“That could be it,” Byron said. “But there is still something strange about it all.”
“Oh, leave it alone, Ambrose,” Mary said. “Can’t you leave it to the professionals?”
Byron bristled, opening his mouth to say something, but Mira put a hand on his arm.
“I wonder if the Risewells wouldn’t mind a visit,” she said. “This has been such an ordeal for them, and I’d like to thank them for their hospitality.”
He softened, looking down at her. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“I’m sure Miss Risewell is feeling the loss particularly,” Mira continued. “We should bring her some flowers.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be up to it,” Aunt Eleanor said. “After all that excitement, I need to lie down.”
“You certainly can’t go without a chaperone,” Mary said.
Byron froze for a moment, before breaking out in a smile. “Thank you for offering, Mary. We can wait to go until after you write your letter.”
“Offering? But—”
“I shall come too,” Mrs. Sherard said. “I should also like to give the Risewells my gratitude.” She looked Mira over with one of her indecipherable expressions. “And it would be good to see how Benson and the wheelwright are faring with the repairs to the carriage.”
“But—” Mary spluttered.
“Good,” Byron said, turning to the hostess and changing the subject. “I meant to tell you earlier, Mrs. Renaldi, but lunch was a triumph. You really ought to congratulate Mrs. Pettigrew.”
February 11, 1889: Late Afternoon
The hired carriage rumbled up the drivetowards Wynmar Park, with Mira, Byron, Mary, and Mrs. Sherard all bundled up inside. Castel cited a need to catch up on some letters and Walker chose to stay behind with Liza and the Renaldis.
The flowers in Mira’s hands, a bouquet of pink sowbread, white hellebore, purple monkshood, and yellow daffodils, bowed with each bump in the road. She sat next to Mrs. Sherard and across from Byron. The atmosphere was thick with tension, silent as a grave. Mira knew her every move was being studied and judged. If a tickle started up in her throat again, she wasn’t sure what she would do. Luckily, they reached Wynmar Park before anything too grievous occurred. Mira stepped out onto the gravel, looking up at the estate.
“I do hope they are at home,” Mrs. Sherard said. “It would be a shame to drive all this way to discover they are back in Bath.”
“Perhaps we can go for a walk if they aren’t in,” Byron said, his eyes twinkling.
“Would you like me to wait here, ma’am?” the carriage driver asked, voice rough and deep, as if he had a cold. His coatwas pulled tight around his neck and a grey muffler covered his mouth and nose.
“Yes, please do,” Mrs. Sherard said. “We shouldn’t be too long.”
The group moved up the path to the front step where Byron rang the bell. A few moments later, the butler opened the door.
“How may I help you?”
“We are here to visit Mrs. Risewell and her daughter. Are they in?” Mrs. Sherard asked.
“Certainly. If you will wait a moment, I shall fetch them directly.” He ushered them through the door and into the parlor.
Mrs. Sherard took the most prominent chair for herself, Mary the one next to her. Mira didn’t know what to do with herself, or the bouquet, but ended up on the sofa next to Byron.
No sooner than they had all sat down, Mrs. Risewell swept into the room, her purple walking dress swishing behind her.
“What a surprise!” Mrs. Risewell said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Mrs. Sherard gave a slight bow of her head. “We wanted to thank you for your hospitality this past weekend. It really was too kind of you to offer your home at short notice and to let Benson stay on with the carriage.”
“Oh, we couldn’t possibly have done otherwise. I’m only sorry it meant you were all wrapped up in that unfortunate business with Mr. Treadway.” She turned to Mira. “You handled it all very well, my dear. I don’t know if I would have been as quick thinking in the same situation.”
“Thank you,” Mira said. “But I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Theresia. She telephoned the police and gave me directions to the stable. And she was as shocked as any of us about Mr. Treadway.”
