by Cheryl Bolen
“How so?”
“Ever since my daughter has become acquainted with your cats, she gives me not a moment’s peace. She’s forever begging to have her own.”
Dot laughed. “I am surprised you’ve not given in to her. I had been told—“
“You’d heard that it was impossible for me to deny the little minx anything?”
“Indeed.”
He nodded remorsefully. “It’s true. She and her mother both have a talent for bending me to their will.”
“I understand you and your wife have known each other most of your lives.”
“True.”
“So you were always in love with one another?” Goodness, what had made Dot speak of so personal a matter?
He shrugged. “To be honest, I wanted no part of marriage. Glee tricked me into marrying her.” He paused. “Once we were married—and completely against my own wishes—I became utterly obsessed with that little vixen I wed.”
“That tells me that the marriage merely affirmed the love you two always had for one another.” Exactly what she was hoping for in her own forthcoming marriage.
“That’s an intelligent observation, Miss Pankhurst. Allow me to say I hope you and Appleton are as happy as Glee and I.”
Forrester came up and settled a hand at her waist. If a body could smile, hers would at this moment.
“And,” Blanks said to her, “it looks as if I’m going to have to procure two cats. Much to my chagrin, Gregory has also become enamored of the creatures, even though I’ve always felt men—and boys—should have dogs.”
“I am most happy to hear that,” Dot said, then looked up at Forrester.
“I refuse to comment,” her betrothed said.
Appleton and Blanks started talking, and she moved to Mrs. Steffington. “I am so gratified you persuaded your husband to be our featured guest tonight,” Dot said. “He was most fascinating.”
That lady beamed. “I agree, but I am a bit prejudiced.”
“I am told your husband always has his head in a book. Do you ever get jealous?”
“Not really. When we first married, I sat by his side in the library and assisted him in his various research. It made us even closer. And now that we have a baby, Melvin’s research is no longer the most important thing in his life.” A satisfied glow came over her fair countenance.
“Then your husband adores your baby?”
Catherine Steffington nodded, her long lashes sweeping downward. “Our precious son is no longer a baby. He’ll soon be two. But, yes, Melvin’s foolish over our little lad. He’s a wonderful husband, too, but I do believe our lad is the center of his universe.”
How Dot wished her union with Forrester could be as happy as the Steffingtons’, how she hoped she could bear Forrester’s son and secure a contentment as satisfying as Catherine Steffington’s.
Next Dot moved to Sir Elvin. “You must be very proud of your brother.”
“That I am.” Sir Elvin snatched another glass of port from Topham’s tray as the butler moved toward them. “How does the investigation go?” he asked in a low voice. “Did you learn anything from Maryann?”
“Nothing that will lead us to the murderer. We did learn that Ellie had regretted her recent acquisition of money. We also learned she was supposed to meet with a man that last night. He must have been the killer, but Miss Macintosh’s friend had no clue as to his identity.”
At that point two well-dressed young ladies came up to them, and Sir Elvin introduced them as his younger sisters. Though their resemblance to their brothers was undeniable, they were in no way masculine, nor were they tall like their brothers. She would guess that they were a good bit younger than her, especially the one named Lizzy, who could not be out of the schoolroom yet. Once more, Dot found herself praising their scholarly brother, and the ladies preened.
Next Dot went to Mrs. James Blankenship, who was so deep in conversation with Dot’s father that neither noticed when she walked up. When Mrs. James finally looked up, she broke into a smile. “Oh, my dear Miss Pankhurst, thank you so much for inviting us to your wedding Wednesday. I cannot wait. I’m so happy that you and dear Appleton are marrying.”
“Thank you. I’m very happy, too, but I especially want to compliment you on your son. How proud you must be of him. He’s terribly clever and was most entertaining.”
“Thank you, my dear. I couldn’t be prouder.” She sighed. “There is only one thing that could make me happier.”
Dot quirked a brow.
“He and Mary have been wed almost two years. . .”
Dot understood. “You fear they’re unable to conceive children?”
Mrs. James nodded. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Joy and Baby Gregory dearly, even though they’re not of my own flesh.”
Dot had almost forgotten that this woman was Blanks’ stepmother.
“But what mother doesn’t want to see her child carried on?” the woman asked.
“I understand.”
“I advise you not to worry about it,” Mr. Pankhurst said. “Two years isn’t so long. They can still have children.”
Mrs. James directed a dreamy smile at Dot’s father. “I do hope you’re right.”
What a night this has been for personal reflections, Dot thought. She could not remember any time when people had spoken so candidly on such personal topics.
“Mrs. James Blankenship has done me the goodness of permitting me to accompany her to the Pump Room tomorrow,” Mr. Pankhurst said.
Dot was most pleased, especially since she had plans of her own the following day, plans she had no intentions of sharing with her father. Or anyone, save Forrester and Annie.
Forrester came to her and offered her a glass of port. “I have noticed that you’ve been so busy being the perfect hostess you’ve neglected to imbibe yourself.”
She thanked him as she took the drink.
He lowered his voice. “A pity they don’t make muzzles for young ladies.”
“Perhaps you judge Abby too harshly, my dearest.” Dot placed a gentle hand on his sleeve. “You must make allowances for her tender age.”
“You, my love, are much too tender hearted.”
A grave expression on his face, he shook his head. “Would you believe that Annie had a long talk today with our youngest sister to urge her to weigh all of her words before she blurted them out?”
“No, I wouldn’t. Perhaps Abby’s shortcoming is hearing?”
“My sister hears perfectly.”
“Then her problem must lie with comprehension.”
“I don’t know. I assure you my other sisters are highly intelligent—much like my Dot.”
She loved it when he referred to her as My Dot. “You must make allowances for her youth.”
He shook his head. “The word punishment was used by Jonathan Blankenship tonight. Perhaps that’s what Abby needs. Were she punished for tonight’s thoughtless outbursts, she might learn to think before she speaks.”
“I will own the futility of my efforts to train my naughty cats by punishing them when they, for example, attack my newspaper. Punishment has not been successful.”
He grimaced. “It would work with dogs.”
“You surely wouldn’t harm her!”
“Never. I was thinking of not allowing her to attend certain fetes until she can demonstrate the appropriate social graces.” His gaze fanned over the assemblage. “Everyone enjoyed tonight’s salon very much, and we still have whist to look forward to. Quite a successful night, I’d say.”
“Mrs. Moreland was just saying she’d like to have the next salon soon at Winston Hall. “But next time, Abby will not be permitted to attend.”
“It sounds too cruel, even if it might be effective.”
Annie came to them, and Forrester apprised her of the plan to “punish” Abby.
“I vigorously endorse such a plan,” she said. Then she turned to Dot. “Speaking of that wretchedly careless sister of ours, I wanted to tell you I won�
�t be able to join you and Timothy tomorrow. I had promised to go with Abby to the dressmaker’s, and it will take most of the day. My sister is the most undecisive person ever to draw breath.”
“And what is it we’re supposed to be doing tomorrow?” he asked Dot, a mock look of sternness on his face.
“Annie and I were speaking of finding the scene of the murder,” Dot whispered.
“And how,” he asked, “do you propose to find this?”
“I’ll show you tomorrow.”
Since all the tables were set up, she encouraged her guests to pair up for the games. It did not escape her attention that her father claimed Mrs. James Blankenship for his partner. She and Forrester were partners against Catherine and Melvin Steffington. She was amused that Sir Elvin’s table included Annie, who was his partner, Agnes, and his eldest sister, Ann. The two youngest sisters, Abby and Lizzy, did not play but sat together on the sofa, giggling and sharing confidences.
This first time she had played whist with her future husband, she discovered they made a good pair, even though the competition from the Steffingtons was stiff.
It was well past two in the morning before her guests left. Forrester was the last to leave, and she suspected it was because he wished to steal a kiss. Which he did in front of the fireplace when everyone else had gone.
“Are you sure you want to look for the place of Ellie’s murder tomorrow?” he asked.
Still flushed and feeling weightless from their kiss, she nodded, her eyelids heavy.
He pressed one last kiss to her cheek and left.
Chapter 18
“So you’ve got some notion that we’ll be able to find the spot where Ellie Macintosh was murdered.” Appleton’s gaze moved from Dot to that damned orange cat with that ridiculous name.
To annoy him even more, the furry creature leapt upon his lap and curled up as if he meant to affix himself permanently. Already, Appleton could see that the pesky feline was shedding a mixture of white and ginger-coloured hair onto his dark brown breeches.
Digby was not going to be happy. His valet was far more particular over his master’s clothing than Appleton himself was.
From the delighted expression on Dot’s face, one might have thought the queen herself was bestowing a royal visit at the Pankhurst residence. “Oh, look how sweet! Lover Boy adores you.”
Why couldn’t the beast understand when it was neither wanted nor appreciated? A dog would have known. But, then, dogs were intelligent. He could not say the same for cats. Bothersome creatures.
He was at a loss as to how to respond. He could hardly risk telling her how unfavorably he looked upon her cherished cat. Lying was something he’d always avoided. He lifted a stiff hand and attempted to pet the cat.
The animal started to make a deep, rumbling sound but continued to stay coiled on Appleton’s lap and look as if he were sleeping. What the devil? He looked up at Dot.
If possible, she looked even more delighted. “You’ve made Lover Boy’s purr practically roar with satisfaction.”
So that’s what it was! A purr. “You mean this is a sound of . . . cat contentment?”
She nodded happily. “Indeed it is. Contentment of the highest order. You may never get Lover Boy to leave your lap.”
Not at all what he wished to hear.
When he stopped his stiff-handed petting, the cat’s eyes opened, and to Appleton’s astonishment, the cat’s paw went softly to his hand as if to urge him to pet him some more.
Perhaps Appleton had underestimated the beast’s intelligence after all.
“He wants you to resume petting him,” Dot said.
“I realize that.” He reluctantly started stroking the soft pelt.
Appleton was quite certain the beast had concocted a plot to torment him for his lack of affection. Damned animal.
“We are fortunate that it’s another sunny day to aid in our quest.”
“But are you not forgetting that we are handicapped by several other factors, the first being that we have no idea where the murder was committed?”
“I realize we don’t know where it was committed, but we can make hypotheses.”
How did a woman know about hypotheses? Scientific method was out of the realm of what was taught to young ladies. As smart as Annie was, he was almost certain she would have no knowledge of that word. “And what is your hypothesis?”
“We are almost certain she was to meet her murderer before she went to work the night of her death. Correct?”
He nodded.
“Wouldn’t it be a good assumption that the meeting might have taken place between her lodgings and Mrs. Starr’s establishment?”
He had to agree.
“And,” she continued, “since we know he dumped her body in the river, would it not make sense that the crime must have been committed near the banks of the river? He could hardly be seen carrying a dead body around the city.”
“You do have a valid point.”
“But you don’t sound convinced.”
“Oh, I’m fairly convinced. It’s just that nearly two weeks have passed. We had three straight days of unrelenting rain—not to mention that if the murderer realized he might have left something that was potentially incriminating, he’s had ample time to retrieve it.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “There’s merit to what you’ve pointed out, but I still think we should make every effort to investigate.”
“There’s one more consideration. The Avon is a very long river.” He sighed. “But I suppose we should start somewhere.”
“I agree.”
Appleton would be most happy to get this animal off his lap. A pity Digby wasn’t here to brush the cat hair off his breeches.
As he and Dot walked along the pavement toward the city center, he mused about their mission. While he gave it little chance for success, he did concede it was a good day for a walk, the warmest yet in a cool autumn.
A scattering of trees throughout the city were shedding their leaves of rust and gold. How sad that Ellie wasn’t alive to witness the transformation of summer to winter.
He hoped to God they would be able to identify the person responsible for her death. No one deserved to die more than the despicable fiend who’d murdered her.
But he mustn’t dwell on her death. It wouldn’t bring her back. His energies would be better directed at finding her killer. “How, my dear Dot, do you propose to walk along the River Avon when much of its frontage is across people’s private property?
“I can’t think of everything. I’m relying on you to determine how we’re to examine as much riverside as possible. You’re the man. And a lord, too. Who can deny you?”
He chuckled—though he had to reluctantly admit there was some truth to what she said. People were always intimidated by titles of nobility. It had been his experience that oftentimes he met with inordinate success merely by mentioning his title. “You would agree, would you not, that she had to have gone into the water north of the Pulteney Bridge?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Then I suggest we just start walking along the river, on its west side, of course.”
She nodded.
That’s what they did as soon as they reached the distinctive bridge. The area near where the river bank and the Pulteney Bridge converged was highly populated. “This could not possibly be the scene of the murder,” she said.
“I agree. He would have to have selected a more remote location for his dirty deed.” It was the dirtiest deed that could possibly be committed.
During the next half hour’s walk, the riverbank was surrounded by fairly dense population, most of which looked to be private houses. At any moment he expected someone to shout at them for infringing on property, but to his surprise, they didn’t see a single soul.
He was telling Dot about the dogs he kept at Hawthorne Manor—in answer to her questions—when he saw something that caused him to pause. That is where the murder occurred.
He eyed an ancient
church—more of a chapel, really. Could Sunday service still be held there? The old church’s stones had become black with age, and it was so small, he doubted more than two dozen worshippers would be able to gather within its walls.
Who would be here on a weekday night? He felt almost certain the murderer would have asked Ellie to meet him here under the cover of darkness.
Then he would have murdered her. No one would have been around to see him lug her body and toss it into the nearby river.
Dot clutched his forearm. “That’s got to be it!”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“They can’t still be worshipping here,” she said as they came closer to the old church. “The place looks as if it hasn’t been used in years.”
“More like centuries.”
When they reached it, he tried the weathered timber door, not expecting it to be unlocked. It opened, its hinges groaning from disuse. They both stood inside the musty vestibule for a moment as their vision adjusted to the darkness, and then they strolled into the tiny church.
Dot ran a gloved hand over the back of the last pew. It left a patch of thick dust on her pale blue glove. Not a single hymnal or Book of Common Prayer was in evidence.
“Your suspicions are right. The church is no longer used for religious purposes,” he said. It sickened him to think of what this former house of worship might be the scene of nowadays.
She walked to the nave and stood there for a moment, her face as solemn as a hired mourner’s. “She was murdered here.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I feel it.”
“Then I suggest we invoke the scientific method, and . . .”
“Look for clues.” She began to walk toward the miniscule sanctuary. There was no longer an altar at the front of the church. With each step, she looked left and right, paying particular attention to the rough stone floors covered in dirt.
He moved behind her, duplicating her actions and looking in the same places she had already looked. When they reached the sanctuary, she went to the right, he to the left.
Almost indiscernible in the church’s dim light, especially in the dark corner, a scrap of red fabric was gathering dust. His stomach sank. Ellie often wore a red dress when working at Mrs. Starr’s.