Sophia opened her mouth to respond, but her cousin was not done.
“He’s not quite right, Sophia,” Daphne said, gesturing toward her head. “And I can only say this to you because you are family … I would never say such a thing to someone like … Charlotte. No, Father is not acting like Father. He hides in his study scribbling on paper, muttering to himself.
“And then there is Mother. She’s so easily distracted. We’ll be talking, discussing important matters—such as the color of my next ball gown—and Mother will turn to me and say ‘Would Andrew like a puppy?’ My dead brother! Would my dead brother want a puppy? Really?!” Daphne shook her head vehemently, knocking her bonnet askew. “You see what I have to put up with. And then William snaps at me for singing in the garden—says it disturbs the bees. I can’t do anything right. I can’t say anything right.”
She looked near to crying and Sophia reached out, pulling Daphne in for a cousinly hug.
Squaring her shoulders, Daphne swallowed and then straightened her bonnet. “I have started restricting my conversation. Talking about the weather or what’s for supper. Voicing my opinion on anything gets everyone’s back up and so I say nothing. Well, I might mutter under my breath, or write a letter to you or talk to Charlotte or cry on Miss MacIntyre’s shoulder … which I cannot do anymore.
“And all the while, I keep thinking if only we knew what happened to Andrew. Why he was killed, who killed him. Then we could put him to rest, get on with our lives. Father would stop trying to solve the mystery, Mother could remember she still has another son and a daughter, and William could stop blaming me for everything!” Daphne turned to face the road once more. “Everything,” she whispered, then continued to walk.
Sophia stared after Daphne for a moment before hurrying to catch up. She put her arm through her cousin’s and gave her an affectionate squeeze.
Daphne did not realize that she was acting out of character as well—anxious and troubled. The whole Waverley family was in desperate need to know what had happened to Andrew. And yet, as Sophia strolled down the road toward the market town of West Ravenwood, she found herself momentarily distracted by a simpler question.
Who is Charlotte?
“He was rather handsome,” Daphne suddenly said with great enthusiasm.
Sophia startled, surprised by the abrupt change of subject and mood of her cousin. “Who?”
“The Runner. Dreamy blue eyes.”
“Were they?” Sophia asked. She supposed the young gentleman’s eyes were engaging, his expression approachable … Perhaps that was what Daphne meant by dreamy. But more importantly, the Runner was a Runner! It was most exciting to see a detective in action … well, sort of in action.
Uncle Edward had made short shrift of his arrival, practically giving him a heave-ho out the door. She would have loved to have been there while the Runner had asked his questions. To talk to him about his approach to solving the murder of her cousin nearly a year after Andrew had been killed. There was so much she could have learned, speaking to this officer of Bow Street.
Still, all was not lost. He was not gone but was staying in West Ravenwood, meeting Uncle Edward this afternoon. She would make certain she was nearby during that meeting. But before their meeting, she would talk to Constable Marley and get the unemotional story behind Andrew’s death.
“Is the haberdashery near the jeweler?” Sophia asked.
“Down a block and on the other side of the street. Did you need some fabric or needles?”
Sophia lifted her shoulders in a lackluster shrug. “I wish to talk to the constable about Andrew.” She was not sure what Daphne’s reaction would be. Daphne knew of Sophia’s aspirations to be a detective, but did she really wish for Sophia to investigate her brother’s death, or had she simply wanted a companion with which to commiserate? “Constable Marley runs the haberdashery, I believe.”
“Yes, he does. That is an excellent idea. Perhaps you can help each other solve the mystery, although, Constable Marley has become rather prickly about the subject. We can stop by the haberdashery after we pick up the pendant.” Daphne grabbed Sophia’s hand. “The Runner might be there.”
“Mr. Fraser?”
“Yes, him.”
The sound of an approaching coach sent Sophia and Daphne to the side of the road; they watched it pass and then stepped back onto the gravel. Within a block they had passed the Unicorn and Crown, and Sophia found her thoughts wandering to the intelligent blue eyes of one Mr. Jeremy Fraser.
* * *
The haberdashery was a narrow sewing notions shop squeezed between a dry-goods store and a stationer on the main road. Crowded with wares, a restricted aisle to the back office was where Constable Marley ran the policing of the town. Sophia and Daphne were forced to wait while a sour-faced woman and her daughter finished purchasing a set of colored pencils. Once the girls had maneuvered their way to the back, they stood before a closed door, listening to loud but indistinct voices on the other side. Sophia lifted her hand to knock, hesitant to interrupt.
Suddenly the door was flung open to reveal a large man with jowly cheeks and small eyes. Constable Marley was showing Mr. Fraser out of his office.
“What you fail to realize, young man, is that it is an insult. Yes, an insult. Asking the Bow Street Runners for assistance while I be handling the case is the same as saying that I’m not doing me job!” An angry flush climbed up Constable Marley’s face. “You will have to get your information elsewhere. Mr. Waverley has no business interfering.”
“It is very much his business! What father would not try to discover who had killed their child?”
Constable Marley harrumphed—a raucous clearing of his throat. “That gives him no right to consult the Runners without notifying me!”
Mr. Fraser, who was facing the door, glanced out the opening and met Sophia’s questioning gaze. His expression cleared almost immediately, and he smiled in a way that left Sophia slightly breathless and confused. Then he returned his attention to the constable. “I believe there are others who wish to speak to you, sir.”
The constable whirled around, lifting his lips into a smile—with no true benevolence—in the girls’ general direction. “Young ladies, what can I do for you?” His eyes lit on Daphne with recognition, and he nodded with a modicum of respect.
Sophia took the lead, stepping slightly forward. “Good day, Constable. I am Sophia Thompson, cousin to Miss Waverley. My father and I arrived yesterday at Allenton Park. We, or rather I, was hoping to discuss the progress of my cousin Andrew’s case. I understand that there has been a development—”
Constable Marley held up his hand, silencing her with a look. “No. I will not discuss this case with you or Mr. Fraser. You can discuss it among yourselves if you like, but I will not participate. I am tired of the whole mess. There are no answers to be had. The only person acting out of order, in a suspicious-like manner, is Mr. Waverley. Sneaking through the underbrush, poking at the shrubberies. And I will not be party to finger-pointing without evidence. I’ve better things to do.”
“But—” Mr. Fraser began.
“Off you go.” The constable shifted out of the doorway. “I’m sure Miss Thompson will be able to fill you in. If not, Miss Waverley will do the job.”