure, there were those who would say she ought not to go to the museum. Not in the middle of the night at all, message or no message. But that would be very poor spirited of her. These same people would no doubt also disapprove of the dagger she carried, a present from her father so that he could be sure that she could defend herself in all the odd places they had visited over the years.
But Ariel believed in being prepared. It was the reason that every one of her gowns had pockets, even the newest ones from the fashionable mantua maker to whom Mrs. Merriweather had taken her. She had made the slits in the fabric herself and carefully stitched them so that no one would notice. A reticule was often far too much trouble, and this way the pockets she had tied on beneath her dress were always easy to hand. Now one carried the note from Stanfield and the dagger.
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