Chapter Five

A handsome footman answered the door, but Mrs. Mathers, the head housekeeper, sent him away.

“Miss Jane, what a trial this is with your father in custody… But what am I at, standing here gabbing, please come in. Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?”

Jane followed the plump matron into the grand foyer, expecting Mama to greet her.

“What do the police think Papa did? The newspapers weren’t clear except to say he was supposed to have murdered his partner?”

“They’re keeping him in custody, so the lawyers can conspire against him. Such an honest man. It ain’t right!”

As she spoke, her eyes devoured Holmes, but she didn’t dare ask who he was. Before Jane could repeat the detective excuse, her youngest sister Beatrice rushed into the foyer, breathless.

“Mathers, you must go to the kitchen. Madame Depuis is shouting that she won’t work in a criminal household. She demands her wages and a letter of recommendation.”

Once Mrs. Mathers had bustled off, Beatrice embraced Jane and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Is cook really quitting?”

“No,” Beatrice laughed, blue eyes twinkling. “I gave the old meddler a stalking-horse, so we could speak privately… Now whatever shall we discuss?” When Beatrice stole a sidelong glance at Holmes, Jane promised herself to keep them apart.

“This is Mr. Holmes, a detective charged with finding out who to blame for this terrible business. You would do well to stay out of his way.”

The moment she said it, Jane regretted her error. To tell Beatrice that anything or anyone was off limits was to present her with an irresistible challenge. She walked her sister into the parlor and made sure to take the couch, so that Holmes couldn’t sit beside Beatrice. The man was practically laughing behind his hand at Jane’s discomfiture.

The sisters sat together, with Holmes standing nobly, like the poseur he was.

“How did Mr. Overton die?” Jane asked.

“They never told me.”

“Well, when was he found?”

“You abandoned us to go on an adventure, and this is our reunion? A bunch of questions and I don’t know. Well this is my question to you. Did you bring presents?”

“Of course not.”

Beatrice pouted. “Have you news from London? What is the Beau Monde wearing this year?”

“Don’t you care about Papa?”

Beatrice leaned on Jane’s shoulder and moaned. “Of course, silly, but what can I do?” She wiped at her dry eyes. “I’m eighteen years old, but they treat me like a child.”

Jane tried a few more questions, but her sister could tell her nothing.

When the conversation faded, Beatrice asked, “Have you any mourning crêpe? I’ve nothing suitable in my wardrobe.”

Which led Jane to look at her sister’s ensemble. “You’re wearing my dress!”

“I’ve had it recut. The color better suits my complexion.”

Jane didn’t want to think how many other dresses Beatrice had pilfered. As the youngest, Beatrice maintained that ‘what was hers was hers, and what was Jane’s was also hers,’ to make up for Jane being Papa’s favorite.

Not anymore.

At that moment, Anna-May tiptoed into the parlor, and whispered in Jane’s ear. “Haven’t you brought Mama enough trouble? Do us a kindness and leave before she sees you.”

Jane stood. “And a fine day to you too, sister.”

If Beatrice was the pretty one, with blue eyes and rosy cheeks; and Jane was plain, with an enviable constitution; Anna-May was of a nervous disposition, constantly fussing over Mama. She favored straw hats and sturdy boots. At the age of six-and-twenty, Anna-May had withdrawn from suitors and high society, preferring to visit the poor. Everyone called her “Little Mother,” for the way she handed out alms and advice.

“Come, Mr. Holmes. It’s time for you to meet Mama.”

Jane searched the main floor with Anna-May trailing after her, trying to convince her that their mother was in no state to endure another shock.

Before they could head up the grand staircase, Ruby Derwin came down. Her aunt was a slender vision with peacock feathers in her hat and wearing green silk. Even Jane could see the cut was French.

They embraced at the bottom of the stairs, and Jane introduced Mr. Holmes.

Aunt Ruby, bless her, glossed over the awkwardness of Jane’s flight, and she thanked her for bringing Holmes to help her brother.

Sick at the spectacle, Anna-May stalked off, muttering that Jane would, “give Mama a fit of apoplexy.”

Aunt Ruby said, “Never mind her. I’m glad to see you both, and not only because your arrival means Derwin is waiting for me.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Ruby, but he left to watch over the cider making.”

“I’ll make him into cider! I’ve been here, with Sibyl, since last night.”

“He’ll come back driving the trap, I’m sure.”

“What else would he drive?”

“Quite a comfortable hay wagon,” Holmes interjected. He pulled a pipe out of his pocket and looked ready to smoke it until Jane glared at him.

“You’ve been most helpful.” Aunt Ruby walked out the door, and turned in the direction of the stables. Jane knew that look. Aunt Ruby would never complain about her husband to a third party, but she wouldn’t wait for his return, either. When she wanted to do something, she did it, and there would be no getting in her way.

Jane stepped outside to satisfy her curiosity and didn’t have long to wait. Aunt Ruby trotted down the lane, still dressed in her visiting clothes, as she rode off on a white mare.

Once she faded from sight, Holmes asked, “Before we speak to your mother, tell me truly. Do you think your father capable of murdering his business partner?”

“What an impertinent question!”

“Needs must when the Devil drives. You did make me your detective.”

“Papa hurt Mr. Overton? Never. When fortune smiled upon them, they were close companions.”

“Not lately?”

“Papa could never murder a man with his own hands.”

The way Holmes scratched his chin, pulling out his pipe absentmindedly and drawing cold air through it, made her wonder if she had expressed more than she intended.

Before Jane could ascertain what he suspected, Mama joined them outside. She looked wan, and her eyes bore heavy shadows, but it was a relief to see her dressed for company.

“Mr. Holmes, allow me to present my mother, Mrs. Watt.”

But he was gone.