Mr. Smith stared into his brandy, avoiding all eye contact.
Mr. Evans engaged Miss Smith in light conversation in the corner of the room.
Mr. Taylor scowled at the pair of them, his expression so fierce I doubted even Miss Walker would have the nerve to interrupt his thoughts.
“Lady Mary.” Miss Walker waved at me to stand. “We’ll let you go first.”
Like it was some great honor. With a scowl almost as fierce as Mr. Taylor’s, I rose. The thought briefly crossed my mind to mimic something outrageous that would keep me from being invited back to this game, but I suppressed the urge. If I was to continue investigating, I needed these people to talk to me.
I shot Mr. Ryder a look. He was sitting in another corner of the room, a book in his hand, but I knew he watched. And maybe some small part of me didn’t want to do anything that would truly disgust him. He thought me nefarious enough.
I made the motion for a book.
Though perhaps I could shock all of them, just a little.
The motions my hands were making soon drew the attention of the room. Lady Havenstone gasped at a particular gesture, but her husband muttered, “Come now, she can’t mean that.”
“The Banished Man,” Miss Walker guessed, her eyebrows drawn together. “The Romance of the Forest?”
I shook my head and repeated my pantomime.
There were a couple of other awkward guesses, no one wanting to put into words what my gestures brought to mind.
Bertram leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “An Apology for the Conduct of Mrs. T.C. Phillips.”
I paused my pantomime and looked to him, eyebrows raised.
“Lady Mary indicated the title only has two words,” Lady Havenstone sharply reminded him, and included Miss Walker in her disdainful look.
And neither of those two words were in any way close to the title Bertram had just guessed. I gave a small shrug. Oh, well. Charades wasn’t a game for everyone.
“What’s to keep her from saying no to all our guesses, even if we’re right?” Bertram narrowed his eyes. “There’s no way to check if she’s lying.”
I dropped my hands. “It’s a game, Bertram. Why would I lie?”
The butler glided into the room. “Excuse me, milady. With the roads so bad, the post has only just arrived. I have a few letters.” He gave one to Mr. Ryder and one to Lord Havenstone. My heart dropped when I saw there was no letter for me.
No matter. I was certain Mr. Cooke would reply when he was able, even if it was only to tell me that the clientele of his businesses were confidential.
“Do continue, Lady Mary.” Miss Walker brushed a light brown curl from her cheek.
“Please don’t,” Mr. Smith objected. “Just tell us what book you were trying to ape.”
I clasped my hands primly in front of my abdomen. “The Wanderer. Otherwise known asFemale Difficulties.”
“Written by Fanny Burney.” Mr. Ryder’s eyes glinted suspiciously but his face otherwise remained impassive.
“Well, that explains some of those gestures,” Mr. Smith muttered.
Lord Havenstone abruptly stood. He waved the letter he’d been reading in front of his wife’s face. “Even from the grave he tests me. We will leave this house as soon as possible.” Face red, he stormed out.
Lady Havenstone smiled tightly and rose. “I apologize. He received bad news from my father.” And she followed after her husband.
“Can anyone guess who is testing him from the grave?” Mr. Taylor sneered. “I tell you, there is no one here who liked the man, it wasn’t just me. But whoever killed him will pay.”
“You have more faith in our judicial system than I.” Mr. Smith raised his glass in salute. “Here’s to your words becoming reality.”
I had to agree with Mr. Smith. One could hope for justice, but the reality often fell far short. And considering how many people Perrin had angered, justice could be hard to come by.
