“No.” Bowles sank back into his chair. “As in too much opium.”
“I see.”
“It is no small wonder the friends and family of so many men wished vengeance.”
“Did you?”
A smile twitched at the man’s mouth. “It is I, Mr. Northwood, who had pity on the man and hid him in one of my cellar rooms, lest the others have their way with him.”
“Then you will know, I am certain, what happened to Ellis the night he disappeared.”
Silence.
The man’s smile widened, as if he enjoyed the question dangling, as if he took pleasure in the way Felton’s heart hammered in anticipation. With a shake of his head, he broke the silence. “I fear I cannot be of help to you. Ellis was free to come and go as he wished. He did so mostly at night. On one such night, he never returned. I know little more than that.”
Felton stood. Wariness spread through him as he held the man’s eyes unwaveringly. “One more question, Mr. Bowles.”
“By all means.”
“Why did theRed Drummerwear black masts?”
“I fear you must be confused.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.” Another smile, but it never reached the cold depths of the man’s eyes. “Rather dangerously confused, I fear.”
“I see.” Felton bowed. “Then my questions are finished. Good day to you, sir.” Without waiting for the maid to show him out, Felton saw himself back through the house, grabbed his topper from the hallstand, and slammed himself out the door.
Something wasn’t right. The man was lying or hiding something or both.
But Felton would be back.
Whether it was dangerous or not.
Eliza followed her finger around the blue lozenge border of the Wedgewood plate. Once upon a time, Captain had told her a story about a people so tiny they swam in bowls, lived in shoes, and feasted on the crumbs that fell from tablecloths.
How quickly she would become tiny herself if there were but others to be tiny with her. To be like her, belong to her, love her.
Not look at her the way Miss Haverfield stared at her now, with that amused twinkle, as if Eliza Gillingham were some exotic varmint or embarrassing fool.
Maybe she was both.
“My dear, you must eat more than that. Although I will say, since we are quite alone”—Miss Haverfield glanced about the pale-green dining room—“this gooseisrather dry and distasteful.”
Eliza slid her fork beside her plate. “I suppose I am not very hungry.”
“My dear, you must think of your figure.” With a sigh, she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Oh, this is very vexing. Here I was anticipating a cheery meal with all Northwoods present, yet none of them have come to join their guests. How shall we entertain ourselves all evening? Do you play piquet?”
“No, I—”
“Vingt-et-un then?”
“No.” Eliza clasped her hands under the tablecloth. “No, I cannot play any of them.”
“You poor dear. How ever have you amused yourself these many years?” Miss Haverfield reached for a couple of iced oranges. “Never mind the games, dear. We shall find something with which to divert ourselves during my stay. If nothing else, we shall talk away the hours. I do not suppose I ever told you of the time when dear Felton and I were having one of our moonlit rides and he—”
“He what?” As if on cue, Felton strode into the dining room, eyes alighting on both of them before he scooted into his seat at the end of the table. He reached for the platter of goose. “Where is Papa?”
