“I’m thinking, Mrs. Curtis, as my uncle directed me to do … about ladies’ magazines … with dress patterns and hair suggestions.”
Sophia stood and smoothed her skirts, contemplating her next course of action. She wished to talk further with Mr. Fraser, of course. “But it is now time to commune with nature. Some fresh air.” And with that, Sophia walked across the entrance hall—just in time.
The brass handle rattled as it was turned and the study door opened.
* * *
Sophia stood on the threshold of the front door for some time, listening to Mr. Fraser as he made his goodbyes to Uncle Edward. It was a stiff dismissal on the part of both gentlemen and fairly lengthy, as Uncle seemed determined to advise Mr. Fraser on how to go about his business. Sophia could imagine how well that was appreciated.
Taking the opportunity to slip further down the drive, Sophia half walked, half ran to the other side of the flower bed. It would appear—or at least she hoped it would—as if she were taking a walk in the garden and just happened to bump into Mr. Fraser as he was leaving.
She knelt beside a dahlia, appreciating the plant’s symmetry. She was waiting, breathing deeply, trying to calm her pounding heart, and chastised herself for her overexcitement when she heard it.
It was the sound of stealth. Someone walking slowly and cautiously in her direction.
Sophia gulped and stood slowly, resisting the urge to whirl around. Footsteps were not unusual; this was an active manor with plenty of men and women in service inside and outside the big house. The sound of movement was nothing to cause fear. It was only the appearance—or rather the impression—of stealth that made her uncomfortable. Turning slowly, Sophia looked for the cause of her discomfort.
The soft early afternoon light was dappled under the oaks lining the drive; the lawns and garden beds were lush, well-manicured, and deserted. Nary a soul wandered down the drive. No one raked the lawns or clipped the hedges. There seemed to be no one about and yet … the shadows under the third oak looked somewhat misshapen.
As if someone were crouched behind the large trunk, trying to hide.
A sudden bang jerked Sophia’s gaze to the manor. A multitude of windows stared back, and she was suddenly aware of being clearly visible to anyone within those walls. A blurred shape passed in front of one of the open windows on the second floor, and Sophia squinted at it, trying to understand what—and likely who—it was.
And then Sophia swallowed her nerves and chuckled in self-deprecation at her overly active sense of fear. The bang was undoubtedly the noise of the window being opened—certainly no cause to panic. Giving the window one last glance before walking away, Sophia was pleased to note that there was nothing to see.
She would have to keep her fears in check, if she were to make a career of investigating. Jumping at every little noise and shadow would not do her any good.
With a casual glance over her shoulder, Sophia stepped away from the manor and then stopped abruptly. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pivoted until she faced the manor once more. And there she stood motionless, except for a wildly beating heart, barely breathing.
A face—there was no doubt of its nature this time—stared down at her from the second story. It had a surreal quality, as it was all that stood out. Eyes, mouth, and nose, the rest was cloaked in shadow. It was far enough away that Sophia was not provided with a gender or an identity, but the face was clear enough that Sophia could see the downturn of the person’s mouth, the folded brow, and the piercing gaze.
In an attempt to hide her dismay, Sophia lifted her hand in greeting. The eyes continued to stare straight at her, projecting revulsion and disgust.
CHAPTER FIVE
Fear and Loathing
Jeremy frowned at the chair sitting next to the study door. It looked better suited to a dining room than the grand entry of a manor. Of more significance, it hadn’t been there when Jeremy had entered the room to talk to Mr. Waverley.
With a mental shrug, Jeremy returned his thoughts to the more important dilemma of Mr. Andrew Waverley’s untimely demise. Mr. Waverley had not been brimming with additional information; Jeremy knew little more now than what he had gleaned from Miss Thompson and Miss Waverley.
However, Mr. Waverley had bestowed upon him the possible weapon used by the murderer; Jeremy clutched it protectively, wrapped up in his handkerchief. If it indeed was the instrument of murder … Jeremy had been with the Runners long enough to take nothing for granted.
Nodding to Darren, the footman, Jeremy stepped outside the manor and took a deep breath of fresh air. Oh, how he missed the tranquility of the countryside. London was active and exciting, but also noisy and dirty. This was a welcome respite.
Shifting the knife to his left hand, Jeremy stared out across the front lawn; it was thriving and appeared lush in its summer finery. The central flower bed was resplendent in bright globes—flowers with red petals in a round shape, adding a cheerful splash of color.
And standing next to the bright red flowers was a lovely young lady. Jeremy smiled … until he remembered the seriousness of his visit. He could not—should not—be distracted by the entrancing character of one Miss Sophia Thompson. Still, he need not be rude and ignore her presence, either.
“Hullo!” he called quickly as Miss Thompson looked to be turning away; it would deprive him of the pleasure of her company.
She glanced toward him with a frown. It was not the friendly greeting that he had been expecting. Granted, he had only been out of her company for thirty minutes or so. But she looked more than unfriendly. She seemed … agitated. Could he have done something to cause this unexpected reaction?
“Is all well, Miss Thompson?” he asked as he stepped closer, concerned more than he should have been to be on the outs with the lovely young lady.
Still looking up at the manor, Miss Thompson nodded in an absentminded manner. “Hmm,” she said, confusing Jeremy entirely.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“Oh! I apologize.” Turning to face him once more, she blinked as if only just realizing where she was. “I had the strange sensation that I was being watched.”
“That would not be a surprise, Miss Thompson,” Jeremy said with confidence. “A pretty young lady wandering about is sure to attract attention. You are standing before countless windows.”
Miss Thompson looked at him for some moments, a frown growing increasingly deep on her forehead. “No,” she said eventually, with a shake of her head. “It will not do.”
“What will not do?”
A grin replaced her frown. “Flattery. It will not dissuade me. While I appreciate the compliment, it will not distract me. Though you are right about the windows—many face this direction and any number of persons might be looking out. But what about the drive?”
“The drive?”
“Yes. Moments ago, I had the sensation that I was being observed from the drive as well. You know … tingles on the back of your neck and a mysterious discomfort.” She pointed toward the third oak.
“Behind that tree?” Jeremy started forward as soon as Miss Thompson nodded. He marched to the tree with every intention of giving the person responsible for Miss Thompson’s discomfort a good dressing down. He was most displeased that someone, anyone, would make Miss Thompson uneasy.