She waited for Rosemary to be distracted by the servants taking away the plates, then leaned closer to her sister and whispered, “What’s the matter?”
Angelica shook her head minutely, then darted her eyes to the side.
Saffron straightened and, through the corner of her eye, confirmed that both the Duke of Canterbury and Simon Mayweather were watching them.
“I say, Briarwood, when will you let us see the pieces up for auction?” Mr. Morgan asked, thumping his glass on the table and splattering wine onto the tablecloth. Mrs. Morgan’s cheeks pinked as she covered the stain with a napkin.
“Indeed, I should like to see them,” Mr. Hawthorne said.
The rest of the guests muttered to themselves but did not speak up. Saffron cursed Leo’s decision to move her. If he had placed her, as intended, near the middle of the table, she would have had the perfect vantage to overhear any conversation.
Leo finished a bite of trifle, then set down his spoon. “You will have to be patient. I have arranged for the event tomorrow to be a candle auction.”
Both men wore identical expressions of disappointment but did not argue.
They will gossip instead, Saffron thought, remembering her first Season. She had not understood that smiling faces masked wicked tongues. Every mistake she’d made had been filed away, to be brought out and laughed at over tea.
“How lovely,” Lady Allen said, putting her fork down. “Such a thrilling event. I simply cannot wait.”
Mr. Morgan swayed in his seat. “I would rather prefer to see the works now. You could give us a small preview. Where are you stashing the artwork, anyway?”
Saffron glued her eyes to the older man. If he was Ravenmore, would he ask where the paintings were stored? Would he get drunk at dinner and demand to see them? Maybe, instead, Mr. Morgan was the thief Leo sought or had hired someone to steal the paintings.
“Let us retire,” Mrs. Morgan said loudly, rising from her seat so fast, the dishes on the table clinked together. “My daughters are eager to demonstrate their musical talents.”
Saffron exchanged a glance with Leo before following the rest of the women as they moved to the drawing room, leaving the men to their own affairs. The drawing room was enormous, heated by three separate fireplaces on each of the exterior walls. Tall windows stretched up to the ceiling, the curtains drawn back to reveal a stunning view of the setting sun. There were chairs set up near one end of the room, facing a set of musical instruments, which the Morgan girls picked up without prompting. Miss Morgan selected the harp and Miss Beatrice the pianoforte.
Saffron sat as far back as she could politely manage, expecting the sound to grate against her senses, but to her surprise, both girls were talented musicians. The elder Miss Morgan plucked a soft rhythm for several bars before Miss Beatrice joined her, and then both girls started to sing. Their voices formed a harmonious melody, perfectly in sync. The spellthey cast lasted for three songs before Miss Morgan put down her harp. Then a beaming Mrs. Morgan loudly proclaimed, “I fancy a game of whist, if any of you ladies would like to join me.”
“I would not wager a pound against that woman,” Lady Allen said, taking Saffron’s arm and leading her toward one of the tables the servants were setting up.
“Why not?” Saffron asked. She had been so busy rushing around solving problems that she had not yet joined the other guests for cards or other activities the previous night. This was an ideal opportunity to interrogate Mrs. Morgan when she was not bullying her husband or preening over her daughters. Mr. Morgan had expressed far too much interest in the Ravenmore for her liking.
Lady Allen sat on a chair and withdrew a pair of knitting needles and a ball of yarn from a wicker basket near the hearth. She took them up, sliding into the activity with a grace born of long practice. “The Morgans enjoy their displays of wealth, but that is all it is. I would not be surprised if the dowries on their girls were less substantial than rumors suggest.”
Saffron cast a quick glance at Mrs. Morgan, already wagering with three other wealthy ladies. While the other players chatted and laughed, Mrs. Morgan dealt the cards with a purposeful, almosthungrylook on her face.
“I see what you mean,” Saffron said.
“Besides,” Lady Allen said, finishing a row of what looked to be a blanket or scarf, “I believe you have more pressing matters to attend to.”
“Such as?” She accepted a cup of tea from a servant and raised it to her lips.
Lady Allen hummed a tune in harmony with the clicking of her knitting needles, her eyes downcast, a small smile on her lips. “Have you noticed who is missing?”
Fear dripped down Saffron’s back. She placed her teacup on the table.
“I believe I am the first to notice,” Lady Allen said. “Carry on, now. I look forward to hearing all about it.”
As gracefully as she could manage, Saffron performed a rotation of the room, but it only confirmed her fears.
Angelica was missing.
*
When Saffron foundher aunt, Rosemary was listening to an older woman drone on about the dessert, and so she sat beside her aunt and waited for a polite opening, all the while trying not to dance with agitation.
“Mrs. Hampshire, allow me to introduce my niece, Saffron Summersby,” Rosemary said, after some time.
