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“Please do not move.” Slade eased her head back toward the mirror and inserted the last few hairpins. “I made no reply. I believe he took this for agreement.”
“He is…” Harriet was too angry to find the words.
“It was not,” the abigail continued. “I do not consider spying to be part of my responsibilities. Should he inquire, I shall say I have noticed nothing unusual.”
“Thank you,” Harriet began.
“However.” Slade examined Harriet’s reflection, nodded her satisfaction with her work, and stepped back. “One’s definition ofusualcan only be stretched so far,” she finished.
“I understand you,” said Harriet. She couldn’t expect Slade to take risks for her. Why should she? Theirs was not a family with long-time retainers. Harriet and her mother had not been able to afford much help at all until recently. And her grandfather treated his staff like employees, not part of the family. “I was walking in the woodland, and…”
“You had best go down,” Slade interrupted, with the air of one who didn’t really want to know. “Mrs. Finch remains quite anxious to find you.”
“Yes.” Mama’s only mood was fearful these days. Harriet walked slowly downstairs, taking calming breaths, wrestling with her anger at her grandfather, tamping it down so she could keep her temper through the meal.
Fortunately, her grandfather was in a jovial mood, full of his plans to call on the duke, and he required little in the way of responses to his monologue. His good mood lasted into the following morning when they set off in his carriage to call at Ferrington Hall. Harriet made no comment about the small casket he held in his lap. The Terefords would find it odd to be brought a gift by a man they’d barely met, particularly one that glittered with what seemed to be jewels. But they would be polite.
It was strange to drive up to the house openly after she’d lurked about it and peered inside. The place was greatly improved already. The front garden had been tidied, and the windows shone. They were admitted by an elegant manservant and taken to the largest reception room. Along the way, Harriet saw the covers had come off the furniture and polish had been liberally applied. Cecelia must have found staff in the neighborhood to augment those she’d brought. The air smelled of beeswax and lemon.
The duke and duchess rose to greet them as they entered, as handsome and fashionable a couple as one could well imagine. Harriet was glad to see her friend Cecelia looking happy.
Her grandfather surged ahead, holding out his gift like an offering. “Thought you might like to have this,” he said. “It’s Arabian. I’ve forgotten the name of the place. One of my ships brought it back in ninety-eight.” He thrust it at the duke.
Tereford showed fleeting surprise, but he took the little casket. “Ah, thank you, Mr. Winstead.”
“How interesting,” said Cecelia. “Very beautiful work.”
“Worth a good few hundreds,” replied Harriet’s grandfather, mortifyingly. “I had it looked over, and those jewels are real. My agent paid next to nothing for it, of course.”
“Ah,” said the duke again.
His wife took the item from him and set it on the mantel above the fireplace. “How kind of you to think of us, Mr. Winstead.” She did not look at Harriet or show any sign of disapproval, because she was a kind friend.
They sat down. Refreshments were brought. The duke civilly inquired about Mr. Winstead’s health and current activities, and Harriet’s grandfather happily held forth.
“You must be wondering why we’ve come here,” Cecelia said from her place at Harriet’s side.
Harriet nodded.
“Lady Wilton nagged until we agreed. Perhaps you’ve heard there has been some sign of her great-grandson the earl?”
“Sign?” asked Harriet, though she was afraid she knew what her friend meant.
“He sent a letter, giving a group of Travelers permission to camp on the estate,” Cecelia answered. “The Rileys—the caretakers here—informed Lady Wilton at once.”
Fortunately, she had a soft voice. Harriet glanced at her grandfather. He hadn’t heard the wordTravelers, which would certainly provoke a tirade.
“It was very odd, of course,” her friend added. “No one seems to know where the letter originated. Or how he might have known to send it.”
Harriet nodded again, feeling more and more uneasy. Jack had sworn he hadn’t written that letter, but she hadn’t quite been able to believe him.
“So we’ve come up to investigate.” Cecelia smiled at her and waited.
After a moment, Harriet realized Cecelia expected her to react to that last word. Harriet and her school friends prided themselves on solving mysteries. She ought to be eager to help. She would have been, if not for her worry over Jack the Rogue, who had behaved so very strangely in his encounter with the duke. Harriet had the sense of events running away with her. “What are you going to do?” she managed.
“We will begin with first principles,” said Cecelia with a smile.
Harriet remembered saying something similar in easier times.
