The Case of the
Chinese Boxes
A “Justice” and Miss Quinn Mystery
Book Four
By
Felicia Rogers
The Case of the Chinese Boxes
A “Justice” and Miss Quinn Mystery, Book Four
Copyright ©2016 by Felicia Rogers
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Contact Information:
Website: http://feliciarogersauthor.weebly.com
Email: [email protected]
Published by:
Felicia Rogers
Cover Design by For the Muse Designs
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter One: Hunting Cabin
Chapter Two: The Journal
Chapter Three: Afternoon Festivities
Chapter Four: The Ride
Chapter Five: The Hunting Cabin Two
Chapter Six- A Moment…Ruined
Chapter Seven: The Puzzle
Chapter Eight: Captain’s Jewel
Chapter Nine: The Plan
Chapter Ten: The Voyage Begins
Author’s Note
Chapter One: Hunting Cabin
September 1815
Dust and debris swirled beneath Magnolia’s skirts as she entered the hunting cabin. Split log cedar planks lined the inside walls. The structure resembled a Viking longhouse, with one long narrow room covering the bottom floor.
“Don’t be concerned, the bedrooms are upstairs.”
Her coat was lifted from her shoulders and she shivered. Justin hadn’t noticed as he was already hanging her coat on a wall peg beside the front door.
“The hunting party will arrive later this evening. Father brought along Keane and Mrs. Hamby to help with the cooking.”
“So I won’t be the only woman about?” She rubbed her chilled arms. She should have insisted Lenoir pack her elbow-length gloves. They might have been inappropriate for the scheduled activities, but at least they would have kept her warm.
“No, you shan’t be the only one.” He bit his lip. The nervous twitch probably meant she was the only woman besides the cook. She’d strive to remain comfortable no matter what the case. She desperately needed the break from the city.
“Come closer to the fire. You look terribly chilled.”
Her teeth clattered. Now he noticed. “I am.” She hoped she wasn’t becoming ill. The nearest doctor would be miles away.
He led her to a high-back chair and threw a colorful quilt over her legs. Then he snapped his fingers and disappeared to the other end of the house. When he returned, he held a steaming cup of tea.
She sipped at the beverage. It burned her tongue and she wrinkled her nose. She knew better than to get in a hurry.
Justin took a seat on the longue and stretched his arm along the back. He crossed his legs and let his foot bob in the air as if he was deep in thought.
Did he think of Hesper? The poor girl had been left in London to pine for more than one lost love. First Justin had broken their courtship and then Mr. Cunning, the Baron of Eure, had jilted her affections in a newspaper article. Even Liam Filbee avoided her. If she didn’t have the utmost disdain for Hesper, she might feel sorry for her. Unfortunately for the boisterous socialite, being part of a scheme to ruin Magnolia’s family name had been beyond the pale. She wouldn’t be worrying about Hesper anytime soon.
“I’m so happy your father agreed to come on the hunt.”
“I’m glad you suggested it.” She took another sip of tea, careful not to sear her tongue once more.
He scratched a spot between his brows. A sign that he was at a loss. She’d only seen that action a handful of times. Was he about to become shy?
He rose to his feet and poked the burning logs. Gray ash floated into the air and gracefully drifted back down into the flames, disappearing in an instant.
“Do you plan to attend the festivities?” He looked over his shoulder. His blond hair fell rakishly over his brow and his brown eyes darkened.
She shook her head—first to say no, and second to clear the image he presented. He was too handsome for his own good. No wonder Hesper had been so enamored with him.
“No? You’re not going on the hunt? Then what are you going to do?” He stood to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest.
She shifted in the leather-bottomed chair. The arms were too close to her sides for adequate movement. “I-I thought I would stay here and read a book.”
“Read a book!” Had his voice risen? Why did he care?
She stiffened her spine. “Yes, read a book. I’ve had very little time to do so since you started the ridiculous notion of us investigating. I’m just happy that Emmett Roskin, Fortescue Cunning, and our good friend Kenelm Kennaway are not along. I couldn’t take it.”
He smoothed his foot across the rough floor. Was he trying to hide something?
“Justin?”
“Magnolia, I—”
The door banged against the wall.
“Remind me never to ride that road in a carriage again.”
Magnolia could have groaned aloud, but withheld her displeasure. Roskin waddled in, his adequate paunch jiggling as he stomped his feet.
Had Justin invited the constable because he expected trouble? Or was he still trying to find Roskin’s master? Wasn’t the hunting trip supposed to be a relaxing getaway from the London trouble, a vacation? Apparently she’d misunderstood the purpose of the trip. Perhaps she should return home. With all the riff-raff in the country she could enjoy a good book there.
****
Justin shook hands with the constable and with the others who entered the cabin. Cool air entered with them, and Magnolia shivered, setting her teeth to chattering—again. He’d need to find her a fur coat before the day was out. Too bad that the anger boiling under the surface wasn’t enough to keep her warm.
“Good evening, gentlemen. My father and Mr. Quinn should be here shortly. Keane will take you to your rooms.”
Keane appeared out of nowhere. No doubt his valet had been lurking at the back of the long hall. He motioned the guests forward. Bags would be gathered later—although not by his valet. If the men hadn’t enough sense to bring their own servants, then they would be carrying their own luggage.
Footsteps echoed up above, and he redirected his attention to his most important guest—Magnolia. He hadn’t meant to invite Roskin. He’d seen the constable at the market a day before the trip and the invitation had rolled off his tongue. Perhaps he wanted the constable close so that no shenanigans would occur in his absence, or maybe his subconscious was still trying to solve the case of the puppet master, or maybe he was trying to keep everyone who might gossip about his relationship with Hesper far, far from town, or—
“Justin, please stop trying to decipher your motives for inviting the constable.” Magnolia palmed her chin. Despaired. That is how he would describe her. He’d caused that.
He knelt before her and clasped her free hand. He stared into her beautiful green eyes. How did they sparkle so? He must concentrate on the matter at hand. Apologies. “I don’t plan to work, just relax. Take walks. Ride horses. Anything you like.”
She cocked a brow. “Walks? Riding? Anything? What has brought about t
his desire to please me?”
He’d always wanted to please her—and be with her. “I promised that we would get away from the London misery, and I meant it.” His legs began to shake.
“Do get up from there, Justin, before you become stuck.”
He rushed to take his seat on the longue. He rubbed his tight thighs. He was vastly out of shape.
“As I said before, I only want to read my book.” She pushed up from the chair and grabbed her valise from the front door. “Do you think Keane could show me to my room? I might lie down for a bit before supper.”
“I’ll take you.” He took the valise from her hand and drew her to the end of the long room. On the opposite side they climbed the narrow staircase that led upstairs.
The longhouse had been updated after Father’s purchase. Father had designed the upstairs loft area and then hired builders. Ten bedrooms lined the hallway above. Most of them were bare with only a rough wooden bed and a side table, but one, one was special. It had been a room for his mother, although she lived long enough to enjoy it but once. This would be Magnolia’s room. The feminine touches were perfect.
He opened the door and grayish light peeped through the curtained window. The walls had been painted white to make the room look bigger. A quilt in pale pinks and blues swathed the double bed. The fire had been recently started so the room was warm.
She gasped. She liked it.
“Justin, this is very nice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It was Mother’s room.” He choked but quickly regained control. He didn’t want Magnolia to witness a weakness. “You’ll see that I’ve padded the wooden rocker, and there is a candle beside it so you may read until your heart is content.” He tilted his head sideways. Did he look shy or deceitful? He was going for shy. “Although to be honest, I’d hoped you’d spend some time with me while you were here.”
She patted his forearm, which warmed him. “Of course. While I wish to read, I don’t plan to miss all the fun of being in the country.”
“Good. Now I’ll leave you to get settled.”
She leaned on tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. Had his heart just stopped?
“I’ll see you later.”
She turned away, but the feeling of her still lingered on his face. One of these days he would earn the right to kiss her back. One day very soon.
Chapter Two: The Journal
Justin left and Magnolia placed her valise beside the bed. The hardwood floors gleamed even in the dull light of the September English sky. She pulled back the curtains. Gray. That was all she saw. Gray mist. Gray clouds. Why, even the grass looked gray. English weather could be quite drab. But not this room.
The room was arrayed in a variety of colors. Light blues and pink hues decorated the quilt on the bed. The mantel was filled with delicate brick-a-brac that matched. Even the padding Justin had spoken of matched the fine delicate colors. The wooden bed posts supported a lace trimmed canopy. The room was decidedly feminine. No doubt a safe haven for Mrs. Blakemoor when she visited the hunting cabin.
From what she’d known of Miranda Blakemoor, the woman had been all lady. She’d come from a wealthy family that had a home in town and a vast country estate. Rumor held that her mother, a Russian, had given up substantial wealth to marry someone from England. Conspiracy theorist and those who enjoy prying had dredged up the story every couple of years.
It was odd that Justin never mentioned his grandmother. Angelina Sokolov. She had been such a character. Even after living in England for most of her life, she still had maintained her Russian accent.
She had only one child—Miranda. She’d raised Miranda to behave like a princess, and a princess she had. Miranda had many suitors within the English nobility, but she only had eyes for Randall Blakemoor. Magnolia could see why. Randall had a trim, athletic figure, and his salt and pepper hair only hinted at the dark color that might have once been.
Magnolia settled in the rocking chair and palmed her chin.
She’d told Justin that she wanted to read. Why had she been so silly! She hadn’t brought even one book. When Justin mentioned the holiday she’d believed his father and hers would hunt and Justin would entertain her. That was when she planned to let him in on her secret—that she really liked him. Well maybe love, but she was keeping it at like for now.
She leaned her head back against the cushion. Scrollwork decorated the ceiling in an intricate pattern. Yes, Randall had decorated to the nines for his wife. Miranda had been a lucky woman.
Magnolia stood, and her foot slipped and struck the chair. The rocker flung back and hit the wall. Her heart thumped madly. If she scratched the wood, what would she do? The fire at Odell had nearly ruined her family. She couldn’t afford another scandal.
Before she could stop the chair, it struck the wall again. Butter and biscuits! Disaster seemed to follow her.
She scooted the chair away from the wall. At the base of the rocker was a brown rectangle. She bit her lip. Had she knocked out a piece of the wall? She was in trouble now.
She picked up the piece, but it wasn’t wood. It was a book. Wood shavings fell from the cover as she carefully dusted it with her palm. Splinters were not something she enjoyed since her nanny had pulled them out of her behind after a childish sliding episode with Justin.
She blew the last remaining dust from the cover. A string wrapped around a button held the book clasped. The binding was little more than ribbon and the cover little more than felt. Studying the top and bottom, she could make out multiple pages that had turned brown with age. Should she risk opening the book? What if it fell apart? What if it was something she shouldn’t read?
Justin would be horrified if he thought she wasn’t curious enough to at least investigate a little further. And it wouldn’t do to horrify the man she loved—well, liked.
She crept to the door and opened it an inch. No one was on the other side. Gently she pushed it closed and put her valise in front of it. The slight weight of the baggage wouldn’t keep anyone out, but it would give her an early warning if someone tried to enter.
She hurried back to the rocking chair. Carefully she unwound the string and pried the top cover upward. The pages crinkled, but they didn’t break and she released a breath.
The edges had browned. Ink scrawled in straight lines had blurred, making the words difficult to decipher. She ran her finger across the indentations.
A log in the fireplace popped, and she jumped. The book fell to the floor and she grabbed it up. The back cover opened revealing a name—Miranda Blakemoor.
She bit her bottom lip. Was it Mrs. Blakemoor journal? Or had this been a book intended for Mrs. Blakemoor? Justin had hinted that she’d not used the room. Or had she misunderstood?
She closed her eyes. She should close the book and attempt to wedge it back in the wall whence it had come. She was not on holiday to unearth another mystery. No, she was not.
A knock vibrated the door.
Her heart thumped madly in her chest. She needed to hide the book and quickly.
****
“Magnolia?”
What was taking her so long to come to the door? Had she already opened her book and began to read? Really, is that all she wanted to do? They were on holiday but didn’t she want to spend any time with him?
“What is it?”
“Mrs. Hamby is serving tea. I thought you might like to come down and have some.”
“Yes, of course. Give me just a minute.”
The door opened. Stray hairs flew around Magnolia’s face and her cheeks looked rosy, as if she’d been training. But that seemed highly unlikely. Magnolia preferred riding to walking. Even if she had said she’d like to walk while in the country.
“I’m here.” She closed the door without allowing him a peek inside. Had she already destroyed something? Father wasn’t exactly thrilled that someone was using Mother’s room. If she destroyed anything he would be in trouble. He felt like a naughty child.
; She smoothed her skirt. “I’m ready.”
“Yes, of course.” He went first and she followed. It should have been the other way around. She was going to think he didn’t see her as a lady if he kept acting like she was a friend of the same gender.
He cleared his throat and slowed so she could pull beside him. “Is your room satisfactory?”
“Justin, it is delightful! I love the colors and how all the décor goes together.” She bit her lip. She was concentrating and preparing to ask a question. He’d seen it before. “Did you say your mother had never used the room?”
“Only once.” The questions piqued his natural curiosity.
She clapped her hands. “Has everyone arrived?”
He didn’t like leaving the conversation, but he would for now. “I believe so.”
They arrived at the bottom step. The table held ten people and only two spaces remained free. Father and Jules Quinn huddled together at the head. Roskin, the only other person he really knew, was already sipping tea and eating scones. He appeared slightly uncomfortable amongst the others who were mostly businessmen and political figures.
Justin pulled out Magnolia’s chair. She was between him and Vernon Shelby. Mr. Shelby owned a shipping business, although Justin wasn’t sure what product the fellow shipped.
“Hello.” Vernon rubbed his hands together, sending a plethora of crumbs to the floor. “I’m Vernon Shelby, and you are?”
Magnolia took his hand. “I’m Magnolia Quinn.”
“Oh, the infamous Miss Quinn. I’ve heard tales about you.”
Red flooded Magnolia’s face. What kind of tales could Vernon be referring to? If it was the fire at Odell, or her escapades with him, then the holiday could be ruined before it began.
“I hope nothing too horrible.” Magnolia placed a napkin on her lap. For her example of normality, he still sensed her tenseness.
The Case of the Chinese Boxes (A Justice and Miss Quinn Mystery Book 4) Page 1