Suitors and Sabotage

by Cindy Anstey

  Imogene squeezed her eyes shut as she plunged beneath the water. The moat was murky and silent, otherworldly. Strangely calm. If only she could see Ben … but she knew he was there because he reached out and touched her arm. Not surprisingly, Imogene’s air was the first to run out. She surfaced with the parasol mere inches above her head and the edges still in the water to prevent any new arrivals. She hunkered and waited for Ben to appear.

  When he slowly rose out of the water, her relief was extreme … for a moment.

  Telltale marks dotted his forehead. Oh yes, and there, near his eye. Those rotten little beasts!

  Glancing around with caution before opening his mouth, Ben grabbed a lung full of air. She could feel his breath on her cheek. “Lud! My hands hurt like the devil.” He lifted them out of the water to examine, clicking his tongue in disgust. “Could have been worse, I suppose.”

  It was hard to see how; his fingers could hardly bend. They had received the brunt of the attack. Wincing, he frowned and then glanced at Imogene. “And you … Oh, my poor dearest girl, one stung your cheek. I can see the mark even in this half light.”

  He huffed a heavy sigh and shook his head slightly. It was a small move, necessitated by the tight conditions, very tight. While it was not one of her smallest parasols, neither was it one of her widest. They were practically on top of each other. If they shifted at all, and perhaps leaned a bit more, their lips could brush at the edges. The corners perhaps …

  So tempting, so very appealing, so warm.

  Imogene’s heart began to race, and even though she felt breathless, she gulped at the air—quietly and in time to Ben’s breathing, for he, too, was gulping.

  Her whole person thrummed—from her toes to every hair on her head. She wanted to sing of glory and to praise the heavens for the day that Ben Steeple had walked into her life. There was nowhere she wanted to be more than in this lost world, where only the two of them existed. Nothing—just the two of them, for eternity.

  Ben leaned closer, just ever so slightly. It was no longer the warm glow of his skin but his lips—soft, so very wonderfully soft and gentle and exciting and intoxicating—that lay against the corner of her mouth.

  Imogene was in an agonizing heaven. She had never considered what it would be like to be kissed, and suddenly it was all she could think about. Ben’s lips became Imogene’s entire world. A kiss, yes … what she wanted, needed more than anything, more than breathing. Staring into his eyes, Imogene saw an echoing smolder. His lips curled up, and his eyes asked a question.

  Imogene nodded. His eyes widened and then flew to her mouth. Imogene knew his desire was as strong as—

  “Imogene!” Emily screamed from a distance.

  Imogene blinked, instantly pulled from the strange netherworld she had entered. She watched as Ben shook the ardor from his eyes, too. They glanced at the parasol’s buzzing canopy and realized that their lapse had been but a moment.

  Sharing a baffled look, Imogene wondered if Ben ached of loss as much as she did. Was her smile as wistful as his?

  “Just stay down,” Ernest ordered, the anxiety evident in his voice. “They are still swarming.”

  Imogene, most inappropriately, giggled; Ben joined her with a chuckle.

  “I don’t think we were planning on going anywhere as yet,” Ben whispered, his words stirring the strands of hair hanging across her face. “Besides, I’m quite comfortable as I am.”

  “Standing in a moat, hunkered under a parasol?”

  “Yes, a mite chilly but rather cozy. Must be the company.”

  Imogene grinned. “Why, thank you, kind sir. There is no one I would rather be with when threatened by wasps.”

  While her words were meant to add levity to the moment, Ben’s expression turned serious. “Indeed? No one?”

  In the awkward silence, Imogene swallowed. “No one,” she said, and then forced a laugh, trying to make light of the conversation. “Had there been more of us, we would not have fit under the parasol.”

  “Imogene!” Emily screamed again.

  “I’m fine, Emily,” she shouted back. “We are fine!”

  “We are?” Ben asked, glancing purposefully at her cheek and then his hands, which looked terrible.

  “As there is nothing we can do but wait until the beasts fly away, I think it best not to encourage Emily or Ernest to approach … which they would try to do if we say anything other than we are fine.”

  Staring at Imogene, Ben shouted. “Just fine and dandy. How are you?”

  Ernest’s snort was loud enough to be heard over the buzz of the wasps.

  Ben dropped his voice again. “You know you shouted bees when they attacked. These are, in fact, wasps.”

  “Yes, but shouting wasps is more of a hiss than a shout.”

  “Ah, yes. Quick thinking.” He nodded with dramatic approval.

  The buzz beyond the parasol continued for a good quarter hour—tenacious, nasty creatures. By the time they could wade out of the moat safely, Ben’s hands were horribly swollen. He held them awkwardly, while the baskets, blankets, and persons were quickly loaded into the carriages for their immediate return to Greytower. Mr. Beeswanger covered a shivering Imogene with his coat, while Ernest did likewise for his brother.

  Unable to hold his reins, Ben sat with Emily and Imogene in the barouche, Lancelot tied to the back. Emily cooed in great sympathy, and Ben said very little—gritting his teeth and wincing whenever the uneven road required that he use his hands to right his balance.

  Imogene hardly spoke. She was thinking about the rocks skittering across the stone floor just before the wasps’ nest came down. Someone had been throwing rocks. Someone had meant for the wasps to attack, to swarm. The question was, as always, who?

  * * *

  ERNEST WAS WALKING toward the front door when Imogene finally stepped down into the entrance hall. She had spent nearly an hour under the kind administrations of Mrs. Beeswanger, seeing to her stings. There weren’t that many, really, in comparison with Ben. Mother had thought it not worth the fuss, but Mrs. Beeswanger was a motherly sort and not happy until the stings were cleaned, iced, and dotted with onion juice.

  “Ernest, might I talk to you?” Imogene called just as he was about to step over the threshold.

  He pivoted straightaway. “Oh, Imogene. There you are. I am so very glad that I got a chance to see you before we left. How are you?”

  “I’m well.… Well enough. Are you going somewhere?”

  “Oh, indeed. Ben is quite miserable. And there is nothing that anyone wants more than to be at home when they are feeling out-of-sorts. I’ve put him in the cart with Matt, and if we set off now, we will be at Musson House before dark. But worry not; I apologized to one and all and have spoken to the fathers about coming to Musson. They have all agreed. Strangely, your father was the most enthused.” He winked, bowed, and turned back toward the door. “We will put on our little play there. Grandmother and Grandfather will quite enjoy the novelty.”

  Putting her hand on his arm, Imogene brought his attention back to her. “Ernest, I think we should talk before you go.”

  “Time is of the essence, I’m afraid. Can it not wait a few days? I’m sure it can.”

  “Ernest, I believe someone threw a rock at the wasps’ nest to bring it down.”

  His expression turned grave. “You think it was no accident.”

  “Yes.”

  With a nod, he patted her arm. “If so, it was likely one of the young boys running about the place who thought it a great lark.”

  “Would that it were true, Ernest, but as it is only one of many incidents, I think we are going to have to face the fact that someone intends Ben harm.”

  “Yes, yes. Well, let us argue about it at Musson. I must be off.”

  And with a wave, he went, leaving Imogene entirely dissatisfied with their conversation. Nothing had been resolved in regard to Ben; she had been given no opportunity to offer friendship in place of matrimony; and now, they wer
e all off to Chotsdown, where Ernest and his family would host a houseful of guests for the sole purpose of accommodating a betrothal that was not going to happen.

  Or would it? Was she going to be coerced and ignored until she cried stop on the steps of the church?

  Imogene closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Feeling helpless in the face of such determination was not a new sentiment; she had been dealing with the iron will of her father for eighteen years. It had been easier to capitulate. Life was difficult when Father was crossed, and this would be a most significant revolt.

  There was a chance, a very good chance, that Father would refuse to have anything to do with her after he learned how Imogene felt about marrying Ernest.… Mother would follow suit—she always did. Percy wouldn’t care. And so, there she was, either being ignored by her nearest and dearest or looking for room in the stables to bed down at night.

  Perhaps that was doing it much too brown, but there seemed to be no happy consequence to thwarting a determined parent.

  Undulating misery washed over Imogene as she allowed melodrama to grab hold of her imagination. A vision of the noisy, unfriendly streets of London came to mind, where she walked all alone with a small bag containing her worldly possessions. Sick, cold, and starving.

  Imogene snorted in a most unladylike manner. It was a highly improbable scenario. Being in possession of many friends and relatives, the likelihood of ending up on the streets was quite ridiculous even if her father did something as shocking as wash his hands of her. Though being sent to live with a maiden great-aunt in the moors of North Devon was not beyond the realm of possibility.

  Strangely enough, it was not the thought of being isolated that brought back that horrid thread of misery that seemed to imbue her every waking moment—for the moors and the west coast would make excellent subjects for painting. It was the knowledge that Ben would be on the opposite side of the country.

  The possibility of securing a position as an art teacher offered a ray of hope and a life more suited to her character. It was not a pipe dream; she had a worthy portfolio. Eventually, if she was permitted a flight of fancy, she could secure a patron and set up a teaching studio or art academy of her own. If the Fates were very kind, she could settle in the charming, picturesque city of Canterbury. Yes, she would know people there, charming people … if Ben could be called people.

  And so her thoughts had once again circled back to Ben. With a shake of her head in self-disgust, Imogene resolved to speak to Emily right away. They were going to see Ben again within a seven-night, and they had to be certain they were not bringing danger with them. They had to try to understand who might be behind these incidents, or if they truly were accidents and a very long run of atrocious luck.

  Yes. Imogene needed to talk to Emily.

  Looking up, for it seemed that at some point during her contemplation Imogene had begun to stare at the tiles, she met the quizzical gaze of the Tabards’ butler.

  “Ah, Radley, just the person I need.”

  The pinch-faced man stepped forward. “Indeed, miss.”

  “Might you know where I could find Emily?”

  “Miss Beeswanger has gone for a walk.” Sniffing sharply, the man turned as if to go about his immensely important duties.

  “Along the road? Down the drive?”

  With a sharp pivot, Radley turned back as if being greatly put-upon. He stared.

  It was quite a talent—the ability to make you squirm without saying a word.

  “Do you not know, Radley?” Imogene refused to be intimidated.

  “In the garden. I believe she and Mr. Jake are strolling among the roses. I’m sure they will be returning to the Hall presently.”

  “Excellent. Thank you. I can find them on my own. The rose garden is on the west side of the Hall?”

  “East, miss.”

  Nodding her thanks, Imogene entered the dining room and exited through the doors at the far end. She followed the path through the formal gardens, barely aware of the profusion of color as she passed. However, upon gaining the rose garden, she was stymied—no Emily and no Jake. As she scanned the greenery, she saw Percy two flower beds over, seated on a stone bench, flicking playing cards into his upturned hat.

  “Well, that looks entertaining,” Imogene said as she got closer. Her brother exuded boredom.

  “Yes. Indeed.”

  “Have you seen Emily?”

  Percy paused, holding the three of clubs between his fingers. “Going to drag her away from Jake?” His voice sounded hopeful.

  “Well, I want to talk to her.”

  With a smile, Percy grabbed his hat, dumped the cards into his hand, and jumped up from his seat. “At last. A reprieve.” He bobbed his head in approval. “I’ll show you where they are.” He started off down a gravel path, leading to the west side of the gardens.

  “Why a reprieve?” Imogene asked as she hastened to keep up with him.

  “Dictates. Mr. Tabard is suddenly full of them. Seems to think Jake is running wild. Accused me of the same. Can you imagine? Father would be the one to rein me in if it were necessary. First Mr. Beeswanger, and now Mr. Tabard quoting Cousin Clara against us! I don’t ever recall her saying ‘kindness is the cornerstone of a gentleman’s behavior.’ I’m starting to think he is making it up. Really, we are being hounded for no purpose, no purpose at all.”

  Imogene kept her mouth firmly closed.

  “Emily looked troubled when we all got back from … oh yes.” Percy glanced over his shoulder. “How are you feeling? You look fine.… Well, no. You look idiotic. What is that on your face?”

  “Onion juice.”

  “It doesn’t do you any favors.”

  “Thank you ever so. Could we get back to Emily?”

  “Oh yes. Emily was rather disturbed. Mr. Tabard thought Jake should keep her company until … well, until you were ready to face the world again. There you have it, and there they are.” As they crossed the grass, he waved at the couple standing in the shade of a tall elm. “Jake, I have come to rescue you,” Percy called.

  It was no great surprise that upon seeing Imogene, Jake took his leave. Though that he did so with a gallant bow to Emily and a polite comment to Imogene was quite startling.

  “Who was that?” Imogene asked after the boys had walked beyond earshot. “I don’t believe we have met him before.”

  Laughing distractedly, Emily glanced around.

  “Are you missing something?”

  “Missing? Oh no. I was looking for a place to sit. Ah, there. That will do.” She led them over to the stone fence that marked the end of the gardens, choosing a spot out of the sun. Dropping her parasol, Emily untied her bonnet ribbons, pushed her hat back on her head, and exposed her damp curls. “You were wise not to wear your bonnet. It’s much too hot. Dinner is going to be delayed because of it. No one is hungry.… Although that might be as much the consequences of a topsy-turvy day as the temperature.”

  “I wish I could claim wisdom. But I wasn’t thinking of the heat when I ventured out of doors.”

  Emily snapped her fan open, wafting the air toward her face. “If I could hazard a guess, I would probably say that you were worried that the bees’ nest was another incident. Another—I beg your pardon? Oh, you are quite right. Wasps’ nest.” With a huff, Emily tore off her bonnet, dropping it onto the grass. “Ah, that is much better.”

  “I know you think me to be tilting at windmills, Emily, but if we are going to spend any more time with the Steeples—and it would seem that we are—then I think we should know and understand what is going on. Ben’s safety is threatened.”

  “I quite agree.”

  With her mouth open, Imogene turned toward her friend, paused, and then frowned. “You do?”

  “Yes, absolutely. One incident too many. No one can be that unfortunate.”

  “That is tremendous.… Not the unfortunate aspect, but the not-having-to-persuade-you-that-it-is-serious aspect.”

  Emily
just nodded and turned her eyes to stare at Greytower Hall, looming large and … gray in the near distance. It had a formidable facade that Cousin Clara had softened with ivy and abundant gardens, but it would always exude a fortresslike character.

  “I’m quite concerned, now that I have to admit that there is a problem.”

  “Oh, Emily, so am I. We have to discover who is behind this and stop them … him … whoever it is! Can we say suspect? No. That smacks of melodrama. Perhaps dubious character.”

  “Not certain that dubious character is any better. Let’s just say someone with questionable behavior.… After all, we are talking about people we know.”

  “Too true. Unfortunately.” Imogene sighed very heavily. “We must consider everyone … at first. Though, the field of who might possess this questionable behavior was narrowed by today’s incident. Not everyone was with us at Taverock Castle, and only a smattering of servants. Right away, we can rule out Miss Watson. She stayed behind.”

  “And her ability to throw a rock that high is doubtful. I know I couldn’t.”

  Imogene nodded. “In that respect, I think Pauline and Harriet can be discounted as well. I have seen them toss a ball back and forth. Now let us cross off those who never entered the castle—”

  “What if this person of dubious character paid one of the boys in the area to do the job?”

  “Oh dear, that is a possibility, too.”

  “Still, I believe we can eliminate my mother … and yours. They were quite content to sit and chat to each other all afternoon, watching the rest of us adventure forward. I didn’t see them talk to anyone outside our group.” Emily changed her fan to her other hand.

  “Agreed.”

  “That leaves five gentlemen, two footmen, and three drivers.”

  “That’s still quite a lot, but the footmen and coachmen stayed by the road. We would have noticed had any of them entered the castle. Their livery would have been quite obvious.”

  “Yes. So, if one of the servants is involved, he would have had to get a proxy to do the job.”

  Imogene shook her head. “Yes, but this is not the only incident—what about the necklace? A coachman would not have been able to wander the house without being seen. Nor would he have known the location of … oh, and I don’t believe you brought your footmen to Gracebridge.”