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Deadly Curious
Author: Cindy Anstey

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MY WONDERFUL FAMILY, ESPECIALLY MIKE, CHRISTINE, DEB, AND DAN, AND NEW MEMBERS OF THE CREW, IAN, NICOLE, AND PRECIOUS SCARLETT.

 

 

Before

 

He lounged under the ancient elm tree as dusk painted the sky a soft blush. Yawning, he tugged at the fob of his silver pocket watch and confirmed that he had waited well past the usual meeting hour. With a shake of his head, he stood, smoothed the wrinkles from his trousers, and started toward the path.

An unnatural stillness settled throughout the forest; the howling wind was muted, the leaves no longer rattled, and the birds were silent. Frowning, he squinted into the shadows all around him.

Deliberate, stealthy footfalls crunched through the rough grasses.

His heart quickened, and he swallowed in discomfort. Discomfort was soon replaced by fear.

This is ridiculous, he chided, giving himself a mental shake. There was no reason to be afraid. And yet this logic did nothing to stop the fear from growing.

“Who’s there?” he called out.

He received no reply.

A twig snapped close by, and suddenly, he was running. He raced for the path at the edge of the glade, the fastest way out of the woods. And then he stumbled, tripped by an animal snare. He fell to his knees, struggled to untangle the wire—

A sharp, intense pain under his ribs stilled his hands. He felt a warm cascade spill across his gut and he tilted, slowly collapsing to the ground.

As he lay in a puddle of blood, a figure stood over him.

“Why?” he managed with his last choking breath.

The figure did not answer, and the silence of death filled the glade.

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

Investigating Murder and Mayhem

 

JULY 1834

As she had hoped, Sophia Thompson found the Risely Hall library empty. Choosing the settee closest to the window, she dropped onto it in an unseemly sprawl. Quickly breaking the seal of the letter, she turned it toward the light and prayed for good news.

But it was not to be.

Dearest Cousin Sophia,

While I would like to talk of pretty dresses and my newest pony, I can’t. Other, much more weighty matters possess my every waking thought—besides, my dresses are still in the planning stage and the new pony is a plodder—hardly exciting, at all.

You were wrong! Life has not returned to normal! Nearly a year since Andrew’s murder, and the tension in the manor increases daily. The family is in danger of shattering into a thousand pieces.

I cannot ease the anxiety that eats at every person in the house. I have tried … distracting Mother with conversations about the neighbors, pestering William with sisterly fun, and talking to Father about field rotation (whatever that might be). Nor can I unravel the purpose behind Andrew’s killing.

And to make matters worse, there are rumors that Constable Marley wants to close the case, and is looking to accuse someone, anyone, of my brother’s murder—even Father! It makes no sense. Why would Father kill his son and heir? Really, there is no logic in some people!

As you see, we are desperate! Andrew’s murder must be solved quickly and the villain brought to justice before Constable Marley locks Father in irons or an angry mob burns down the house. Perhaps I exaggerate a trifle, but there is no telling what will happen in these unsettled times. I have no faith in Constable Marley’s ability to solve the mystery of Andrew’s death. What if the murderer still has his sights on the rest of the Waverley family? One day, we might all wake up dead.

By now you must realize the purpose of my letter. We need you! Yes, we need you and your inquisitive mind. You love puzzles and mysteries—the very reason you wish to be a detective. This case would go a long way to recommend you for training as a police investigator … if you succeed, of course. But I have far more faith in your clear thinking than the little minds around the town of West Ravenwood.

You must come to Allenton Park straightaway! And while you are here, we will prepare for a joint coming-out. Yes, I know it is a trivial consideration in light of Andrew’s death, but I need to escape this eternal dread somehow.

Please help me. I am in desperate need of a friend—someone I can trust. I have no one else to turn to.

Be sure it is your papa you ask about a visit. I’m not sure that your mama thinks kindly of this side of the family.

Please hurry. Time is running out.

Your loving cousin,

Daphne

 

Sophia frowned at the letter as she reread it. She was almost sick with worry when she read the letter a third time. Such hysteria was not like her cousin Daphne at all.

Giving her head a shake, Sophia tried to stave off her worry. She must think logically … as a Bow Street Detective would do. Logic and calm!

Holding up her fingers, Sophia took a deep breath and counted off the oddities of Daphne’s letter and why they bothered her:

One. While Daphne had a tendency toward melodrama, this was excessive, and her cousin’s call for help, uncharacteristic.

Two. Daphne was close to her brother, William, and yet he had warranted only a passing mention.

Three. Daphne had spoken of her coming-out in such a way that it almost equaled her concern about her family.

Four. Daphne mentioned, almost casually, that Uncle Edward could be arrested, accused of Andrew’s death.

What was going on in West Ravenwood?

Sophia gulped a deep breath of air, calming her racing heart, and turned her eyes to the window.

Andrew’s death had affected them all; although over time, the great sorrow of his loss had tempered into a dull ache of sadness. While alive, Andrew had been … difficult. His teasing often had a nasty edge, and he showed no interest in his sister or cousin’s conversation, interrupting or walking away midsentence. It was most irritating but not unexpected, for Andrew was well aware of his exalted position as son and heir. But since his murder, Sophia had come to appreciate those few—too few—memories of when Andrew had shown her kindness.

Sophia shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. It did not matter what type of person Andrew was—he had not deserved his fate. The mystery of his death needed to be solved. The murderer had to be found and punished. And if the constable in West Ravenwood was unable to do so without throwing out false accusations, then someone else was needed. Yes, perhaps even a green girl with an ambition to be a Bow Street Runner.

The Waverleys needed her. Daphne needed her.

Were she able, Sophia would have raced upstairs, grabbed some clothes, and set off on the high road, rushing north to West Ravenwood that very moment. But Sophia was not equipped to dash off by herself as of yet. At eighteen she needed funds and parental permission. Not to mention a horse, carriage, maid, a satchel … Dashing off was not as quickly achieved as it was so often stylized in fiction.

But Daphne needed help, and as quickly as possible.

Looking toward the door, Sophia imagined her mother in the morning room across the hall, a scowl on her face as she sat surrounded by overstuffed pillows. She knew her mother would not agree to a hurried journey north, but as Daphne had suggested, her father might.

Jumping to her feet, Sophia raced into the hall, hurrying across the tile on tiptoes, trying to make as little noise as possible. It was fortunate that her father’s study was closer than the morning room, and Sophia ducked in without encountering her mother.

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