Maddy didn’t believe in overt displays of affection, but if she did, she would have hugged Elouise. Since Maddy arrived at Everwell a decade ago, Elouise Charming—now Mrs. Ashe—seemed intent on pointing out every single one of Maddy’s supposed charms. She did it so regularly, Maddy was in danger of actually believing her.
“Whatever his motives, what’s important is that Mrs. Cornish gets her treasure back,” Phillipa interjected in that no-nonsense way of hers. “I’ll have Reg deliver it tomorrow. Maddy can have an entire evening with it before it goes back.”
Phillipa was about to walk away when she stopped and gave Maddy a playful look. “And I’m afraid it will have to go back.”
Maddy opened her mouth to protest but thought the better of it. After all, in amongst her small but rather impressive collection in the Everwell library were books. Some she’d borrowed on a very, very long-term loan while she was working on one job or another with her fellow Scandalous Spinsters and Wayward Women. Of course, none of their owners had any idea she’d borrowed them.
“Maddy!”
Rimple Jones appeared in the doorway, holding today’s paper in her hands, her deep brown eyes wide.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her body immediately going on alert.
Without another word, Rimple rushed to Maddy and the others, turning the paper around so they all could read the headline. Thick black lettering proclaimed the murder of a New Brunswick captain of industry.
“And?” Maddy asked.
“Look!” Rimple pointed at the picture. There, staring back at them was none other than the man from the bookstore today. Beau da Silva. He was far more serious in this picture, obvious taken to be hung in the hallowed halls of whatever boardroom his family ruled.
And he was wanted for the murder of his father, Frank da Silva.
“Perhaps I spoke too soon,” Phillipa said, taking the paper from Rimple’s hands, unfolding it so she could read the entire story, which took up much of the front page.
“He’s wanted, but that doesn’t make him guilty,” Elouise said. “Still, the good ladies of the New Women’s League must be in a tizzy to be so intimately connected to an accused murderer.”
Maddy tried to look over Phillipa’s shoulder, but it was impossible to see the details.
“Phillipa,” Rimple said again, an unmistakable discomfort in her voice, her brow dipping into a deep vee as she pulled the paper back toward her.
“What is it?” Maddy asked, alerted by the sudden change in Rimple’s normally indomitable sunshine. Stepping around Phillipa and Elouise, she stood behind her friend in an effort to see what was causing Rimple’s reaction.
Troubling Rumours Swirl Around Eccentric Society
Without a thought, Maddy clutched the newspaper in her hands, pulling it toward her and skimming the story. Something tightened in her gut, a thousand irrational fears coming to the surface.
Is something nefarious happening behind the otherwise pristine walls of that Georgian jewel? Rumours continue to surface from some of the most reputable corners of Halifax’s parlours that the misguided aims of Miss Emma Everwell, daughter of the late Lord Everwell, have been hijacked to service an illegal ring of thieves. Not even the marriage of Miss Gemma Kurt to Colonel Jeremy Webber (retired) has ceased to quell the suspicions. Indeed, a source close to the Colonel recently revealed to this reporter?—
“Maddy.”
The sound of Phillipa’s voice cut through Maddy’s panic. Maddy looked up, not bothering to hide her displeasure at the interruption.
“Let me see,” Phillipa said in that calm way of hers, all the while giving Maddy a look that suggested she would brook no opposition. Maddy let go, and Phillipa turned to the last page. Elouise, Rimple and Maddy then crowded around the head mistress, trying to read the short piece over her shoulder.
“Phillipa, this is bad,” Elouise said, biting on her bottom lip.
Maddy held her breath. Normally when someone pronounced a dire judgment of a situation, Phillipa would play devil’s advocate. No doubt it was because she had observed the situation before her, and viewed it in the context of the hundreds of pieces of information she had gleaned over the years and had been busy concocting not just one, but have a dozen contingencies for how to react.
This time, however, Phillipa only made a murmur of ascent before lowering the paper. As she did so, the figure of Dominic Ashe filled the library doorway.
“Ah!” he said, his gaze immediately falling to Elouise, not bothering to disguise his delight at seeing her. “Just the ladies I need to see.”
“Dominic,” Elouise said, “Just the man I need to see.”
She moved across the room and took his hand, his expression moving from greeting to one of concern.
“What’s happened?” he asked. Elouise filled him in on the story in the social column.
“Do you have any idea who’s spreading the rumours?” he asked.
