The Runaway McBride (30 page)

They entered the dining room and came face-to-face with Dora. The plate she was holding was shaking. Her eyes looked fever-bright.

Faith put out a hand to steady the girl, but Dora flinched away. “Are you all right?” Faith asked. “You don’t look well, Dora. I think the strain of the service has been too much for you.”

“You do look unwell,” said Lily, peering into the younger girl’s face. She put a comforting arm around Dora’s waist. “You look as though you’re running a fever. Come along, Dora, it’s home to bed for you.”

Dora did not budge. Eyes trained on Faith, she said, “You killed him, didn’t you? You murdered Robert. It had to be you. You met him at the boathouse. Everyone knows you were there. You were jealous because he loved me and not you. That’s it, isn’t it? ”

People turned to stare. Faith stood frozen in place, her mind reeling under the verbal attack. Lily and Dora were talking across her, but she wasn’t listening. All she was aware of was the hurt and hatred that blazed from Dora’s eyes.

She came to herself with a start when James suddenly appeared at her side. Roderick was with him. Lily was leading Dora away and clucking like an angry hen.

James said, “What happened, Faith? What did the girl say to you?” When she did not reply, he squeezed her hand to get her attention. “What did Dora Winslet say to you?” he repeated.

“She said that,” she blinked slowly, “she said that everyone thinks that I killed Robert. She said that he loved her and that I was jealous.” She shook her head. “I think she truly believes it.”

“Don’t think about it now. We’ll talk about it later. Roderick, take Faith to our aunt. And tell Aunt Mariah it’s time to go.”

“Where will you be? ”

“I want a word with Miss Winslet, and I want to make sure that she gets home safely. Gather our little group and meet me outside.”

Faith felt herself coloring as she and Roderick began to make their way out of the dining room. The guarded stares, the whispers, the backs that were suddenly turned on her made her writhe with mortification. It was only when Roderick whispered in her ear to keep her chin up that she managed to give the appearance of a woman with nothing to hide.

Only one person did not clear a path for them: Jayne Coltrane. Her eyes were hard; her smile verged on gleeful. “Well, well,” she said, “are you still amused, Miss McBride? Are you still laughing up your sleeve at some private joke? It would seem that the joke is on you.”

Though her voice was shaking, Faith forced herself to speak. “Murder is not a laughing matter, Miss Coltrane, and especially not the murder of a friend. Robert Danvers was my friend. Now, if you will excuse, me, I want to express my condolences to the family before I leave.”

Jayne Coltrane was not finished yet. “That tragic demeanor fools no one,” she began and got no further.

Roderick moved closer to Faith, putting himself squarely in front of the irate woman. What he might have done next was not put to the test, for Jayne Coltrane’s wrist was suddenly grasped by the lady at her side, Sophie Hughes.

“I think,” said Mrs. Hughes in an arctic voice, “that you have been making too free with the wine, Jayne.”

Miss Coltrane tried to wrest herself from a grip that was evidently as immovable as a vise. “Sophie—” She winced as the grip tightened.

“My apologies, Miss McBride.” Mrs. Hughes’s smile was fleeting. Her gaze was fixed on Miss Coltrane. “Come along, Jayne. You’re making a spectacle of yourself, and that reflects badly on your friends. If you go on like this, you’ll find yourself ostracized.”

The words were well-taken, and Jayne Coltrane allowed herself to be led away. Faith breathed in deeply, then slowly exhaled.

Roderick slanted Faith an amused look. “Methinks I heard a threat in Mrs. Hughes’s parting shot,” he said. “
Ostracized
has a nasty ring to it, doesn’t it? ”

He was giving her time to come to herself, and Faith was grateful for his thoughtfulness. She mustered a smile. “Just what did you intend to do when you stepped in front of me, knock the woman down?”

“Oh, it wouldn’t have come to that.” He held up a glass of red wine. “I lifted this from a waiter’s tray. One more word out of that harpy would have ended in an unfortunate accident to the lady’s gown.”

Faith giggled, though it was a nervous giggle. She was excruciatingly aware that she was the focus of the whispers she heard all around her. It was only to be expected. She’d been involved in two frightful scenes, one with Dora Winslet and the other with Jayne Coltrane.

Roderick deposited his undrunk glass of wine on a passing waiter’s tray. “Come along, Faith,” he said. “His Highness said that I was to take you to Aunt Mariah, and that is what I shall do.”

“Since when have you followed James’s orders? ”

He grimaced. “Since he made mincemeat out of me during our impromptu wrestling match.”

Faith inclined her head to get a better look at James’s brother. It came to her then that she had begun to warm to this difficult young man over the course of their short acquaintance. He seemed like a younger version of James, except that when James was not present, Roderick’s manners were easier, and he smiled more often. If he had a particle of James’s ambition, he would go far.

He caught her staring, and his brows rose.

“I was thinking,” she said, “that you’re more like James than you know.”

He put a hand on his heart. “You really know how to wound a fellow, don’t you?”

She was gripped by a sudden conviction. “You admire him, don’t you? ”

Those eloquent brows jiggled. “Who, James?” He sounded incredulous.

She nodded.

“Now, what would make you say such a thing? ”

She touched a hand to her head and grinned. “I think I may be psychic.”

James returned at that moment. He sounded exasperated. “Your friend, Lily,” he said, “wouldn’t allow me to say one word to the girl. She bundled her into a hansom, and that was that.” He looked at Faith, and his voice gentled. “This has been quite a trial for you, hasn’t it? Let’s find Aunt Mariah and pay our respects to the family, then we’ll be free to go.”

Lady Cowdray had the same idea. She was waiting in line ahead of them. That jogged Faith’s memory, and she told James about the conversation she’d had with her ladyship that explained why she had held on to the diary for so many years without attempting to have it transcribed.

“I think that shows real character,” Faith concluded. “She didn’t want to hurt the feelings of her lover’s wife.”

“Don’t get to like her too much,” James warned. “No one is in the clear yet.”

He was thinking of Dora Winslet.

On the short drive back to the house, Faith tried to appear as
though nothing had happened and, as far as Aunt Mariah was concerned, nothing much had. All Faith had told her was that one of her pupils had taken ill and had to go back to the school.

Sunk in silence, Faith listened with half an ear to the conversation that went on around her. She was thinking that as funerals went, this one would be indelibly stamped on her mind. It equaled any operetta by Gilbert and Sullivan, only Gilbert and Sullivan made her laugh. This melodrama made her shudder.

Something Aunt Mariah said registered, and Faith looked up. “Did you say that Robert’s rooms were ransacked? ”

Aunt Mariah nodded. “That’s what his mother told me. His father went there to clear out his things and found the place in a shambles.”

“When was this? ”

“The day before yesterday. There was nothing missing as far as Mr. Danvers could tell, but he sent for the police anyway.”

Faith looked at James. He nodded then said, “I heard the story from Alastair Dobbin. According to him, the police seem to think that Robert had something of value the thief wanted, something he hoped to get when he lured Robert to the boathouse. When he didn’t get it, he killed Robert and turned his attention to Robert’s rooms on Rider Street.”

Roderick said, “He always had plenty of money on him, at least whenever I happened to meet him.”

“And we all know where that was,” James muttered darkly.

Roderick gave him one of his challenging smiles.

Aunt Mariah kept to what most interested her. “Mrs. Danvers did not mention money, but she wouldn’t, would she? ”

“Why do you say that? ” Faith asked.

“It would raise too many questions, such as where did he get it. We all know he didn’t get it from his father. Old Danvers is a tight-fisted miser.”

Roderick said, “Well, he didn’t get it at cards or betting on horses.” He looked at James, but this time there was no baiting in his expression. “I know he lost heavily at the gaming tables, but he always paid off his debts.”

“Maybe,” said Aunt Mariah, “he was selling off the family plate or his mother’s jewels.”

James and Faith exchanged a quick look. They both had the same thought. Maybe someone was paying him for services rendered.

 

 

On arriving home, the first thing Faith did after changing her
clothes was check on Margaret. She found her by following the sound of girlish laughter to the yellow parlor. Harriet was with her, and they were huddled over a small table, playing cards. They both looked up at Faith’s entrance, and a guilty flush ran under Margaret’s skin.

“Feeling better? ” Faith asked.

It was only when Faith smiled that Margaret stopped looking guilty. She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. “As you see, I’ve had a miraculous recovery.” They both laughed. “Won’t you join us? ”

“Yes, do!” Harriet pleaded. “Mama is hopeless at cards.”

Faith felt it would be churlish to refuse when she had newly arrived. Besides, her emotions were in turmoil, and the one thing she had discovered about Margaret was that she was a restful, comforting presence.

“Thank you,” Faith said, “I would like that,” and she drew a chair up to the table.

Harriet began to deal. “I should warn you,” she told Faith, “that I play to win, so don’t hold back because I’m a child.”

The resemblance between Harriet and James when he was intent on getting his own way struck Faith forcibly: a calculating expression about the eyes, unsmiling lips, and the air of a cat ready to pounce.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Faith said sweetly, and she meant it. She’d be damned if she would let this child intimidate her. One Burnett was more than enough.

Margaret did not play, but as the game progressed, she asked Faith about the funeral service. Faith touched on it lightly, mindful of Harriet’s tender years. As time passed, Faith found the stiffness in her muscles relaxing. The small talk, Harriet’s evident pleasure at having a worthy opponent to play against, the laughter and chuckles were just what she needed to compensate for the ugliness of the hour she had spent in the Danverses’ house.

It was Margaret who set the tone, Margaret who steered the conversation away from awkward or painful subjects. She drew Faith out on her life as a teacher at St. Winnifred’s, and Faith was sure that she did it deliberately. She looked at Margaret with a new respect.

At fist acquaintance, she’d summed Margaret up as the self-effacing wife of a man who had married beneath him. She was coming to see that Margaret was his superior. Had she not been saddled with a troop of handsome, strong-minded relations, Margaret would have shown to better effect. They were all Burnetts, all the same. Only she and Margaret stood in the shadow of these larger-than-life characters.

Thoughts of her own mother tried to intrude, but she pushed them away. Just for a little while, she didn’t want to think of the past or the future. She needed all her powers of concentration to beat this beastly little Burnett who, naturally, was winning every hand!

This was how James found them after he’d changed out of his mourning clothes and come looking for Faith. They were unaware of his entrance, so he stayed where he was, just inside the door, reluctant to make his presence known. It seemed a shame to spoil this pretty picture of domesticity, and he wasn’t sure of his welcome. No one ever said anything, but a look would come into Margaret’s eyes, as though he were an invalid who had to be cozened, and Harriet would either glare or grimace if she didn’t get her own way.

As for Faith, she must know that they had a lot to discuss after what they’d learned at Danvers’s funeral. Things were beginning to click into place, except for the face of the murderer. They had to talk.

He wished he knew what she was thinking. There was a way to find out. All he need do was try to open his mind to hers. The problem with that was she would be furious if he succeeded. No. They had to talk face-to-face.

She was dealing the cards. Her fingers were as deft and sure as those of an inveterate gambler, but his mind wasn’t on gambling. He remembered how those hands had moved over his naked body, bringing him to the peak of pleasure. Better by far, however, was the pleasure he had brought to her. She’d been stunned by the power of her release. What he could not understand was why she was holding him off. They’d found each other again. What did it matter how it had come about?