A Rose Before Dying (11 page)

“Here is the child, my lord.” Sotheby pushed
him into the hallway and then shut the front door, standing between
the boy and escape.

The child rubbed his dirty face with an
equally besmirched hand and then turned his head and pursed his
lips as if to spit. After a glance at the marble floor, he
swallowed. “Wotcher want?”

“My lord,” Sotheby reminded him and added a
sharp rap on his shoulder.

“My lord,” the boy repeated grudgingly.

Charles dug out a shilling and held it up. “A
little information. If you please.”

His brown eyes glowed. “Yes, my lord.”

“This package—” He held up the unwrapped box.
“Who gave it to you?”

“A man.”

“A man? What did he look like?”

“Don’t know, my lord.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You saw
him when he handed it to you, didn’t you?”

“No—couldn’t.” He shook his shaggy head.

“Why didn’t you see him?”

“He were in a carriage, is why. Never took a
step out. Just threw the box and a shilling out’ter the window,
didn’t he? Told me to bring ‘em here.”

“Did he? Did you at least catch a glimpse of
him? His face?”

“No, sir. Just his sleeve, is all. Black. Had
on a hat—also black—and his collar up.”

“His eyes? Did you notice the color of his
eyes?”

“No, my lord” he replied with exaggerated
patience. “It were too dark to see much, wasn’t it?”

“Dark? What do you mean, dark?”

“Why it were last night ‘round nine or so, it
were.”

“He gave you the box last night?”

“Yes, my lord. Told me to deliver it this
morning. As I’ve done.”

“Trusting soul…” Gaunt murmured. The boy
could have taken the coin and tossed the box.

“Did he say anything else?” Charles
asked.

“Said as how you’d give me another shilling
if I was to deliver it. This morning.” The boy cast a scornful look
at Sotheby. “He broke his word, though.”

“You say he was in a carriage?” Gaunt
interrupted. “Did he give any direction to the driver?”

“No, sir. He thumped the roof with his
walking stick and told the driver to go. Now as to that shilling,
my lord…”

The image of his uncle thumping his stick on
Gaunt’s desk haunted Charles.

A walking stick
. Was his uncle
determined to incriminate himself? How could he possibly make
matters worse?

“Did you see the stick? What did it look
like?” Charles asked.

“Didn’t see it—just heard him thumping the
roof. Impatient sort, if you take my meaning. Now as to that
shilling…”

Charles flipped the coin to him. “Is there
anything else you can remember? This is important.”

“No, my lord. Right sorry, but it were dark
and there weren’t nuffin to see.”

“Well, thank you.” Charles dug out another
shilling and tossed it to the lad as Mr. Sotheby opened the door.
“If you remember anything at all you’ll get another shilling for
reporting it to us. A name, anything.”

“Yes, my lord.” The lad touched the brim of
the battered hat he wore. “Thank you.”

Charles turned back to Gaunt. “I’ll keep
these roses, if you don’t mind.”

“I—”

“I’ll send word if I discover anything.”
Charles closed the box and strode through the front door, still
held open by the butler.

However, at the wrought-iron gate, he
hesitated. Should he confront his uncle, or visit Miss Wellfleet,
hoping she could identify the roses? Could he prevent whatever
tragedy was brewing?

His grip on the gate tightened.

Should he allow Mr. Gaunt to place his uncle
under arrest? If his uncle were locked away, he couldn’t be
accused. An ugly voice whispered that it would also prevent him
from harming anyone else, if Charles were wrong or couldn’t
identify the roses.

Pushing through the gate, he walked toward
Rosewell and Miss Wellfleet. He would inquire about the roses first
and then visit his uncle. That way, he’d have more information when
he spoke to him. Then he could determine if Sir Edward needed to be
detained for the sake of safety, particularly his own.

Twenty minutes later, Charles knocked at the
front door of Rosewell.

“My lord?” Mr. Abbott eyed him. His mouth
twitched as if he couldn’t decide whether to smile or maintain his
normal expression of professional boredom.

“Is Miss Wellfleet available? I must see her.
It’s rather urgent.”

“I see.” The butler stepped back a pace.
“Will you follow me, my lord?”

Charles nodded and fell in step behind him.
The butler led him down the hallway past the grand staircase to the
library at the back of the house. A golden glow filled the room as
amber-colored walls caught the morning sun shining through the tall
windows at the rear. Oak bookcases, interspersed with lush English
landscape paintings, lined the other walls, and comfortable
clusters of chairs and tables filled the huge room. In one corner,
a delicate gold and cream French-style desk stood with a set of
crystal inkpots gracing one edge. A matching chair with gracefully
curved legs was tucked beneath it.

The room reminded him of Miss Wellfleet—all
elegance and grace with that gleam of gold in her chestnut
hair.

After Mr. Abbott shut the double doors and
went to locate the lady of the house, Charles wandered to the
bookcases. It was no surprise to find the majority of the books
were related to gardening and science. A few tomes by explorers
were also scattered amongst the sciences. He reached up to take
down the first volume of Edward Gibbon’s
The History of the
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
when he heard the door
open behind him.

“Lord Castlemoor,” Miss Wellfleet said as she
walked into the room, out of breath and flushed.

He turned and walked to her, aware again of a
deep attraction. Without thinking, he took one of her slender
hands. Her soft skin felt chilled despite her blushing cheeks.

He frowned when he caught her expression. “Is
something wrong?”

“Yes—no! That is, yes—well, I don’t truly
know.” She glanced down at their intertwined hands, blushed, and
ever so gently pulled her fingers out of his grip. In a
determinedly cheerful voice she said, “I’m sorry. Mr. Abbott said
you wished to see me?”

“Yes, but I can see you’re upset—did
something happen? Is Rose all right?”

Her eyes widened. “Why yes, she’s fine. Why
do you ask?”

“No sensible reason.” He grinned and almost
took her hand again before he remembered the impropriety of the
gesture. She seemed so nervous; he wanted to do something to
reassure her instead of burdening her with more worries. He almost
decided not to show her the roses when she reached out and lightly
touched the package.

“What’s in the box?” Her lips trembled, but
she managed to smile.

“You have enough worries—”

She paled. “It’s not—it’s not another
rose?”

“I—” He shook his head.

“It is, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here. How
foolish of me. I should have guessed.” When she realized what she’d
said, she pressed her fingers briefly to her mouth before hastily
covering the gesture by pushing a lock of hair away from her
forehead.

Surprised at her response, he studied her,
aware of a tightening in his body. She thought he had come to see
her
. Part of him agreed. He may not have realized it at the
time, but he had come here first because he wanted to see her, and
the roses were only an excuse.

“Well, let me see them.” She held out her
hand.

Despite his efforts to catch her glance, she
refused to meet his eyes. He held out the box, flipping it open.
She carefully removed the fragile contents. After a glance around
the room, she walked over to the desk and placed the roses on its
polished surface. She untwined the two stems and arranged them
side-by-side.

She picked up the one with the deeper pink
coloration. After a moment, her breathing seemed to hitch. She grew
so pale Charles stepped forward to put an arm around her waist,
fearing she was about to faint. She leaned against him, her slender
back curving into his shoulder before she lifted her face and
glanced at him. Her mouth was inches from his.

But instead of pushing him away, her eyes
grew languid and heavy. She turned slightly within his arms. Heart
thudding, he gently cupped her chin in his hand and touched his
lips to hers. She pressed more tightly against him, gripping his
lapel briefly before finally turning aside.

“I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I never
meant—”

“It’s I who should apologize. I took
advantage.” He smiled to lighten the tension and glanced around.
“Where is your chaperone? Miss Baxter?”

She laughed although the sound broke
suddenly. She gripped his arm as she struggled to control her
emotions. Her eyes filled briefly with tears. She blinked them away
and swallowed. “That’s the problem. I’ve been beside myself with
worry. I hardly know what I’m doing.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Miss Baxter is missing!”

“Missing? When did you last see her?”

“I don’t remember!” She rubbed the center of
her forehead with one hand, but she kept her grip on his arm with
the other. “She was here yesterday. That is, we discussed what we
would have for supper last night, but…. I was busy, you see, in the
greenhouse. Mr. Abbott brought me a tray. So I didn’t know until
now. I didn’t realize she was gone until I asked Mr. Abbott if he
had seen her. No one has seen her since yesterday!”

“Yesterday!” He pressed his palm over her
hand, rubbing the cold fingers. “What about the servants?”

“I was questioning them when you arrived. Oh,
I’m all at sixes-and-sevens! I hardly know what I’m doing!”

“Understandable. And here I am bothering
you.”

“No, that’s just it—when I saw that rose…”
She broke off and stared at the flowers as if they were human
corpses.

He gripped her arm. “What about the
roses?”

“One—that darker one—I believe it may be
Rosa Alpina pendulina.
” Her voice broke with a quick,
gasping laugh. “Commonly known as the Spineless Virgin.”

“The Spineless Virgin?”

“Yes—you don’t think… This sounds so cruel,
but you don’t think it could refer to Miss Baxter, do you?”

“No, no. I’m sure it’s merely a coincidence.
We may be worried over nothing. Did she receive any urgent letters,
perhaps, from relatives or friends?”

“No. I asked Mr. Abbott. She hasn’t received
any mail for days.”

Although he felt increasingly certain that
there was no coincidence, he couldn’t bear to see Miss Wellfleet
suffer. “What other names does that rose have? Are you sure about
the identification?”

“Fairly sure. Both of these roses are
singles. That is, the flowers have less than eight petals. But
Rosa Alpina pendulina
has a rich, dark bloom and is almost
thornless. I could be wrong, you understand, but it does look like
that rose.”

“What about the other?” He pushed the second
rose closer to her. Even he could see the differences in the
leaves. The second rose had much narrower leaflets.

“I feel more confident about that one. The
leaves are quite interesting, aren’t they? It is
Rosa Hudsoniana
Salicifolia
or the Willow-Leaved Marsh Rose. I’ve heard some
call it the Swamp Rose. The French name is
Rosier d’Hudson à
feuilles de Saule
although I don’t know how much good those
names will do.”

The note indicated one rose for the soul and
another for the garden. A person and a place. Was it really that
simple? A spineless virgin in a marsh?

“You’ve been a great help, Miss Wellfleet. I
can’t thank you enough.” He collected the roses and tucked them
back into their box, arranging the damp cloth around them.

Stepping between him and the door, she
clasped her hands at her waist and stared at him with pleading,
desperate eyes. “You have some notion of where she might be, don’t
you?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “But I’ll let you
know—”

“Let me come with you! Please!”

“That wouldn’t be wise.”

“I’ve never been noted for my wisdom.
Please
! If there’s any hope of finding Miss Baxter, I’d like
to go with you. She may need me.”

He couldn’t refuse her pleading gaze. Against
his better judgment, he nodded. “Very well, though I ought to
refuse. Your reputation—”

“If we find her, then my reputation won’t
suffer. And if we don’t find her, then I don’t care what happens to
my reputation.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re only worried.”

“No.” Her voice was firm as she lightly
touched the fading bruise on her cheekbone. “In fact, my reputation
could use a bit of sullying. Will you wait a moment? I must inform
Mr. Abbott that I’ll be going out and get my shawl.”

“Certainly.” He followed her into the
hallway.

Expecting more than a few minutes of delay,
he was about to sit down on a brocade-covered bench a few yards
away from the front door when Miss Wellfleet came hurrying down the
stairs. She had on a sensible straw bonnet with copper ribbons tied
under her chin and a heavy woolen shawl wrapped around her
shoulders.

Outside, Charles flagged down a passing
hackney cab and assisted Miss Wellfleet to climb inside. She
settled into the seat facing forward, and after a glance at her
worried face, he took the seat opposite. Every feeling begged him
to take the seat next to her and warm her hand between his, but
he’d already taken advantage of her once today. That was enough.
She was too upset by the disappearance of Miss Baxter to be aware
of the potential consequences of their precipitous actions.

Although part of him suspected she did
understand, and she found him as attractive as he found her.
Unfortunately, a liaison of any kind was inappropriate, and he
didn’t need that distraction. Neither did she.