“It’s all right,” Mr. Lockhart reassured her. “Mr. Cole would not stoop to offend our household with an inappropriate token. We may be certain of his good intentions.” Still, the good-natured vicar paid rather more close attention to his guest’s actions as William leaned forward and handed the gift to Miss Lockhart.
She sat for several moments, contemplating the unwrapped parcel.
“Well, go on, open it,” said her mother, apparently more eager to see the gift than its recipient was.
Miss Lockhart’s fingers began to unfold the suede cloth that covered it, revealing a shallow, rectangular box. She pulled off the lid and reached inside to lift out the contents. There was a soft rustle as she did so. She discovered several layers of paper tissue wrapping, and these, in turn, she carefully removed. At last, the corner of a frame peeked through the final layer of paper, hinting that the mystery would soon be solved.
From the depths of the many protective layers, Miss Lockhart pulled a boxed frame with a glass front. Within, there was a large butterfly, nearly two inches across. Expertly mounted, its powder-blue shape was on full display, showing its black edging and several black speckles on its front wings.
A bronze plate at the bottom of the frame gave the butterfly’s Latin name.
“Maculinea arion,” she whispered. “It’s a large blue.”
“A large, blue what?” her mother wanted to know.
“I believe that is its common name,” William explained. “I purchased it from the Entomological Society in Munro. They sent a detailed letter, explaining its name and habitat and observed behaviors. I must say, it was most informative. I can bring the letter with me on my next visit. But I suspect Miss Lockhart might already know a great deal on the subject.”
“It certainly is a fine specimen,” Mr. Lockhart commented, craning his neck to see the object in his daughter’s hands.
She stared blankly at it.
“It’s dead.” Her voice was strained.
“Well, yes,” said William, somewhat miffed by her response. To be honest, he had expected excitement, gratitude…something. He had thought to bring that flush of joy upon her face that he had seen at the pond.
“I thought you could add it to your collection,” he said, his confidence in pleasing her greatly diminished.
“My ‘collection’?” She lifted her head and looked at him with doleful eyes. “I have no such collection.”
“Yes, you do. You have your paintings. But I thought…”
His voice trailed off. He had given up a secret—their secret. He should not have known about her paintings. He had never been in her room, and her mother discouraged all conversation on the topic when in company. He cursed himself for his careless speech. Now there would surely be awkward questions.
But Miss Lockhart did not even seem to notice the slip. Her attention was somewhere else entirely.
“You think I collect the… the…bodiesof these beautiful creatures?”
A warning shot up William’s spine. Something was very wrong. He just didn’t know exactly what it was.
“I know you are a student of nature,” he explained. “I thought you would be pleased to observe this specimen more closely. I understand it is quite rare.”
Miss Lockhart trembled at his words.
“Yes, it is rare. And now there is one fewer of them to brighten the world.”
William was taken aback. He had not thought of that.
“Perhaps the collector simply found it,” he said hopefully.
She shook her head. “Such a perfect specimen did not die naturally.” Her lips tightened. “Someone was very pleased to discover it and could not wait to boast of their achievement. I imagine it was the subject of a talk offered at the Society’s next meeting.” She looked down at the frame in her hands. “But, for all their discussion, they did not reallyseeit.”
“Verity, dear,” Mrs. Lockhart said to intervene, “I don’t think we can hold poor Mr. Cole responsible for how the butterfly was acquired. It was still very thoughtful of him to encourage you where others might not have.”
Her meaning was clear, and her daughter lifted her head in answer.
“I don’t want to be encouraged. I want to be understood!” She whipped her head about to face him. “I thoughtyouunderstood!”
Her face burned with emotion—anger, betrayal, loss. William faltered in response.
