James harrumphed but continued, “Can you remember who else was staying at the inn?”
He shook his head. “I kept to myself; I didn’t feel like conversing with others…” He tilted his head to the side. “The register. There were two names before mine on the register. I don’t know if they were still residing at the inn, only that they’d been there before me. Baron Stackpoole and another scrawl of a name that looked like Cameron Ramsay. I dismissed the notionthe second name was Ramsay as there was no reason for Mr. Ramsay to be in the area. He fluttered about Mrs. Montgomery, not quite a suitor, but always irritatingly around, and I assumed I had his name on my mind for that reason.
“We knew Stackpoole had been at the inn as he had left a pot of honey for his son when he last visited. Young Stackpoole regularly goes to see his mother and, according to him, he has a love of honey.”
Soothcoor frowned and looked intently at James. “Baron Stackpoole left a pot of honey for his son?”
“Yes. Mr. Stackpoole thought it a peace offering from his father.”
Soothcoor compressed his lips. “That does not sound like something the baron would do as a peace offering. Strange. And from what Mr. Stackpoole told us in London, it did not sound as if his father visited his mother. You said Mr. Stackpoole has taken ill?”
“Yes. Mr. Stackpoole has had violent stomach and bowel issues. Cecilia is now concerned as Mr. Stackpoole traveled with us. She is resting today, else would have contrived to coerce me to allow her to accompany me here.”
Soothcoor laughed. “I’m sure she would have. So, you managed to convince her to stay at the hotel. Well done!”
Sir James smirked. “It wasn’t as hard as it might be at other times. Cecilia is just recovering from a spring influenza that laid her quite low, and she doesn’t want to take any chances as she is enceinte.”
“Enceinte! Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
He looked down at his hands. “So is Mrs. Montgomery,” he said quietly.
James stared at Alastair for a moment. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you or swear like a sailor.”
Alastair's lips lifted slightly at the side.
“I know. And when that becomes known, it will be another reason I will be judged guilty of murder.”
CHAPTER 10
THE LINEN DRAPERS
An ornate black wrought iron stanchion held up theMagnum and Sons Linen Drapers’white sign with its simple black lettering. The building was a neat Georgian brick structure with a slate roof, no doubt built during the flurry of canal building at the end of the last century. As she looked down the road, Cecilia noted several more modern businesses interspersed with older Tudor buildings. There were numerous people walking about the town from various classes, including a woman who appeared to wear an elaborate white wig from the previous century.
She walked alone, with a vigorous stride, into the linen drapers. Cecilia and Sarah were not far behind her. Before entering the charming shop, Cecilia cautioned herself to maintain an invalidish manner. What had once been an easy manner to adopt, she’d found it getting increasingly difficult to maintain. James didn’t like it when she fell back into the weak, fainting, naïve-woman role. She was none of those things and James reminded her he remained enamored of the clever, slyly humorous, and laughing woman he’d married.
Cecilia knew her short, slender stature did much to give people she met the impression she was an invalidish femalebefore she’d ever spoke to them! Today, the addition of a little ash on her face would heighten the effect.
She stopped just inside the door. There were a dozen women in the mercantile, gathered together in clumps loudly chatting—not at all shopping for fabric or assorted fripperies. She heard the door open behind her and quickly stepped aside to allow another woman to enter. Cecilia nodded apologetically to the newcomer for blocking her entrance, then looked down and made her way to a long counter with baskets of ribbons and bows.
“Oh, look, my lady, at this ribbon!” Sarah said, picking up a wood spool of blue ribbon. “It matches your eyes! Sir James would certainly notice that ribbon threaded through your hair.”
Cecilia smiled wanly. “Yes, I suppose…,” she said faintly, passing the ribbon through her gloved fingers.
“I believe we have a couple ells of fabric in that same shade that my lady might be interested to see,” said a man from across the counter.
Cecilia looked up into the eyes of a chubby, balding young gentleman. She felt him look her over, calculating her worth.
“Perfect amount and weight for a spencer,” the man continued, smiling in quite an ingratiating manner.
“Perhaps…,” Cecilia said faintly, her eyes wandering away as another surge of coughing gripped her. She noted several women looking at her curiously. She smiled in what she hoped was an appropriate shy manner as she recovered her composure. There was generally one woman in a crowd of women like this who gravitated to the shy ones.
“Might there be a chair where my lady might sit for a moment?” Sarah asked the clerk. “She is still recovering from a long illness and the walk here has brought on renewed coughing and fatigue. Perhaps she might like to look at the fabric then,” Sarah told him, her voice pitched for others to hear.
Cecilia kept her eyes downcast, forcing a smile away. In the year since she’d married James, Sarah had become the foil for Cecilia’s fragile-woman persona, a role her Aunt Jessamine played when Cecilia sought her first husband’s murderer. Cecilia thought Sarah enjoyed her little bits of invalid playacting and her role as Cecilia’s caregiver. Unfortunately, at the moment, her coughing was all too real.
“Yes, of course,” the clerk said. “Right this way.” He led her to a chair near a large coal stove.
