Page 60 of Miss Moriarty, I Presume?
A dull grey light hovered in the parlor. Rain drummed steadily on the roof. Miss Charlotte slept next to her, her chin on her chest, her plump lips in a slight pout. She looked younger when she slept, young and adorable. Mrs. Watson had the urge to pet the girl on the head.
She refrained. But as she worked to revive the banked fire, from behind her, Miss Charlotte yawned and murmured a sleepy “Good morning.”
They found bread and butter in the larder and made toast. Over this simple breakfast, Miss Charlotte told Mrs. Watson of what had happened during Lord Ingram’s watch, her voice low so as not to disturb his slumber in the loft.
An engrossing and puzzling account. It was only later, after Mrs. Watson had brushed her teeth, that she remembered to ask, “Lord Ingram told you all this and I just slept?”
“I woke up at six and went out to take a look,” answered Miss Charlotte. She stood before a mirror in the parlor, ran her fingers through her still-short hair, and shoved that hair under a blue-and-white turban. “He came back then. We spoke outside.”
“Oh, the poor boy, out all night in that horrendous weather.”
“He had a hot water bottle. But yes, the poor fellow.” Satisfied with her appearance, Miss Charlotte went to the window and lifted the curtain. “Oh, there comes a mackintosh-clad figure. I think it’s Mrs. Felton. Let’s go meet her.”
Not knowing what else might happen, they had gone to sleep fully clad, with dressing gowns on top. Hours in a chair had wrinkled their clothes, but that hardly mattered now, especially when they took off their dressing gowns and threw on their even more enveloping mackintoshes.
Mrs. Felton had dressed for work. Her boots were ancient, the hem that peeked out from under her mackintosh coarse and dingy. Her bare hand, large-knuckled and roughened with labor, held the handle of a bucket. “Ladies, you are headed somewhere?”
“Yes,” said Miss Charlotte, walking toward the central path, Mrs. Watson beside her. “Will you accompany us to the carriage house, Mrs. Felton? I have some questions I need to ask you.”
Mrs. Felton’s eyes brightened. She fell in step next to them. “Did you find out anything about Miss Baxter, miss?”
As the question left her lips, she looked about. The Garden was rain-shrouded. Smoke rose from a few chimneys. But all the houses had their curtains drawn and no one else was abroad.
“We’ve made some progress,” said Miss Charlotte, “but not as much as I’d like. Now Mrs. Felton, do you know a man in Porthangan named Sam Young?”
Mrs. Felton blinked. “Mr. Young, the boat maker? I do know him. Why?”
“Mr. Young came around at midnight last night and set off a dozen or so fireworks and greatly disturbed the peace.”
“I had no idea.” Mrs. Felton stopped walking for a moment in her surprise. “But whatever for?”
“He claimed to have done it for the woman he loved.”
Mrs. Felton’s mouth became a perfectly rounded O. “And was Mrs. Crosby properly furious? She was, wasn’t she? Oh, Mrs. Crosby would not have liked that.”
Mrs. Watson and Miss Charlotte exchanged a look. “Is it common knowledge in the village then, Mr. Young’s interest in Mrs. Crosby?” asked Mrs. Watson.
“I should hope not,” said Mrs. Felton, her tone vehement. “Gossip like this can damage a lady’s reputation. I knew because Mr. Young asked me a few times about the goings-on in the Garden, but his questions always went around to Mrs. Crosby eventually. It was easy to see. But I didn’t say anything to anyone.”
Rain slanted onto Mrs. Watson’s cheek. She flicked away the moisture. “You didn’t include it in your monthly reports?”
“Of course not. That’s no business of Miss Baxter’s father’s.”
But if the party that had arranged for last night’s debacle hadn’t learned of Mr. Young’s infatuation from Mrs. Felton, then who had been the source?
“Does Mr. Young know anyone else in the Garden?” asked Miss Charlotte. “Do members of the garden socialize with the villagers?”
“No, they don’t, not really. But Mr. Young is a good boat maker and Miss Baxter bought a boat from him several years ago, so did Miss Fairchild more recently. And the Steeles were talking about commissioning one, too. There isn’t much to do around here and sailing is as good a way to pass time as any.”
Miss Charlotte thanked Mrs. Felton and said that they would not keep her from her work. The women parted ways not far from the vegetable patch, Mrs. Felton with a frown on her face. Half a minute later she caught up to Miss Charlotte and Mrs. Watson again.
“Ladies, ladies, I forgot to ask you, did Miss Baxter come out to see the fireworks?”
They all stopped. “No, she didn’t,” said Miss Charlotte slowly.
“Not even for fireworks? But she loves fireworks.”
“Does she?”
