Page 58 of A Devilish Element
“Oh, yes, delicate and hysterical, I imagine. Isn’t that always reportedly the case?” She sighed, vexed by the injustices of the world. As if anyone ever ran into the path of a carriage without a sane and sound reason. “I just wondered if she knew it. I don’t know, Jane, none of it seems at all connected to what’s going on here at Cedarton, but somehow, I’m sure it must be. Did you see how prickly Henrietta was at the suggestion that Georgie was in debt? I think him swerving to avoid that girl cost him far more than the race.”
“Maybe, though you did rather insult her.”
She’d merely been plainspoken. “I saw George rifling through the desk drawers in Linfield’s study the night afore last and watched them knock one another about over it. George was looking for something. He didn’t find it, but he found something, and whatever it was made Linfield fiercely cross. I’m not sure that it was just money that George lost.”
“Do you think Henrietta knows?”
“Of course she knows. That’s why she was so out of sorts with him.”
“Well, what do you think he lost?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure it even matters, outside of it being a motive for mischief.” In truth, she was more interested in whatever it was that George had found and that he’d refused to hand over to Linfield.
Meanwhile, Jane had left her chair to rummage in the sideboard. She straightened after a moment, triumphant, an old newspaper clutched in her hand. “Here, there’s a piece about the race. It seems some other fellow won. Just nipped ahead of Linfield due to the collision, but doesn’t that mean…? Wait, it says the result was declared void, and no winner was named. So maybe your theory of debt isn’t right.”
“They might have made a wager between themselves, separate to the overall outcome of the race.” Eliza perused the article over Jane’s shoulder. It was the same one she’d read before. The details were scant, and largely concentrated on the race, rather than the poor woman’s untimely death. However, Henrietta had mentioned Jem’s presence at the event, so she meant to find him and ask him about it. She wouldn’t leave Jane here alone though.
“You know, I’m inclined to agree with Henrietta,” her friend declared. “What the devil is the point in it all? Why wager something you can ill afford to lose?”
“External pressure. Isn’t that the reason why most of us cave in to doing things we really oughtn’t? You wouldn’t be tied to Linfield otherwise, nor he to you, and then you wouldn’t be here in harm’s way.”
“It could simply be coincidence that I’m the one who’s seen the ghost, and my bed curtain’s catching fire.”
Eliza huffed, grateful at least that her friend hadn’t suggested a supernatural cause.
“Also, I don’t rightly see what George owing Linfield money has to do with me.”
Nor did she, but she was certain there was a connection. Something connected all the things going on.
“You’re cogitating,” Jane said. “Have some cake, it might help. Cake always helps me to think things over.” She mopped the crumbs from the plate she was holding, then helped herself to another slice.
Eliza didn’t require cake. She needed to talk to Jem. There was no way to unravel this puzzle without all the pieces, and presently she was missing far too many of them.
-17-
Eliza
Although she’d been reluctant to leave Jane unattended, Eliza realised it would be impossible for them to spend every moment together, and indeed, neither of them would want such an attachment. They were both independent women in their own ways, and so after they’d drained the teapot, Jane had taken the remainder of the cake through to the Lady’s parlour where the light was better, and she had her lace-making things laid out on a cushion. Eliza had watched her manipulation of the bobbins for several minutes. It was a skill she’d never mastered herself and could find little patience to learn, but one she admired. The constant motion though was lulling and soon her eyelids began to sag. Startled to her feet by the act of dozing off, she declared the need for a walk and Jane waved her on her way.
As it remained decidedly inclement outdoors, Eliza proposed to take herself on a tramp about the castle’s rambling architecture with the dual purpose of poking into its many corners and secrets while simultaneously tracking down Jem without being seen to be seeking him out. Alas, she did not find him on her walkabout in any of Cedarton’s many reception rooms, which was how she eventually found herself outside of Bell’s surgery in the basement.
“Miss Wakefield?” Bell opened the door to his lair, a book open in his hand, which he snapped shut on seeing her and peered at her down the length of his hooked nose. His wig was slightly askew, making her suspect it had been hastily plopped back on his head in response to her knock. “Is there something you require my assistance with? Having been regaled with your skills, I find that somewhat unlikely. Is this perhaps a courtesy call? Have you come to tell me you’ve cured all the local ails, and my services are no longer required by his lordship?”
He still sounded haughty, but somewhat less hostile than on their initial introduction. He was, she thought, poking fun at himself as much as her. Nevertheless, she could not entirely warm to him.
“I wondered if you knew where I could locate Mr Whistler?”
“Of course you did. He is a very sought-after fellow.” He seemed about to send her on her way, when he instead took a step back and pushed the door open wide so that she was able to see inside the surgery. “Et voilà!”
The chaise had been displaced to beneath the high, narrow window which currently bled a meagre drizzle of light on Jem tinkering with a set of chemical apparatus. His outfit was of deep, dark, green, and he was without coat or neckcloth, stripped to his shirtsleeves, which in turn were rolled up to his elbows, revealing them to be covered in a fine dappling of golden-brown hairs.
There was something supremely enchanting about catching him so dishabille.
Too often, she’d despaired over those whose heads were turned so readily, but Jem… Jem seemed to generate his own gravitational field that drew her in, and as much as she wanted to declare that it was wholly his genius that generated that attraction, truthfully, simply gazing at him filled her with all manner of soft indefinable feelings, and a longing to brush up against him as a cat might do.
It was that desperate pull that also stalled her from striding straight past Bell. She could not let her attraction to Jem get in the way of her plans. They had agreed to mutual exploration, but she would have to keep a fast check on herself to avoid growing unhelpful emotions. Therefore, she forced herself to stall their meeting, and used that moment to study him at work instead.
“Maybe I shouldn’t interrupt.”
