“Is that so?” Eva’s brows gathered. “Then I pray you shall find it soon.”
Bram couldn’t agree more.
Eva stalked from the workroom, troubled by Penny’s outburst and even more so by the missing brooch. She hated to question her few remaining staff members, but if that antiquity didn’t turn up, she would have to ask around. Dixon would be hurt. Sinclair cross. Tom would snort like a horse and go right back to his work, totally ignoring her. And Mrs. Pottinger ... well. There was no telling what that chary woman would do. Hopefully Bram would find the brooch, and it wouldn’t come to such an unpleasant task.
But Penny could not be so easily put off.
Eva upped her pace, aggravated by her sister’s ugly display of anger, and yet she ought to have seen it coming. Her sister adored learning on the dig site and was practically a sponge when it came to absorbing the students’ answers to her questions. She would do well in school—but that had nothing to do with Penny’s misbehaviour right now. Perhaps her sour mood was from lack of sleep. They had been out awfully late last evening at the bonfire.
As Eva neared the front hall, Dixon strode out of the sitting room, the lace of her mobcap flopping against her brow with each step. “There you are, miss, and just in time. You’ve got company.”
“Who?”
“The Reverend Mr. Blackwood and his sister, Mrs. Mortimer.”
Her shoulders tightened. She’d had plenty enough of Mr. Blackwood on the ride back to Royston last night. What more could he possibly have to say to her now? “Thank you, Dixon. Please bring in some tea.”
She entered into a room smelling as if the very walls had been painted with violet toilette water. Mrs. Mortimer had really outdone herself today in the perfume department.
Mr. Blackwood rose at her approach, Mrs. Mortimer all a-smile as she perched on the edge of the highbacked chair.
Eva dipped her head at them both. “Mrs. Mortimer, Mr. Blackwood. Good day.”
“Good day, Miss Inman.” Mrs. Mortimer fluttered a lacy handkerchief near the top of her great bosom. “I heard about your disturbing brush with death last evening, and I told my brother I simply must come over to check on you.”
“As you see, I am well, but he could have put your mind at ease about that.” Eva glanced at the grey-suited man as she took a seat on the farthest end of the sofa from him.
“My sister is overly dramatic, a trait I have been trying to temper—unsuccessfully, I might add. Nor is the purpose of my visit to inquire about your well-being, though I am happy to see you whole and hale.” His thin lips flattened to a straight line, belying his words.
Eva slid her hands beneath the fabric of her skirt, hiding her nails. “Then what is your purpose, sir?”
“If you will recall when I first learned of Mr. Webb residing on your property, there was something about the name that didn’t sit right with me. I feel it was a nudging of the Spirit, if you will. That and a vague memory from years ago of a certain woman with the same surname. So I sent out discreet queries to a few of my associates in Cambridge.”
Eva dug her fingers into the underside of her thighs. What business was it of his to needle about in Bram’s private affairs? Or hers, for that matter. Still, it had already been done, so therewas no point in calling out such a bold action. “That is very thorough of you, Mr. Blackwood.”
“I take my position as shepherd quite seriously, Miss Inman.” His eyes arced like a blue bolt of electricity she’d once seen at the fair. “At any rate, when the post arrived this morning, I opened a missive direct from Trinity College sent me by the head of the history department. Professor Grimwinkle informed me he is intimately aware of the details of Mr. Webb’s past—a past that is riddled with infractions.”
“I am well aware of Mr. Webb’s history, sir. He grew up here in Royston. We were childhood friends.”
Mrs. Mortimer tittered. “How romantic!”
Eva nearly choked. “It was nothing of the sort.”
Though I’dlike it to be now.
This time she did cough, and quite violently. Where had that unexpected thought come from?
“Here, dear.” Mrs. Mortimer leaned to a dangerous angle on the chair, the legs of it straining as she held out her handkerchief.
Eva held up her hand. “Thank you for your kindness, but I have a handkerchief.” She pulled out her own square of linen—nothing quite so fine as Mrs. Mortimer’s—and pressed it to her lips.
Dixon entered, carrying a tray with the ivy-sprigged tea set, and placed it on the table between the sofa and the highbacks. “Will that be all, miss?”
“Yes, thank you, Dixon.” She set to work, grateful for the distraction of pouring tea instead of having to face Mr. Blackwood.
But that didn’t stop him from continuing. “Be that as it may, Miss Inman, I wonder if you know of a scandal involving Mr. Webb several years ago, long after he left the confines of Royston. The man was indicted for theft from a dig site.”
The teapot shook in her hand, splashing tea onto the tray. Surely the missing brooch he’d spoken of couldn’t have been taken by him.
