“I’m so glad that she didn’t lose her head or anything likethat.” Mrs. Risewell laughed a little. “Why, I’m sure I would have.”
“She must be having the most beastly time with all of this.” Mira adjusted the bouquet in her hands. “I hoped to give her this to lift her spirits. Might I see her, or is she keeping to her room?”
“Sometimes I wish she would keep to her room,” Mrs. Risewell said. “No, she’s been out riding this afternoon. However, it’s almost time for tea, so she may be coming back now. If you wanted to go out to the stable, you might find her there.”
Mira stood. “Thank you, I think I will.”
“Would all of you like to stay for tea?” Mrs. Risewell asked as Mira left the room and headed down the hall towards the side door.
The weather was sunny and clear, warm enough that Mira almost didn’t need a coat. Her breath didn’t cloud the air and there were only a few spots of snow here and there, with clumps of ice in an oddly regular pattern, especially around the stable.
The door to the stable opened as she approached and the stable hand, Rudy Foster, walked out. His face was flushed from his work, his arms still wrapped, though the fabric looked new, and he carried his gloves in his hand. He tipped his cap to her, a little flustered.
“Good morning, Miss. I didn’t realize you were still staying at Wynmar.”
“I’m just visiting with the Sherards today.”
“Are you looking for their Mr. Benson? He’s still working on that axle of theirs over in the carriage house.”
“No, I’m actually here for Miss Risewell. Is she still out riding?”
“No, she’s just come inside with Verona.” He opened the stable door to let her go through.
The door closed with a soft shush behind her, the stable quiet save for some whispering coming from Verona’s stall.
“That’s a good girl,” Theresia said. “I might be able to bring you some sugar after tea.”
“Miss Risewell?” Mira called out as she came near the stall.
Theresia jolted, looking up. Strands of her hair had fallen out to frame her face, and her eyes were wide.
“Why, Miss Blayse! You’ve scared me to death. What are you doing here?”
“I came with the Sherards to thank your family for their hospitality. And I wanted to bring you this.” She lifted the bouquet. “This whole situation with Mr. Treadway has been terrible, and I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“You barely know me,” Theresia said, but she stepped closer and took the flowers from her, smelling them. “And I’m coming to believe that I don’t know you all that well either.”
“Oh?”
Theresia’s mouth twisted. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth. Is Bertie right about your Mr. Sherard? Is he actually a detective?”
Mira froze, at the unexpected question. Byron was still acting under the name Sherard, but if Bertie had broken their confidence it wouldn’t do to lie to Theresia.
“He is.”
“Then this visit isn’t just for pleasantries.” Theresia fussed with the bouquet, pulling some flowers forward and others back. “You think that Silas didn’t die accidentally.”
“We don’t know yet.”
Theresia cocked her head to the side. “I’m terrible with the language of flowers. Do they mean anything?”
Mira blinked, the abrupt change in conversation blindsiding her once again. “I’m afraid that I’m not fluent either. Byron is, but—”
“Byron?”
Mira flushed. “I mean, Ambrose. Mr. Sherard.”
“Ah. I see. Is he actually a Sherard, or is he just masquerading as one for his work?”
