Nate took another satisfying sip of tea before putting it down. Then he threw off his covers and waited for Bennett to help him into his robe before he went to the window. When he’d first come to live at Villa De Lacey, he’d only had one goal in mind, and that was to return to London. He thought he’d never be happy living anywhere else.
But Westmorland, with its pristine lakes, lush green landscape, and high fells, had won him over. Moreover, country life had turned him from a late riser into an early lark. Now, the idea of not seeing the magnificent Lake Windermere upon waking every morning was unthinkable. But this morning, his gaze fell directly to the garden and the place where the daffodils had been. The beautiful sea of yellow flowers had been pulled out of the ground from their roots, and the soil smoothed over like a mass grave. He sighed. The sight hurt him, but it was for the best.
“Thomas and Fred must have started before dawn to get everything finished this early,” Nate spoke his thoughts out loud. “It’s ashame, but it’s what had to be done.”
“You did right, sir,” Bennett said. “All kinds were trespassing on your land to come and gawk.”
With Bennett’s assistance, Nate washed and dressed for the day. As the valet buttoned his waistcoat, a great hue and cry sounded in the distance.
“Good Lord, has it started already? I thought we could at least wait until after breakfast.”
“Shall I see what it’s all about, sir?”
“I think I know what it’s about. It’s Colonel Kendall, no doubt. Discipline from his army days made him an early riser. I don’t believe he has a view of the garden from his room, so he must have only just ventured outside and seen the daffodils.”
“Shall I go and speak with him, sir?”
Nate sighed. “It’s best I do it. Fetch my jacket.”
When Nate stepped out of his room, he almost ran into Bridget, whose face looked creased with worry. “It’s Mr. Angert,” she said. “It sounds like he has taken the loss of the daffodils very badly.”
“Indeed,” Nate said. He could hear the artist shouting expletives in his heavy German accent coming from downstairs.
Just then Colonel Kendall came out of his room, fully dressed and ready for the day. “I say, what’s going on? I was enjoying my morning tea and newspaper when someone started screaming like a lunatic.” He glanced toward the stairs. “Good heavens! It’s coming from down there.”
“Not to worry, Mr. Angert is simply a bit upset. I shall see to it.”
Lady Armstrong peeked out from behind her chamber door. “What’s all that racket?” she asked. Then, before Nate had a chance to answer, she opened the door and shoved Miss Jennings out, saying, “Go and tell whoever’s making that noise to be quiet!”
Miss Jennings stood by the door, looking bewildered.
Then, Angert, himself, came rushing up the stairs in his robe. Hisface was purple with rage. “Monsters! Savages!” he cried. “Who would do such a thing? I ask you! Who?”
“Calm down, Mr. Angert. It’s only a few daffodils.”
“Only a few daffodils?” the man thundered. “What are you talking about? It’s my work. My art. Someone has murdered my art!”
Doors opened, and the guests, most still in their robes, peeked out of their rooms. “Did someone saymurder?” Mr. Harley asked, and the rest of the guests gasped.
“No one has been murdered.” Nate held up his hands in a calming gesture. “There’s nothing to worry about. Just a minor mishap. You can go back to bed.” Then he turned to Angert and said, “I told you yesterday, Mr. Angert, you can make more art. There’s plenty of…”
“Moreart!” Angert leapt forward like a crazed animal and grabbed Nate by his jacket. “You dare to destroy my art and tell me to makemore?” His pale blue eyes bulged in their sockets as if his head were about to explode.
“Mr. Angert”—Nate removed the man’s hands from his lapels—“calm down!” He smoothed his jacket. “I had my gardener take out the daffodils on the lawn because it is the site of a murder—a gruesome, tragic murder—and you and Colonel Kendall were making a spectacle of it.”
“I say”—Colonel Kendall stepped forward—“have you removed the daffodils? That was uncalled for. One doesn’t remove a battlefield because soldiers died on it. No! One goes there and relives the great moments of history.”
“The daffodils?” Angert blinked. “You think I’m speaking of daffodils?” He spat out the words. “Those daffodils are imprinted in my brain. I can paint them from memory. But to destroy my art—my paintings—was unforgivable!”
Nate heard Bridget gasp beside him.
“Destroy your paintings? Whatever are you talking about?” Nate asked.
“My paintings! Someone slashed them with a knife. They’re ruined, I tell you. Ruined!”
“Good grief!” Bridget cried.
“Come see for yourself.” Angert raced back down the stairs, crying, “Savages, murderers,” as he went. Nate, Bridget, and a host of others followed him to his chamber.
