Mrs. Jennifer Wilkes arrived at Sandwell Court one spring morning to discover the house in uproar. Charles and Prudence, her cousin and his wife, were preparing to leave the house and Prudence never traveled lightly. Footmen were rushing to and fro in an intricate ballet of bandboxes and liveried legs. Jenny's arrival was almost lost in their departure, with the parade of trunks leaving through the front door preventing her from getting too far into the large, marbled entry. One would have suspected Prudence of cleaning out the manor if she had not spied her Cousin Robert speaking to his brother, Charles, at the foot of the stairs.
"You are just in time to wish Prudence and I Godspeed," Charles said. "We are off to visit Drew and our lovely daughter-in-law."
"I am sorry we shall not be able to spend time together, then, Cousin," Jenny said sincerely as Charles seized her hands and squeezed while Robert kissed her cheek in welcome.
"Tell the truth, you would not have half a chance, knowing as I do what Mama and Mrs. Abernathy have planned for you," Robert said.
Jenny paused. This was the first she had heard any plans about herself. She had just thought to stay holed up in Sandwell and nurse her worry while her son and his wife, and her daughter, Tamara, were in Brussels. "For me?"
"Oh, yes." Robert tucked Jenny's hand up under his arm, walking her further into the house with a wave to his brother.
She marveled once more how well Robert, the elder son and true Earl of Sandwell, appeared. The past year he had been living incognito as a hermit on the family's property, and had become ill, nursed back to health just in time to claim his title.
"They want you to go with them to Cornwall."
"Cornwall? What the devil is in Cornwall?" she demanded.
"Your use of cant phrases is amusing, Jenny," he noted with a grin.
"Everything I know I learned from four sons. Now tell me why I should go to Cornwall with Eleanor and Muriel?"
"They said they are going down there to help an old school chum," he explained. "And you are to go with them."
"What if I do not wish to go?" she wondered as they entered the drawing room.
"But you must!" Muriel exclaimed from a spot near the fire where she and Eleanor, dowager Countess of Sandwell, sipped tea.
"Come get warm, Jenny dear," Eleanor invited. "You must be cold and tired after your journey. And we are leaving for Cornwall tomorrow and we would like you to come with us," she added. "After all, it would not be seemly to have two unmarried people alone in the house."
"We are cousins, for goodness' sake!" Jenny protested. Not to mention two adults. She looked to Robert for agreement, but he only held out his hands and shrugged, as if to say he had already argued that point. And lost.
"You see why it is important for you to come with us?" Muriel asked.
"No, however, I do enjoy your company."
"We know," Muriel said with a smile, and Jenny was reminded that her mind was being read.
"You need something to keep your attention off your family," Eleanor soothed. "Do say you will come?"
Jenny could probably resist Muriel, even if the older lady could read her thoughts, but Eleanor had been a close friend and relative for years, and her gentle words held more weight.
"Lady Kinghorn is an old school friend and a dear creature who needs our help. You could be invaluable to our investigations," Eleanor added.
"Investigations?" Jenny and Robert cried at once.
"What are you getting yourselves into?" he wondered, a frown creasing his brow.
"Now, Robert, it is nothing to concern yourself with. Sarah Kinghorn's son, the current baron, is a widower who is under suspicion for killing his wife. That is all." Her attitude seemed to border on nonchalance.
"That is all?" Jenny choked on the tea she had just received from Muriel. "How do you two propose to prove or disprove such a thing?" She wanted nothing to do with such a scheme, and wondered which one of the two older ladies in front of her had already slipped into her dotage to be considering such a hare- brained idea? Most likely both of them.
"You know Muriel's not inconsiderable talents, Jenny. She will listen to what everyone thinks, make a pronouncement and allow the local law to take it from there," Eleanor said with confidence in her voice.
"You two are ripe for Bedlam!" Robert exclaimed.
"Nonsense!" Muriel said stoutly. "It is merely a matter of going down there, reading his mind and announcing to all that the man is innocent."
"What if they do not believe you? What if he is not innocent?" Jenny wondered. "What then?"
"Then we shall not make any announcements except in front of a magistrate, and the law may take it from there. But he will be innocent," Muriel insisted. "No son of Sarah's would be otherwise. Now, I know what you two are thinking – and I mean that. I truly do. Just give us a chance to help an old friend," she said softly. "And while it may not seem like a good idea at the moment, Jenny dear, I do honestly believe you should provide us with your companionship. You will not regret it, I promise."
Jenny stared at first Muriel and then Eleanor a long moment before nodding. "All right, then, I shall go. Robert, will you be so kind as to send word to my maid not to unpack anything but what I shall need tonight, and to travel in tomorrow?"
"If there is anyone Prudence has not pressed into packing for her, yes," he replied.
"Then I suppose I shall be more than happy to do whatever you wish with me."
"Even if it means haring off on a wild journey to Cornwall?"
"Yes. Someone has to keep you two in line."
Robert's smile was wry. "I have never known my mother to embark on a half-baked scheme before, but yes, someone needs to go along and keep them out of trouble." He, too, seemed resigned to the plan.
The older ladies protested, but mildly, and harmony was achieved over the tea tray.
"It shall seem like the veriest end of the world," Jenny noted early the next morning as they settled into the well-sprung travel coach with Eleanor's maid. It had been decided the evening before that Eleanor's dresser would tend to the older ladies and Jenny could make do with innkeepers' daughters and the like, as well as whomever Sarah could spare at the castle. Jenny's maid was not sorry to remain behind at Sandwell.
"Fortunately, Sarah lives in northern Cornwall, on the coast," Eleanor assured her. "It is not a long journey as these things go. William and I had been to Kinghorn Castle several times and if one does not mind the incessant sound of the sea, it is no different than visiting any number of my friends."
"Then you have met Lord Kinghorn?" Jenny asked, suddenly curious.
"Not since he was a lad. The occasions we were at the castle, he and his wife were either in London or traveling. But Sarah vouches for his character and the fact that he loved his wife. She would know if they were not getting along and she would know to tell Muriel the truth, even in a letter. After all, if she was wrong, Muriel would know quickly enough, having seen her talent at work."
Jenny could only agree with that. "I have heard you speak of Lady Kinghorn over the years," she mused.
"My sister Lavinia knew even before we got to school that our bosom beaus would be Eleanor and Sarah. Girls at that school were two to a room, and our parents did not even question her when she said she and I should not be placed together."
"I am curious," Jenny said, "as to what talent your mother had. After all, you said it runs through the family females."
"A very rare talent, even in our family – she could communicate with animals."
"Interesting! I imagine such a skill came in handy at times."
"It could be very inconvenient when my mother's dog caught us making trouble. It is a shame I only read human minds."
"Tell her about your grandmother," Eleanor urged.
"My grandmother could move objects and herself wherever she wished."
"Amazing!"
"That, also, was annoying," Muriel said, her lips twisting together wryly. "When we were children. Fortunately, I could at least hear her thoughts and be prepared."
The three ladies laughed at the woes of living in a talented household and then switched their conversation to the weather, and speculation on their accommodations along the way.
It took five days to get to their destination, and just as they were within a few miles of Kinghorn, Muriel had a sudden urge to stop at a tavern.
"We are so close!" Eleanor protested. "I am an old lady, dear, and so are you. We should be begging for tea and warm beds as soon as we arrive at the castle."
"But Jenny is becoming nauseous, Eleanor, and needs to stop now. We shall all have some fortifying soup and tea, and be on our way shortly."
Jenny, who had hardly ever been ill a day in her life, shot Muriel a quizzical look. Still, if Mrs. Abernathy wished to stop, there must be a good reason.
"I wish to read a few locals," Muriel whispered a few minutes later as they alighted at an inn that had seen better days. The shutters were hanging off the sides of the windows and the weathered oak door that led inside needed to be planed – it was shut, but did not close completely. Jenny wondered if the place even had a private parlor.
To her surprise, it did, albeit a small one. The serving girl, however, a surly, slovenly chit, said up front that they had no soup and it would be a bother to brew tea. Just as Jenny was about to suggest they go elsewhere, a tall figure walked in and scowled at the girl, demanding ale. She squeaked in alarm and ran off to bring him what he wished, the man following her to the tap room.
Another man, a short, balding one in a spotted apron, approached and insisted the ladies stay, ushering them into the tiny parlor. Muriel settled Eleanor in front of the meager hearth, frowning. The innkeeper promised tea and quit the room.
"Whatever is the matter?" Eleanor enquired.
"The serving wench is scared of that gentleman and keeps reminding herself that he killed his wife. Our host is worried that his lordship might kill again, if everything is not to his satisfaction."
"And Lord Kinghorn?" Jenny asked.
"Nothing. I cannot hear a word in his head. I dislike that in the extreme, as you well know."
Jenny recalled that her cousin, Drew Lambert, had been the same way, a tough nut to crack.
"I was afraid of that," Eleanor murmured. "I remember when you met Sarah's late husband in London, Muriel, when we were fresh out of school and into our first seasons. You were frustrated then, when you could barely understand his thoughts, and it seems his son takes after him."
"I should have known this would not be so simple as to waltz in, read his mind, declare his innocence and leave."
"Even if it were simple, Muriel, we should still have to figure out who did kill Lady Kinghorn," Jenny pointed out. "You just cannot say Lord Kinghorn is not a murderer and leave it at that."
"She has a point, dearest," Eleanor murmured to Muriel. "After all, someone had to do it, or perhaps we could find someone who saw her jump to her death."
Jenny paled. "She fell or jumped from one of the cliffs?" It was not so dark that she had missed the sharp, rugged coastline outside the carriage window, and the thought that someone had died on those rocks made her shudder.
"We did not tell her," Eleanor said to Muriel as they sat in that rundown parlor.
"What difference would it make?" Muriel replied. "But you are correct, Jenny. Not only do we need to establish Lord Kinghorn's innocence, but we must discover who murdered his wife, if not him?"
The serving girl sidled in at that moment with a tea tray, but she did not linger.
"It seems we are to serve ourselves and move along," Muriel announced.
Jenny pondered that while she was bid to pour out for them all, even Eleanor's maid. There did not seem to be an abundance of custom that evening. They had all finished cups of weak tea when she heard heavy boots in the hall and the front door opened and slammed shut as best it could in its unevenness.
"That was Lord Kinghorn," Muriel noted. "Because I did not get any thought at all."
"That just means we shall have to work smarter to get to the bottom of the situation," Eleanor soothed. "You have solved mysteries before, my dearest friend."
"But murder?" Jenny voiced her concern aloud. "If Lady Kinghorn was truly murdered, then the person who killed her may do so again."
"I am not going to be caught unawares by a murderer," Muriel insisted.
"Unless it truly is Lord Kinghorn." Jenny was not quite ready to rule him out.
Muriel made a face. "I will deal with that if the time comes. Are you quite the thing now, Jenny dear? I have a sudden urge to get to our temporary home."
"I shall just settle our shot then," Jenny said, leaving Muriel to smile over her choice of words as she went out into the hall to speak to the innkeeper.
"How much further to Kinghorn Castle?" she asked of the man.
He replied in his strong Cornish accent that it was but three miles or so, along the coast. "But if ye've no business there, ma'am, I'd advise ye not to go. I don't think anyone has visited there in ages, not since her ladyship died. Killed by his lordship, they say."
"Oh?" Jenny feigned ignorance on the matter.
"Yes, ma'am. He's an angry man. Ye don't want to stay there if ye can help it."
"Are people certain Lord Kinghorn killed his wife?" She widened her eyes in mock fear.
"Who else coulda done it? He's a tough master an' I suppose she didn't measure up."
"Oh." Jenny nodded sagely. "They had not been married long, then."
"No, ma'am! Married nigh until five and twenty years, they were!"
Jenny thought if they were married that long, and he was not satisfied with his wife, Lord Kinghorn could have gotten rid of her anytime well before he had – if he had actually killed her. A man with a strong temper did not necessarily kill his wife in anger, but it could have been an accident.
"They had argued that evening?" She did not have any qualms about quizzing the innkeeper this way, nor did she doubt he would know the facts, or most of them, anyway.
"Not that I've heard," the man allowed after some thought. "His lordship was known to be attending the birth of a foal at the time."
Was the man an idiot? How could a man murder his wife if he had been elsewhere, with witnesses, no doubt? She looked up to see Muriel standing in the parlor doorway, a smile hovering on her lips.
"Are we ready?" she asked.
Jenny paid the innkeeper and nodded, returning to the parlor to collect her outerwear.
"In reply to your question, Jenny dear," Muriel whispered as they left the inn, "yes, the innkeeper is an idiot. I am certain we will find Lord Kinghorn to be innocent. Of his wife's death, at least."
"I am glad someone agrees with me," Jenny murmured in reply.
It was after dark when Jenny got her first glimpse of Kinghorn Castle. What she could see was the outline of a large, monolithic edifice that was not out of place in this wild and craggy part of the country. It looked just like the setting for one of Mrs. Radcliffe's novels, where the beleaguered count brings home a new bride to either wreak havoc with her mind or else have someone unsuspected attempt the same thing. There would be ghosts, too, and she suddenly longed for her daughter-in-law, Bianca. That dear, young woman would know if the castle had spirits attached to it.
The coach pulled up to double front doors, and a footman alighted to announce the new arrivals to the major domo. Jenny was expecting a stooped old retainer to open the door to them, but instead, a small giant nearly toppled the footman over as he strode out to where they emerged from the coach.
"You are not wanted here, so go home!" The man turned on one heel and strode off into the darkness.
As he spoke, a smaller, plumper woman came out and held her arms out to Eleanor. Muriel was watching the back of the man disappear.
"Well, I never!" Eleanor exclaimed. Jenny could only guess that this was their lord of the castle, once more.
"Me, neither," Muriel murmured as she, too, was hugged by the lady of the house.
As for herself, Jenny considered the man incredibly within his rights to be grumpy. After all, he had lost his wife under mysterious circumstances. No one should expect him to be annoyed at the sight of three women coming to stay in his house.
Introductions were made between Lady Kinghorn and Jenny, and then their hostess apologized for her son's behavior. "He has not been himself lately."
"Understandable," Jenny gently replied.
"Your husband must allow you some freedom, to let you come all the way to Cornwall with these two old reprobates," the lady remarked. The smile she gave her friends was a fond one.
"I am also a widow and may do as I please," Jenny said. Truly, she had been widowed for several years and immune to the pain that used to accompany such a remark. "I have five lovely children, however, to help fill the void."
"Five!" Lady Kinghorn took Jenny's arm and escorted her down a dark hall towards what was hopefully a more modern section of the castle. The main hall, as lovely as it was with its old tapestries and inevitable suits of armor, was cold and drafty, and Jenny craved a warm fire.
"Boys or girls, or both?" Lady Kinghorn asked conversationally.
"Four sons and a daughter." She vaguely noticed Eleanor and Muriel falling into step behind them as her hostess encouraged her to discuss her children.
"Belgium! How exciting! How dangerous!" Lady Kinghorn exclaimed as she led them into a cozy parlor and rang for a servant.
"Rand would never allow either his bride or his sister to come into any danger and is high enough in his profession to know when to send them home."
Lady Kinghorn nodded. "I wish them all well and will pray for your son's safe return."
Muriel smiled. "My niece is quite talented in a certain way, Sarah, and has assured us that Rand will come home."
"Yes, that famous family talent. How I envy you that ability at this moment." She bid them all sit, and then addressed the ancient retainer who had quietly entered the room. "Yes, Tilley. We shall require some tea at the very least. Have you ladies had your dinner?"
When they admitted they had stopped at a local inn, but had only received tea, she sent the old butler off for more sustenance for her guests.
"How was your journey?" she queried while they waited for their dinner. Hearing it had been uneventful, she remarked that they must be exhausted, and she would not keep them up long. "Plenty of time tomorrow for your particular brand of assistance, Muriel."
Jenny was glad to hear that. Eleanor, especially, was looking fagged.
"You must know, however," Lady Kinghorn continued, "I am at my wits end to resort to imposing on our friendship this way."
"I know that all too well," Muriel replied. "But under the circumstances, you should have written to me sooner."
Lady Kinghorn flushed. "I am not the one who doubts your abilities, Muriel, as you may have noticed by my son's reaction to you. Otherwise I would have contacted you before now."
Muriel paused, Jenny recognizing this as her way of listening to Lady Kinghorn's unspoken thoughts, and then nodded.
"It has been my experience that women are more accepting of my talent without extensive demonstration."
"Rand did not require much in the way of convincing," Jenny said loyally.
Eleanor smiled at that. "He was already half in love with Bianca and if she said she had a club foot or spoke to animals, it would not have mattered."
"What did you do to convince him of your talent?" Lady Kinghorn wondered.
"Bianca – my great-niece, you know – told him he'd broken his foot falling out of a tree when he was ten and I repeated his thoughts upon hearing that."
"What did he think?"
"He recalled that it had hurt like hell," Muriel said with a straight face while the other ladies laughed, even Lady Kinghorn.
"Then Bianca said his father name was Arthur and he was proud of him, even when he had taken a bullet in the shoulder at Salamanca.
Jenny shuddered, remembering this admission. "Even I had not known about the bullet before that. He never told me."
"He has always been protective of you, Jenny, dear," Eleanor soothed.
She could only nod. Rand, especially since his father had died, seemed to want to shelter his mother from the harsh realities of life.
"He never told me, either," Eleanor admitted.
After tea and a light repast had been consumed, Jenny followed the older ladies and the housekeeper upstairs to a series of rooms that overlooked the sea. She was delighted with the chamber assigned to herself, not only for the sounds from beyond her mullioned windows, but for the cheery fire, the pale blue and white furnishings, and the effort made to provide comforts in such an old edifice.
"I have had certain rooms renovated over the years," Lady Kinghorn told her. "I hope you will be comfortable here, and tomorrow you will get to meet the rest of the family."
Jenny said she was looking forward to that, and to her stay, and not even a fleeting thought of her hostess' angry son kept her from settling in quickly and going straight off to sleep.
A night of uninterrupted rest and a pot of tea brought the next morning by a sweet-faced maid set Jenny to rights and she cheerfully donned a peach woolen day dress and went down to the breakfast parlor. It was a surprisingly sunny room with a view of Lady Kinghorn's spring garden and the ubiquitous sight and sounds of the sea.
She was quickly introduced to Jory and Winifred Kinghorn, Lady Kinghorn's grandson and his pretty wife, both of whom greeted her effusively, thanking her for taking the time to visit. Muriel, too, hailed her cheerfully, but Eleanor looked positively haggard.
"You did not sleep well, Aunt Eleanor?" she asked, taking a seat next to her relative.
Lady Kinghorn, who had begun to open the mail in front of her, looked up, as if only now noting her friend's appearance.
"Too much noise," Eleanor replied. "Could someone possibly turn off the roar?"
Jenny chuckled, even as she squeezed her aunt's shoulder. "I slept like a lamb, myself."
"You like the sea?" Lord Kinghorn asked as he entered the room, a newspaper tucked up under one arm. She watched as he kissed his mother's cheek and nodded to everyone else.
"I do. It blocks out my other thoughts and I did not awaken once."
"You have worries?" He seemed doubtful of that as he took his place at the head of the table.
"Do not we all?" she countered, serving herself eggs and bacon from platters on the table in front of her. It seemed breakfast was informal here at Kinghorn Castle.
Muriel interrupted this exchange with a rundown of the minds of the servants she had encountered that morning, giving the lone footman on duty a sly wink when she mentioned his name. Jenny turned in time to see the young man blush at such attention, as Muriel was making the account as entertaining as possible. Lady Kinghorn would laugh or exclaim out loud from time to time as each tale warranted, and even Eleanor appeared less ragged as Muriel's tales grew bolder.
At breakfast together, Lord Kinghorn was obviously listening to Muriel's report on the servants. He lowered his newspaper to look at her. Muriel, not one to back down, stared back politely.
"You claim to read minds, Mrs. Abernathy," he said, his voice deceptively calm. Jenny was reminded of a snake poised to strike, so intent was his gaze.
"There is no claim to it, Alan," his mother insisted. "What am I thinking right now, Muriel?"
"That your son is a looby and a nodcock for doubting me."
The baron raised one eyebrow. "My mother used those exact words." His tone implied otherwise.
"I did," the dowager baroness said. "'I have been known to use those words on occasion."
On the left of the lady of the house, her grandson smirked. "Grandmama calls me a looby all the time," he confirmed.
"If you know what people are thinking," his lordship challenged Muriel, "then go around the table and tell me all the thoughts."
Muriel rolled her eyes. "Your mother and Eleanor are vastly amused, Jenny would like another piece of bacon…"
The footman rushed to put more bacon on her plate, and Jenny smiled, as she had indeed wished for more.
"Your son is counting out how many times Sarah has called him a looby, and Mrs. Kinghorn is thinking about her son up in the nursery."
"Lucky guesses, including hers." Lord Kinghorn pointed rudely at Jenny. "But what about me, Mrs. Abernathy?"
"You have me stumped, Lord Kinghorn, I will admit, but I have met natural shields before. Eleanor's grandson is one such person, so it stands to reason others may be able to block me."
"Which means you cannot prove me innocent or guilty, Mrs. Abernathy, thereby making yourself useless to my mother. I suppose it was worth a try, Mama," he said in a way that everyone could tell he meant no such thing. "I bid you a safe journey home, ladies."
"Now, wait just one moment, Alan Kinghorn!" Lady Kinghorn admonished her son. "Just because Muriel cannot read you does not mean she cannot help prove your innocence. She will be able to read everyone around you, after all, and there is bound to be someone who will eventually betray his or her thoughts. Muriel needs to stay. She will stay." Her voice was firm. "I am still your mother, and lady of the house, and as such I am entitled to have guests." Her expression softened. "You would not like everyone to think you are a monster to deny me a few friends?"
Lord Kinghorn stood and growled at them all. "Why not? They believe I am one at any rate!"
They watched as he stormed from the room, and Jenny suddenly did not have any appetite for that last piece of bacon.
Nor did she have an appetite for Mrs. Kinghorn's mother, Lady Pennell, who called a half hour later. The woman started in on quiet Mrs. Kinghorn the moment she sailed haughtily into the drawing room, barely pausing to be introduced to the castle's guests.
"This is how you conduct yourself in front of a countess?" she asked her daughter at one point when Mrs. Kinghorn spilled a few drops of tea on her pretty morning gown. "Not that dear Jory cannot afford to keep you in new clothes," she added, "but a wise wife does not constantly ask for gowns or pin money."
"Winifred is a dear who never asks for anything, Kitty, and you know it," Lady Kinghorn interjected.
Jenny admired the way Lady Kinghorn championed her poor, shaking granddaughter-in-law. The younger woman's mother seemed a veritable dragon.
"Now I shall go upstairs and visit my grandson," the dragon announced. "Winifred, you will remain here, as you know you upset Nurse Manning's routine."
"Yes, Mama."
"The gorgon hired the nurse and the two of them will sit upstairs and complain about that poor girl and ignore the baby," Muriel whispered to Jenny.
Jenny frowned. Something should be done about such a situation, but she doubted Mrs. Kinghorn was going to defy her mother. She flashed Muriel an impish grin and that mind-reading lady laughed aloud.
"I have not yet met the young heir of Kinghorn," Jenny said, riding to her feet and causing Lady Pennell, who was about to leave, to turn around and glare at her. "Will you not introduce us to your son, Mrs. Kinghorn? If Lady Pennell is going up now, we could all accompany her and not disrupt the nursery routine with successive visits." Jenny's smile was as bright and innocent as she could make it.
"I…er…that is…" Lady Pennell stammered, caught off guard by Jenny's suggestion.
"That is an excellent notion, Mrs. Wilkes!" Lady Kinghorn said, rising to link arms with her. "You must come and see my adorable great-grandson! He is nearly a year old and I do not get up there to see him as much as I would wish. Others are much more privileged, and I live here!" she exclaimed.
"Then we shall honor the nursery with all manner of grannies this morning." Jenny found her own comment humorous as she watched Lady Kinghorn beam at her, and Lady Pennell to scowl. This visit upstairs would also give Muriel a chance to further read Lady Pennell, and get a chance to listen to the nurse's thoughts. Muriel caught her free hand as they left the drawing room, and patted it.
"A fine idea, my dear. I hope the nurse's mind is nothing like Lady Pennell's, however. I am not happy listening to her inner tirade, which is now on you, as well as her own daughter. Watch your step around that one." She indicated Lady Pennell. "She seems to want everything her own way and I am quite certain she will do whatever it takes to get it."
Jenny shivered, as if a goose had walked over her grave. Lady Kinghorn gave her an encouraging smile and they all went upstairs to see young Master Tristan Kinghorn.
Eleanor exerted considerable pressure on Lady Pennell to behave herself in the presence of a dowager countess, which also seemed to cow the nurse into allowing Mrs. Kinghorn to pick up the chubby, smiling little boy. Jenny watched as he shied away from the nurse and his maternal grandmother, and cling to Mrs. Kinghorn.
However, once he spied Jenny, he reached for her. She loved children, and longed for a grandchild of her own, so she felt honored to be able to hold him and bury her face in his sweet-smelling neck. After a few minutes of getting to know one another, she was blowing onto his soft skin and causing him to laugh outright.
Suddenly, as if drawn by the merriment, Lord Kinghorn appeared in the doorway. The baby squealed with delight, and the baron did not hesitate to take the child when he held out his hands. Jenny had to wonder how a man could be so popular with his grandchild and still come under suspicion of murdering his wife. One minute she thought him perfectly capable of such an act, and then, when he was playing with his grandson, she had to doubt her first opinion.
Indeed, she revised a great deal of her thoughts as she watched his lordship on his hands and knees, growling like a bear and chasing the happy little boy about the room. The only two not amused at their antics – but not daring to say a word to the castle's lord and master – were Lady Pennell and Nurse Manning.
After Lord Kinghorn left the nursery, the ladies, sans Lady Pennell, who insisted it was time for her to leave, went downstairs to a sunny solarium.
Muriel sidled up to Jenny as they entered the room, which faced the sea and also housed a large collection of potted plants. These seemed to be the domain of Mrs. Kinghorn, as she went to them and began fussing over their foliage.
"What do you think of our host now?"
"I do not have an opinion one way or the other at the moment, Muriel, as you well know."
"Liar. But it did not hurt for you to see the gentleman awhile ago in a good light."
"You have been eavesdropping again," Jenny teased.
"I could not help it. You were broadcasting so loudly, I thought for a moment even Lord Mental Barrier could hear you! At any rate, it all bodes well for the future, I think."
"What future? We shall be here for a few weeks at the most, and once you discover what is going on, we shall go home. I have had enough adventure for one year."
Muriel laughed. "You need more adventure, Jenny! You are much too staid. Look at Eleanor and I. Do we seem in our dotage? And yet you seem content to sit by the fire and knit."
"I do not knit by the fire, but if I did, it would be to prepare for a grandchild, and that shall be adventure enough for me."
After Lady Pennell's visit, word got out that there was company at the castle, and judging by the number of callers over the next few days, Jenny thought perhaps the neighbors received few enough visitors to make them a novelty.
Once introductions were made, and small talk ensued, however, little mention was made of the castle's lord. With one noticeable exception.
Mrs. Worden, and her daughter, Meraud, breezed in one morning while the ladies of the house and their company sat in the solarium. Lady Kinghorn, Jenny and Eleanor embroidered, Muriel was reading a book and Mrs. Kinghorn was puttering around her plants when the visitors were introduced, and the callers adopted a strange air of ownership as they settled on an empty sofa next to the tea tray. The younger lady poured out for her mother and herself and then looked about her with a proprietary air.
"Winifred, dearest, you should place that philodendron further back from the windows. You will burn its poor leaves!"
"Burn leaves," her vague mother echoed.
Mrs. Kinghorn dutifully pulled the pot back further into the shade, as instructed, but with a sigh. Lady Kinghorn did the same.
Muriel, having put down her book to 'read' the visitors, wore a look of amusement on her face.
"And where is his lordship this morning?" Miss Worden demanded. "I told him several days ago when he called on Papa that I should be here today at exactly eleven o'clock!"
"My dear Miss Worden," Lady Kinghorn said gently. "My son is a busy man with estate business he must deal with. You cannot expect him to be at anyone's beck and call."
Miss Worden pouted, and Jenny noted that it was a gesture that would have worked instantly on many a London buck or beau. She took perverse delight in seeing that it had no effect whatsoever on Lady Kinghorn. Muriel began to shake with suppressed laughter. Jenny, seated next to her, nudged Muriel discreetly with an elbow.
"If you only knew," Muriel murmured.
"I expect a full report once the callers are gone."
"I plan on it."
"I understand you live in London, Mrs. Wilkes," Miss Worden said, turning her attention to Jenny. "You are not there now for the Season."
Jenny got the feeling Miss Worden wished she had stayed in London and not come to Cornwall.
"There was no reason to stay," Jenny nonchalantly replied. "My eldest son is in the country, managing the family estate, my second son is in Brussels, and my daughter and daughter-in-law accompanied him. My other two sons are similarly occupied. One is a vicar and the other is a student at Oxford."
"You have four sons and a daughter!" Miss Worden exclaimed. "You have been a prolific breeder, ma'am."
"Meraud!" Lady Kinghorn exclaimed. "Mrs. Wilkes is a guest! As are you, I might add, and one that might be denied the family the next time you call!"
Miss Worden looked suitably cowed, apologized to Jenny and then was on her feet the moment Lord Kinghorn walked into the room.
"Kinghorn! You promised you would be here when I called!" she lightly scolded. But the way it came out sounded flirtatious to Jenny.
Lord Kinghorn bowed, but ignored the hand offered to him by Miss Worden. Instead, he looked at Jenny and Muriel.
"I only stopped by to ask if Mrs. Abernathy and Mrs. Wilkes might accompany me somewhere."
"I am certain they do not wish to leave this warm room, Kinghorn," Miss Worden interjected. "Besides, your dear mother was just reminding me that they are your guests. I, however, am at your leisure."
Lord Kinghorn lifted an eyebrow at that. "You wish to enter a croft where there is illness?"
Miss Worden backed down in an instant. "Illness? Definitely not! I suppose you mean to take Mrs. Abernathy and Mrs. Wilkes with you due to their advanced ages," she justified aloud.
"Might as well take Sarah and I while you are at it," Jenny heard Eleanor mutter.
"I am certain my mother and Lady Eleanor will be able to keep you entertained whilst we are gone. Which reminds me. I believe our young man has the croup, Winifred, and I do believe Nurse did not wish to overburden you with such information."
Jenny thought that was a tactful way of suggesting Mrs. Kinghorn look in on her son, and that lady made a hasty excuse, taking the hint.
"We are at your disposal, my lord," Muriel said, rising from the sofa. "So good to make your acquaintance," she added, nodding to the Wordens. Jenny added her own excuses and they followed Lord Kinghorn out of the castle.
Jenny and Muriel followed Lord Kinghorn down a twisty path along the cliff to a row of thatched cottages, all of them in excellent repair.
"Your tenants are well-cared for, my lord," Jenny noted.
"These are old family retainers who are no longer able to work," he explained, "but we try to keep everything in good condition for them."
Jenny nodded. Her own nurse was sixty if she was a day, and lived in such a dwelling on her son's estate.
"I have asked you to come, Mrs. Abernathy, to see if your so-called talents can obtain some information from an old lady."
"Is she mentally capable?" Muriel asked, seeming to ignore the slur against her gift. "I find senile minds tend to wander."
"Up until a week or so ago, she was sharp as a tack," Lord Kinghorn said. "I am wondering by the way that she keeps speaking of something over and over again that it is only her illness that makes her unintelligible."
"Ah," Muriel replied. "She might be more comprehensible in her mind."
"Precisely."
It seemed that was as much of an apology as Muriel was going to receive for Lord Kinghorn's outburst a few days before, but Muriel, in her usual blithe way, seemed to accept it. Jenny was soon occupied with a more intriguing thought as they picked their way carefully along the ragged path.
"You do not require my presence, Lord Kinghorn," she pointed out. "Muriel is the one with talent."
"As you say, but I thought perhaps you could sit by my mother's old lady's maid and hold her hand. She always enjoyed visitors when she was lucid, even strangers."
Muriel grinned. "Jenny is very good with family retainers. You could not have made a better choice."
"Except perhaps Lady Kinghorn!" Jenny exclaimed. "Or Lady Eleanor."
"You look more like my mother in earlier years," Lord Kinghorn told her.
Jenny blushed. "At least you did not say in her youth," she tartly replied, embarrassed that his lordship had singled her out in such a way. Sometimes she caught Lord Kinghorn watching her with an odd expression that was very unlike his obvious distaste of her that first night. She was female and experienced enough to think it might be admiration. Suddenly, she wished for Tamara by her side, to remind her that she was a mother and a widow and well past the age of romance.
Muriel reached over and squeezed her arm. "She is off on her own adventure."
Lord Kinghorn gave them a quizzical glance and Muriel smiled. "Jenny's dearest, only daughter, Tamara. You might have heard that she is in Belgium with her brother and my niece."
"You must miss her," he said to Jenny.
"I do." Her voice cracked. "But she is needed elsewhere, and I cannot be selfish."
"She is in Brussels, you say? Dangerous place," he noted.
Jenny lifted her chin. "I know the dangers of sending someone off to war, my lord. But my son's wife had a greater need, both to be with her husband and to have female companionship in a strange place."
"You are a good woman," he said.
Muriel winked at her as they stopped in front of a well-thatched cottage with flowers lining the walk. Lace curtains hung in a front-facing window and a red-cheeked woman answered the door.
"If that is a hen for Miss Marie," she began to scold, only to stop and curtsy to his lordship. "Beg yer pardon, my lord. I thought you was that scamp Davy Teague."
"Tracking mud across your clean floors, no doubt," Lord Kinghorn said with a smile. "How are you today, Maude?"
She shook her head. "Run off my feet. Why I thought being pensioned off at the castle was a good thing, I'll never know. You've come to see Marie, no doubt. She's no better or worse than yesterday, my lord." She led them into the house and toward a narrow staircase in the main room of the croft even while she spoke, eyeing the ladies with frank curiosity.
"Mrs. Abernathy and Mrs. Wilkes are guests of her ladyship's," Lord Kinghorn said, beginning to introduce them, but Maude held up a hand.
"Mrs. Abernathy! Of course her ladyship would send for you! We've often heard her speak of you, ma'am. If anyone can help, it will be you."
Muriel flashed Lord Kinghorn a triumphant smile before patting the woman's hand. "I shall do my best. I know you worry." She was about to walk up the stairs, but paused. "You do have much to worry about. I shall pray for your great-nephew in Belgium. Mrs. Wilkes' son is also there."
Jenny gave Maude a sympathetic smile. "What is your nephew's name?"
Maude told her, adding that his lordship had bought the lad's commission, and he was already a first lieutenant.
"Then Lt. Gill shall be added to my prayers," Jenny assured her.
"Bless you, ma'am. I will do the same for your son."
Jenny felt tears well up in her eyes, not just for Rand, but for the faceless nephew who might not even come home. Muriel took her arm to steady her and together they mounted the stairs.
"His name is Col. Rand Wilkes," Muriel called over her shoulder, when Jenny still could not speak.
Lord Kinghorn cleared his throat and all talk of soldiers and war was dropped as they entered a sunny room overlooking the sea. Curtains similar to the ones downstairs framed the view, and Jenny was almost tempted to look outside instead of at the frail woman with white hair and unseeing dark eyes who was almost lost in the large bed.
Lord Kinghorn spoke quietly in French as he approached the invalid, and that seemed to solicit a response of much blinking and low murmurs.
"I have brought you some company," he said in English. "Mrs. Abernathy is an old friend of Maman's, no?" That seemed to strike another chord, and there were murmurs that now included Muriel's name. The entire time, Muriel stood where the Frenchwoman could see her. Jenny moved to the side of the bed when Lord Kinghorn beckoned her over.
"And this is Mrs. Wilkes, who is Lady Eleanor Lambert's niece."
The woman smiled and Lady Eleanor's name was added to the nearly unintelligible mumblings.
"How does she know their names?" Jenny wondered.
"My mother speaks so fondly of Lady Eleanor and Mrs.Abernathy, I believe we all know them by reputation alone."
"But he is a homebody and we had never met in person until now," Muriel said. "Our Jenny is much like you, preferring the country to London."
"And yet the entire neighborhood has told me that you sport the latest fashions from Town," he said to Jenny.
"Oh, my clothes are all the crack," Jenny agreed. "I had a daughter and new daughter-in-law to escort about. But they are just clothes, and I would have given them all up to spend a few quiet months at Sandwell," she reminded Muriel, who shrugged.
"But now you are here, my dear, and about to be very kind to an old woman."
Whether or not she meant herself or Marie, Jenny was not sure, but it put them back to their original task, Muriel suggesting gentle questions for Jenny to ask the maid. Sometimes the replies were in English, sometimes in French, but Jenny easily switched back and forth, glad her Russian mother had insisted on her learning the language of the Imperial Court. She had never been to her mother's native country, but the French came in handy when dealing with pompous friends, visiting ambassadors and elderly maids.
At one point, the older lady began to cry, and insisted she was going to die if anyone knew what she had witnessed. While Jenny was urged to encourage Marie, she babbled on in French, insisting she had to tell someone what she had seen, regardless of her own fate.
Muriel suddenly gasped and sat down in a chair next to the window. "She saw a lady being pushed from the cliff by another figure, but I cannot tell if it was a man or a woman. She glanced out this window that night to see the younger Lady Kinghorn walking along the path. The moon was full and it illuminated the lady. Then she paused, as if waiting for someone. Marie was curious, so she watched as another figure joined Lady Kinghorn. They spoke briefly, the other person reached out and struck her and she fell to her…"
Muriel had related this without seeing anyone in the room, as if the scene was being played before her, but now she sucked in her breath and looked up sharply at Lord Kinghorn.
"It looked like a man – the person was wearing breeches, but he was the same height as your wife. Was she tall, my lord?"
"She was of average height," he said, his eyebrows knitting themselves together. "Is there no other description?"
"No. The moon was full, but I can get no other idea of how he was dressed, except for the breeches, and that his clothes were dark. I hesitate to ask you this, my lord, but was it possible your wife had a lover?"
"No!" he shouted. "No! Eva didn't have a faithless bone in her body!"
Muriel held up her hands. "I merely asked, as she seemed familiar with her assailant. I believe you, however, when you say she was faithful."
Lord Kinghorn caught his breath. "She was a friend to just about everyone, Mrs. Abernathy. It could have been anyone on the estate. She knew everyone so well."
"I see. Then I think, Lord Kinghorn, it is time we became acquainted with this paragon. Will you show us her bedchamber? There may be some clues there, a note, perhaps, as to who had summoned her to the cliff path only to…"
He paused, and then sighed deeply, as if coming to a decision he might regret. "Let us get Marie settled, Mrs. Abernathy, and then I will show you her rooms."
Lord Kinghorn sent word ahead to his mother that Mrs. Abernathy and Mrs. Wilkes continued to offer their assistance in a matter, and should be excused from meeting any more callers. Jenny found herself relieved that if Miss Worden should still be in the solarium, she would not be subjected to the chit's smug superiority. Why that bothered her, she did not know, nor should she care. After all, she had no claim or design on Lord Kinghorn and would be leaving this bare, wild region soon enough.
Lady Kinghorn's rooms consisted of a cozy sitting room directly off a first-floor hall, a bedchamber and a dressing room mostly dusty from disuse. Mostly, Jenny thought, because the sitting room hearth held the remnants of a fire and there were several books and an empty wine glass on a side table.
As if sensing her scrutiny, Lord Kinghorn told her this was a room shared by both bedchambers in the master's suite, and he still used it in the evenings. She nodded and followed him into a pretty bedroom done in blue and green florals, a sharp contrast to the view of the brown, rugged coastline from the window. She wondered how the small strip of garden below would appear later in the spring. Would it be green and in bloom, or would the dowager Lady Kinghorn's roses have a dark backdrop?
Muriel had no trouble rummaging through the late lady's belongings, but Jenny felt it would be a violation if she participated, and she stayed at the window to watch gray waves pound against the rocks. The day had become dark and overcast.
"Is it often this gloomy?" she wondered, seeing Lord Kinghorn join her at the window. If she thought this foray to be an intrusion, what must he feel, coming into a room once so familiar and now so barren of its mistress?
"Sometimes. We need the rain, however, to help everything grow. Summer, however, is our chance to shine. Everything blooms and grows, and greens all over the place."
Jenny looked at him in surprise. Did he realize how poetic he sounded?
"What a lovely thought," she said after a long pause. "And the sea, no matter what color, has a charm of its own."
"Nothing!" Muriel suddenly exclaimed, sounding disgusted. "It is as if her room has been wiped clean!"
"What?" Lord Kinghorn turned around and swept the room with his gaze. "I have not been in here in months, but even after she died, Eva's hair pins and perfumes, desk contents and her clothes remained."
"The clothes are here, my lord, or so it seems. But the dressing table is empty, and so is the desk," Muriel said after investigating the furniture.
"The devil!" he thundered. "She had several scent bottles made of Venetian glass that were specific gifts from myself!"
"Gone, I am afraid." Muriel's tone was apologetic, despite her not having anything to do with their disappearance. "It seems a maid might have helped herself to them. I found a few old footprints on the dressing room floor, and they were small – obviously a female."
"Perhaps you should have your mother interview the staff?" Jenny wondered. She did not like the murderous expression on his face and thought perhaps he might scare some of his servants if he had the task of speaking with them.
However, before they could even leave the suite to ask Lady Kinghorn for assistance, a wild-eyed footman ran in the open sitting room door, gasping for breath.
"My lord! Accident! Your son!"
Lord Kinghorn swept past the footman bearing the bad news, leaving the gasping man to Jenny's sympathies and ministrations. She placed him gently into a large overstuffed chair in his lordship's sitting room and rummaged about for some spirits.
"Muriel, you must see what you can get out of everyone about this," she said in a low voice when the mind-reader looked curiously into a cabinet over her shoulder. "There is not any time to waste."
Fortunately, Muriel was in agreement and left the room. When Jenny came downstairs later, after helping the footman gain his breath and escorting him up to his attic room, she first located the butler and suggested he might want to check on the man in awhile. Then she found Muriel quietly embroidering in the drawing room, alone.
"That was no accident," Jenny was told straightaway.
"No?" She was not overly surprised. "What happened?" She was suddenly tired and sat down rather ungracefully next to her friend. She wished she had a cup of tea and Tamara.
"From what I could hear directly, and see indirectly, Mr. Kinghorn's saddle had been tampered with. It snapped at one point and he was almost trampled underneath. He managed to twist himself out of the way, but he broke a leg, it is believed, in the process. Mrs. Kinghorn, Sarah and his lordship are upstairs with the sawbones right now."
"Oh, dear," Jenny murmured. "Where is Aunt Eleanor?"
"I sent her to have a bit of a lie-down. She insisted she was not tired, but I knew better. You are weary, as well."
"I am." There was no denying that. "Perhaps I shall retire for awhile."
"You may do so later. Right now, we need to interview female servants."
"Now?"
"Why not? Everyone else is distracted and I would not have Sarah upset over her servants when she has a grandson to be worried over."
Again, Jenny could only agree. "Shall I ask the questions, then, while you observe?"
"What an excellent idea! And we shall beg a cup of tea from the housekeeper while we are at it, shall we?"
Jenny smiled. There were times Muriel's talent came in handy.
"Yes, dear, I know," came the smug reply.
Interviewing the servants proved useless, however, although not because they were distracted by Mr. Kinghorn's accident. Rather, Muriel spent most of the time thinking one of the housemaids was guilty when they were all mentally fingering someone else. She admitted to frustration after they had enjoyed their tea, if nothing else.
"Everyone seems to know entering her ladyship's room is forbidden, by either loyalty to or fear of Lord Kinghorn," Muriel reported. "And no one has any idea who it really was. Not a bad thing, really, but it would have been easier if it had been a female servant of the castle. I looked, but none of the men have small feet."
Jenny had not thought to check the feet. Muriel was an excellent investigator.
"I have had cause to be," she reminded Jenny.
"So your travels have not always been about ghosts and specters." It was not a question.
"Goodness, no! Bianca and Maurice, for instance, have been as prophetic as Nera on occasion, and Nera, as you know, does not merely rely on her precognitive talent. We have solved several mysteries that way."
Jenny chuckled. "Your nieces are intelligent women, and all three of you are such wonderful additions to the family."
Muriel's lined face softened. "We are all happy to be allied with you, as well. Eleanor and I, especially, are excited to be related. We go back so far!"
"One of these days, I wish to hear more about these school antics of yours," Jenny said. "I get the impression you two and your sister were regular imps of Satan."
Muriel chuckled. "I was an angel, I'll have you know. Not one single blot on my copybook."
"I have heard you tell differently in the past, Muriel," Jenny warned.
"You must be mistaking me for Eleanor. I never said any such thing. She thinks we were regular hooligans, always breaking school rules, sneaking into the kitchens after dark, things like that…"
"You know you did!"
"Perhaps," Muriel said slyly, "but I will never openly admit to any clandestine activity. It must have been my sister, rest her soul. She could see into the future, you know, just like Nera does."
"And did she steer you towards your Mr. Abernathy?" Jenny wondered.
"Heavens, no! She told me to avoid him like the plague."
"She was grandmother to Nera and Bianca," Jenny mused.
"Yes, the dear thing, although she never knew the girls. She would have loved knowing Nera shared her gift. I am certain she saw her own death, from a wasting disease, because she suddenly began to visit all her family and friends, as if to say goodbye." Muriel sniffed. "She was so adept at shielding me, I never knew."
Jenny patted the old dear on the arm. "I am certain she knows about Nera – Maurice would have told her – and just think of the gifts this next generation might have." She laughed. "I cannot wait for a daughter of Drew's to have a talent. I want to see what Prudence does when it manifests itself!"
They laughed together and Muriel reminded Jenny that she was sure to have gifted granddaughters, as well.
"This is true. If they should have girls. Boys tend to run in the Wilkes family, as you can plainly see. Tamara is somewhat of an oddity."
"Not odd, just rare."
"So true. I do hope I have at least one granddaughter through Rand. I should love to see your family's talents continued through mine."
"Thank you, my dear, for such a kind sentiment. As you know, some are jealous of the gifted, and others are skeptical. Or fearful."
"I am determined that no such children are prosecuted within the family. Not that I expect anyone to, but one never knows. I recall Anthony being highly skeptical of his new sister when he first met Bianca. Thank goodness Rand is more open-minded. It took Drew less time than I would have guessed to come around to the twins' way of thinking, once it was proven true. Oliver and Charles, of course, view everything with a child-like acceptance." She spoke of her other two sons.
"At least Lord Kinghorn has stopped doubting me."
"I am concerned about his wife meeting someone small matching what we know about the footprints in her room," Jenny said. "I cannot believe they are mere coincidence."
"Neither can I."
"But if not one of the household, who did she meet?"
"A close friend, perhaps? I know it is not Sarah, or Mrs. Kinghorn," Muriel insisted.
"Miss Worden?" Jenny suggested, and the thought of that young lady's smug countenance came to mind.
"She was my first thought, as well," Muriel agreed, "although she would have little to gain as Lady Kinghorn. Unless…"
"Unless something were to happen to Mr. Kinghorn or his… Muriel! We must warn Lord Kinghorn!"
"Warn him of what? That the silly chit with designs on him is systematically killing off her obstacles?"
"Why not? He is a rational man, even if he does not always appear reasonable."
"Who is not reasonable, my dears?" Eleanor wondered, coming into the room.
"Our host."
"Jenny, men are not reasonable. Not when a woman is the one making the suggestions. A man wants to think he is the one with the ideas," her aunt said.
"Which is why I hate seeing Miss Worden trying to dig her claws into Sarah's son," Muriel said. "Things do seem to be going her way, do they not?" She exchanged glances with Jenny. "But what can we do about it?"
"I am not surprised you two came to the same conclusions," Eleanor said. "It does not take a mind reader to see how convenient this accident could have been, if something worse than a broken leg had occurred. You missed the young lady's antics earlier."
"There were more?" Jenny told herself she should not be surprised.
"She let me know that she and Mrs. Kinghorn had been rivals for Sarah's grandson, but the one with the most persistent mother had won. After that, Sarah strongly suggested the chit's fifteen minutes were up and we would all return the call soon enough. Sweet Mrs. Kinghorn was in tears by time they left. I feel rather sorry for Mrs. Worden, the way her daughter speaks as if she were not present. But anyone may see Mrs. Kinghorn is the perfect choice for her husband. They are both of them kind and gentle souls."
"Miss Worden would have walked all over him," Jenny said.
Muriel looked thoughtful. "Someone is being rather clever about all this. And patient. Sarah said when Lady Kinghorn died, Miss Worden was right there to offer comfort to her son, but it has only been in the last few months he has begun visiting Mr. Worden on a regular basis."
"Sarah said this, or she thought it," Jenny wondered.
"It's all the same to me, dear, but I believe she thought it. And now that Jenny is here, it is time for little Miss Worden to step up the plan, as it were."
"Me? I have nothing to do with any of this!" she protested.
"Don't you?" Muriel countered. "All this means, of course, that we now have to keep an eye on young Tristan. He must be the next target, as it would make no sense to do away with either Sarah or her grandson's wife."
"Get rid of all the heirs, and then position herself as mother of a new heir?" Jenny suggested. "But how to prove it?"
"I have no clue," Muriel admitted. "Her mind works in devious ways, but she doesn't seem to harbor any murderous thoughts. Not even any incriminating ones. It is frustrating in the extreme. How could one even such as she seems to be hide such a terrible deed?"
Everyone was at a loss as too how that could be. They were saved from too much speculation, however, by the arrival of Lady Pennell, in a tizzy over her son-in-law's accident.
"I heard he was dead, that he was maimed for life and merely bruised, all in the space of five minutes!" she exclaimed without any greetings as she stormed into the room.
"We are as yet uncertain," Muriel said warily, taken Jenny by surprise.
They had no reason to suspect Lady Pennell, did they? Muriel must have seen something in the lady's mind to sound so non-committal. Or perhaps Muriel did not think it her place to speak for the Kinghorns. Perhaps that was it.
Tilley must have informed Lady Kinghorn of their caller, as she came in at that point and gave the lady a few particulars, but not much more information than her guests could have supplied.
Jenny had other things to worry about the next evening than to wonder who was trying to kill off the Kinghorns. Her new concern arrived in the form of one Mr. Yestin Merrick, a neighbor who had just returned from London. He had been invited by Lady Kinghorn to share news of the capital over dinner, and he was Lord Kinghorn's age, a widower with no children.
But where Lord Kinghorn was tall and sandy, Mr. Merrick was of average height and wiry, with dark hair just going gray and piercing blue eyes. Jenny thought perhaps she preferred Lord Kinghorn's warm brown eyes – when he chose to make them warm, at least.
"So you have come to entertain us this evening," Lord Kinghorn said when the other gentleman was announced.
"And meet the lovely ladies the whole area is chattering about," Merrick amended, looking directly at Jenny.
Introductions were made and then Merrick was pressed to admit where he had heard of the castle's guests.
"Surely not in London," Jenny said. "I live there on occasion, but there would be few people who will miss me for the season, or to know I went anywhere but Sandwell."
"I happened to call at the Wordens on my way home, actually – I had a few parcels and papers for Worden – and the ladies were full of news. If I had known you were here, Mrs. Wilkes, I should never have left home."
Jenny shook her head slightly at such blatant flattery, but everyone else, even Mrs. Kinghorn, who had been persuaded to leave her husband's side for dinner, smiled indulgently. Evidently Merrick was a great favorite among the local ladies. Only Lord Kinghorn seemed annoyed, although Jenny had to admit to herself that such foolishness as Merrick dished out became old fast. She was not an unhandsome woman, her mirror and admiration from men told her that, but she was no beauty like Meraud Worden, either.
"Then we are fortunate to have had Mrs. Wilkes to ourselves for so long, Yestin," Lord Kinghorn said.
"Do you think you could share her, then?" his friend countered.
"Only if the lady allows it." Kinghorn made a florid bow in Jenny's direction.
"Why not?" she replied with a smile. "The gentleman seems harmless enough."
Merrick laughed. "I am wounded! You are supposed to say I am charming in the extreme. We gentlemen with no title and little funds have to done out on something!"
"You are quite charming, Yestin," Lady Kinghorn said, "and if you would apply yourself to your estate, you would be better off. And I know for a fact you are not as penniless as you make yourself seem."
"My pockets are nowhere near as flush as Alan's." His tone turned bitter. "Else I might have a wife and family. Alas, it is a vicious cycle. Nothing to recommend me, so no goal to achieve."
Muriel nodded, most likely hearing something that no one else could.
Later, after a congenial meal and many compliments from Mr. Merrick, Jenny retired early. She was not surprised when almost everyone else did, as well. It had been a long couple of days.
Merrick did not linger long after taking port with Lord Kinghorn, but did manage to secure Jenny for a drive about the countryside on the morrow before she left the dining table.
"Making several conquests this visit?" Muriel teased, following her to her bedchamber.
"Have I?"
"Lord Kinghorn was so jealous tonight, I am surprised his eyes did not turn green."
"He was not! He does not even like me! Or you, for that matter, or Aunt Eleanor!"
"He might like Eleanor," Muriel said in a conversational tone. "Who does not like Eleanor? But I understand what you mean, dear. He does not like the idea of a handful of women coming in to clear his name for him. I do not need to read his mind to comprehend him.
Jenny could only agree.
"But he watches you all the time."
Jenny blushed. "He does not. I just said I was one of the things he does not want in his home."
"I imagine he would not mind having you in his bed," Muriel said.
"Muriel! As if I would!" She felt her cheeks burn even more than they already were.
"Why not? Perhaps with his lordship otherwise, I might get a chance to get down to some real work."
Jenny shook her head at her friend's cheek. "You should be speaking with Miss Worden, not me."
"That one wouldn't do a thing unless there was a ring on her finger and a title attached to her name. I was not nearly so picky, although I have to admit, Mr. Abernathy and I were betrothed at the time."
Jenny laughed aloud. "That does not surprise me in the slightest, especially as I know Aunt Eleanor and Uncle William did not even wait for that."
"Someone had to get old Lady Sandwell to agree to their match. A possible heir on the way took care of that nicely. That was Lavinia's idea, although we did not have to do much to convince Eleanor and William," she said, and let out an amused snort.
"Bianca's grandmother."
"Yes. She was the dearest of sisters…"
Jenny patted Muriel's hand. She knew how hard it was to lose those close to you.
"I am certain we shall muddle through this well enough without even her talent. I received a note from Nera before we left Sandwell, and she assured me all would be revealed." Muriel seemed happy enough with that information.
"Yes, but at what cost?" Jenny mused.
"She did not say, only that we should accept Sarah's invitation – and indeed, we had only received it that morning – and we were to bring you with us."
"Me? I do not understand."
"All will be revealed in time, my dear," Muriel repeated. "Have faith, and in the meantime, if you could lure Lord Kinghorn into your…"
"No!" Jenny insisted.
"It would just be a fling, of course. Who could stand to live here year round?"
Jenny could, actually. She found the craggy coast with its constant battering of the sea to be more restful than she had anticipated and would be sorry to return eventually to Sandwell.
Muriel said nothing more about Lord Kinghorn, just asked Jenny to pass her love on to Rand, Bianca and Tamara in the next letter to Brussels, and went off to her own room.
If Jenny thought she was going for a drive with Merrick minus comments from her hosts or her own family, she was mistaken. She was, in fact, the main topic around the breakfast table. Being almost the last person to join the company, it was evident that they were already discussing her outing. She could tell by the way everyone stopped talking when she stepped into the room, and then began to speak over each other while she retrieved a cup of tea from the sideboard. And requested kippers of the footman on duty.
"You are going to eat kippers today?" Eleanor asked, a horrified expression on her face.
"Yes," Jenny slowly replied as the footman came forward with her plate. "I am fond of them, as you know."
"But today?" Lady Kinghorn wondered.
Jenny watched as the footman returned to the sideboard. "Why not today?"
Mrs. Kinghorn giggled. "Because you are going for a drive with Mr. Merrick!"
Jenny waved the footman over, kippers and all. "Oh. Is there something so special in that I should deny myself a favorite breakfast food?"
"I believe the ladies are concerned about fish breath, Mrs. Wilkes," Lord Kinghorn said, entering the room with a newspaper under his arm. The footman slid Jenny's plate under her nose and ran to pour the master out his tea.
"I see." She picked up a fork and knife and cut up one of her kippers, popping a piece into her mouth. "I had planned on cleaning my teeth before my drive," she told Eleanor. "A drive with an acquaintance, however, does not merit more of a consideration."
Eleanor and Lady Kinghorn exchanged glances. Muriel smiled to herself and played with her eggs.
"But if Mr. Merrick should try to kiss you…" Mrs. Kinghorn began.
"I doubt he would attempt such a thing even if this were our tenth drive, Mrs. Kinghorn, instead of our first. I am not concerned. Besides," she added with a grin for Lord Kinghorn. "I shall have fish breath as a deterrent."
The baron laughed and the ladies let the subject drop. Jenny was allowed to drink her tea and eat kippers, and toast and jam, in peace. She was certain, however, that once she was out of the castle, the topic would come up once more. Was there nothing else of which to speak?
After paying a short visit to Mr. Kinghorn, to see how he fared that day, Jenny went to her room to clean her teeth and collect a bonnet and pelisse. She found herself, however, staring out her open window at the sea. It was so beautiful, and yet could be so cruel, and she had to wonder about their murderess.
In all likelihood, she was the same. Jenny had yet to see a lady of Cornwall who was not a beauty; even Lady Kinghorn must have been one in her day, mellowing to a handsomeness she had passed on to her son. Even in his forties he was an attractive man. She doubted Meraud Worden would have shown him much attention otherwise, despite the title.
Mr. Merrick, too, was handsome. It played no small part in her acceptance of his invitation. Did that put her on the same level as the mercenary Miss Worden? She did not think so.
A rap on the door interrupted her thoughts and a footman said Mr. Merrick awaited her downstairs. She thanked him, threw on her pelisse and came down holding her bonnet in her hand.
"Mrs. Wilkes!" There was no denying the admiration in Merrick's eyes as she descended to the main hall. "I thought perhaps you might like to see the area from my phaeton." He indicated a shiny vehicle visible on the front drive, hitched to a pair of sleek chestnuts.
"Your cattle are bang up to the mark!" Jenny laughed at the expression on her escort's face and she was still smiling while she put on her bonnet and tied it in a saucy bow under her chin, brushing past him to go outside.
She allowed Merrick to help her up onto the high seat and waited demurely while he climbed in and picked up the ribbons. Once they set out, he turned to her.
"Where did you learn such language?"
"I have four grown sons, Mr. Merrick, and they speak with a certain amount of freedom in front of their mother. It is inevitable, I suppose, that I should pick up some of their favorite phrases." She smiled, not at all offended by his question.
"I merely find myself surprised. You seem so…"
"Genteel?" she queried. "I assured you it is a thin façade. I grew up running wild, but had to compose myself and learn some propriety at a time when my world seemed to fall down around my ears. But I cannot regret the change. I met a wonderful man who showed me it was all right to be one person in public and another in private."
It occurred to her that she might use that insight to find their murderess. After all, that person was obviously showing two faces, if not more.
"I cannot fathom why I am telling you this," she noted. "We are yet strangers."
"I have one of those faces that invite confidences," he replied, and laughed. "It was ever thus."
"I see." She vowed not to be so forthcoming in the future, and then his next words had her speaking yet again.
"What does Mrs. Wilkes do for entertainment? Both the proper Mrs. Wilkes and the one who adopts her sons' slang."
"The proper Mrs. Wilkes visits friends, likes to dance and is known as a brilliant whist partner."
"And the hoydenish one?"
"She speaks cant."
He raised an eyebrow at her even as he managed to keep an eye on the road ahead of them. "That is all?"
"You seemed so disappointed. Is that not enough?"
"I want to hear that you can shoot wafers at fifty paces and ride like a hellion."
"I have not fired a pistol in ages, although I have one in my bag." She patted the reticule in her lap.
"In case of highwaymen?"
"I have been traveling with two elderly ladies, Mr. Merrick, both of whom no doubt are crack shots. Someone has to be prepared."
He laughed.
"The hoyden in me allowed my daughter to learn to shoot," she admitted after a while. "As I said, a lady should be prepared for any situation." She sighed, thinking of Tamara.
"You miss your daughter."
"You are insightful as well as amiable."
"A gentleman who sings for his supper must develop some skills."
"Surely your circumstances are not completely dire?" After all, his rig and cattle looked new.
He sighed. "I am not up the River Tick, if that is what you wish to know. But Merricks are required to maintain a certain image, one which is currently beyond my means. Personally, I would not mind rusticating forever, eating in the kitchen with my meager staff."
Jenny smiled at the picture. She had been known to do that a time or two, out of sheer loneliness. Her servants had welcomed her to their table.
"That would not be such a terrible fate," she said.
"Only if I remain a bachelor and let the Merrick name die a slow death. I had plans for a chance on an heir up until last year, but the young lady believes me to be beneath her notice."
Jenny wondered who that might be, and got her answer only a moment later.
"Some would rather have a title and a husband who has no need of a dowry. She would be reduced to living with a man who still loves his late wife, but at least she would have what she wanted."
"A title?" Surely he was speaking of Meraud Worden.
He snorted. "A townhouse in London, the impressive Kinghorn emeralds to parade around town during the season and a couple of spare heirs under her sash."
"Surely, Mr. Merrick, the young lady would not be so mercenary?" Even though Jenny had already pegged her as just that.
"You do not know my Meraud. Miss Worden! Mrs. Worden!" he quickly amended himself as his phaeton drew up next to where the mercenary chit sat in an open carriage as her mother came out of the growth at the edge of the road. "Good day to you both! Is there trouble?" he asked.
Miss Worden laughed. "Trouble? Not at all! Mama thought she saw a collared pratincole and wished to confirm its identity for her catalog. You know how fond she is of birds."
"I do, indeed," Mr. Merrick agreed. "And was it a pratincole?"
Miss Worden laughed once more. "No, the silly! But Mama insisted on traipsing about in the woods anyway."
Jenny looked into the wooded area to the right of the carriage and wondered what the Wordens were truly doing in the shrubbery.
"You did not waste any time," Miss Worden noted, looking from Jenny to Merrick and back. She did not say to whom she was speaking, and Jenny wondered if they were both the subject of that question.
Merrick seemed to think this was aimed at him.
"When the decision is made for you, there is no other choice but to move on, Miss Worden," he haughtily replied. The man had some pride, Jenny noted. The girl flushed and bid them both good day, her mother's head bobbing in agreement, but then paused.
"How is dear Jory, I mean, Mr. Kinghorn, faring, Mrs. Wilkes? We would have called, but Mama, as you already know, refuses to allow me in a sick room." Again, Mrs. Worden bobbed her head.
"He is healing, but I hardly believe an injury is contagious," Jenny pointed out. "Mrs. Kinghorn spends her time with him, so I imagine if you called you would be bored with us elderly ladies."
"You, elder?" Merrick laughed. "You are in your prime, Mrs. Wilkes!"
"Yes, I see your point," Miss Worden agreed, glaring at Merrick. "I shall just ask dear Kinghorn to send my love when he calls this afternoon. You do know he spends most of his days with us, do you not, Mrs. Wilkes?"
Jenny truly did not care for this chit and her games, which seemed to run very deep, and she was beginning to resent the implication that she and every man she met had some sort of attachment.
"I believe he mentioned you last night, yes…" Jenny let her voice taper off, giving Miss Worden the tough decision of determining when and where the night before she had cropped up in conversation.
Mr. Merrick gave her an amused glance as Miss Worden frowned, and then he excused them and clicked to his horses to move on.
"She is a willful child bent on having her own way," he remarked once they were out of earshot.
Jenny wondered if Miss Worden was merely that, but she did not voice her thoughts, only agreed that Miss Worden might be headstrong, but she was a charming young lady, nonetheless.
"Perhaps I should throw a dinner party while you are here, Mrs. Wilkes. I would love for you to see Merrick Hall and I doubt you would be the sort to come by yourself."
"You are correct in that assumption, sir." Jenny did not mind men paying court to her – she was not as ancient as Miss Worden would make her out to be – but she was a respectable widow and did not wish to hurt her reputation with clandestine assignations. Muriel would not get her wish that Jenny seduce Lord Kinghorn to keep him out of the way, although she could not help but wonder what an affair with her host would be like. She glanced at Merrick at her side and realized she had no interest in what he might be like in bed. It was a thought she kept with her on their return to the castle.
Another image Jenny could not shake was the sight of Mrs. Worden emerging from the trees earlier. Was she truly searching for a bird? A casual enquiry back at the castle, when she blithely mentioned meeting the Wordens, brought blank looks from both Lady Kinghorn and her granddaughter-in-law. They had never heard of such an interest before, but agreed that Lord Kinghorn might know.
"But then, Mrs. Worden is often fluttering from one interest to another," Mrs. Kinghorn softly noted.
Not quite satisfied with her answer, Jenny announced after tea that she was going to take a sketch book down to the sea.
"I might draw – I am rather dreadful at it – but I find the water peaceful, even when it is rough."
"Spoken like a true Cornishwoman," Lady Kinghorn said warmly. "With a name like Jennifer, no one here would even question you."
"I believe an ancestor came from here to Dorset," Jenny replied. "'By Tre, Pol and Pen shall ye know all Cornishmen,'" she quoted. "And the name was Pollock, so I may only assume that is true. At least my grandmother had the good sense to marry someone who lived by the sea."
Lady Kinghorn agreed. "I was born and raised by the water, and I cannot imagine living anywhere else."
Jenny excused herself and went for her walk, determined to sit and sketch for awhile before investigating the spot where Mrs. Worden had been. She settled on drawing a rock that jutted out of the water, almost like a hand, and gave it a passable rendition on her paper before folding her book close and stashing her pencils in her reticule.
She found the road with ease, but kept to the trees, mindful that it would raise a few eyebrows to be found walking alone.
After a half hour of hot, dusty searching, Jenny wished she had thought to mark the area, only to stumble upon a hummock that appeared to be in the correct lace. More investigation was called for, but the area revealed nothing until a bright sparkle off to one side caught her eye.
"What are you doing?" Lord Kinghorn barked, causing Jenny to jump.
"I am looking for something," she defended herself.
"Why?"
"Because I am curious. When I was out for a drive earlier, this place caught my attention."
Lord Kinghorn frowned. "It is rather far off the road. Did Merrick bring you back here?"
"No!" she insisted. "And so it is." Turning back to the shiny object that had caught her attention, she knelt to pick up a shard of cobalt glass. "Venetian," she murmured, knowing that color blue was a trademark of Italian glassmakers.
"Yes," Lord Kinghorn said, his voice tight. "This, too." He retrieved a piece of ruby glass and palmed it. "My wife's perfume bottles, I believe."
Further investigation revealed nothing else, however.
"Mrs. Abernathy and I asked your staff about these, but no one incriminated themselves. Who else could have taken them and why are there only small bits of glass about? Out here!"
"Any number of people could have been in Eva's room – our friends have the run of the castle and there are any number of secret passages in the place."
"Secret?"
"Perhaps not so secret. Merrick and I played in them extensively as lads, and anyone who has ever worked for us knows how to get from one place to another without taking long passages."
"Former servants, then, would have this knowledge," Jenny mused, carefully fingering her piece of blue glass. "When was the last time an employee was sacked?"
She watched in amazement as the mighty Lord Kinghorn turned red.
"A little more than a year ago, one of the maids thought to place herself in my bed. My wife did not take kindly to that – and neither did I – and she let her go."
"Where is she now?"
"She serves ale at the inn."
So, Jenny mused, the slovenly tavern chit had tried to seduce the lord, and failed. No wonder Muriel said the girl had been frightened of him. Her cause of unemployment could have caused her to blame the late Lady Kinghorn and been the reason that lady was killed. Another suspect to add to the list.
They did not speak again as they searched the hummock for more clues of any sort, and when they came up with nothing else, Lord Kinghorn offered to escort her home.
"Yes, that would be pleasant, especially if we could walk back by way of the sea."
He had no objection, retrieved his horse and walked them all to a path that led back to the shoreline.
Jenny took a deep breath as they stood facing the sea, and smiled. "I grew up on the coast in Dorset, but living in London and inland for most of my life, I've missed this." Her bonnet had fallen back when she had been searching the woods, so now she untied it and dangled it by the ribbons as they headed toward the castle.
"How long have you been widowed, Mrs. Wilkes?" he asked as they walked.
"Several years. My husband died suddenly of apoplexy." She sighed, wishing she'd had the chance to tell him goodbye and how much she had loved him.
"We have sudden deaths in common, then," he said, to her amazement. She had no idea he had been comparing them.
"Yes, and happy marriages as well, if your mother may be believed."
"Yes, quite happy. It was, however, a volatile relationship between two people with quick tempers. It is no wonder most people believe I killed Eva."
"Miss Worden?" Jenny asked in spite of herself.
Kinghorn sighed. "Even Meraud Worden, who makes it quite clear she would be willing to take the chance on being the next Lady Kinghorn, despite the risks."
"Despite there being no risk."
"Precisely. But I cannot seem to convince people that is so."
"No doubt that temper of yours has something to do with it."
"I am sorry for your reception the night you arrived," he said. "I still do not see how three women are going to clear my name, but my mother is happy to have you, you have routed Lady Pennell, earning Winifred's undying gratitude, and I just do not have it in me to protest further."
Jenny chuckled. "Then you do not know my aunt and Mrs. Abernathy very well! My cousin Robert was not thrilled when he learned the nature of their mission, and I was not given a choice but to accompany them, but there still might be a need to rein them in. Consider yourself warned, my lord, of old ladies who think they are capable of solving mysteries."
"And yet, you help them, and you will tell them about the Venetian glass we discovered."
"I do not know if I shall mention the broken bottles just yet. They may not be important, or it could just be an unrelated incident – a case of a disgruntled employee, but nothing more." She was going to have to figure out a way to hide the information from Muriel, but that could be attempted later.
Kinghorn shrugged. "Whatever you wish to do with the information, then. If, however, you have need of my assistance…" He left that hanging.
"It is your name we are attempting to clear, after all," Jenny agreed, looking over at him with a smile.
"You look like the veriest imp when you smile that way," he noted.
She blushed. "Do I? Really, my lord, an upstanding widow such as myself?"
"You must have been a right little hoyden when you were young. I believe I shall ask Lady Eleanor if that is true."
"She has plenty of tales, and she loves to share them. I, however, have heard them countless times and shall occupy myself elsewhere while you get your fill." She was rewarded with a laugh and realized he might just have been teasing her. It was another side of him, to be certain, a side she rather liked.
"Did your wife enjoy your humor?" she wondered.
"Eva liked it when I made her laugh, but she was not a flirt, not even with me."
Had Jenny been flirting? She thought back on their conversation and decided not, but it was disconcerting that he might think they were.
"She had a rather serious demeanor, but she did not mind being teased once she realized I was hardly ever serious."
"Was?"
"I grew up over the years, and became more like her. I still have my juvenile side, however."
"Most men do," Jenny wryly noted.
"What do you mean by that, Mrs. Wilkes? That boys never grow up?" Again, his tone was teasing, and Jenny dimpled at him.
"I had a husband, and I have four sons, my lord. Even my most serious one will place a well-timed body noise into a serious discussion, and the other three are hardly paragons of humorous good taste." It had taken some time to train the worst of their habits out of Tamara.
"I have yet to get to know Mr. Kinghorn well, but I daresay he has his boyish tendencies, as well."
"Jory is a lot like I was at that age," Kinghorn agreed. "He is a good son, a good husband and a good father, and I do not want anything worse to happen to him."
Jenny reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Nor will you be able to wrap him in cotton wool. At least whoever tried to harm him will have to await his recovery, and perhaps will show himself impatient in the meantime. If anyone has such thoughts inside the castle, Muriel is certain to hear them and inform you immediately."
To her surprise, Kinghorn stopped and brought her gloved hand to his lips. "I see why the older ladies brought you along. You have intelligence, but also kindness and compassion."
"Of course you would wish to be in on any capture," Jenny insisted, trying to get back to the topic at hand. Instead, all she could think about were her fingers at his lips and his warm brown eyes boring down on her. "So should I, if it were my son injured by an unknown person."
"Should we agree, then, to share any discoveries?" he asked.
"Did I not already?" Where was her head?
"No."
"Then yes, I will. I believe between the information we have discovered, and your knowledge of your friends and neighbors, we might get to the bottom of this.
Since they were already connected, they shook hands to seal the deal.
It was a quiet evening at Kinghorn Castle. Mrs. Kinghorn had left her husband in the capable hands of his lordship's valet and made an appearance at dinner, but excused herself immediately afterwards to return upstairs. Jenny was relieved to hear Mr. Kinghorn was on the mend.
Lady Kinghorn lamented the lack of entertainment for her guests, but all the ladies assured her it was not necessary to entertain them every waking moment. Lord Kinghorn passed up the chance to drink port by himself and followed the ladies to the family parlor, saying there was no need to sit alone in the dining room when he could be with his mother's friends. To everyone's amusement, he helped Eleanor wind yarn, chatted a few moments with Jenny and then invited Muriel to play a game of chess.
"I doubt you get many takers, Mrs. Abernathy, so perhaps I shall present you with a challenge."
"You already do, my lord, but I warn you, I do not just read opponents' minds to win."
"Then you admit that sometimes occurs," he pressed.
Jenny smiled as Muriel told him she never admitted to anything.
"One never knows when it will be used against her," she replied.
"Very well, then, shall we proceed?"
Jenny had picked up a book, but she put it away again when it seemed Lord Kinghorn and Muriel's match was to be the evening's entertainment. They bickered, they taunted and they complained about each other to whoever would listen. Jenny found herself laughing aloud on several occasions. When Lord Kinghorn finally won the first game, she applauded.
"That has to be the longest chess match I have ever witnessed!" she exclaimed. It had lasted three quarters of an hour and Jenny was used to her sons beating each other fast.
"I demand a rematch!" Muriel insisted. Eleanor rolled her eyes.
"It was always thus," Lady Kinghorn reminded her friend. "Muriel has to win, otherwise she gets her revenge along other avenues."
"Not anymore!" Muriel protested. "I have gained some maturity in my old age."
"It is a good thing she cannot read my mind," Lord Kinghorn said to Jenny. "Else I might find my most secret thoughts blurted out at a party."
"You are indeed fortunate, my lord," Jenny agreed.
"Come now, Jennifer," Muriel said. "When have I ever repeated any of your thoughts?"
Jenny colored. "You once told my husband that I was thinking, er, warm thoughts and that he should take me upstairs."
Lord Kinghorn glanced up from the chessboard and grinned, causing Jenny to turn pink.
"Muriel!" Eleanor exclaimed, although she, too, was smiling. "You know Jenny and Howard had no need of such interference. They did very well on their own."
"I recall that Rand was born nine months later," Muriel said.
"Muriel!" It was Lady Kinghorn's turn to scold, although she was no more successful at it than Eleanor. "You are embarrassing dear Mrs. Wilkes!"
Muriel shrugged. "That was years ago. What need does a man have to know when Jenny requires a tumble now?" She eyed Lord Kinghorn up and down. "Unless you are interested, my lord?"
Jenny stood abruptly and knocked her book off the arm of her chair. "Muriel, you will have Lord Kinghorn thinking me a wanton! I would rather he did not! If you will excuse me…" She did not wait for a reply, but quickly left the room. It was one thing to suggest an affair to Jenny in private. Imagine Muriel's gall at mentioning such a thing to Lord Kinghorn.
"Mrs. Wilkes!" Lord Kinghorn was practically on her heels. "I am sorry if Mrs. Abernathy embarrassed you…"
"She is not, and the apology would be hers to tender in any case!" Jenny snapped. She pressed on down the hall to the main staircase, followed easily by her host, whose legs were longer.
"I wish you would not retire so soon," he said.
Jenny, about to mount the stairs, turned around. "You do?" She mentally cursed herself for sounding like some overeager debutante at her first assembly. "I hate to call it an evening just because Muriel chooses to bring up the past, but what you must think of me!" Her cheeks flamed anew.
"I believe you are a woman who had a normal married life with a husband she loved."
"That I did," Jenny softly agreed. "I could also use a hot cup of tea before I retire."
"There is some in the family parlor," he said, holding out his hand.
"Then I believe I shall return, if only so I may have a drink before bedtime."
Lord Kinghorn paused, as if weighing a few options, and then offered his arm. "How about a nip of brandy in my study, then? To help calm you."
"I like that suggestion even better," she agreed and they went down the hall past the family parlor and into a well-appointed study. The baron escorted Jenny over to a large leather sofa, where she seated herself and watched as he poured out two glasses of brandy. He handed her one.
"French?" she asked, taking an appreciative sip.
"Our local smugglers get only the best," he dryly replied.
"Smugglers in Cornwall?" she teased. "Whoever heard of such a thing? And how do you obtain this? Directly?"
He sat down in a wing chair opposite her and shook his head. "I am no smuggler, and neither am I overly friendly with the excise men. I do have a healthy appreciation for something unobtainable in the marketplace. I have my contacts, in other words, but I doubt they are freetraders, and that is how I justify my purchases."
"In other words, you are removed from those who do the actual smuggling, and since they make it available anyway…"
"Precisely. And I drink to the day our men beat the pants off the Corsican for once and for all, and there is no need to buy it on the sly." He raised his glass and she followed suit. "To the army." They clicked their glasses together and sipped the liquor.
"That does go down a treat," Jenny had to admit.
"That it does. You are widowed, Mrs. Wilkes…" he said, changing the subject.
"I believe we have established that fact. At least, your mother knows it." She could not recall if the subject had come up in front of Lord Kinghorn.
"Could you tell me something? You do not have to answer if you do not wish."
"Yes?" He seemed suddenly vulnerable, as if he stood before her wringing his hat in his hands, and not sprawled cozily in a soft, deep chair.
"Does the hurt ever go away?"
Tears sprang unbidden into the kind-hearted Jenny's brown eyes. "You poor man! Yes, it does, but slowly, gradually. It is not like having a toothache, and feeling instant relief when the tooth is pulled. It is more like having an illness where, every morning, you wake up feeling as if you have more energy and less dejection, but retaining both the memory of the illness and the pain. It is still there, of course, only dulled." She gave him a gentle smile. "That is how it has felt to me, at any rate. I will never forget my husband, but I realize he is gone and I am still here. I have to keep on living. You will see," she prophesized. "Besides, we both have beautiful families to think about. Consider that darling grandson of yours."
She watched as Lord Kinghorn's rough features softened at the thought. "And your son is safe and whole."
"For now." The perpetual frown returned. "I have assigned a footman to the nursery floor."
Jenny nodded, thinking that wise. "He must be protected at all cost. Is there a secret passage up to those rooms?"
"Fortunately, no."
Jenny was relieved. She wondered if the footman was there to keep an eye on the nurse as well as the baby, but did not say so.
"Winifred will not allow my mother hire a new nurse," he said, as if reading her mind.
"Mrs. Kinghorn is his mother," she reminded him.
"She is under her mother's thumb, as you most likely noticed. It was not so bad when Eva was alive. She had such force of person, Kitty tried to time her visits to when she knew my wife would not be at home."
"It is a wonder Lady Pennell even considered your son for her daughter."
Lord Kinghorn laughed. "Did you not know? To become a Kinghorn is the height of ambition around these parts! They may be a member of the wealthiest family in the area, and fortunate enough to wear the title and live in a castle!" He was clearly amused. "A moldering old castle, to be sure, but a castle nonetheless. True, some local families have names older than Kinghorn, but no greater title. My mother is possibly the only lady to marry into the family for fifty years or more who met her future husband in London and did not grow up with him from the cradle."
"But your mother is Cornish!"
"True, but not from this immediate area. We are a tightly-knit group, the Cornish, and we do not like to go to far afield for our husbands and wives."
"So you are all hopelessly interbred," she said with a teasing smile. He gave her one in return.
"We certainly know when to close ranks around one of our own. Your Mrs. Abernathy might want to remember that."
It was a warning worth taking, but it did not seem to fit the way Lord Kinghorn was being treated by 'his own.' She pointed that out.
"I know, but it is one thing to recognize a murderer in our midst and another to take action on such knowledge."
Jenny was coming down for breakfast the next morning when she saw something strange. Lady Pennell appeared out of a panel in the wall two doors down from Jenny's room and furtively moved toward the landing. Instead of turning left, to descend the stairs, however, the woman turned right, heading up toward the nursery floor.
Why was Lady Pennell using secret passages and skulking about to see her grandson, when not a week earlier she had seemed to have the run of the castle?
Jenny knew Mrs. Kinghorn had not denied her mother the house, let alone forbade her from seeing her grandson, and she followed the lady's path, to see if she could learn what had transpired.
She had to pause at the next landing, but a peek around the corner showed Lady Pennell handing a few coins to the footman on guard. He pocketed them and disappeared, and Jenny was now determined to discover what was happening. Somehow she doubted the Kinghorns knew anything about this situation.
Curious, Jenny waited until Lady Pennell had entered the nursery before venturing into the hall. She wondered if there was a way into an adjoining room in order to eavesdrop on the conversation between the lady and the nurse. Eavesdrop was such a harsh word, she told herself, and then shrugged. That's exactly what it was.
Quietly opening doors, she found one that appeared to belong to Nurse Manning, with a connecting door to where the two women sat. The door, to her good fortune, was ajar.
"What does Kinghorn mean by placing a guard on me?" Lady Pennell demanded.
The nurse sniffed disdainfully, as if to point out to her ladyship that she was not the center of the universe.
"His lordship put him there when Mr. Kinghorn was injured."
"A very effective deterrent against harm to my grandson," the lady replied, her voice heavy with sarcasm. They both laughed, and to Jenny, it was an ugly sound. "I do not like it. It reminds me of before, when the late Lady Kinghorn made me call at certain times on certain days to see Winifred. My own daughter! She said Winifred required a routine and was often too ill to see me. She was increasing, not an invalid!"
"My one consolation," Lady Pennell continued, "was that Eva died before the baby as born." Again, they laughed.
Righteous indignation bubbled up inside Jenny. The way they discussed the Kinghorns! In their own home! Someone must be made aware of this situation, and immediately, before Lady Pennell could be allowed to leave the way she had arrived.
As quietly as she had come into the room, Jenny left, having heard enough. She needed to find Alan. He would take care of everything.
Jenny did not hurry into the breakfast parlor, but strolled to the chair near the head of the table she was beginning to think of as hers. Lord Kinghorn was already seated, hidden behind his newspaper, but he came to his feet while she sat down. She gave him a sweet smile of thanks, nodded to the other ladies and casually remarked that she had seen Lady Pennell that morning.
"You went for a walk?" Lady Kinghorn enquired. "I would not have figured Kitty Pennell for an early riser."
"It was a rather odd sighting," Jenny said as calmly as possible. Inwardly, she was still seething over that lady's blatant abuse of castle hospitality. "She was coming out of a panel in the hallway and then she went upstairs to…"
Lord Kinghorn put his paper down on the table with a smack. "She came out of where?"
"A panel in the wall. I thought perhaps it was one of those secret passages you recently mentioned."
"And then she went where?"
Jenny noticed that a large vein had popped out on his forehead.
"Up to the nursery. Oh, and she bribed the footman on duty to leave his post."
Lady Kinghorn's fork dropped to her china plate. Lord Kinghorn was already on his feet.
"Alan," his mother counseled. "Do not do anything rash."
They all watched as Lord Kinghorn seemed to calm himself. The vein disappeared.
"You are correct, mother." His voice became almost placid. "It will not pay to appear angry just yet. But like last time, it do believe it is time to visit my grandson and surprise the lady. Winifred, would you care to accompany me? After all, it is your mother who dismissed your son's guard and may have placed him in peril."
Jenny saw the blood drain from the younger woman's face and wondered what scared her the most – facing Lady Pennell or thinking her child was in danger. Still, Winifred came bravely to her feet and too the arm her father-in-law offered in support.
"You will excuse us?" he asked, although it was a rhetorical question. He was already propelling Winifred toward the breakfast room door.
Jenny did not discover exactly what was said to Lady Pennell, the nurse or the footman, but Lady Pennell's screeches and curses towards Lord Kinghorn echoed about the castle for what seemed like hours. The nurse was dismissed without references, Mrs. Kinghorn announced she would take care o her son in her own apartments, and Tilley was seen more often that afternoon, having lost one of his staff.
"I do not understand why Lady Pennell felt she needed to skulk about the place," Miss Worden said the next day when she and her mother came to call. Word of the incident had spread like wildfire, but everyone who called that day digging for more information had no success in prying details from the family. "After all, she hired the nurse." She leaned toward Jenny as if to convey a great secret. "She always thought dear Winifred was an incompetent mother. Where is the poor dear today?" she wondered, looking about as if only now noticing there was a gap in the ranks.
Jenny did not take kindly to Miss Worden's tone of voice, which suggested that Mrs. Kinghorn's absence was a personal slight. At her side, Mrs. Worden let out a sniff of disapproval.
"She has a son to tend and a husband who is still laid up with his injuries," Jenny reminded them.
"How dull that must be, but then again, Winifred was always the boring sort."
"Did you call for a real purpose, Meraud?" Lady Kinghorn wondered, her embroidery falling to her lap, "or just so you could insult my family?"
"I am only speaking the truth!" Miss Worden insisted. "Is that not correct, Mama?"
Mrs. Worden rarely spoke and, as usual, nodded her head.
"We actually came by to deliver an invitation to a ball we will have in a fortnight." Miss Worden drew a card from her reticule, handing it over to Lady Kinghorn as if conferring a great favor.
"We shall consider it," Lady Kinghorn replied.
Miss Worden frowned. "Consider it? Everyone always attends my parties!" the chit demanded.
One of Lady Kinghorn's eyebrows raised in a perfect imitation off her son. "Or what?"
"Or else."
After the Wordens left the castle, Lady Kinghorn asked Tilley to deny the family to all callers for the rest of the day.
"I should have known our neighbors were such Nosy Parkers and Meraud would be so difficult and said we were not at home at all," she said by way of an apology to her guests. "But you can be sure Kitty's house was just as full, whether she attended them or not." She sighed.
"When dear Winifred was increasing, she had such a bad time of it, we were often not home to visitors. Kitty upset her so often, Eva had to put a limit on her visits. Not that Kitty ever saw it that way. She was convinced Eva did it out of spite, and to gain control of Winifred. The truth was, Eva often tried to get Winifred to stand up to her mother. Kitty did not take kindly to that."
"No, I imagine not," Jenny murmured.
"It was not as if Eva went out of her way to be forceful, you understand," Lady Kinghorn continued. "She was a kind woman and I loved her very much. But she could not step aside when an injustice was being done and that made her several enemies in the community. I just cannot see any of those people stooping to murder."
"Lady Pennell," Muriel murmured.
"And the barmaid at the Raven," Jenny added.
"That was justifiable," Lady Kinghorn noted. "Eva was not the sort too let other women attempt to seduce my son. Not that he ever was seduced. She did not appreciate Meraud Worden's open admiration of him, either. To tell the truth, neither did I. The girl was so open about it, we were all embarrassed for her. It made Eva angry, but no one outside the castle ever heard her say a disparaging word."
Muriel frowned. "You did not tell us this before, Sarah. I should think Miss Worden did not like your daughter-in-law."
"Making her suspect in Lady Kinghorn's death," Eleanor noted.
Sarah paled. "It is true Meraud showed marked attention to Alan even before Eva died, but he never returned it, and even now does not… I just cannot believe she is our murderer. For one thing, she was in London when Eva was killed."
Convenient that, Jenny thought.
"With her parents," Muriel asked, although it was obvious she knew the answer already, just by listening to Lady Kinghorn's mind.
"No, she went with Sir Robert and Kitty Pennell. The ladies wished to shop in the capital while Sir Robert tended to some business."
"Did Miss Worden often travel with the Pennells to London?" Jenny wondered. "I only ask because I cannot picture Lady Pennell and Miss Worden as traveling companions." To put it mildly.
"I thought it was strange, actually, because Meraud does not like to be reminded of certain things, such as Winifred, not herself, becoming Jory's wife, and Kitty is the sort to rub salt in a wound. I seem to recall they were not speaking to each other for a long while after that trip. Eventually, Mrs. Worden had to intervene and arrange a reconciliation.
"A truce may be a more accurate word," Lady Kinghorn continued. "She felt guilty, I suppose, as it had been she who asked Kitty to take Meraud with her to London."
"Mrs. Worden?" Jenny was surprised.
"Oh, Steren Worden may seem shy, but she is fiercely protective of her daughter."
"Which is as it should be," Muriel agreed.
"She is also under her daughter's thumb."
No one could argue with that statement.
The next two days passed quietly, but on the third day after Lady Pennell had been ejected from the castle, Jenny, tired of seeing Mrs. Kinghorn's dejected face, took herself out for a walk.
While she traveled her favorite path along the water, she saw a young man sitting on the edge of the cliff, a pole in hand. He was seated rather high from the surface of the water to be fishing, and she stopped to peer over the edge at his line. It nowhere reached the sea.
"Surely you will starve if you depend on that pole to feed you," she noted with a smile.
The older boy gave her a cheeky grin. "I don't suppose I will," he agreed in a thick Cornish accent.
"Perhaps you aren't planning on fishing at all." The area, she knew, was known to be a haven for freetraders.
"Perhaps," he agreed. "But maybe not as you might think, ma'am." He got to his feet and bowed. "Davy Teague, at your service."
Jenny's smile grew broader. "So you are the scamp."
"That would be me, my lady."
"Flatterer. A true scamp would know I am merely a missus. I am certain you already know that. What are you up to today, Davy Teague?"
"Fishing, ma'am."
"If you are fishing, I am a duchess."
"An' it please Your Grace, his lordship said as how I was to watch for certain small boats."
"Smugglers? During the day?"
"Mum's big toe says as how we're to have some bad weather right enough. The boats will want to get into position before that."
"Won't they see your line is not long enough?"
He shrugged. "They won't be that close."
"Perhaps you and his lordship want the smugglers to use this cove." How could Kinghorn tell her he only bought smuggled goods several times removed and then turned around and practically invite them into the castle? The lad, however, was scowling at her words.
"Perhaps not, ma'am. I plan to be gone as soon as I see the boats. I have to tell his lordship so he can alert them excise men. It's one thing to buy goods, ma'am, and another altogether to use the castle's caves uninvited."
Jenny began to understand. Kinghorn could be implicated in illicit activity if the government thought he was in league with the smugglers.
"Risky business, smuggling," was all she said to that. "But what if you told me all of this for naught? What if I was their accomplice?"
Davy shook his head. "Know you aren't, ma'am. His lordship knows you like to walk here and said you might ask questions. Said it was all right to give you a few answers."
"Truly?" Jenny was taken aback. Kinghorn had noticed her habits and he trusted her. "When did he say this?"
"This morning, ma'am." Davy smiled, scanned the horizon and pursed his lips. "Word at the Raven has it that this is a small shipment," he said. "Big load coming in a couple of weeks. If we don't see some arrests beforehand." He paused. "Storm's comin'. Boats, too. We should be moving along now, ma'am. His lordship'll have my head if any harm comes to you."
Jenny thought his suggestion a wise one and after he coiled up his fishing line, they headed back to the castle along an inland route. She wore a warm smile at the thought of Kinghorn being concerned for her safety.
The weather took a turn for the worse not an hour after Jenny came indoors. After repairing most of the damage the wind had done to her face and hair, she went down to the solarium to join the others. Mr. Kinghorn and little Tristan were there, as well, the father propped up in a chair by the fire, watching his son toddle and crawl about the rug at his feet.
"A good afternoon to you, Mr. Kinghorn," she said with a smile. Winifred hovered protectively over her husband and son, and Jenny greeted her kindly. The baby noticed her arrival and squealed, holding his chubby little arms out to be picked up. Jenny was more than happy to oblige.
"He is such a darling," she said to no one in particular as Tristan allowed himself to be cuddled to her breast.
"We like him," Lady Kinghorn agreed. Muriel and Eleanor exchanged smiles and they all spent a cozy time together until Lord Kinghorn appeared.
The atmosphere changed immediately, but not necessarily for the worse. It was just different, Jenny noted. Mr. Kinghorn seemed to sit up straighter in his chair, even though Jenny was sure the movement was the very devil on his cracked ribs. Mrs. Kinghorn brightened, and even Lady Kinghorn seemed to relax, as if they had all been waiting for his arrival.
Jenny realized that she, too, was happier no that he was in the room.
"So nice of you to join us, Alan," his mother said.
The baby strained to get away from Jenny and reach his grandfather, and Kinghorn obliged the tot by plucking him out of her arms. Once she was certain Tristan was being securely held, she let him go, feeling the brush of Kinghorn's arm against her.
"You are a favorite person, I see," she teased him. The baron blushed, as if he had suddenly been caught behaving less than manly, but Jenny wasn't fooled. She had seen him play with the baby before.
"It is all right," she assured him. "Your secret is safe with us."
Muriel laughed. "I wish I could hear your thoughts, my lord. If they match the expression on your face, they are priceless!"
He tried not to scowl, failed miserably and looked anywhere but at Muriel. "I, er, came to see if Mrs. Wilkes would like to see the wine cellar."
Muriel gave Lord Kinghorn a sly glance when he asked if Jenny would like to see the wine cellar. "Is that what they are calling it these days, my lord?"
He grinned, surprising Jenny, who would have thought he would be further embarrassed by Muriel's remark. "Might be, Mrs. Abernathy," he said. "Would you care to define 'it'?"
She shook her head and he held out a hand to Jenny. "You mentioned the other day that you were interested in wine, so I have arranged a small tasting for you downstairs."
Jenny had said no such thing, but no one seemed to think it odd that he had done this for her, so she took his free hand – he still held Tristan in the other – and went with him to pass the little one over to Mrs. Kinghorn.
"When did I ever mention wine?" she asked in a quiet voice once they left the room.
"You did not. But there are smugglers in the caves and I have an idea of how to get rid of them. If not forever, at least for the moment."
"You need me to barge in on them accidently, so they realize how easy it would be for anyone to discover their activities?" she suggested.
Kinghorn unlocked the door to the wine cellar with a large brass key. Holding the door open, he indicated she was to enter first. The stairs leading downward were stone, and already lit by wall sconces, the light giving the spiral steps an eerie glow. Once the door was locked behind them, Kinghorn took the lead. Jenny carefully followed him down.
"This used to be a dungeon, but my great-grandfather had the empty space converted to a wine cellar. I am aging some very fine Scotch whiskey down here, as well."
The stairs opened up to a mellow limestone room, also dimly lit. A wooden table held three bottles of wine and six glasses. Even if they did not taste anything, all the props, it seemed, were there.
Jenny held her hands out. "What would you have me…" She stopped when she heard voices nearby. Without a word, she pointed down a darkened tunnel and held up five fingers.
Kinghorn nodded and indicated the should go into the darkness together. "After I determine who is running this ring, I need you to act as if we are making a tryst," he whispered.
Jenny felt her eyes widen, but she merely shrugged and took his hand. It was his plan, after all. She would play her part by ear.
They ventured further down the tunnel, until Kinghorn stopped her with a hand. The voices were louder here, and one of them stood out distinctly.
"Pile those crates there, man," Merrick told someone. He wasn't bothering to whisper, and while no one in the castle could hear him, the sound bounced around what must be a large cavern at the end of the tunnel. The lights were muted, and occasionally someone would swear because of the dimness.
"Did you know about this?" she whispered to Kinghorn.
"I had my suspicions," he muttered.
"Are you going to talk to the excise men?"
"Not just yet."
She wondered if it was because of the smaller shipment Davy Teague had mentioned, or if it was out of friendship to Merrick. Or both.
"But you need to scare them off?"
She wished she could have seen his face when he said, "Oh, yes…" He sounded as if he were looking forward to whatever he had in mind. She felt herself being walked soundlessly back up the tunnel before he spoke.
"No one will know we are down here. I'm the only one with the key to the cellar."
"You are sure?" she responded. "I have my reputation to uphold."
"I am well aware of your reputation," he said with a laugh. She found herself giggling, a sound she was sure she had not made in years.
"You could add to it," she coyly suggested. It had been years since she had flirted, too, she realized with a start, and stumbled in the dark. Two large hands reached out to support her, and she realized she could use this to their advantage. "My, what big hands you have…"
Kinghorn coughed, and it sounded suspiciously like a suppressed laugh. "I could say something to that, but I do not need to add to my own reputation. Here is that cave I promised you…"
They had reached the end of the tunnel. "Is there always light down here?" she loudly whispered. "I thought you said we would be alone."
"We are alone," he insisted, and they heard the distinct shuffling of footsteps. In the dim light she saw him smile.
"I want to go upstairs now."
Kinghorn let out a long-suffering sigh. "But we haven't even had any wine."
"We can have it upstairs, with everyone else. They will be wondering what has taken us so long."
"It could have been longer."
Jenny grinned. "Are you sure?"
"What do you think?"
She giggled once more. "I think it would have taken a very long time."
"Damn right it would have. But before we go…"
"Yes?" She felt a finger tilt up her chin, and a shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the coolness of the tunnel and cave below it.
He did not reply with words, but captured her mouth with his. How he knew just where she was in the darkness, she did not know. Nor did she care.
Behind her, in the cave, she heard the faint sounds of men leaving the area.
It began as a completely innocuous day. The castle's visitors had settled into an easy routine with the family – breakfast together, a walk in the gardens or gathering together in the solarium, playing with Tristan, receiving visitors and paying calls, and chess and conversation in the drawing room after dinner – and Jenny would be sorry to return to either Sandwell or London.
She thought she might go back to the capital, as she had read in Kinghorn's newspapers that the situation in Belgium was becoming tense and she would be assured more quickly of news of her family and the war. At least their investigation appeared to have stalled, ensuring their continued presence in Cornwall.
Evidently Eleanor and Muriel were just as pleased to remain, despite no new clues as to whom had killed Eva Kinghorn. They both agreed that morning that they were quite content with the schedule Sarah kept, and the pleasantness of most of her neighbors.
The invitation to Meraud Worden's ball had finally been accepted, and plans were being made for them to attend. Yestin Merrick was a frequent caller, but Jenny could not quite find it in herself to be more than vaguely friendly now that she knew he was the leader of the area freetraders, and abusing his friendship with Kinghorn by using the castle cave to store his goods. In return, he was equally standoffish, as if he felt she had been claimed by another. Perhaps he had taken her playacting seriously that night in the cave.
She was preoccupied by that thought one morning as she sipped breakfast tea and opened her mail. A small package was in the pile and she set it aside for the moment, thinking it might be a present from Tamara. She wanted to prolong the anticipation of a gift. Once her letters (several from friends that had been passed on by her cousin Robert at Sandwell, and one from Bianca telling her they were happy as they could be with the Army sitting on the brink of war) had been read, she picked up the wrapped box and shook it.
"It has no postmark," she noted to no one in particular. "I wonder why?" With some curiosity, she opened the package. A dead rat dropped to her plate, eliciting a squeak of surprise from Lady Kinghorn and a gasp from Eleanor. Muriel, on her left, calmly took the box, as if she might know who sent it merely by touch. There were days Jenny wished her friend had that talent, and projected that thought. Muriel gave her a knowing look and broke into a grin.
"This is wonderful!" she exclaimed.
Eleanor and Lady Kinghorn turned horrified eyes to Muriel.
"How can you say such a thing?" Eleanor demanded.
"It is a blatant thread, Muriel dear!"
"What is a threa…" Kinghorn asked, coming into the room. He broke off when he saw the rat on Jenny's plate.
"Someone thinks we are getting too nosy, and blames me," she said.
Kinghorn lifted one eyebrow.
"Personally," Jenny continued, "I agree with Muriel that this is excellent progress."
"You do?" Eleanor exclaimed. "Jenny, dear, this is serious!"
"I understand that, Aunt Eleanor, but if someone is worried enough to try to scare me off – which will not work, you know – that person is bound to start making mistakes. I think this is an indication that I shall make good bait for a killer."
"No!" Lord Kinghorn and his mother spoke, with force, as one.
"Mrs. Wilkes, I cannot allow you to put yourself in such danger," Kinghorn insisted.
"No? As you are neither my husband nor my father, you do not have any right to tell me what I may or may not do. Nor are you responsible for my actions, my lord."
"I cannot have a guest placed in any danger, Mrs. Wilkes. Imagine how much worse my neighbors will think me, if you are injured. Or worse."
"I can take care of myself, Kinghorn," she stubbornly insisted.
"I will not be made an even greater source of gossip, Jennifer Wilkes."
"I shall not blame you, Alan."
"You will be too dead to care, Jenny."
They stared at each other for a long moment, and she finally bowed her head in acceptance.
"Bully," she whispered as a footman was signaled to remove the rat.
"Martyr," he softly replied. "And you are too lovely to be sacrificed for my sake."
Jenny looked at him in surprise. She did not think even her late husband could have paid her such a compliment. He stared back at her, as if he dared her to argue, but she could not, and found herself blinking and looking away first.
"Still, you have to admit," Muriel said into the heavy silence, "Jenny would make good bait."
"Muriel," Jenny warned. "I have agreed not to become that. Perhaps you could help by reading all our callers today? Someone must surely be thinking about rats."
Muriel brightened, eager to put her talent towards a purpose. "I admit it will make better thoughts than everyone wondering what Lord Kinghorn said to Lady Pennell, or when he is going to propose to Miss Worden."
Lord Kinghorn looked down the table at Muriel while everyone else held their breath.
"Some might say you go too far, Mrs. Abernathy," he slowly replied. "But I, fortunately for you, am not one of them. Not today, at any rate. I suggest you ask Lady Pennell what I said, if you are that curious. As for Miss Worden, it has never been my intention to propose to that lady. She has other ideas – I am well aware of them – but I am just a friend of her father. I intend to keep it that way." He shook out his newspaper and raised it to read.
Muriel grinned, well-pleased, it seemed, with his answer.
"I am extremely vexed," Muriel admitted to Jenny later that afternoon. "It should be so simple to read a mind and know which person sent you a rat."
"No one had any rat thoughts at all?" That had to be frustrating.
"I wish it were that easy." Muriel's tone was rueful. "Everyone had rats on their minds!"
"I beg your pardon?" She wondered how that could be.
"I vow I wish never to know about rats again!" Muriel shuddered. "One lady found droppings in her dressing room and thinks she has an infestation. A young girl thinks her beau is a rat. Mrs. Worden had her mind on knots in her daughter's hair that she referred to as a 'rat's nest.'" She shook her head. "Someone has made mention of the word in the past day or so, most likely, to throw me off. Why else would everyone have them on their minds? Very clever, actually."
"We know we are dealing with a crafty person," Jenny agreed.
"Even Tilley wants some person named Davy Teague to come check the wine cellar for vermin!" Muriel exclaimed.
"Oh?" Jenny sat up a bit straighter and leaned forward, although she was careful to keep her thoughts about smugglers and caves to herself. She let herself dwell instead on memories of a wine tasting that had never been. Muriel grinned, drawing a few obvious, if false, conclusions. Let her believe what she wished, Jenny thought, and conjured up a nice little blush to go with her projections. Muriel chuckled.
"I am happy you are enjoying your visit to Cornwall, especially as you did not wish to come here in the first place. Did I not tell you I have good suggestions?"
"I recall another suggestion you recently made," Jenny reminded her. Muriel laughed.
"I still say it is a good idea. Perhaps you will even get to that point before we leave."
"Perhaps…" Jenny murmured.
© 2009, 2010 Copyright held by the author.