by Eliza Casey
And on her finger was a large ruby ring.
“Is that the same ring that was stolen from Mrs. Price?” Annabel asked.
“Yes,” Cecilia murmured. “I used to think it was her engagement ring from Mr. Price. Anne said her mother never took it off, even though she was separated from her husband.”
“But was it from Lord Elphin instead?” Jane said. “They did say she changed her mind about marrying him all those years ago. But what if she was forced to refuse? Like in Lady Emily’s Secret.”
“Lady Cecilia,” they heard Lord Elphin say in his gravelly voice. The three of them spun around guiltily to find him standing in the drawing room doorway, his gray hair standing on end, his necktie hastily fastened, his tweed jacket frayed. He scowled at them. “What do you want? I don’t have time for visitors here. Especially not of your sort.”
“My sort?” Cecilia choked out.
“Suffragette types.”
Annabel gave him her most charming smile and hurried forward in a rustle of yellow silk ruffles to gently touch his arm. “How wise you are, Lord Elphin. We ladies have our own duties in the world we must see to, our proper sphere, which we were created to fill. It is quite important for us. We were, in fact, just admiring that exquisite portrait of beautiful ladyhood.”
Lord Elphin actually seemed to soften a bit at her cooing words. “That is my mother. She died many years ago, and yes, she was beautiful. Always so gentle and sweet. A true lady.”
“And such lovely jewels. Family pieces, I am sure,” Annabel said. “Those pearls, and that ruby . . .”
“Her engagement ring,” he said gruffly. “Now sadly lost, just like her. Such an unworthy world we live in.”
“How very, very sad,” Annabel murmured, patting his arm. “Oh, Lord Elphin, I do apologize for us taking up your time when you must be so very busy with your important estate work.”
“Hmph,” he snorted. “My butler says you’ve come about the church bazaar or some such thing.”
“Oh yes, indeed,” Cecilia chimed in. “We are collecting donations to help raise money for the new church roof, and everyone would be sure to bid wildly on anything you could contribute.”
Lord Elphin scowled and shuffled his feet. “Well—I suppose I could donate a painting or something of the sort. My mother did love that church, and she is buried in the nave. Can’t have the roof falling over her, I suppose.”
Cecilia was startled it had been that easy. She had never dreamed he might actually make a donation! “How very kind of you! We are gathering the donations at Danby, if you would like to have it delivered, or I am sure Mr. Brown could arrange for it to be fetched.”
“Not necessary,” Lord Elphin said. “I will send it. In my mother’s name.”
“And we do hope you will join us at the bazaar,” Annabel said. “It should be a lovely afternoon for everyone to gather together, so consoling after such a terrible ordeal for the village.”
Lord Elphin coughed and shuffled his feet again. “I—well, yes, perhaps. If I am not too busy on the day.”
“That would be a shame if you missed it,” Annabel said. She gently touched the frame of the portrait, her glove coming away dusty. “You know, Lord Elphin, you have such a lovely and historic home here. So much older and more elegant than anything where I came from in America! A lady’s touch could do so very much for it, as I am sure your mother would agree. I do know two or three charming widows who will be at the bazaar. They would so love to meet you.”
To Cecilia’s amazement, Lord Elphin blushed a bright pink. “My marrying days are long past, Miss Clarke.”
Annabel giggled. “Oh, I am sure that cannot be true! Or—oh dear. Perhaps you were married once, and your true love was carried away tragically young? Have I made a great faux pas, Lord Elphin?”
“I was married briefly, very long ago. I’m sure you must know that; old Lady Avebury knows all the neighborhood gossip. But when I was young and foolish—things were quite different.”
Annabel laid her gloved hand over her lace bodice. “I knew it! You do have a star-crossed true love in your past. I can always tell such things about people, being a romantic myself. One must never give up hope!”
Lord Elphin coughed and shuffled his feet again. “Maybe once I fancied myself in love, but I am no Romeo, nor ever was. Such things aren’t meant to be for some of us, thankfully. Now, ladies, can I offer you some tea before you leave?”
They declined, pleading other errands, but he saw them to the door in polite enough fashion. Cecilia was astonished.
“You see, Cec,” Annabel said with a bright, satisfied smile as they climbed into the cart. “Charm is always effective. You should tell that to your shouty suffragette friends.” As they drove away, she turned and waved to Lord Elphin, who stood in the doorway, a strangely lonely figure. “A woman doesn’t need the vote to get what she wants.”
* * *
The Moffats’ tearoom was not very busy at that time of day, with only a few pink-skirted tables occupied with groups of ladies and a couple or two gossiping and laughing over the strawberry cakes and currant scones. But Monty and Mary Winter were seated in a shadowy corner. A tray of sandwiches and tarts sat between them, but neither seemed to be eating. Mary looked as if she had just been crying, and Monty’s face was tense.
Cecilia and Jane exchanged a glance, and Cecilia wondered if Jane was considering what she herself was—Annabel’s words about how charm worked far better than arguments. If only Annabel had not gone back to Danby instead of coming to tea with them!
“Mr. and Mrs. Winter,” Cecilia said, approaching their table with a smile. “I’m quite surprised to see you still here in our village. I’m sure you have many duties in London waiting for you.”
Monty gave her an obviously forced smile, a rather intimidating rictus under his mustache, and Mary dabbed surreptitiously at her eyes. Jane handed her a handkerchief.
“We couldn’t think of leaving while arrangements are still being made for my poor mother-in-law,” Monty said. “And despite the sadness of the occasion, we are finding Danby quite charming. Are we not, Mary my dear? The country idyll one can never find in wretched London.”
“Oh, indeed,” Mary said faintly. “Charming.”
Cecilia thought of the job he once held at Bird and Wither. “Perhaps we could persuade you to stay a little longer, then. At least until after our annual church bazaar, which is always held in the gardens at Danby Hall. It’s our last little celebration before winter, and we would certainly love for you to attend.”
Mary looked a bit more cheerful at that. “Oh! We would be honored to attend, Lady Cecilia. Such a fine chance to meet more kind neighbors.”
“Wonderful! We do love to see new faces; we get so bored with each other all the time.” Cecilia leaned closer and said quietly, “This might sound terribly presumptuous, Mr. and Mrs. Winter, but the church is always so grateful for any donations for the bring-and-buy tent. I’m in charge of it this year, and I fear St. Swithin’s roof is in shocking condition. So many people adore finding treasures to buy to benefit the fund! Last year, there was even a duchess who purchased every tea cozy she could find and was utterly delighted.” Appealing a bit to snobbery never hurt.
“A duchess.” Mary sighed.
“We would certainly be happy to make a donation to such a worthy cause. Would we not, Mary darling?” Monty said.
“Oh yes,” Mary cried. “What would your neighbors enjoy, Lady Cecilia? A nice lamp, perhaps? Or I could sew something . . .”
“Anything is most welcome,” Cecilia said. “Just send it to Danby, or maybe bring it with you? Just be sure there is a label saying you were the kind donors. You are much too kind to help us at such a difficult time. I’m afraid we’ve kept you from your tea for too long; do forgive us.” There, now—she would soon have examples of both Lord Elphin’s and the Winters
’ handwriting to compare to the scraps from Primrose Cottage.
Mary smiled and handed Jane back the handkerchief. She looked more cheerful, and as Cecilia walked away, she glanced back to see them finally eating their sandwiches. She and Jane sat down at their own table near the window and gestured for a serving of lemon cake to fortify them until Danby dinner.
Jane passed Cecilia the handkerchief under the table, and Cecilia took a quick sniff of the muslin folds. Mary had previously worn a heady, white-flowery scent, but today it smelled sharper, greener. Maybe more like the scent on the torn notes? Perhaps, then, Mary did write those letters after all, though it was hard to tell. Cecilia just knew she had to find more samples of the notes, maybe ones she could piece together.
* * *
A black crepe wreath was on the door of Primrose Cottage even a fortnight after the death, the draperies drawn over the windows as Cecilia and Jane made their way through the garden gate. But the door opened quickly to their knock, and Nellie stood there, pale and red-eyed in her black dress. She smiled when she saw Jack’s basket in Jane’s arms. He had insisted on coming after waiting in the cart at Lord Elphin’s.
“We are certainly sorry to disturb you at such a time, Nellie,” Cecilia said. “Is it a bad moment for a call?”
“Not at all, my lady. In fact, I’m glad you’re here.” Nellie stepped back to let them in, and Cecilia saw that luggage was still piled high on either side of the narrow entrance corridor. “Maybe you can talk some sense into Miss Black. She insists she’s going to hold a séance!”
“A séance?” Cecilia said, intrigued. She had never attended such a thing before. “What for?”
“To talk to Mrs. Price, of course. Come with me, my lady; she’ll tell you about it herself.”
Cecilia and Jane followed Nellie to the sitting room, where Anne and Cora sat by the empty fireplace. Anne looked tired in her black silk gown, and Cora was swathed in shawls, her face very pale as she gestured emphatically to make some point. Nellie took the pillow behind Cora’s back and gave it an energetic plump. Jack leaped out of his basket and started exploring under the tables.
“Oh, Lady Cecilia, Miss Hughes,” Anne said, stirring herself from her chair. She smoothed her hair back into its knot and tried to smile. “You’re back from London. How was the city? I do so envy you. I can’t wait until Mother’s body is released to us at last and we can go home. Oh, do sit down. Nellie, could you fetch some tea?”
Cecilia and Jane sat down in two straight-backed chairs near the cluttered table. “When does the coroner think that will be?”
“Very soon, he assures us, though no fixed date yet,” Anne said, her lips tightening. “Mrs. Palmer has gone back to London just this morning. I’m sure she is planning to implement her ideas for the Union, when it is my place as a Price to assume the leadership.”
“Mrs. Price will tell us what we must do. I am sure of it,” Cora said hoarsely. “And then I will drive us directly back to headquarters to follow her instructions.”
Anne shook her head. “The doctor says you should not drive yet, nor excite yourself. You should rest and plan a visit to Switzerland soon. They say the clear air has enormous recuperative powers.”
Cecilia gave Cora a gentle smile. “Nellie says you are planning a séance?”
Cora nodded eagerly, her cheeks glowing pink. “I am quite sure she will come through to us now. She’s surely still close by.”
Jane looked puzzled. “What do you expect Mrs. Price to tell you, Miss Black? Besides how to run the Union, that is.”
“She thinks Mother will tell us what really happened,” Anne said shortly. “Colonel Havelock has called on us and told us that no one believes Cora’s tale of pushing Mother down the stairs.”
“She will tell us,” Cora cried. “I am sure of it. But we need enough people. Will you come, Lady Cecilia? Miss Hughes? Mrs. Price did like you so much. I am sure she will tell us if you’re here.”
Cecilia had never been at all sure she believed in ghosts, despite the tales of the Blue Lady. She’d never seen one herself and sometimes rather envied her debutante friends whose mothers had let them attend a fashionable séance or two. It sounded intriguing, strange, and doubtful—and also just the tiniest bit terrifying. What if Amelia Price did appear? Or worse, some malevolent entity?
Yet Cora looked so fiercely determined, and Cecilia was so overcome with curiosity that she nodded. She could tell her mother she was helping set up something for the bazaar. “Yes, of course. Who else will be here?”
“Nellie and Anne, of course,” Cora said.
“Someone has to make sure you don’t do yourself an injury,” Anne said with a sigh.
“And Mary Winter,” Cora added.
“Mrs. Winter?” Cecilia said, surprised. Mary Winter didn’t seem like the sort to go in for séances, especially without her husband and with people she had little affection for. But maybe she also sought something from her mother.
“I saw her when I went to fetch some scones from the tea shop, and I asked her if she would make up the numbers,” Cora said. “She seemed quite eager, though a little timid, of course.”
“Maybe she’s afraid of what Mother will say about her precious Monty, if she’s not here to defend him,” Anne said.
“Then when shall we meet?” Cecilia asked.
“Here, tomorrow evening,” Cora said. “Spirits prefer the darkness.”
Cecilia nodded. Maybe Amelia would not appear; but surely, having so many of the suspects in one place could reveal many things. It was too bad Lord Elphin was probably not into spiritualism very much.
As Nellie brought in the tea, Cecilia noticed Jack climbing out from under a desk, a few papers caught under his tail. She scooped them up and tucked them in her handbag before anyone could see, though Jack seemed terribly put out at having his treasures taken. She put him on her lap and gave him a pat in apology.
Chapter Twenty
Cecilia was quite sure she’d landed in a novel scene, or maybe in the black-and-white flicker of a newfangled moving picture, not in the real world at all. Not the world of church bazaars and suffrage rallies and betrothals. It was disorienting, dizzying, amazing.
The sitting room at Primrose Cottage had been muffled in black and dark-blue draperies, shutting out even the wavers of light from beyond the old windows as the sun vanished outside. The only light came from the glow of the fireplace and a circle of candles set on top of the heavy, round table draped in a white cloth. The candles flickered in the draught as the door opened and closed. An array of chairs was placed around the table, and Cora sat in the largest armchair, her cards spread before her. A red cashmere shawl swathed her head and shoulders.
Cecilia and Jane were the last to arrive. Her parents, along with Patrick and Annabel, had gone off to a dinner at the Byswaters’ estate, and Cecilia pleaded a headache to stay home. They’d had to wait until Danby was quiet before they could sneak down to the stables to fetch the governess cart.
Anne sat next to Cora, looking doubtful. Nellie retook her seat on Cora’s other side, after answering the door. She looked very nervous, her hands twitching atop the table.
The Winters were already seated, and to Cecilia’s surprise, Henry Price was there also. He kept checking his watch, his foot tapping on the old floor, and Cecilia wondered what had brought him to such a place. He didn’t seem the séance sort.
“Lady Cecilia,” Mr. Winter said with a bow. “I must say I am surprised a Bates would attend such a farce.”
“If you think it a farce, Mr. Winter,” Cecilia said with a cool smile, as she took her seat across from him and between Jane and Anne, “then why are you here, as well? I just want to do everything I can to help catch Mrs. Price’s killer.”
“But the killer is caught,” Monty declared. “It’s Cora Black over there, or that dreadful Mr. Guff. Wasn’t he the one with the
stolen engagement ring?”
Cecilia frowned at him. If he thought Cora was a killer, why did he want to join her séance anyway?
“It was not an engagement ring,” Mr. Price said impatiently. “I gave her a diamond when we were first betrothed, the height of fashion. She just always wanted to wear that old ruby; who knows where it came from? I assume her father gave it to her before he was disgraced.”
“Grandfather would never have given anything so vulgar,” Anne scoffed. “He was quite old-fashioned; it was all cameos set in pearls. Perhaps Mr. Guff was some old admirer of Mother, as it seems that strange Lord Elphin was. I heard gossip about it at Mrs. Mabry’s shop, most odd. Who would have ever thought such a thing? So droll.” She burst out laughing, but no one else could even smile. “Do you think Lord E has been concocting an evil plan to get Mother’s ring all this time? Or perhaps we should ask why Mother wore it at all.”
Nellie went to kindle the fire in the grate, a clammy chill suddenly drifting into the room. Everyone grew silent, the atmosphere tense and strange. Cecilia gave Jane a nervous glance and saw Jack hidden under her chair. He was grooming his paw in a most unconcerned manner. Ghosts and family quarrels did not seem to bother him.
The clock on the mantel tolled the hour, slow and ponderous.
“Shall we start, then?” Cora said. “Everyone hold hands, lay your right hands flat on the cloth and place the left one atop your neighbor’s. Don’t let the circle break open. We want no dark spirits escaping into our world.”
“No more dark spirits, you mean,” Mary murmured. She seemed quite frightened, her hands shaking, and her husband offered her no comfort.
Nellie blew out half the candles, and the room suddenly seemed like it was filled with shifting shadows, blown like scarves over the walls and ceiling. The air smelled of smoke and mingled flowery perfumes; the hands Cecilia held felt damp and cold.