Camilla turned to Owen. “If you haven’t realized this, there are occasional drawbacks to sharing such a close relationship with a member of your staff.”
“Something you and I can agree upon since Mrs. O’Connel, our part-time housekeeper, once boxed my ears when I was ten after learning I’d snuck out of Sunday services to go fishing with my friends.” Owen shook his head. “Because she’d known me since birth, she felt it was her place to make sure I never did that again.”
Camilla’s lips curved. “And did you?”
“Mrs. O’Connel has hands the size of meat cleavers. Of course I didn’t.”
Mr. Timken cleared his throat. “While learning your housekeeper has meat cleavers for hands is rather unsettling, if we may return to the topic at hand—that being why we’re trundling ever closer to Wheeling.” He arched a brow Camilla’s way, to which she responded by lifting her chin.
“I already told you why we’re going, because, did I or did I not mention that Lottie broached the matter of Victor Malvado, which left us wondering if perhaps she, not I, was the target of yesterday’s abduction?”
“You did mention that,” Mr. Timken admitted.
“Well, there you have it,” Camilla said. “I thought it best to remove Lottie and myself from New York until the Accounting Firm has time to investigate the matter. And, besides that, Mr. Chesterfield did rescue me, and I might have decided it would be churlish to refuse him his small request.”
“There’s nothing small about what he’s asked you to do, and while those sound like perfectly legitimate reasons for your decision, you should know that Bernadette told me you received a telegram, one you didn’t mention a word about to me.”
“I really should think about firing that woman because she’s abit loose with information,” Camilla grumbled. “However, that telegram was simply from Gideon.”
“What did he say?”
“He’s returning from England in three weeks.”
“Is that all he said?”
“It was a telegram. How much more could he have said?”
Mr. Timken crossed his arms over his chest. “The telegram I received from your father before we left the Hudson said quite a bit—most of it centered around the notion that he wanted you to remain in the house on the Hudson and await his arrival.” He sent Camilla a knowing look. “Clearly that’s not what you did, and since I’m now a collaborator in your flight from New York, I’m sure I’ll soon find my position terminated and my elderly self cast out on the streets.”
Camilla smiled. “Perhaps you, quite like Bernadette, have missed your calling on the stage, because that was drama at its finest. But you know Father isn’t going to send you packing since he’s well aware that I’ve occasionally disregarded his requests when I feel he’s being unreasonable.”
“The only time you’ve ever felt your father was being unreasonable was when you got yourself involved with Lord Shrewsbury.”
“I prefer not to speak about that dreadful man.”
“I’m sure you don’t, but...” Mr. Timken’s brow furrowed. “Didn’t you just say Gideon’s in England?”
“Ah...”
Mr. Timken sat forward. “I think I now understand exactly why we’ve made a mad dash from New York. Gideon sent you something about that scourge of a man who presents himself to the world as a noble aristocrat, didn’t he?”
“Perhaps,” Camilla murmured.
It was a one-word response that spoke volumes.
Before Owen could ask who the scourge was, or ask if this scourge was the real reason behind Camilla’s decision to travel to Wheeling, the train began to slow and then squealed to a stop.
Ten minutes later, and after he’d gone about the tricky business of getting El Cid into his traveling basket, something the cat clearly didn’t like since he’d immediately begun to hiss, Owen told Camilla, who was standing on the train platform, holding fast to Gladys’s leash, to wait for him there until he could ascertain that their transportation was ready.
Stepping from the platform, with El Cid now yowling somewhat forlornly from the safe confines of his basket, Owen grinned when he caught sight of Edward Stevens, a manager at Chesterfield Nail Manufacturing, but more importantly, his best friend since primary school.
“I knew you’d be here,” Owen said, covering the distance that separated them before shaking Edward’s hand.
Edward gave him a clap on the back. “How could I not be here after you sent that telegram asking me to make arrangements for guests of yours?” He leaned closer. “You never have guests, nor have you ever asked me to arrange for security. Care to explain what’s going on?”
Owen shifted El Cid’s basket to his other hand and tried to ignore that the cat was now yowling in earnest. “I supposeguestsisn’t the proper way to describe them because they’re more along the lines of a solution to Luella’s situation, or at least one of them is—Miss Camilla Pierpont. The other people in her party are what one might consider her entourage.” He glanced back to the platform, where Camilla was standing beside Mr. Timken. “That’s Miss Pierpont over there.”
Edward’s gaze shifted to the platform, his eyes widening a second later. “That’s some solution to Luella’s situation, but where did you find her, and exactly how could a lady like that be a solution to Luella’s current dilemma?”
