“This cottage appears snug and exceedingly well built,” James said. “A pity it was abandoned.” He pressed on the doorlatch. It was unlocked. He glanced at Cecilia, his brows raised in surprise.
“If this was their club, it stands to reason it would be unlocked,” Cecilia said as James pushed the door open.
The one-room cottage showed signs that the young women had tried to make the space more comfortable. Mismatched drapes, probably retrieved from the Inglewood attic, hung at the windows. A vase with dead flowers sat on the table pushed against the back wall under a window. Wood chairs had small pillows on their seats. A threadbare rug of Persian design covered the rough wood floor. And on the wall opposite, an old, narrow bed had been enlivened with a colorful quilt and several mismatched pillows. A kettle hung from a hook over the fireplace. The cottage smelled of wood smoke and damp mold.
Cecilia crossed the room to the fireplace. She ran a gloved finger across the mantelpiece. “It is relatively clean,” she said, looking at her glove. “But I don’t feel anyone has come here since Miss Inglewood passed.” She pulled the armoire door open. A lone woman’s cloak hung on a peg.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” James asked as Cecilia pulled open the drawers at the base of the armoire.
“Yes. Miss Inglewood’s journal. Summer said she kept it here. Since it doesn’t look like anyone has been here in a while, it might still be here.”
“At least not since immediately after her death,” James acknowledged. “While you look around here, I’ll find the old hen house and see if any missives remain in that location, and if there are, what they might tell us.”
Cecilia vaguely nodded, her eyes roaming the room, her mind considering where a journal might be hidden. After poking in all the drawers and boxes, she approached the bed. She stood with her hands on her hips as she considered the narrow bed. Sheleaned over to pull up one corner of the mattress to see if the journal might be hidden beneath the bedding.
The light from the open cottage door sliced further under the bed when she picked up the bedding. Her heart raced, and her smile grew broad. “Found you,” she whispered gleefully, for through the knotted rope net that supported the mattress, she saw the edge of an open book stuck between the wall and the bedstead.
Cecilia started to pull the bed away from the wall when she heard voices outside. She turned to look out the door. James and two young men—who looked amazingly alike—approached the cottage. The Cathcart twins, she surmised. They were, indeed, strapping young men with curly blond hair. As they got closer, Cecilia could see they were strikingly handsome, though younger than they had first appeared. She doubted they had yet reached their majority. She could see why Summer’s eyes sparkled when she talked of them—and why Miss Inglewood would play them off each other.
And she wondered why they were here. She stepped into the doorway to greet them.
“James, I know you went to the hen house to see what you could find in it. I find it hard to believe you found these gentlemen there. How did they fit?” she teased.
The two young men looked confused, but her husband laughed. “There wasn’t much to find. It is too small. I’m not surprised that only Miss Inglewood and Miss Rutledge used the structure. It is too small for even a decent hen house.
“My dear, allow me to make you known to Mr. Jebus and Mr. Josiah Cathcart—but don’t ask me which is which, for I’m afraid I don’t know. Gentlemen, this is my wife, Lady Branstoke.”
After one twin backhanded the other in his stomach, the twins bowed quickly.
“Pleased to meet you, my lady,” said the one who had backhanded the other. “I am Josiah, and this be Jebus.”
“The blacksmith’s sons,” Cecilia said for her own clarification.
“Yes, my lady,” bobbed Josiah.
“These gentlemen tell me they came here to see if they could find Miss Inglewood’s diary,” James told her with a pronounced drawl.
Cecilia raised her chin as she looked from one twin to the other. “Miss Inglewood has been deceased for a fortnight now. Why the sudden interest in her diary?”
Cecilia watched, fascinated, as blushes rose from their necks to suffuse their faces. James crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, listening with a slight smirk on his lips, one only Cecilia could recognize for what it was.
“We was chopping wood this morning, sayin’ as how it sure were sad that Miss Inglewood were gone.”
“Yes,” Jebus agreed, speaking for the first time while nodding vigorously.
“And Jebus remembered her scribbling away in her book. He wondered what she said about us.”
Jebus nodded.
“I said no one has said nothin’ about her book. I wondered if anyone had found it. Jebus said we should look for it.”
“Well, Jebus seems to have a great many ideas,” Cecilia said.
Josiah Cathcart nodded. “Very thoughtful is my brother, Jebus.”
Cecilia looked at Jebus. “Where would you suggest we look for the book?”
He pointed to the floor inside the cottage. Cecilia and James exchanged glances. Cecilia always knew James’ thoughts when they did so.
