Escaping Notice (24 page)

And considering some of the clothing she had worn in the past,
it seemed likely that the garments belonged to her. Her bizarre
wardrobe ranged from the excessively frilled-and-furbelowed to the
inappropriately masculine. In short, she had no discernible taste,
although he had to admit her recent appearance had unaccountably
improved.

He did not know why. Frankly, he did not particularly care
either, unless it made her happy enough to improve her disposition.
She was one of the most ill-tempered women he knew, but despite
this, he still found it difficult to believe she hated him enough
to kill him. Her mercurial temper rose in quick outbursts, but
seldom lasted.

It had to be someone else, some unknown enemy he could leave to
Gaunt to expose.

Perhaps it was someone like his previous fiancée, Miss Peyton,
or her lover, Lord Greeley. Gaunt was free to question them and do
as he wished. Hugh felt no desire to protect either one. Miss
Peyton had skillfully excised a small piece of his heart and a
slightly larger bit of his confidence, and the twinges of pain
reminded him that he owed her no debt. In fact, he found it
difficult to remember precisely what she looked like. Perhaps he
thought too much about Miss Helen Archer, instead.

Although she had not laughed and pushed him heartlessly away
when he kissed her, he realized that once their adventure ended, he
would still be the same dull man who preferred the country to the
city: the farmer earl.

As soon as she found her necklace, she would be gone with a
smile and a wave.

In a sour mood, Hugh noticed a trio of ladies, including his
aunt. He followed them from the garden into the house and caught up
with them as they passed through the wide French doors leading into
the library.

“Miss Leigh, may I have a moment of your time?” he asked in what
he hoped sounded like a diffident and respectful manner.

“Now?” She adjusted her black shawl on her narrow shoulders,
staring at a point just past his head.

“If it is not too inconvenient.”

She glanced at her sisters. They frowned at her, clearly
disliking his interruption. Miss Elvira pursed her lips and puffed
her cheeks several times as if holding back a mouthful of fiery
words. To his surprise, however, neither sister said anything,
despite their scowls.

“Oh, very well. What is it?”

“Would you care to step into my office for one moment?”

She stared at him. He kept his face carefully blank, although he
had difficulty in not laughing. She was clearly trying to judge if
he wanted to get her alone because he had lewd designs upon her
person.

Since he did not grab her there and then, she nodded before
turning to her sisters. “I'll join you in the sitting room in five
minutes.”

The other two ladies stalked away, whispering in aggravated
tones, no doubt discussing his excessively forward behavior in
daring to speak to their sister.

Aunt Eloise walked briskly to his office and stood pointedly in
front of his desk chair. She did not take a seat. This effectively
prevented him from sitting, even if he dared to do so in her
presence.

When he studied her, he noted uneasily that she still appeared
ill. Her skin remained gray despite her walk in the fresh air, and
her lips were bluish. She looked as though she had not slept in
days. Her watery, red-rimmed eyes were set in deep hollows and her
puffy eyelids had a few crusty flakes adhering to the base of her
thin eyelashes.

Pity almost got the better of him.

“Well, what is it?” she asked.

“I apologize for bothering you —”

“Just get on with it. I suppose it has to do with some
irregularity in the books?”

“No, Miss Leigh,” he replied, struggling to suppress his
astonishment. He would have to take a closer look at the ledger
book.

Edging round her, he pulled open the bottom desk drawer and took
out the dark blue jacket and cap. When she saw what he held, her
face turned even more pale. Her breath caught in her throat. For a
moment, he feared she would faint.

Her thin, heavily-veined hand clutched the back of his chair,
but she finally took a deep breath. Her chin rose.

He had to admire her, even if her reaction seemed to confirm his
worst fear. If any woman ever appeared guilty, it was Miss Eloise
Leigh.

“One of the servants found this cap and jacket. Is it
yours?”

“Yes!” She tried to grab the articles out of his hands.

He threw them back into the drawer and shut it. Then he stood in
front of it, blocking access. “I apologize, but I must ask you a
few questions.”

Eloise's thin body quivered, creating a rustling sound like dry
leaves amidst her skirts. “Questions?” Her voice rose. “Give me my
property, young man! Then you and your thieving sister may leave.
And do not expect a reference.”

“I'm sorry, Miss Leigh, but we were hired by Mr. Petre. At the
earl's direction.”

“Your sister stole that jacket — she must have!” Despite her
words, she sounded more afraid than angry.

“It is true that my sister found the jacket and cap in your
wardrobe. However, it was growing mould and smelled musty. She took
it down to the washroom to clean so that the rest of your clothing
would not mildew. I took them.” He held up his hand and changed
tack. “You may recall Mr. Gaunt? He was hired to look into the
accident.”

“What is there to look into?” The hollows around her eyes grew
darker and deeper.

“The loss of the Twilight may not have been an accident,” he
replied gently. “And someone dressed in a dark blue jacket and wool
cap was noticed nearby.”

“I don't understand. Are you accusing me of doing something to
the Twilight? Do you think I would murder my own nephew?”

“Did you know Mr. Lionel Castle would be on the Twilight? Was he
not supposed to be visiting a friend? A vicar?”

“Yes — yes, he was.” She sounded triumphant, as if that proved
her innocence. Then realization drained her face to a stark,
paper-white. “You think I wanted to murder the earl? Why? Why would
I do such a thing?”

“Only you can answer that question.”

She stuttered, fists at her sides, her face alternating between
a livid flush of rage and a pallor that exposed the ravages of her
illness and something else — something that looked like guilt. Or
fear. He couldn’t gauge which. Nonetheless, either way it twisted
his gut.

He had already lost his brother. Despite their frequent
arguments, Hugh was unprepared to lose Aunt Eloise, as well.

“I’m sorry,” he said, in a more gentle voice.

Her lips shook. With obvious effort, she pressed her mouth into
a tight line and took a long, rattling breath, striving for
control. “I suppose Mr. Petre hired you to inquire into the affair,
although I was not aware that there were female and child inquiry
agents, too.”

“I am not aware of any, either.”

She stared at him. With relief he noted a touch of color in her
face. Some of the stiffness in her shoulders eased. “Are you not an
inquiry agent?”

“No,” he replied with absolute honesty.

“Then you have no business asking impertinent questions.”

“The earl's business is my affair. I did not mean to distress
you, but we cannot ignore this tragedy.”

“No. However, you may believe me when I say I harbored no
ill-will towards either of my nephews. They gave me a home. They
were the only family I had.” She grimaced and waved a hand. “Other
than my sisters. And while the earl may have elected to ignore my
advice, I loved him. I loved
both
of them.”

He glanced down at the wide toes of his heavy shoes,
embarrassed. “Then the jacket and cap?”

“I — I wear them in garden. They are mine, as I told you.”

“Garden?” he asked in disbelief. To his knowledge, she had not
plucked a flower — much less thrust a trowel into dirt — in the
whole time she had lived at Ormsby. “You are a gardener?”

Her nose twitched. The tip turned deep vermillion in reaction to
her lie. “I said so, did I not?”

“I was just surprised. The gardens … well, that bed of foxglove
near the stables is getting overrun by wild thyme. But I suppose
you have been busy with other matters since the disappearance of
the earl and his brother.”

“The weeds overrun everything so quickly,” she said with wary
confusion. Her gaze flickered around the room.

“I beg your pardon, but you are not really interested in
gardening, are you? There are no foxgloves there. Nor is there any
wild thyme, if it even exists at all in England.”

“The garments are mine. That is all you need to know.”

“Very well. Then why were they crumpled and wet in the back of
your wardrobe?”

“Obviously, they must have got damp the last time it rained. We
had a storm, if you recall.”

He could not forget. The gale had torn the Twilight apart and
left them all heartsick.

“Then why did you not give them to the maid to wash and
iron?”

“I had other matters occupying my mind,” she replied drily.

The glimmer of sardonic amusement in her sunken eyes surprised
him. Hugh felt a sudden shift, as if seeing her for the first time.
How little attention he had paid to her, although she had lived
with them for almost twenty years.

Lionel had always been the one who had clung to her and wanted
her to stay at Ormsby after their parents died. At seventeen, Hugh
had been ready to break free from the yoke of female control and
wanted to run the household to his liking as the new earl.

What else had he missed in his single-minded determination to be
the man his father expected him to be? Certainly, he had missed
whatever it was that had allowed Greeley to walk away with Miss
Peyton.

He bowed slightly to Aunt Eloise. Was it time to throw off his
disguise and resume the role of earl?

No. Not yet.

Her answers only left more questions. She had never adequately
explained what she was doing with the jacket and cap, and though
she claimed to love her nephews, that did not mean she would not
try to kill one of them.

“ …
intrinsic merit is a much greater recommendation than
extrinsic appearance.” —
The Complete Servant

Towards evening, Helen slipped into Miss Leigh's room. The three
sisters were occupied with crewel work in the drawing room and
seemed likely to stay there until dinner. With luck, Helen could
get the necklace and …. Her step faltered. She was not sure how she
wanted to proceed.

How could she leave and abandon Edward and Hugh? And then there
was Miss Leigh. She was obviously still ill, and her sisters seemed
determined to make matters worse.

Helen sighed. She’d discuss matters with Hugh when she had the
necklace. No sense borrowing trouble now. She opened a drawer in
Miss Leigh’s wardrobe and prodded through the tangled mess of
jewelry, ribbons and other pretty odds-and-ends. Her fingers grew
cold as she dug deeper and deeper without finding the Peckham
necklace.

Tension tightened her shoulders. She pulled the drawer out and
dumped the contents onto the bed. Her hands shook as she spread out
the contents. There was no doubt, the necklace was not among the
other jewels.

She grabbed handfuls of ribbons and necklaces and stuffed them
back into the drawer. Then she whirled round and starting pulling
out other drawers. As her efforts grew more desperate, she stopped
every few minutes to take a deep breath and calm herself. She could
not leave evidence of her search. She had to think.

Finally, she stood in the middle of the room, twisting her
hands.

Think
! Had Miss Leigh hidden it? Worse, had she given it
to one of her sisters as a gift?

Oriana would be furious when the truth came out. Helen would be
humiliated, and she deserved it. She had bungled the entire
thing.

“Helen,” Miss Leigh said from the doorway, “What are you
doing?”

Helen whirled round, her eyes round with fear. “I came to find
you. It is time to dress for dinner.”

“So it is,” Miss Leigh said in clipped tones. “What have you
lain out?”

“The — the black velvet,” Helen replied, trying to retain her
composure. She opened the wardrobe and carefully lifted out the
heavy dress, thankful she had taken the time to slip a few lavender
sachets between the folds the day before. When she shook it out, it
retained a slight, pleasant fragrance. “You want to look your best
with your sisters here,” she added. “And the cut of this dress is
superb. You will quite outshine them.”

Miss Leigh snorted, but the sparkle of pleasure illuminated her
eyes. “It is not the time for vanity.”

“Of course not.” Helen cast her gaze humbly to the ground. “I am
terribly sorry for your loss.”

Miss Leigh did not reply. She rubbed her forehead wearily with
one heavily veined hand and turned her back, waiting for Helen to
unfasten her day gown.

As Helen eased the folds of black velvet over Miss Leigh’s head,
she had a sudden inspiration. Excitement trembled through her. She
just had to appear calm and await precisely the right moment.

“A strand of jet would be just the thing, Miss Leigh. It would
be beautifully framed by the Belgian lace of your bodice.” Helen
clasped her hands together to hide her nerves.

“Jet? Jewelry at a time like this is inappropriate.”

Helen's heart sank as Miss Leigh studied her appearance in the
mirror. She stood behind her, carefully keeping her gaze fixed
demurely on the back of Miss Leigh's dress.

“However,” Miss Leigh said. “Jet is allowable in mourning.”

“Permit me.” Helen opened the drawer and delicately searched
through the contents, her heart pounding. She extracted the jet
necklace and then cast a final glance into the drawer. She frowned
in concentrated puzzlement. “Is something not missing?”