A Devious Lot (Antiques & Collectibles Mysteries Book 5) (2 page)

“Edmund, I believe five hours will be sufficient time for Margaret to enjoy the exhibit,” she said.

“Yes, Lady Lillian,” he said. “I shall return to fetch you.”

“Thank you, Edmund.”

Lillian adjusted her hat and gloves, and took hold of her sister’s hand. The building rose into the sky above the trees of the park, the flags of the nations fluttered in the warm summer breeze. She was pleased to see the event was so well attended, from school-aged children to rural folk who’d made the journey to London an all-day event.

As they got into line for tickets, Margaret said, “The other day, I overheard Mama tell Aunt Martha that Lord Henson has been most attentive to you of late. She said a marriage proposal would surely be forthcoming. Is it true, Lilly? Are you really going to marry him?”

Lillian’s lips trembled as she said, “You mustn’t believe everything you hear.”

“So it’s not true?” Lillian didn’t reply, and Margaret huffed. “Well, I don’t think you should marry him,” she said. “You will be unhappy, if you do. He’s too old and he smells bad.”

“You mustn’t say such things,” Lillian said quietly. “At least, not in public.”

She bought their tickets, and the ticket-takers smiled and welcomed them in, and as soon as they stepped through the giant iron gates into the Crystal Palace, Margaret came to a sudden halt. She tilted her head back, her mouth agape, staring at the glass-dome above them, the walls of glass supported by the iron beams.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life,” she said. “I will never forget this day as long as I live.”

“Nor will I,” Lillian said. “But we must move on.”

She took hold of her sister’s arm and moved her away from the pressing throngs of people. The interior of the building was painted red, yellow and blue, the floors were made of wood. The layout was set in the shape of a cross, with Great Britain’s exhibit in one transept, and the rest of the world in the other. At the center of the enormous hall was a magnificent pink glass fountain, and as they drew near it, Lillian lifted her face to the cool air drifting off its glistening waters. It felt glorious on a warm summer day. She heard Margaret giggle.

“Why are you laughing?” Lillian asked.

“The statues,” Margaret said. She pointed at two equestrian statues of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. “They’re quite lovely, but look so real, I feel I should curtsy.” She turned her face to Lillian. “What does the queen look like in person?”

“Very regal,” Lillian said. “Let us move on, there’s much to see.”

Traversing the Crystal Palace was a journey. Ten miles long, a cornucopia of a hundred thousand modern-day inventions and artistic treasures. Among the tall stone pillars were statues and ornate tapestries, industrial machines for agriculture, railway steam engines, even lighthouse lamps. There was a popular exhibit from Germany, a collection of small animals dressed in costumes. Lillian thought it was very clever, kittens having tea, baby rabbits teaching school, a frog holding an umbrella. Margaret hardly noticed. She was more interested in the latest surgical apparatuses of the day, and the pen knife with eighty blades. Lillian wasn’t surprised. Her sister was a tomboy at heart.

“What’s your favorite exhibit?” Margaret asked.

“The French silks and cutlery are dazzling, and all the beautiful china,” Lillian said.

Margaret pursed her lips. “I suppose when you marry Lord Henson, you’ll have to buy such things.” She looked at her with such a fierce expression of disgust, Lillian wanted to hug her. “Is Father forcing you to marry him?”

Lillian sighed. “He is insistent,” she said. “I’m trying to convince him otherwise.”

“Lord Henson is very rich, and father is easily impressed,” Margaret said.

Lillian touched her cheek. “You are young, my dear, but very wise.”

They stopped in front of a statue of a Greek slave in a little tent of red velvet. Margaret stared at it a long time before she spoke. “Why does she wear a single piece of chain around her waist?”

“I believe it symbolizes her bondage,” Lillian said.

“Her eyes look very sad.”

“She has reason to be sad,” Lillian said. “She is a slave.”

As they walked on, Lillian thought about the Greek statue, and how in some ways her own life felt like a form of slavery. Not that she could compare her life to such a real horror, but if she was made to marry Victor Henson she would essentially become his property, kept in a gilded cage, in many ways a prisoner.

Margaret touched her sleeve.

“Look, Lilly! The American exhibit is straight ahead. I heard Father telling the boys they have a gun on display called a Colt repeating firearm. I’d love to see it.”

When they reached the back nave, they found the exhibit so crowded Lillian had to elbow their way in. It wasn’t the most ladylike of behavior, but her sister was so excited, she wanted her to see it. She delighted at the way Margaret’s eyes widened with glee.

“Do you think Father will let me have my own gun?” she asked.

“I couldn’t say, dearest. Perhaps one day . . .” Lillian’s voice trailed away. She wished she could tell her he would, but she knew it would never happen. Such things weren’t done, at least not in their family. “Let’s have a refreshment, it’s almost noon,” she said, and took her sister’s arm.

Jostled by the crowd, Lillian’s leather boots slipped on the wood floor and she began to fall. A strong arm reached out, grabbed her around the waist, and set her upright, and then the arm, and the warm hand that went along with it, let go of her as quickly as if it had touched fire.

“I do apologize,” said an earnest young man. He was a little older than her, with thick dark hair, a rugged face, and the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen. His clothes were neat and clean, though not of the highest quality, and Lillian could hear her mother’s warning voice in her ear: He’s nouveau riche and not our sort . . . be careful.

“It’s quite all right,” she said.

Her feet now firmly planted to the floor, she felt as if her shoes were weighted down. She couldn’t stop staring into his intense blue eyes. He seemed equally frozen, studying her blond hair and porcelain complexion, her slim waist and tiny hands.

“My name is Julius Tenney,” he said. “To whom do I have the pleasure of almost knocking off her feet?”

Lillian couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Lillian Gilbert,” she said. Margaret tugged on her sleeve. “And this is my sister, Margaret.”

“How’d you do?” Julius bowed at the waist. He looked at Margaret. “Do you like firearms?” he asked.

“Oh, yes! I wish I could go shooting with my brothers and father,” Margaret said. “But they never let me go along.”

“What a shame,” he said. “I’m very sorry to hear it.”

“Do you shoot?” Margaret asked.

“Why, yes. I was shooting guinea-fowl only last weekend,” he said. Lillian touched Margaret’s arm to warn her not to talk too much. His observant eyes noticed, and a small smile touched the corners of his mouth. “My friend, Percy Abernathy, invited me to spend the weekend at his family’s country estate,” he said.

Lillian felt her eyebrows shoot up. “You know Percy?”

“Yes. We’re at university together,” he said. “I’m studying law at Cambridge. I hope to be a barrister.”

Lillian tilted her head. “I wasn’t aware law was taught at Cambridge.”

“The university opened a law school last year,” he said. “I’m in the first graduating class.” Lillian felt her pulse quicken. There was a lot more to this man than met the eye. “My father was a barrister, and is a judge now,” he went on. “I’d like to follow in his footsteps.”

Margaret said politely, “How nice. But what exactly does a barrister do?”

Julius smiled. “They represent clients in court, before a judge and jury,” he said.

Margaret frowned. “I thought lawyers were called solicitors, like Mr. Dewey, the solicitor my father was talking to only last week.”

“There’s a difference,” he said. “Solicitors work on contracts of law, wills, that sort of thing. They also help barristers prepare for trials.”

Lillian was trying hard not to show her enthusiasm for this handsome young man. He wasn’t from the aristocracy, but he was a student at Cambridge, and obviously from the upper class. She knew barristers were well-paid, and his desire to be a judge was an honorable ambition. But her heart sank as she thought about introducing him to her father. Julius Tenney would never be good enough for him. Not when Lord Victor Henson was aggressively pursuing her. She would have to move on and leave Julius behind.

“Well, we wish you much future success,” Lillian said kindly. “It was very nice meeting you.” She put her hand on Margaret’s shoulder. “We must be going now. We’re in need of a refreshment.”

“Please . . . don’t leave,” Julius said. She could see the pleading in his eyes and it made her stop. “I know who you are, Lady Gilbert. Percy told me all about you.”

“Did he? I’ve known Percy and his sister, Harriett, my whole life,” she said. “Why is it I’ve never heard them speak your name?”

“I only met Percy last year, but we’ve become good friends,” Julius said. “At Cambridge, he has the nickname the ‘collector,’ because he likes to collect people around him, no matter who they are. Percy’s motto is ‘always more, is always merrier.’”

Lillian smiled. “That does sound like Percy,” she said.

“Forgive me for being so bold, but it is true . . . are you to marry Lord Henson?”

Lillian straightened her shoulders as her mother’s voice roared in her head: How dare this impertinent man talk to you in such a way?

Before she could think of a reply, Margaret said, “I hope she doesn’t. He’s old and ugly and he smells terrible.”

“Margaret, hush,” Lillian said.

Julius’s face grew serious as he held Lillian’s gaze. “I’ve never met the man, but Percy doesn’t like him, so neither shall I. And now that I’ve met you, he doesn’t sound right for you at all.”

“I agree,” Margaret said.

Lillian shot daggers at her sister. Then she turned to Julius. “Did Percy tell you I was engaged? Because if he has, he’s quite mistaken.”

“He feared it would be announced any day. Both he and his sister are genuinely concerned for your well-being.”

Lillian was speechless. She couldn’t believe Percy and Harriett would talk about her behind her back, to a man she didn’t even know.

Julius bowed slightly at the waist. “I apologize, again. It’s none of my business. If it wouldn’t be a breach of etiquette, I’d like to pay recompense for my clumsy ways and buy you that refreshment. What do you say?”

Margaret was smiling and nodding her head yes, but Lillian felt conflicted. What if her parents found out? Her father would be furious.

“I’m not sure we should . . .” Her voice trailed away.

Julius grinned. “I promise not to steal you away from Lord Henson,” he said.

Lillian said through clenched teeth, “As I said, sir, we are not engaged.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Not yet, Lilly, but you know it’s inevitable, because it’s what Father wants.” She turned to Julius. “Lord Henson is a widower, and has two teenage boys who go to a boarding school. I’ve heard he hardly ever sees them, and they barely know him. Did you know his wife died several months ago, and since then, he’s been pursuing my sister? I think it would be awful to inherit someone else’s children, and marry a man so much older, don’t you?”

Lillian stared at her sister, too paralyzed to speak.

Julius said quietly, “I believe our fate isn’t sealed, unless we want it to be.”

Lillian’s lower lip trembled and she feared she was going to burst into tears. He had no idea what she was up against.

He said kindly, “You really do look in desperate need of a hot cup of tea.”

Lillian straightened her shawl. “I suppose we may as well let you buy it for us.”

Julius smiled and made a way through the crowd for them. Lillian felt both thrilled and a little sick to her stomach. She had never disobeyed her parents, or given them any reason to worry. Following Julius, taking note of his strong shoulders, his purposeful gait, she knew they should be very worried indeed.

Chapter 1

Molly Appleby opened her eyes to the sound of her husband snoring. She was in a strange bed, and it took her a moment to remember they weren’t at the Cavendish in London anymore, but at her great-aunt’s country cottage in the Cotswolds. Propping herself up on her elbow, she looked down at Matt and resisted the urge to run her hand through his sandy-blond hair. It felt cold in the room, and getting out of bed, she fixed the quilt to cover him. Shivering in her flimsy cotton nightgown, she tiptoed across the wide-planked wood floor to her suitcase and quickly dressed in gray flannel sweatpants and a red sweatshirt with
Fletcher Allen Hospital
stenciled in white across the front.

Taking a moment to brush her hair, Molly studied her reflection in the mirror. For some reason, since she’d said “I do” ten days ago, she felt different. Nothing had changed on the outside, but in her heart and mind she felt more settled, and content in a way she never had before. It was an odd sensation, and she wondered if it would last. As a woman who valued her independence, she worried she might lose herself too much to Matt, becoming his shadow rather than his partner. When she’d mentioned this to her mother on the eve of the wedding, Clara had reminded her of all the times Matt had stood by her, and never left her out of the decision-making. He’d proven over and over again that he trusted her judgment and valued her opinion. If she wanted an equal partnership, Clara said, she might want to work on her own lack of patience and her willfulness. Molly could have been offended, but she knew her mother was right. She had a tendency to be pushy and was headstrong, and Matt was a saint for putting up with her bossiness. Clara had ended by saying, “Commitment to a relationship is a two-way street, and sometimes you have to be willing to let go and let the other person do the driving. Just remember: If you get lost, don’t be afraid to ask for directions.”