A Dangerous Collaboration (A Veronica Speedwell Mystery) Deanna Raybourn (books to read for self improvement .TXT) 📖

with a chair, upright but comfortable and well padded. “On Mrs. Trengrouse’s instructions,” he told me, touching his brow. I smiled to myself. I had certainly worked my way into the housekeeper’s good graces, it seemed.

A moment later, Daisy reappeared, box in hand. “Extra pens and ink, paper for writing and blotting, and a penknife in case you forgot your own. Pencils too,” she said.

“Let me guess, Mrs. Trengrouse’s instructions,” I hazarded.

She grinned. “Right you are, miss. I hear you went down the village way today. Did you meet anyone of interest?” She had turned away from me, using the corner of her apron to wipe nonexistent dust from the corner of the desk. I could see only her profile, but something about the curve of her lips seemed sly.

“I did. I met Mother Nance from the inn, the one who claims to be a pellar witch.”

“Oh, and did she tell your fortune, miss?” Her manner was a shade too eager for casual curiosity.

“Not in so many words,” I told her in a cool tone.

She rubbed harder at the sleek wood. “You ought to ask her, miss. She knows everything, does our Mother Nance. She can tell things that haven’t yet come to pass.”

I smiled thinly. “I prefer a bit of mystery in my life.” I gestured towards the tray of refreshments. “Thank you for your efforts, Daisy. You may take that away.”

She did as she was told, reluctantly it seemed, bobbing a swift curtsy as she took up the tray and vanished.

I passed another hour in happy contemplation of the butterflies of Euphrosyne Romilly until the words swam together on the page and my posture had grown stiff, then prepared myself for the evening meal. Dinner was a strained affair. Helen was pale and quiet after her afternoon’s imbibing, content to sip at a glass of sparkling water and feed titbits under the table to her cat. Caspian was clearly in a sulk following his quarrel with his uncle, while Malcolm ignored him entirely. Mertensia talked animatedly with Stoker about various plants and the pests who fed upon them while Tiberius was content to apply his attention to the excellent food and the even better wine.

As the meal wore on, a curious mood seemed to steal over the group, a tension whose source I could not entirely place. It was not until we finished our sweet course that Malcolm made an announcement.

The conversation had just wound down to a natural silence when Malcolm put down his cutlery and patted his mouth. Then he took a long moment, surveying each of us as his gaze traveled around the table. “I feel the time has come to take you all into my confidence. I did not invite you here simply for the pleasure of your company.”

He paused, seeming to steel himself. “I invited you here for a specific purpose, and I can only plead necessity as my defense. I hope that each of you will hear me out and decide to offer your help, for God knows, I have need of you all.”

He drew in a deep breath as we exchanged glances, our faces betraying varying degrees of bewilderment. Only Tiberius did not seem surprised, and it was to him that our host turned first. “With the exceptions of yourself, Tiberius, and your brother and Miss Speedwell, everyone here was present when Rosamund disappeared. It was the darkest hour of my life. Things have not improved materially since then,” he added with a bitter twist of his lips. “Mertensia and I have withdrawn from society. We see no one. How can we? We tried to pick up the threads of our lives. We attempted normality. But every time we encountered friends, there were the awkward silences. The pauses in conversation that went on just a little too long. The subjects upon which no one would ever speak—Rosamund, weddings, drownings. And each time I felt myself withdraw further from people. It felt somehow safer. I believe Mertensia’s emotions were much the same.”

He paused and his sister gave a grave nod. She had not eaten, I noticed, but merely tore a bread roll to bits in her fingers.

Malcolm went on. “In the end, it became too much even to see family. And that is why Helen and Caspian have not been here.”

“We would have come—” Helen Romilly began.

Malcolm held up a hand. “I know. But it all just seemed so much simpler to close the doors and pull up the drawbridge, so to speak. And as time wore on, it became even easier to keep to ourselves. But now I believe it is necessary for us to discover what became of Rosamund once and for all. Only by writing a final chapter to this story can Mertensia and I move on to another. If we do not do this now, we will be immured here, and I think that way madness lies.”

He paused again, letting his words settle like stones falling to the bottom of a pond.

“Put simply, I have invited you all here because I need your help.” He looked slowly around the table. “Each of you possesses some skill that I think would be useful under the circumstances.” His gaze was apologetic as it fell upon Stoker and upon me. “As for Mr. Templeton-Vane and Miss Speedwell, you came here expecting a peaceful holiday, and I do not intend that you should disrupt your plans on my behalf. But perhaps the fresh and observant gaze of scientists would not go amiss in this undertaking.”

“What undertaking?” Helen Romilly demanded.

“He has some bee in his bonnet,” Mertensia pronounced. “We had a great-granny who went entirely off her head, poor lamb. I shouldn’t wonder if he hasn’t done the same.”

“Mertensia,” her sister-in-law said in frigid tones, “I hardly think it is appropriate to speak of your brother in such terms.”

Mertensia Romilly gave her a scathing look. “I forgot how tiresome you could be, Helen. Thank you for reminding me.”

Before they could continue their spat,