"— Perhaps I never shall."
"Nonsense." Marsden said, tipping his bowler at the two young women. "And don't be so quick to reject Patsy. She's young yet. With a husband's firm hand guiding her development, she could become a charming wife."
Charles pursed his lips. A wife, charming or otherwise, was not in his scheme of things.
7
"You nave read in the newspaper our murder I nope-you cannot think how much more interesting a murder hecomes rrom being committed at one's door."
As the train from London pulled into the Colchester sta-tion, Kate eagerly rose from her seat in the first-class carriage she had shared with Eleanor Marsden and Garnet, Miss Marsden's personal maid.
"We're here," she cried excitedly, leaning from the open window to glimpse what she could of the platform. "At last!"
Then she remembered herself and pulled back from the window, flushing. Miss Marsden was rising in a leisurely way, directing Garnet to gather her cloak, her exquisite dyed kid gloves, her parasol, her reticule, and the half-dozen bags and bandboxes she had brought with her from London, stuffed with (as Kate had been hearing for the last several hours) wedding finery. To the sophisticated Miss Marsden, Kate thought, her pleasure in the sights and sounds of her arrival must seem terribly inexperienced and gauche, rather like a schoolgirl on an adventure.
Kate tossed her head. But she was inexperienced and this was an adventure for her. She could scarcely wait to see the massive walls of Bishop's Keep rising like a mossy ruin out
of the surrounding grove of ancient oaks, the sunset gilding its great stone turrets. If the truthful expression of pleasure in either her journey or her arrival was amusing to her elegant traveling companion, so be it. So she repeated with enthusiasm as she reached for her carpetbag, ' 'How lovely to be here at last."
Eleanor Marsden inspected the fluff of silvery blond bangs and the tilt of her plum-colored straw hat in the small mirror that Garnet held up for her. "You must be appallingly tired, my dear Miss Ardleigh. It is such a long, tedious journey all the way from New York."
It had been a long journey, Kate thought. But hardly tedious. To her surprise and pleasure, the steamship passage Mr. Kellerman had arranged at her aunt's direction, as well as the railway tickets from Liverpool to London and from London to Colchester, had been first-class accommodations, an acknowledgment, no doubt, that she was an Ardleigh, albeit a distant one. Had she been a mere secretary-companion, she would have been sent third-class.
But although Kate's unfashionable clothing and flyaway hair set her apart from the extravagantly gowned and coiffed transatlantic voyagers, she did not feel the least uncomfortable. On the contrary, the excitement of the journey had charged her. Her imagination examined each sight, each exchange, each person, as possible subject matter for the sensational stories that Beryl Bardwell had promised to post (Kate's secretarial schedule permitting) to Mr. Coxford. After all, Kate reminded herself, she had not accepted her new position because she needed the money (she was confident of supporting herself with her pen) but because she deeply desired adventure. If she were going to write sensational stories, she needed to live a sensational life. It was impossible to describe from the heart what she had not experienced! It had been the rarest and most wonderful chance that Aunt Sabrina had risen like a specter out of the mists to offer her this Excalibur of widened horizons. She would not squander the least moment of her journey. She would take note of it all.
So she was especially gratified when Mrs. Snodgrass's priceless diamond necklace was discovered to be missing and
the gossip at the table implicated the ship's steward, a man of (it was rumored) Egyptian origin, a swarthy fellow with slender, tapering fingers and an evil look. For the following two days, Kate alternately posted herself in the stuffy hallway outside Mrs. Snodgrass's stateroom and loitered on deck near the office of the steward, pretending great interest in the starboard vista. But to her frustration, she was not afforded the opportunity to enter either room unobserved (whether she would have was quite another question) and had to content herself with polite inquiries as to Mrs. Snodgrass's health and a casually phrased remark to the steward about camels, which met with a blank stare. She was downcast when Mrs. Snodgrass's maid turned up the missing jewels in the laundry. Thus it was that the embryonic "Deadly Diamonds" (which was to have followed "Amber's Amulet," on which she was just getting a start) was rudely aborted.
But everything else about her journey had been perfect, down to the perfect coincidence of discovering that her fellow traveler in the first-class carriage from London to Colchester was Miss Eleanor Marsden, of Marsden Manor, daughter of a baronet-and her aunt's neighbor. Marsden Manor, it turned out, was only three miles from Bishop's Keep. Life was indeed stranger than fiction!
Kate was very glad to have met Miss Marsden, whom she liked immediately. Clearheaded though she was about many things, Kate was given to forming quick opinions on the basis of short acquaintance. It was a character trait that Aunt Maureen had often cautioned her to curb, although Kate stubbornly felt it a strength to be cultivated. A writer, she thought, should be a quick study of personality, able to see through the social facade straight to the heart. In the case of Miss Marsden, the heart did not seem far to seek. She wore it like a talisman on her sleeve and loved to talk about what was in it.
"There they are," Miss Marsden called over her shoulder to Kate as she tripped across the platform, plum kid boots peeping from under the deep flounce of her elegant plum-colored traveling suit. "Yoo-hoo," she cried, waving. "Bradford, Charles! Here we are!"
Kate watched with interest as a strikingly handsome, fair-haired young man ambled toward them. He was dressed in stylish gray flannels, flawlessly tailored, and wore a smart gray bowler. He was accompanied by a man whose clothes were markedly less formal.
"If it isn't our favorite spendthrift," the fair-haired man said jauntily. ' 'Did you leave anything in the Regency Street shops, Ellie?"
Miss Marsden tapped him smartly on the arm. "Not a solitary ribbon or plume, dear brother. And since poor Garnet could not carry the half of my extravagances, I ordered most of my purchases sent down by post. Wait until you see the lavish waistcoat I have brought for you, in the same shade of peacock as the one I purchased for Mr. Fairley."
Mr. Ernest Fairley, Kate knew from Miss Marsden's voluminous railway confidences, was Miss Marsden's Intended. His grandfather, the genius of Fairley's Finest Fancy Candies, had founded the family fortune on chocolate. If Miss Marsden's report were to be trusted, the marriage, which would take place at Christmas, was considered the match of the year. Kate had been aghast to learn that Mr. Fairley, a widower, was nearly twenty-five years older than his bride-to-be. Still, Miss Marsden, who from the moment of their meeting had scarcely stopped talking about Mr. Fairley's courtship, their impending vows, and the splendid Fairley family home in Kensington, did not seem unduly troubled at the thought of surrendering her carefree soul to a man who was her senior by a quarter of a century.
Kate, for her part, could not imagine such a thing. Or rather, she could imagine it all too clearly, and the image made her shudder. How could any thinking woman yield up her independence to the whim and will of some man who would become her guardian both in the eyes of the law and society? How could she bear to be treated as if she were a wayward child who required adult protection from the dangers of the world and from her own naive and ungovernable willfulness? Not for her, such a fate!