“Thank you,” she said softly. She looked about while the man went to find the fabric. Cecilia humorously thought she’d be obliged to purchase the fabric, no matter what it looked like.
A tall angular woman walked up to Cecilia. “Are you quite all right? That cough sounded nasty, and you do look a bit peaked.”
Cecilia looked at the woman and smiled. “Yes, thank you. I’m recovering from being sick. Unfortunately, this plaguey cough lingers and I tire easily,” she said. “My doctor said walking would be good for me.”
“You might need both rest and walking. I am Mrs. Tiptree.” She sat down on the chair on the other side of the coal stove.
“Lady Branstoke,” Cecilia said in return.
“What brings you to Camdenton Village?” she asked.
“My doctor has suggested a short stay at a sanatorium where I should not have to worry about any household matters. A friend suggested Camden House.”
“And a good suggestion it is too. That is Mrs. Worcham over there,” she said, pointing to the woman with the last-century wig.”
“Oh!”
Mrs. Tiptree laughed. “Don’t mind Emily Worcham and her wigs. The poor dear has a skin condition that has caused most of her hair to fall out, so she has taken to wearing wigs. All nature ofwigs. It is her bit of humor. Today, a full white wig. Tomorrow, it could be a wig of dark red curls.”
Cecilia looked over at the bewigged woman.
“I know her wig choices might make her appear to be one with the patients. She says living in a quiet sanatorium, as she does, can be overwhelming. She feels for her own sanity she needs to liven her life up occasionally,” Mrs. Tiptree said with a laugh.
“How does Dr. Worcham feel about his wife’s habit?”
“He does not have an objection, for you see, all the patients love her. She helps them see they need not feel so tightly bound to convention. Let me introduce her to you. You will love her, too.—Mrs. Worcham—Emily!” Mrs. Tiptree called out. She rose from the chair and crossed the space to the other side of the room where Mrs. Worcham talked animatedly with three other women. A moment later she returned to Cecilia’s side, accompanied by Mrs. Worcham.
Mrs. Worcham was Cecilia’s height, and with her bright, smiling dark eyes, she resembled an alert sparrow. One look at this woman and Cecilia knew this woman would see through her charade, if she were not careful. She had that keen observation eye that missed nothing.
“Mrs. Worcham, this is Lady Branstoke. She’s going to Camden House this afternoon to see about a short stay. Lady Branstoke, this is our favorite Camden House resident, Emily Worcham, Dr. Worcham’s wife.”
The two women acknowledged the introduction, and then Mrs. Worcham sat down on the seat Mrs. Tiptree had been sitting in. “And why is it you wish to come to Camden House,” Mrs. Worcham inquired.
Cecilia drew her handkerchief from the cuff of her jacket where she had placed it for easy access. She sniffed lightly and blotted at the end of her nose. “Forgive me for admitting it isnot my notion. I was very sick not a sennight ago. I contracted a terrible influenza. I was confined to my bed for two weeks. Now that the illness has passed, a cough remains, and I am slow to regain my strength. My dear husband is concerned as I am with child. He doesn’t believe I am resting enough. He thinks I am trying to do too much too fast, so he suggested a sanatorium stay for a time to ensure I get the proper rest and care I need to fully recover.” She smiled weakly, waving the handkerchief before her. “I protested but the dratted man found a medical man to support his concerns and his suggested solution.”
Mrs. Worcham leaned forward to pat her hand resting in her lap. “If that is your situation then Camden House is the perfect place for you to rest and recover. I dare swear that after just a couple of weeks, you will feel rested and ready for what life has for you.”
“But, but…I heard—they said at the inn, that a man was murdered there,” she said softly, keeping her eyes wide and fearful.
Mrs. Worcham closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again, their bright bird light dimmed. “Yes. Mr. Montgomery. We really don’t know what happened,” she said, frowning.
“Didn’t they arrest someone?” Mrs. Tiptree asked.
Mrs. Worcham looked up at her where she stood near Cecilia. “Yes, yes they did,” she said, her voice turning brisk. She looked back at Cecila. “So, you have no worries, my dear. I look forward to seeing you at Camden House.” She rose and smoothed the fabric of her skirt down. “And I really did intend to buy a length of lace today. I heard from Mrs. Shepley they’ve received a new shipment.”
What just happened?Cecilia wondered.
She looked over her shoulder where Sarah stood behind her. Her maid ever so slightly shook her head. Mrs. Worcham’s demeanor changed abruptly when Mrs. Tiptree asked forconfirmation that someone had been arrested. Why would that be?
She had just said they didn’t know what happened and, practically in the next breath, briskly agreed a person had been arrested. Cecilia stared after the woman, now fingering lace on the other side of the store. Cecilia had the feeling Mrs. Worcham did not think the Earl of Soothcoor was the murderer. That was the only cause she could reason for her abrupt change in demeanor. What did she know? And how did she know it? It was fortuitous to meet her before she must go to Camden House. She turned back to Mrs. Tiptree who’d resumed her seat opposite Cecilia.
“Can you tell me about this murder? And,” she added softly, conspiratorially, “you would be doing me a favor to remain engaged with me lest that clerk come back with fabric he intends for me to purchase.”
Mr. Tiptree laughed. “Yes, that is young Mr. Jenkins. He tries very hard to prove himself to Mr. Magnum, the owner of the shop, as he would like to court Mr. Magnum’s elder daughter, Iris. Frankly, I think his efforts are wasted on that Miss. She aspires to a higher status, which I doubt she could acquire. However, it is sometimes amusing to observe the antics of the young in their mating dances. I shall do all I can to keep him away from your purse.”
Cecilia extended a shy smile to her. “Thank you. And the murder victim?” she reminded her.
“Oh, bless you, yes. It was Mr. Montgomery. He had been a longtime resident of Camden House. They don’t have many longtime residents there as Dr. Worcham does not want his sanatorium to be little better than a prison. There are other institutions for the severely ill.”
