Deadly Curious

by Cindy Anstey

  “There is no need—” Sophia began.

  “I know we’re expected to be there … but do you think it is safe?” Daphne asked Jeremy directly, this time. “Aren’t you concerned?”

  Jeremy glanced at Sophia, but she couldn’t read his expression before he turned back and answered her cousin. “I think that the murderer is very clever and overly confident. Attending the fair will show that we will not be intimidated—that we are united and coming for them. It is the murderer who must be afraid.”

  Sophia lifted her hand to rub at her forehead. She knew Jeremy’s words were nothing but bravado.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It Takes Two

  Leaving the young ladies to their preparations, Jeremy took a couple of hours to wander about town, casually asking after anyone who knew Howard Tuff. The sense of being unwelcome had not disappeared, and he was greeted with more dark looks than smiles. Still, it was not the unfriendly attitudes that forced him to rethink his approach, but the genuine surprise at his question. It would seem that Howard Tuff had walked out of everyone’s lives and minds twenty years earlier, never to return.

  The streets of West Ravenwood were far busier than Jeremy had seen them thus far. Wagons and drays trundled by carrying various wares, including pigs and goats, up to Allenton Park’s north field. Signs announcing the best cheese, the smoothest butter, or the softest gloves were tucked under the arms of various drivers, ready to be positioned by the booths to draw customers in. A few people passed carrying a broom or pitchfork or some instrument of labor to illustrate that they were looking for work. A young boy flicked his whip to keep a small herd of cattle walking up the road. It was active and there was an air of anticipation … and some familiar faces.

  “Miss Dewey, Reverend,” Jeremy said, nodding as they passed. Charlotte was seated with her father on the bench of a wagon that carried a prebuilt booth. Beside it leaned a sign, still to be attached, announcing that the church was collecting funds for the new school. Reverend Dewey flicked the reins, encouraging his horses to step lively, but there was nowhere to go—the road was congested up ahead. Still, the gesture was enough to inform Jeremy that a conversation was not desired.

  * * *

  Sophia was dressed in her finery and back downstairs before luncheon was called. She had watched from her bedroom window as the long line of traffic wended past the Allenton gate and up the path to the north field.

  The transformation had been amazing. Flags strung across the entrance, seating benches built next to an open arena-like space, a temporary paddock housing horses and ponies, and a street of booths sprung up like weeds. People and goods abounded; the cheerless atmosphere caused by the murders and distrust disappeared, erased by smiles and slaps on the back, fresh baked goods, and slippery pigs. Sophia could see it all quite clearly from the vantage point of her bedroom.

  She had skipped down the stairs, ready to share her impressions of the festivities. But it was commonplace to the Waverleys, having participated countless times before, and she was greeted with apathy rather than excitement. And in one case, apprehension.

  “Would you mind sticking close by?” Daphne asked, taking Sophia’s arm and leading her into the dining room. “When we’re at the fair? I won’t be as nervous with you by my side.”

  Sophia chuckled until she realized that Daphne was not funning. “Yes, of course. But I believe Mr. Fraser is correct. We’ll be safe; there are too many eyes at an event such as this. No one will take a chance to harm us or the family with so many watching.”

  “You would say that.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You would say that Mr. Fraser is right. If Mr. Fraser said that the sun was the moon, you would agree.”

  “I most definitely would not!” Sophia dropped with little grace onto the chair that the footman was holding out for her. Daphne could be so annoying at times. “I rarely agree with Mr. Fraser. We are seldom in accord.”

  It was a redundant added comment, but Sophia was too indignant to be grammatically correct … mostly because she thought Daphne might be right.

  Not that she thought Jeremy right all the time, but that she would give him the benefit of the doubt. That sort of instinctive trust made no sense, but she did seem to be confused when they were together and he looked at her in that way. It filled her with the oddest sensation, the oddest, extremely pleasant sensation that started at the top of her head and carried on to the tip of her toes. It brought with it a desire to throw herself in his arms—

  “Sophia! Sophia! Do you want some fish or not?”

  Sophia started. A serving platter of trout had appeared next to her. She shook her head and took some ham instead.

  * * *

  “Are you well?” Sophia asked Daphne as Jeremy handed them down to the fairgrounds. Her cousin had been quiet for more than fifteen minutes—most unusual. Sophia smiled her thanks to Jeremy and tried not to blush when his fingers left hers. Even with gloves, she had felt the heat of his skin and the shiver it brought with it.

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’m just worried.” Daphne looked up at her cousin. “Aren’t you?”

  Sophia nearly shook her head but realized that any well brought up young lady would find this situation daunting, not exciting; it shouldn’t fill her with energy, but it did.

  Her excitement was surely brought on by the possibility of learning more about the mysterious deaths, picking up more clues. It had nothing to do with Jeremy.

  Sophia stared at a tuft of grass flattened by her shoe and changed her mind, disagreeing with herself. Actually, her enthusiasm had everything to do with Jeremy and the way her breath disappeared when he looked at her.

  Glancing up and beyond the family circle, Sophia met the stares of many fairgoers. Quick furtive glances kept turning their way. Children stopped and pointed until being dragged away, and smiles became frowns when heads turned in their direction. The townsfolk of West Ravenwood were very aware of their presence—which was not to be wondered at, as they were on Waverley property. Sophia smiled and waved at several people she knew, only to be ignored.

  “As soon as the case is solved, everything will go back to normal,” Jeremy said, offering first Daphne and then Sophia his elbows. He led them down the makeshift lane to the arena and podium where most were gathering for the opening ceremonies.

  After having gone no more than twenty or thirty feet, Daphne squeaked, drawing Sophia’s instant attention. However, all was well: Daphne was not in distress but, in fact, grinning—almost in a foolish manner. With a jerk of her head, Daphne indicated a small gathering of young men standing next to the gate into the arena.

  “Dylan Crewe,” she said softly, turning a bright shade of red.

  Though the gathering by the gate was comprised of half a dozen young men, only one had blond hair and blue eyes and a cute dimple on his cheek. Sophia picked out Dylan Crewe immediately if for no reason other than his focused attention on Daphne. It would seem that the attraction was mutual between them, and Sophia gave her cousin a toothy smile of approval. It would be interesting to see if Mr. Crewe followed Daphne to London for her Season.

  Continuing past the young men, they found Uncle Edward already in a deep conversation with the butcher. Father and Aunt Hazel sat on one of the lower benches; Jeremy guided Sophia and Daphne to join them. Charlotte and William shifted to make room for the girls, leaving Jeremy to stand at the end. The couple shared an intimate look that took Sophia by surprise. Had their relationship progressed to a secret engagement?

  Sophia slid closer to Aunt Hazel to allow them a modicum of privacy, but Charlotte touched her arm and drew her back.

  “You look none the worse for wear.”

  Sophia frowned, confused by the comment. “Worse for what wear?”

  Charlotte laughed lightly, running her hand down her cream and soft green skirts. “The wear and tear of your ordeal yesterday. The trench, an’ all that.” She blinked as if she were now the one confused. “I’d
heard that you were covered in mud from head to toe.”

  Sophia leaned forward to glare at William.

  “Wasn’t me,” he protested, holding his hands up as a shield.

  Charlotte giggled. “No, no,” she said. “Not William. I was discussing your adventure with Mrs. Curtis. The staff was all atwitter about the incident.” Silence met her comment. Charlotte glanced around at the frowning faces and dropped her voice to a semi-whisper. “The description of your condition was surely exaggerated. Mrs. Curtis said that you were covered in filth, hair every which way, clothes ripped—”

  “Do you often engage in gossip with our staff?” Daphne asked from over Sophia’s shoulder.

  “Oh no, no, no.” Charlotte shook her head with vehemence, sending her red curls bouncing. “We were sharing news, not gossip … although, I suppose it could be mistaken for such.” She glanced toward William, looking contrite. “I would never belittle anyone in the family. And I was only talking to Mrs. Curtis.”

  Sophia clenched her jaw for a moment before speaking. “By the family, you mean the Waverleys.” This was not the first time that Charlotte had distanced herself from the people that had raised her and given her everything—except, perhaps, her golden red hair.

  “I don’t mean the Deweys, of course.” And then with a wide-eyed look of innocence, Charlotte Dewey shrugged. “I think very highly of them, Mother and the reverend, but … they are not my real parents. I’m sure you know that I was adopted.”

  “Were you, indeed?” Sophia was not going to admit that she already knew. She made a show of looking at the crowds around them, catching Jeremy’s eye while doing so. “Perhaps this is not the time or place for such a conversation.”

  Jeremy could not hear their words, but he frowned—likely seeing her tense posture—and started toward her. Sophia shook her head and watched him return to his place, though still watching.

  “Oh. Oh yes, you’re quite right. Not the time or place.” Charlotte paused, frowned again, and chose another subject—equally unsuitable. “You should not let finding the body upset you, Sophia.” She patted Sophia’s hand. “It might be anyone. Even if it is Mr. Tuff, I’ve heard he was not a good person. So do not allow yourself to be upset.”

  The group gasped as one.

  “Charlotte, how can you say that?” William asked sharply. “You didn’t know the man and he has nothing to do with you. Above all, you should know not to speak ill of the dead.”

  Charlotte drew in a ragged breath. She nodded and then stared at her toes. “You’re right, William. I apologize. I should not have said anything. I was trying to ease Sophia’s concerns, not criticize Mr. Tuff.”

  * * *

  Participating in the fair was a tiresome business after all. Following the opening ceremony, Sophia was expected to chitchat with all and sundry. At length, she discussed the weather, the price of bread, and the charming character of each snot-nosed child running about the field, screaming like a banshee. Sophia thought that she might scream, as well.

  She was more than ready to return to the manor; the fair had not been nearly as entertaining as she had expected. She did not wish to join the crowd in guessing the weight of Mr. Baley’s pig or the age of Mrs. McBean’s white duck. Even fruit tarts, while looking delicious, didn’t entice her.

  Several times Sophia looked to Jeremy for relief, but saw that he was jawing with various craftsmen; she could expect no rescue from him.

  Sophia had just been talking to the milliner, commenting on the cooler evenings in yet another scintillating conversation about the weather when the woman smiled weakly and backed away.

  “His family is well placed, even if he has decided to become a Bow Street Runner,” Charlotte said, coming up beside her. William was not at her side for a change.

  “You mean Jere—Mr. Fraser?” Sophia asked, not looking in Charlotte’s direction.

  “Of course. I can tell you’re sweet on him.”

  Sophia laughed, a little too heartily. “I wouldn’t say that I’m sweet on him. I admire Mr. Fraser and hope to learn the ways of investigation from him, but that would be all.”

  Even as Sophia spoke, she knew the words to be a lie. Well, not a lie, exactly—just not the entire truth. She did hope to learn how to be a detective with Jeremy’s direction, but the thrill of being near him did not stem from their shared profession.

  “If you say so.” Charlotte shifted her stance, stamping the dust from her boots. “But I’m not the only one to notice how you keep looking at each other.”

  “Charlotte, you shouldn’t gossip. As I’ve said before, gossip is rarely right,” Sophia said heatedly. “Mr. Fraser and I are trying to find a murderer. Attending a fair will not help us toward that goal. If we do look at each other on a regular basis, it is in commiseration. We would both rather be investigating!”

  The words “doth protest too much” suddenly came to Sophia’s mind, and she snapped her mouth shut.

  Daphne, likely hearing the strident tone of their conversation, meandered over to where Sophia and Charlotte were standing, staring at the riders ringing the paddock.

  “Have you heard?” she asked, twirling her parasol. It was a lacy thing doing little to protect her porcelain complexion. “The gardeners found a couple of rings in the trench. Mrs. Curtis identified them as belonging to Howard Tuff.” She looked past Charlotte toward Sophia. “The mysterious body is no longer mysterious. It is Howard Tuff, after all.”

  “Oh,” Sophia said with great eloquence.

  She swallowed several times in succession and then glanced around looking for Jeremy. He was on the other side of the field, standing beside the innkeeper of the Unicorn and Crown. Their eyes met and instantly his brows rose and then folded together. He nodded his farewell and hurried across the field to her.

  * * *

  Had Jeremy been one to care what others thought, he might have left the north field of Allenton Park after the first dark look—certainly after the second or third. But by the time he was deflecting his tenth glower, Jeremy was blasé about the animosity. It was, after all, a hazard of the policing trade. And so it was that Jeremy felt the hostility blowing toward him like a cold gust of wind as he walked around the fairgrounds. It was merely something to ignore.

  A few of the townspeople deigned to speak with him, though the majority preferred to watch from the shadows. While most knew Jeremy was investigating Andrew Waverley’s murder, more than a few were still suspicious, thinking that he had been called in to catch poachers.

  They resented anyone insisting on obedience to the new enclosure law; it made Jeremy a pariah. He was caught in the middle of that age-old battle between the estate owners and those that worked their land. Being the son of a baron did not help; that very fact alone seemed to put him on the other side of the divide.

  Jeremy stood his ground, but was thoroughly out of sorts. He marched across the field, ready to have words with whomever had upset Sophia, because he could see that she was upset. Her complexion had gone white, her expression troubled, and her stance was stiff.

  Yet, when he joined the two young ladies, Sophia simply smiled; her expression changed to that of calm, and his annoyance drained away. Perhaps he overreacted.

  “Is all well?” he asked when near enough to do so without yelling.

  “Certainly.” Sophia glanced at Charlotte.

  The reverend’s daughter stared back, one of her brows almost raised to her hairline. “We were discussing Howard Tuff,” Charlotte said, fiddling with the ornate sapphire ring on her finger.

  “Ah yes, I bumped into Constable Marley a few minutes ago.” Jeremy frowned. “Poor man. Such a sad way for Mr. Tuff to die, and with no one to know where he was for twenty years. It must be very hard on his family.”

  They all nodded and fell into a silence that was almost immediately interrupted.

  The disruptive sound was a murmur at first, then became a buzz of voices. Then the possessors of those voices could be seen walking speedily a
cross the field, and snatches of words drifted across the fairgrounds: Bow Street. Time. Investigate.

  A group of several townsmen followed three men who were headed directly toward Constable Marley. Jeremy stared; the men were not strangers to him, but the last time Jeremy had seen this trio was in the London Bow Street office.

  Botterill trailed behind the other two, as if unsure of his role. He was wearing the layered cape coat of a coach driver; he had a considerable girth and a large curled mustache. Collingwood was long and lanky; he wore a cap pulled over his eyes, shots of black hair poking out in a helter-skelter fashion from under the brim. He tried to match the pace of the man beside him by taking long unnatural strides that tripped him up more often than not. And lastly, a man wearing a top hat better suited to a night at the opera, a black coat, and charcoal waistcoat led the procession.

  The man sporting the top hat was not one of Jeremy’s favorite people—quite the opposite. Inspector Jefferies, darling of Sir Elderberry of the Bow Street Runners, approached Constable Marley with a broad insincere smile spread across his square jaw.

  “Ah, there you are, Constable.” The man held out his hand to Marley. “Edgar Jefferies, Principal Officer of Bow Street in London at your service. I’ve come to solve Andrew Waverley’s murder. Yes, indeed,” he said proudly, even hooking his thumbs into his waistcoat and rolling back and forward on his toes. His voice boomed out across the fairgrounds, as it was undoubtedly meant to do. “Going to find the killer and bring him to justice. No more dillydallying. It’s taking too long, much too long.”

  The insult, said with a friendly chuckle, was a stab with a jagged knife—painful and unnecessarily cruel.

  Jeremy stepped forward, wanting a private conversation, but Jefferies’ next words brought him to a halt.

  “What’s that? Jeremy Fraser? Hardly worth your time.” The big man chuckled again, showing his teeth.