The Scandalous Sisterhood of Prickwillow Place (24 page)

The young man fixed his gaze piously upon the painting before them both, but there was mischief in the corners of his eyes, Kitty was certain. And then, uncertain. Somehow he seemed to take in both Kitty and the painting simultaneously. Again she noticed his skin, more brown from the sun than anyone in Ely so early in the year, and the note in his pronunciation she could not quite place. But she could not let his last word pass.

“Masterpiece indeed!”

“Don’t you think so?”

A pair of elderly ladies seated close by turned to frown at them. Kitty covered her mouth with her hand. In the background, Reverend Rumsey’s voice droned on. “… and Mrs. Livonia Butts, for her generous donation of her award-winning butter, so ingeniously sculpted into frolicking hams … I’m sorry, that’s frolicking lambs…”

The young man leaned in closer to whisper, pointing at the painting as he did so. “Let us analyze this painting, and prove my theory. There’s an airy lightness to the building that belies its solid bulk. The artist has defied stale notions of line and form, and branched out into bold new territory with curves. One almost feels the cathedral is a smoky apparition that will
f
loat away upon the next breeze.”

Kitty tried not to snort. “What rubbish! It looks like it’s made of gelatin.”

He raised an eyebrow quizzically, and peered at the painting. Kitty began to doubt herself. Was he serious? He sounded so well-trained in the language of art. Gelatin! Had her inane comments painted her to be a fool?

And why should she care if they had?

She watched his face anxiously for some sign, and saw his gaze move quickly to the placard naming the artist, T. Richardson. He looked back at the painting, and then at her.

A new and dreadful thought gripped Kitty. Was
he
T. Richardson? Had she just insulted
his
painting? Even if it was a gelatinous mess, Kitty would never dream of saying so to its creator. And especially when its creator had such a pleasant forehead. Well, dark curls, rather. Or was it the line of the nose? The thoughtful expression, surely. The brown Adam’s apple might distract one’s gaze, but that was only a comment upon the pure whiteness of its surrounding white collar. And
that
was a simple matter of good laundering.

Kitty began to feel a bit dizzy. The room around her ruptured into applause, for apparently the vicar had concluded his litany of gratitude. The young man began to clap as well, and as he did so he leaned in close to speak in Kitty’s ear.

“I take issue with your assessment of the painting. You are too harsh a critic. I would more likely call it a mousse.”

Kitty was too mortified to listen. “Oh, Mr. Richardson, I do apologize. My knowledge of art is so…” The abrupt end to the applause drew up her short. She whispered. “So limited. I’ve no right to judge.” She collected her wits. “Wait. Did you just say
mousse
?”

The young man’s eyes twinkled. “Mr. Richardson, am I? You cut me to the quick!”

A weedy-looking youth took the dais and began to play a breathy air upon his
f
lute.

“
Aren’t
you Mr. Richardson?”

He shook his head. “Not this evening, at any rate.”

Kitty began to feel unsure of who
she
was that evening. “You’re better versed at art, anyway,” she said, recognizing this for the feeble statement it was.

“At pretending, you mean,” he said. “I’ve seen more cathedral drawings since I walked through these doors than I’ll wish to see in a lifetime. I only came over here to see why a young lady such as yourself should be standing here alone, staring at sketches and muttering to herself.”

Kitty, who felt anything but smooth tonight, would have traded her inheritance to know exactly what this person meant by, “a young lady
such as yourself
.” But not even a queen’s ransom would induce her to ask.

Kitty’s attention was brought up short by the sudden appearance of Mr. Leland Murphy, bowing to her. “I beg your pardon,” he whispered. “Forgive my interruption. Is your friend, Miss Alice, here this evening?”

Without thinking, Kitty gestured toward the table where Stout Alice sat, then caught her error. “No. I’m sorry. She felt unwell tonight, and remained at home.” She saw disappointment pass across Leland Murphy’s unprepossessing face and made a
f
lash discovery. Leland
Murphy?
Was he the reason why Alice was so reluctant to come to the social as Mrs. Plackett? Leland Murphy! How could it be possible? Mary Jane called him odious, and though Kitty would not have been so harsh, even she could agree he was, at best, unfortunate in his endowment of personal charms. But over his shoulder she saw Stout Alice watch Kitty speak with him, with an expression that betrayed all. Alice’s other beau, Admiral Lockwood, unaware of his young rival, had taken her hand in his while with the other he urged her to drink her punch.

Leland Murphy regained control of his expression and bowed abruptly. “Will you convey to her my best wishes for her health?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left.

“Poor fellow,” observed her companion, who had watched this exchange with interest.

Kitty noticed again the strange note in his accent. “You’re not from Ely, are you?”

“Originally,” he said. “Christened right here at Saint Mary’s. But I’ve grown up in the colonies. My mother and I are here visiting after many years away.”

That explained his sunbaked color. “How do you find England after such an absence?”

He paused to consider. “Pleasant,” he said. “But smoky, and gray, and wet. We were in London two weeks before coming here. I think my mother hoped I’d be dazzled by its society. But I prefer the wildlife at home to London.” He smiled at Kitty, and she found the effect entirely unsettling. “I suspect I shall prefer both the climate and the society right here in Ely.”

Kitty felt warmth rising in her cheeks and hoped her
f
lush didn’t show. If she were as bronzed as he, her feelings would not be so easily advertised. She caught sight of Stout Alice turning to look at her, with a perplexed expression. What a spectacle she must seem! She should hurry back to the table. But she couldn’t tear herself away just yet.

“Besides,” the young man said, with a playful glance at the cathedral painting. “London’s galleries can’t compete with Ely’s art.”

Kitty suppressed a laugh. “Stop! You’re too cruel.”

“Cruel? You’re the one calling every work of art a gelatin.” He steered her a pace down the wall. “Look. Speaking of gelatin, here’s a sketch of a fisherman with his basket full of eels. Lifelike, yes? An eel jelly of a painting. One feels as slimy and wet as the piece’s subject.”

Kitty couldn’t help giggling. The young man’s laughter didn’t help matters. Mercifully, the
f
lutist’s song ended, and applause filled the chamber, covering their crimes. They added their own guilty applause to the noise. Over in the corner Kitty caught a glimpse of Mary Jane pulling away teasingly from the curtain in the far end of the room. The constable seized hold of her hand and kissed it for an eternity and Mary Jane made no protest at being thus pulled back. Such behavior, and in public! Kitty would
f
lay Mary Jane alive for it. Then she realized she’d clapped a beat or two longer than the rest of the room, and blushed to find her gentleman stranger watching her with an amused look. Flaying Mary Jane could wait.

“I saw you today,” the young man said. “I was out riding.”

Kitty had no wish to remember
how
he’d seen her. “Are you fond of strolling our English country lanes on horseback?”

“I could be, with good company to pass the time,” he said. “Today I went in search of someone’s home. Directions led me to where I saw you—and you ought to have at least waved to an old friend—”

“Old friend!” Kitty protested.

“Yes, an old friend. As I say, directions led me there, but I have it on good authority that my address was wrong. Did I have the pleasure of meeting your sister, two days ago?”

Kitty shook her head. Who could he mean? “I have no sister.”

He cocked his head. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

Kitty recognized the allusion. “A reader of Mr. Carroll’s book, are you?” The young man smiled. “I must ask you, sir,” whispered Kitty, “whether you are in the habit of buying caramels and
f
linging them at every young lady you meet.”

He regarded her with a look of wounded surprise. “Surely not,” he said. “I discriminate carefully, and save my
flinging
, as you so callously call it, for only those young ladies whom I can tell favor caramels.”

“You’d be hard pressed to find half a dozen young ladies in all of England who
don’t
favor caramels.”

The young man was undaunted by this rebuke. “But I,” he said, “can spot the difference between a workaday taste for sweets, and the palate of a true connoisseur. I knew at a glance that your sensibilities in the matter of caramels would be as astute as they are in the matter of cathedral paintings and eel jellies.”

Kitty could only shake her head and try hard not to laugh. “You are a bold one, sir.”

“So much so,” he bowed politely, “that I now make bold to ask your name.”

There would be no telling this person no, and truth to tell, she had no wish to try. “Kitty. Katherine!” Oh, foolish slip, to use her pet name! “Katherine Heaton.”

“Well, Kitty Katherine Heaton, it is entirely my privilege to meet you.” He bowed once more. “I hope we shall again have the pleasure of discussing art and other subjects in their turn.”

“It’s Katherine,” she said firmly. She gave up trying to hide her pleasure. “Our chances of discussing art again, or any other subject, will be materially improved if I, also, learn your name. ‘The Young Man from the Parish Social’ will scarcely suffice for an introduction.”

As she spoke, Kitty’s attention was fractured by hearing a familiar name announced as the evening’s next performer. “… the pleasure of hearing Mrs. Constance Plackett, of Saint Etheldreda’s School, who will sing, ‘’Tis Not Fine Feathers Make Fine Birds,’ by Masters Carpenter and Spoble.” Alice’s song! Oh, no. She should hurry back to her table. But must she?
Good luck, Alice,
she thought.
I … I will listen and support you. From over here.

Her companion was unaware of Kitty’s dilemma, but he noticed Reverend Rumsey’s introduction. He seemed to grow excited. “At last! I must pause to hear this particular number,” he said, “for sentimental reasons. But first, permit me to introduce myself to you. Julius Godding, lately of Bombay, India, at your service.”

CHAPTER 19

The words fell soft on Kitty’s ears. Soft as the folds of a snow-white cravat.

Bombay, India. Darling Julius Godding. Not a child, not lying in a sickbed, and certainly not in India anymore. Her
f
lights of fancy, her musings over coats and caramels, her
f
lattery, even, and all the while this person was
Darling Julius Godding
.

“Excuse me.” Kitty pushed past him and all but ran to her table. She must warn the others. They would
f
lee from this party and make a new plan, and quickly. Once Constable Quill got wind of who this newcomer was, he wouldn’t rest until he’d combed over Saint Etheldreda’s School with his magnifying glass and notebook.

Kitty slipped into Alice’s vacant chair, dabbed her forehead with her handkerchief, and willed her pulse to resume its normal smooth drumbeat.

Pocked Louise’s eyes met hers, and she leaned in close. “What’s the matter, Kitty?”

Kitty didn’t trust herself yet to speak. Her mouth felt dry. She reached for a drink then remembered it wasn’t hers.
Julius Godding is here tonight.
If she had kept a level head she might have asked him useful questions. She might even have found a way to intervene, to forestall the inevitable disaster if she’d kept her wits—if, in fact, she hadn’t parted with her wits when she first noticed Mr. Godding’s Indian suntan.

Oh, the cruel mischance that he should arrive
now
, of all times, and ruin everything!

Now.

Of all times.

Two weeks in London. A few days at least in Ely.

Mrs. Plackett, poisoned. Her brother, a likely heir, eliminated. And here, out of nowhere, was the chief heir, poised to inherit. She shook the bitter thought from her mind. Could those smiling eyes belong to a
murderer
?

The air in the crowded hall wavered with heat, but Kitty felt chilled.

Stout Alice climbed the dais, nodded once to her hosts, and then to Martha at the spinet. Martha received the cue and began playing the lively introduction.

“It’s always a treat to hear your headmistress sing.” Admiral Lockwood nodded congenially to Kitty. Her smile made a weak reply. The admiral held up a glass of punch towards the dais as if toasting Mrs. Plackett, and drank.

Finally the introduction ended—Martha had been obliged to play it twice—and Stout Alice took a brave deep breath and began to sing:

A peacock came, with his plumage gay. Strutting in regal pride one day, where a small bird hung in a gilded cage, whose song might a seraph’s ear engage.

Kitty rather doubted that Alice’s song might engage a seraph’s ear, or that of any other heavenly creature. Alice’s expression was a mask of stoic misery. She would sing this song if it killed her. Kitty looked around the room to see if any earthly ears had detected a false note in their performer’s voice. But the only face her eyes found in the sea of people was Julius Godding’s, listening with that same thoughtful attention he’d given to the sham cathedral painting. He caught Kitty looking at him, and smiled. Kitty turned away.

As soon as this song was over, she vowed to herself, they’d leave. She’d pry Mary Jane away from her policeman and shake off those eager theological students, and Henry Butts would drive them home. No question, he’d leave the party early for their sakes. He’d wrestle a score of hungry eels for Mary Jane’s sake. Then Kitty noticed the farmer’s son leaning against the wall, watching Martha play the piano. Something in his look made Kitty pause. Could it be someone else at Saint Etheldreda’s upon whom Henry’s attention rested? This discovery sent her thoughts spinning back to the painting gallery, where Mr. Godding still stood, joined now by a handsome woman of middle age who could only be his mother.
For shame, Kitty! Quit gawking!
Then Kitty’s roving gaze singled out Miss Fringle, staring at Stout Alice. The choir mistress’s face was livid. She clearly wasn’t fooled by Alice’s voice. Oh, they couldn’t leave here fast enough.