Suitors and Sabotage(55)
“If Percy and Jake were with you, then who can be party to this latest attempt to cause trouble?” Imogene paused. “We have always assumed that they were the guilty ones … that it was their insatiable need for mischief that has been the purpose of these incidents. Must we now rethink that premise?”
“Absolutely.” Emily nodded. “Though the waters are quite murky, if we have to look beyond tomfoolery … it takes on a rather baffling aspect.”
“Indeed. The reason all but disappears.” Imogene bit at her lip, frowned, and glanced back across the table at the tired faces—staring back, blankly. “Yes, well, too tired to discern teasing likely means too tired to unravel a puzzle.”
Ernest nodded his agreement; Ben just yawned.
Imogene turned back to Emily. “If we filter out the mischief—ignore teasing the dogs, dousing Pauline, and overturning the boat—we are left with the topaz necklace, tying up Jasper, the burr, and the ghost.” Imogene was not about to mention the letter—it didn’t need to be discussed. “Had my necklace been found where it lay, Ben and I would have suffered the worst consequences, though Ernest, too, would have been affected. But it might simply have been the work of a thief.” She frowned and then added, half to herself, “an inept and inconstant thief … as nothing else that I know about has gone missing.”
She dropped the unappealing toast on her plate and wiped the crumbs from her fingers. “As to the night of the storm, the men working on the ruins claim not to have tied up Jasper, but not all the same men were there when I asked.… And enticing a rescuer across a floor ready to collapse could have been an accident.”
“The burr was not an accident,” Emily interposed.
“No, that certainly appears to have been deliberate, and Ben could have been terribly injured.” Imogene shook her head in frustration and then heard the echo of her words. “And the haunting was meant to scare Ernest and Ben away.” When listed, there was a common thread. “Ben.”
“Hmm?” His eyes were open, but was he awake?
“Why would … did you have a disagreement…?” Imogene could hardly articulate her question; it felt too intrusive, almost rude. She thought of a way to rephrase her query. “Can you think of any person who might wish you ill? Ill enough to follow you about from one manor to the next trying to cause harm?”
“Someone who could enter a house at will and sneak into the stables without causing alarm?”
“Yes, indeed. Ludicrous. We cannot blame a stranger. More’s the pity.”
“Or I am not the intended target.” Ben shrugged.
Imogene shook her head. “I might agree if it were not for the burr.”
Ernest cleared his throat. “I prefer the idea that these are separate incidents—that there is no one underlying purpose, no one intended victim. Accidents.”
Emily frowned. “It would certainly be easier to sleep at night. I’m not at ease with the idea that someone under this roof has some sort of sinister intent. That is something that happens only in novels, not in reality. Besides, between staff, guests, and family, there are near on thirty people to consider. No, no: mischief. Simply mischief. Perhaps not Percy’s or Jake’s, but someone else’s naughtiness.”
“Accidents,” Ernest repeated, sounding almost certain.
Imogene stared across at Ernest, surprised. There was no foundation for this belief. The thought of someone setting out to intentionally harm his brother would be very disconcerting, but burying his head in the sand was not the wisest of approaches. As she continued to stare, she realized that Ernest was staring back … and that he might infer the wrong reason for this overly long look. She gulped, blinked, and turned her eyes toward Ben … who was also staring at her. With a sharp shake of her head, Imogene dropped her eyes to her plate, picked up her cold toast, and added another layer of jam.
“Just as I had hoped,” Mrs. Beeswanger said as she entered the room in a soft lavender gown festooned with ruffles along the hem. Mr. Beeswanger and Mr. Tabard followed on her heels, looking smart in their country casual. “We caught you before you set off on your day’s adventure.” She walked over to the sideboard, lifted a plate, and waved it absentmindedly in the air as she talked. “The weather has cleared—and so we thought we might away to Taverock Castle. An alfresco luncheon, perhaps. What say you? The girls have always enjoyed the castle,” she said, pointedly talking to Ernest. “Might you take a break from A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”
Looking over at Emily, Imogene felt a stirring of enthusiasm. The castle was a wonderfully picturesque ruin, excellent sketching fodder, with nooks and crannies aplenty. Perhaps there she might begin a conversation with Ernest—about the value of friendship.
“Most accommodating, Mrs. Beeswanger. I think it a capital idea.” Ernest looked expectantly at Imogene.
“We can sketch.” Imogene lifted her cheeks, uncomfortable with his scrutiny.
“Where are the boys?” Mr. Tabard asked, frowning while he waited behind Mrs. Beeswanger to choose her breakfast. “Slugabeds?” He snorted with disgust. “At their age, I was out riding every morning just after the sun came up.” He turned toward Mr. Beeswanger, who had snorted a laugh. “Yes, well, perhaps a little later than that.”