Cornelia gave a jerk of her head. “Exactly. Which is why I suppose it is a fortuitous circumstance I stumbled on you here, and before you were able to do something ridiculous such as declaring your affections for the oh-so-scheming Miss Cadwalader, a declaration I’m afraid you’d live to regret for the rest of your days.”
Gertrude pulled the hand he was still holding back, and even though her color was now leaching out of her face, she lifted her chin and nodded to his mother.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mrs. Sinclair,” Gertrude began. “I’ve done nothing that could be considered disturbing of late, although you seem to believe otherwise.”
Cornelia crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re very good with the innocent act, dear, but I’ve found you out. Margaret told me the other day about your interest in my painting, an interest that was disclosed to her by some well-meaning lady from what I understand.” She shook her head. “Imagine my disbelief when I traveled to theCorneliatoday to have her readied for a trip I need to take this week, and discovered that my painting is no longer hanging on the wall in the library, nor is it to be found anywhere on the ship.”
“Oh ... dear,” Harrison heard Gertrude mumble before she lifted her chin another notch. “I’m sorry to hear about your painting, Mrs. Sinclair, but I assure you, I did not take it.”
“Nor would she have had any time to take it, Mother,” Edwina said, stepping up next to Gertrude and entwining their arms together. “I’ve been in Gertrude’s company often since she was released from jail, and she’s spent the majority of her time over the past few days moving her belongings, as well as Mrs. Davenport’s belongings, here to the school.”
“An obvious ruse to muddy the waters,” Cornelia said with a wave of her hand.
Harrison stepped closer to his mother—a risky move if there ever was one, but one that needed to be taken. “Mother, I know you’ve been worried of late with all the changes that seem to be happening so quickly, but you’re wrong about Gertrude and Mrs. Davenport. Yes, Mrs. Davenport did have a little ... er ... problem with helping herself to items that did not belong to her, but there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation behind her peculiar habit, and never once did she keep any of the items she helped herself to.” He reached out and gave her arm a squeeze. “I was under the impression after our talk before I left for Boston that you understood the circumstances surrounding Mrs. Davenport’s idiosyncrasies. And that you were sympathetic toward her because of the pain she’d suffered in her past.”
Cornelia lifted her chin. “Iwassympathetic to Mrs. Davenport’s plight, and remorseful as well about having Miss Cadwalader carted off to jail. However, that sympathy and remorse died a rapid death the moment I discovered someone—and let us not dither about who that someone is—stole my painting.”
Asher suddenly cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. To Harrison’s confusion, his friend was fishing his copy of the list—the one with all the romantic gestures written on it—out of his pocket. After perusing that list for a second, Asher looked to Harrison. “Forgive me for interrupting, but could this missing painting perhaps be gesture number five?”
For the briefest of seconds, Harrison simply stared back at his friend, having no recollection of what gesture number five was, but knowing full well he’d not made his mother’s most treasured painting disappear to perpetuate that gesture.
“I don’t recall what gesture number five is, but do know that none of the gestures can be used to explain how my mother’s painting went missing.”
Asher stuffed the list back into one of his many pockets. “That’s too bad, and number five was solving a mystery, if you wanted to know, however...” He turned back to Mrs. Sinclair. “I’ve forgotten my manners.” Walking over to Cornelia, he took her hand and kissed it. “You’re looking lovely today, Mrs. Sinclair. The color in your cheeks is very becoming.”
“Put there by my children no doubt, but thank you, Asher. And this must be your lovely fiancée, Miss Griswold. I neglected to see her as well, being so consumed with all the many intrigues floating around this room and all.”
Permilia moved forward, and to Harrison’s relief, she took hold of his mother’s hands, smiled, and then drew Cornelia into a hug. She stepped back a moment later. “Do call me Permilia, Mrs. Sinclair, since I’m certain we’ll eventually turn into fast friends, given how close Asher and Harrison are. Because of that closeness, and because of my closeness to Gertrude, I feel I must speak up and defend my friend since you’re a bit off the mark about her. Gertrude is one of the kindest, sweetest, most generous ladies I know, and I don’t think you’ll want to continue discouraging Harrison from ... well, whatever it was he was about to do.”
Harrison was not reassured when his mother took a step back from Permilia. “I’m afraid I cannot give my blessing to a woman I feel has fooled everyone she encounters. My painting is missing, one of my daughters has been encouraged by Miss Cadwalader and Mrs. Davenport to lead a society life, although it now appears she’s also been encouraged by someone to pursue a career as a detective, which—” she nodded to Edwina—“is a far better choice than entering society, but still.” Cornelia drew in a breath. “Miss Cadwalader has somehow slipped through my son’s defenses and wormed her way into his heart. That is not an easy challenge to undertake nor find success with, and that right there has convinced me she’s a charlatan of the worst sort.”
She swung her attention to Gertrude. “While I was willing to forgive you for lying your way onto theCorneliato replace the items Mrs. Davenport helped herself to, I won’t forgive you for deceiving my son or for beginning to build a friendship with Edwina.”
“And yet I imagine Gertrude will easily forgive you, Mrs. Sinclair, for casting aspersions on her good name after I prove to you you’re completely mistaken about her stealing your painting.”
As everyone turned toward the door, Harrison found Miss Henrietta walking into the room, her pace less than hurried.
“Who, pray tell, are you?” Cornelia demanded. “And how in the world do you know my name since I know full well we’ve never been introduced?”
“I’m Miss Henrietta Huxley. You may call me Henrietta, though, which means I’ll feel free to address you as Cornelia. As to how I know you, let me simply say I make it a point of always being well informed.” Miss Henrietta smiled. “I must admit I’ve spent many an hour admiring that fine-looking husband of yours from afar, and might have even been known to admire your rascal of a son a time or two as well.”
Cornelia arched a delicate brow. “I’m sure I have no idea how anyone expects me to respond to that.”
Miss Henrietta arched a brow right back at her. “I would suggest you say ‘thank you,’ since I was obviously complimenting you on your wonderful taste in gentlemen as well as complimenting the stellar good looks of your son. But enough of the pleasantries. You’ve leveled an accusation at our dear Gertrude, which I can understand, given Gertrude’s rather suspicious situation on board theCornelia. However, because I’ve concluded you’re normally a very rational lady—because how could you not be, being the mother of such upstanding children—I’m going to simply present you with evidence of Gertrude’s innocence and allow you to form your own conclusion.”
“Is that presentation of the evidence going to result in my arresting anyone?” Agent McParland suddenly asked.
“I should say not, although how delightful to find you here, Agent McParland,” Miss Henrietta said with a knowing look sent to Edwina. “May I assume matters are progressing nicely between the two of you?”
Edwina’s eyes widened, and she sent a not-so-subtle nod in the direction of her mother, which had Miss Henrietta sending Edwina a bit of a wink in reply. “Ah yes, too right you are. Probably not the best time to broach that particular topic. So, moving right along, allow me to present my evidence.” She turned toward the door and gestured to it with a flourish of her hand, frowning when nothing appeared. Clearing her throat, she gestured again. “My evidence,” she repeated a little louder than before, but still, nothing.
Releasing a sigh, she marched toward the door, stopping a mere foot away from it. “Temperance, you’re ruining the moment by not appearing on cue,” she practically bellowed.
A second later, Temperance appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath, and looking decidedly disheveled as well as a little wild about the eyes.
“Goodness, Temperance,” Gertrude said, stepping forward. “What happened to you?”
Temperance lifted a hand, patted down hair that could only be described as having a fly-away look, and shuddered. “I was just given the supreme pleasure of careening down the streets of the city in an open buggy with Miss Henrietta at the reins.” She looked at Miss Henrietta and shuddered again. “What a thrilling adventure that was, especially when Miss Henrietta decided we weren’t traveling fast enough because of traffic and took me on a tour of the side streets, traveling at breakneck speed and taking turns that almost saw the buggy wheels leaving the ground.”
