“Christina Hathaway.” She curtseyed back. I caught a peek at her dainty feet inside a pair of pristine silk slippers. No Docs for Christina Hathaway.
I scrambled for something to say to her, so I wouldn’t have to speak to Hathaway again. “I’ve heard you’re a talented musician. Will you be gracing us with a song over the weekend?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly.” Christina looked to her father.
“Nonsense. You must give us a song or two. Christina is accomplished in all that she does,” the professor beamed. “She has a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and several languages. Her embroidery wins national awards, her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite, and she makes all her own clothes, as well as my own humble wardrobe.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to quote Mr. Darcy that the word accomplished ‘is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen’, but then I took in the professor’s elaborate embroidered waistcoat and lace cravat. The work that must’ve gone into that outfit was astounding. Christina must indeed be very accomplished.
“Mina, there you are.” Cynthia grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. “I was just telling Michaela here all about your skill at solving murders.”
Professor Carmichael’s harangued expression changed to sympathy as she recognized me.
“I just got lucky,” I said, searching the room for Heathcliff or Morrie, someone who might be able to save me. Gerald stood in the corner, a glass of wine paused at his lips. When he noticed our merry group, he slid closer.
What’s his game? Why would anyone pay hundreds of pounds for tickets to an event they didn’t even want to attend just to psych out their old professor? Does Gerald have something else planned?
I was drawn back to the present by Cynthia’s gushing about me. “…no, no, Mina’s being modest. Those incompetent detectives were going to have Grey and I charged with the murder of my dear friend, Gladys Scarlett. Can you imagine such a thing! While we were at the station, fighting for justice to be done, Mina single-handedly chased down not one, buttwomurderers. And just five weeks ago she figured out that the local market bag-boy killed a girl in the bookshop. Why, I dear say that Argleton Jewel Thief better watch out if Mina ever decides to get on his case. Wouldn’t you say so, Michaela?”
Cynthia stopped talking long enough to suck in a breath. Professor Carmichael seemed unaware that she had been left to pick up the conversation. Her body stood rigid with anger as she stared at Professor Hathaway.
“Michaela,” he nodded in a businesslike way, smiling that creepy smile of his.
“Julius,” she shot back, her voice frosty.
The conversation stalled with the two academics staring daggers at each other. Cynthia opened her mouth, likely to continue her gushing praise for my mystery-solving prowess. To cut her off, I turned to Christina. “You’re very talented. I know a little about fashion. I studied at New York Fashion School, and worked with the designer Marcus Ribald for a year. I know how much skill must’ve gone into these outfits.”
“Thank you,” she beamed. “Did you live in New York City all by yourself?”
“Of course! Well, I lived with my friend Ashley. We had this tiny place off Greenwich Avenue, so we were close to the West Village and all the great shopping and bars. I got to work Fashion Week, and it was amazing.”
“But weren’t you afraid? I’ve read that New York City is dangerous for a young woman on her own. Did you not have an escort?”
“It can be dangerous. You’ve just got to be sensible and prepared. Ashley and I took a self-defense class. I learned how to kick a man in the balls. I’m a little bit disappointed I never got to use it.”
“I took fencing classes!” Christina blurted out. She seemed shocked. Beside her, Hathaway stiffened. “But Father prefers I stick to ladylike pursuits.”
Um, okay.
“Well, if you want to sit down over lunch or dinner, I could tell you all about fashion school. I could even give you some application tips if you wanted to get in.” I turned to Cynthia. “Are Christina and her father seated near us at the ball tomorrow?”
“Of course. You are both at the VIP table for our most honored guests,” Cynthia beamed.
“Perfect. We can talk more at the ball.”
Christina beamed. “I’d like that very—”
“Thank you, but Christine has a full weekend already,” Professor Hathaway touched his daughter’s hand. “Please escort me back to my room, dear. I don’t wish to derail the dance practice with my presence. When the ladies see me on the dance floor, they tend to go a bit silly.”
Christina rearranged her face into a placid expression. “Of course, Father. Please, excuse us.” He took her arm, leaning into her to whisper something in her ear, and they ascended the staircase.
Heathcliff stared after them. “That scoundrel.”
“Who?”
“Hindley,” he whispered. His body shuddered with rage.
“What do you mean?” Hindley was the brother of Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff’s sworn enemy in his book, but I didn’t know why his name came up now.
