The Carousel Painter (27 page)

“I have no idea. I say let the police do their work and find the culprit.”

I nodded my agreement, yet I wondered if the police were aware of the many lies Tyson Farnsworth had been telling since his arrival in Collinsford—or if they cared. They would probably think the fabrications had nothing to do with the missing necklace. And they’d probably be right. Yet the fact that he was doing his best to point the police in my direction made me wonder why he’d lied about so many things.

Augusta and Tyson were waiting in the foyer when we arrived. This was my first visit to the Galloways’ new home in Fair Oaks, and Augusta immediately offered a tour. I was amazed by the gardens and the abundance of lush greenery, but Augusta explained her mother had hired several gardeners to work on the plantings while the interior work was being completed. Leave it to Mrs. Galloway to have nothing less than a perfect lawn and blooming flowers for her housewarming party. And she was more than a little relieved that she wouldn’t have to have the party at the Wentworths’ home after all.

The house was beautiful, much larger than I thought necessary for a small family, and ostentatious enough to make Mrs. Galloway the envy of at least a few wealthy friends. Having heard informal suppers were considered the trend among members of high society during the summer months, Mrs. Galloway had decided to follow suit. While I was certain the others had eaten, I’d had nothing since lunchtime and was famished, but to mention such a fact would be rude.

Later, when Augusta and I went upstairs to dress, my stomach growled in protest. Augusta touched her fingertips to her cheeks. “Goodness, Carrie! Your stomach sounds like an approaching thunderstorm. Let’s get you dressed so you can go downstairs and get something to eat.” She motioned toward the door. “Mother has a number of new servants, but any one of them should be able to help you.”

It would have been simpler to have a tray brought upstairs, but such a request would have been an imposition. And Mrs. Galloway didn’t need the servants otherwise occupied. The older woman was scurrying around as if her very life depended upon making a good impression on the residents of Fair Oaks.

The dress I had chosen was a pale yellow silk with bell-shaped sleeves of silk velvet in a deeper shade. The dress reminded me of blooming buttercups. Augusta declared the gown a perfect shade for my complexion.

“Don’t forget to come back up for the ostrich feather fan, and I have some feathers I’ll place in your hair. They will be perfect.”

Caring little about the fan or the feather hairdressing, I crossed the room while waving my agreement. At the moment, I wanted a slice of bread or piece of cheese to stave off the hunger pangs. Rushing down the back stairs, I signaled one of the recently hired maids. The dear girl took my plight quite seriously and led me to the kitchen, where I was offered much more than bread or cheese. It was impossible to eat all she placed in front of me, but I did my best, even eating a second tea cake. I offered profuse thanks and headed for the back stairs. I needed my corset loosened before the evening’s festivities began. Otherwise I’d surely burst!

To my dismay, the stairway was blocked by several butlers who pointed me toward the other exit. There wasn’t time to argue. Augusta would soon be coming down to help her mother greet the guests. Grasping a handful of silk, I hiked the skirt of my gown and rounded the corner with all the speed I could muster. I should have been watching more closely, but my mind was focused upon my corset when I collided with Tyson outside Mr. Galloway’s library.

My elbow landed in his midsection with a powerful blow that would have tested a pugilist. When I heard an immediate whoosh of air, I wondered if I’d knocked the breath out of him. I leaned in close to his doubled-over form and listened for the sound of his breathing. Arms wrapped around his stomach, he leaned against the doorframe. He was still on his feet, so I assumed I hadn’t killed him.

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my own breath until I needed to exhale and inhale before I could speak. “Can you breathe?” My voice caught in my throat. He wasn’t dead, but what if I’d caused a terrible injury? What if he didn’t recover? Augusta would never forgive me. I felt the blood drain from my face and thought I might faint. I couldn’t be certain if it was fear or the tight corset, but I didn’t want to swoon.

Tyson gave one nod and slowly tipped his head far enough to drill me with an angry glare. “That . . . was . . . unnecessary.”

That he was well enough to be angry gave me assurance I hadn’t mortally wounded him. And his unwarranted accusation infused me with renewed strength. I stood tall and squared my shoulders.

“If you think that was an intentional act on my part, it only reflects how little you know about me. I would never do such a thing.”

Using the doorframe as a support, he straightened. Still clasping his waist, he looked at me. The anger suddenly disappeared from his eyes and was replaced by a look I couldn’t quite discern—as though he’d had a revelation of sorts. No matter the reason, I was thankful his anger had dissipated and offered yet another apology, even though he was as much at fault as I.

I don’t know if Tyson accepted my apology. There wasn’t time for me to wait. If I didn’t soon get upstairs and have Augusta untie my corset laces, I was going to faint or expel the contents of my stomach on the highly polished Italian tile, a debacle for which Mrs. Galloway would not soon forgive me. The idea of such an occurrence created a tickle in the back of my throat. Only the pressure of my corset stayed a fit of giggles.

I signaled one of the maids to bring Tyson a glass of water and hastened upstairs, where I was confronted by a pouting Augusta.

There was no time to placate her. “Unfasten my dress and loosen my corset before I faint.” When she didn’t move, I added, “Or I’m going to disgorge the contents of my stomach on your dressing table.” That brought her across the room in record time.

The pout remained, but she nimbly loosened my garments. The relief was immediate. I inhaled and then exhaled a cleansing breath of air. “That feels so good. You can’t imagine the pain I’ve suffered since going to the kitchen. I
can
tell you the food your mother plans to serve at the party is absolutely marvelous.”

Augusta didn’t seem to care about the food or my discomfort—only that we were going to be late making our appearance at the front door. I did my best to send her without me, but she insisted the maids were busy and there was no one to help with my dress. With genuine misgiving, I turned and inhaled—but only a little.

“The corset needs to be taut or the dress isn’t going to fasten. Take another deep breath.”

I pretended to inhale but simply could not bear that unyielding piece of feminine misery pressing on my ribs for the remainder of the night. If the dress didn’t fasten, I’d remain in the bedroom. Augusta could say I was ill, which wouldn’t be far from the truth!

Undeterred by my lack of cooperation, Augusta continued her efforts. She yanked and tugged and finally exclaimed, “There! I’ve got the dress completely fastened.”

I sighed. At least exhaling air helped a little. Of course, exhaling required that I inhale. Therein lay the difficulty. I could only hope that the food would soon digest and I’d feel a smidgen of relief. Perhaps that was why the Bible warned against gluttony. I would ask Mrs. Wilson rather than Mr. Tobarth. Explaining my difficulties to a man would be highly improper—and embarrassing. The thought of mentioning undergarments to Mr. Tobarth made my stomach lurch. I held my palm to my mouth.

“You’re not going to . . .”

I shook my head. “No. I’ll be fine. Just give me a moment.” I knew I’d feel better if I could empty my stomach, but Augusta was motioning me toward the door.

Both Ronald and Tyson were waiting in the foyer. Tyson stood with his palm resting across his waist. His thumb was tucked into his vest pocket, and I couldn’t be sure if he was assuming a gentlemanly posture or if his stomach still ached. He frowned in my direction, but I pretended not to notice.

Ronald extended his hand when I reached the final step. “You look absolutely lovely, Carrie.”

“Isn’t that the dress you wore to the concert earlier in the month, Augusta?” Tyson peered at my gown and then looked at Augusta for confirmation.

“No! I wore a deep gold silk with embroidered flowers on the bodice.” Augusta’s brow puckered. “You said it was the most beautiful gown you’d ever seen.”

Tyson recoiled at the stinging remark, and a sense of self-satisfaction wrapped around me like a warm coat. Unfortunately, my smug reaction collided with the distinct feeling God would disapprove of my haughty attitude. I did my best to erase the high-and-mighty feelings, but it was difficult. I held out a glimmer of hope that Augusta would see Tyson as I did—a boorish cad who couldn’t be trusted.

Tyson tugged on his vest and assumed a look of arrogant sophistication. “I was merely confused. You have so many lovely gowns, and you look gorgeous in every one of them.” Tyson’s placating tone had the effect he’d obviously hoped for: Augusta preened and grasped his arm.

His quick recovery and Augusta’s response obliterated my earlier optimism. My friend was a hopeless romantic who couldn’t see beyond Tyson’s good looks and smooth words.

“Shall we go for a stroll in the garden?”

Ronald’s question interrupted my thoughts. “You don’t have to remain here and greet the guests?”

“Mother said that she and Augusta would handle those duties and I should circulate among the guests as they came out to the garden.” He grinned and leaned closer. “She told me to be particularly careful that I didn’t turn you loose among the guests. Something about you being prone to fits of laughter.” We crossed through the parlor and out the doors leading to the garden.

Not for a minute did I believe my giggling was the reason Mrs. Galloway wanted me under Ronald’s constant scrutiny. I was certain she feared my family background and lack of social graces would prove embarrassing. We had neared a fountain with a statue of a woman pouring water from a pitcher when a frightful thought brought me to a sudden halt.

What if Mrs. Galloway asked Ronald to remain close because she thought I’d been the one who had stolen her necklace? The possibility caused a stabbing pain in my head, and I instinctively touched my hair. One wiggle of a feather pinned in my coiffure and I realized the smarting had been caused by a hairpin rather than my worrisome idea. Still, the thought nagged at me.

As the guests entered the garden, Ronald moved among them, making proper introductions and carefully guiding the conversation to something other than me. Mostly he talked about himself—the rowing team, the debate awards, his excellent grades, his future plans, and how pleased he was to be working alongside his father during the summer. I found the information interesting the first one or two times, and then it turned tiresome.

While he repeated the litany to yet another couple, I glanced around the garden. My knees turned to jelly as I locked gazes with Detective Lawton. What was
he
doing here? He tipped his head in recognition, and his bald head shone in the waning sunlight. I’d been holding my breath, and when I exhaled, the stays in my corset gripped my midsection like a legion of iron fingers.

When I finally was alone with Ronald, I inquired about the detective’s presence. “It was Detective Lawton’s idea. He thought the party might prove a perfect opportunity to discover the identity of the thief or thieves, though I’m not certain why. You do know that later that night Mother discovered two of her rings missing from the safe, as well.”

His comment set my heart pounding. No one had mentioned any missing rings to me. Had the information been intentionally withheld? Was this some sort of ruse? Were they planning to catch me in a trap? Was the detective watching for a reaction? I did my best to remain calm. “No. Augusta must have forgotten to mention the rings. Is your mother certain nothing else was taken?”

Ronald shrugged. “I don’t know, and Mother is of little help providing facts. She’s hopeful the detective will soon sort things out.”

It was obvious the subject of Detective Lawton and the missing jewelry didn’t interest him in the least. He was soon making another introduction and recounting his many collegial accomplishments.

As the party progressed, I lost sight of the detective. By the time the last of the guests left, I realized I had managed to stay away from him the entire evening, and for that I was most grateful. The moment I could pull Augusta away from Tyson, we went upstairs. I couldn’t wait to remove my gown and corset.

I had hoped to ask her about the missing rings, but her ongoing litany about Tyson prevented me from doing so. My eyes grew heavy as she droned on, and once I donned my nightgown, I decided the questions could wait until morning.

I was the only guest at breakfast. Tyson remained abed, claiming illness, which didn’t surprise me. It was, after all, Sunday morning. I wondered if he would do another disappearing act while we were attending church.

Mrs. Galloway took center stage and throughout the meal rehashed the previous night’s events. It seemed her greatest worry was whether she’d be judged acceptable to join the rank and file members of Collinsford society—especially those living in Fair Oaks. “Laura Wentworth says I have nothing to worry about, but you can never be certain.” She took a bite of her coddled egg and stared down the table at her husband. “The guests all thought it rather exciting that we had a detective hidden among the crowd. Did Detective Lawton have anything to report?”