which we both understand my pockets aren’t to let. I have a good character. My face may not set every heart aflutter, but taking into account the spring season I had hoped for something more than mere common sense.”
“I take leave to tell you, Mr. Renshaw, that you are a weasel. I repeat, why should you want to con me?”
“And you, ma’am, are a badger. I was not trying to con you. Any bachelor will tell you the way to a young lady’s heart—or at least company—is via her chaperone. Beau said your aunt was ‘crusty’ and suggested she was not vulnerable to compliments but to an interest in palmistry. You see what a deal of trouble I’ve been to, only to get you into my carriage. And what thanks do I get? Common sense. Nothing but common sense. Really, Miss Renshaw, I expected better of an artiste.”
That explanation was a mite too flattering to swallow holus-bolus, but I knew I would get nothing better from this prevaricator. “Pity Beau hadn’t warned you of the danger of a fire hand,” I said.
“Next time I shall read the tea leaves and give your aunt back for that estimate of my character.”
“Oh, are you taking Auntie to tea? She didn’t mention it.”
He emitted a long, exasperated sigh. We drove a few miles east of Chilton Abbas, then he turned the curricle around and we drove back toward Oakbay Hall. I picked up the whip, just fiddling with it to give my hands something to do. Taking into account our delays in the village, it had been a long enough drive for a first outing. I expected we would go directly home. But as we passed the church, Renshaw drew off the road and stopped.
“The water meadow where you did your sketches is behind the church, I think you mentioned?”
I hadn’t mentioned it, but he might have learned it from Beau. “Yes.”
“It sounds fascinating. Could we have a look at it?” I felt a shiver to even think of that place. Yet it held a fascination as well as repugnance. I wouldn’t go there alone for some time, but I felt safe with Renshaw.
“Very well, but there is not much to see.”
“I think you mentioned a graveyard.... That is ‘a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.’ “
He came to a dead stop. “Oh, Lord! What an asinine thing to say! You’ll think I’m planning to misbehave. I promise you I am not. The lines are from a poem.”
I looked at the whip, thinking it would provide a weapon—not if Renshaw misbehaved. I wasn’t really concerned about that. But if the murderer had returned to the scene of the crime ...
“You shan’t need that. Word of a gentleman,” he said, and removed the whip from my fingers. Setting it aside, he alit and helped me down from the high seat of the curricle.
Chapter Six
There is some enchantment in a water meadow. The atmosphere is so soft and moist. The very air looks green from the surrounding trees and grass. Light from the water plays on the vegetation, giving a magical sense of movement to the stillness.
On arrival, all seems silent, but if you stop a moment and listen, there is a veritable symphony of nearly inaudible sounds. The buzz of insects, the rustle of a leaf as it is moved by the breeze, an occasional chirp of a bird, and the louder splash as a frog leaps for a gnat.
As my eyes toured the greenery for a likely candidate for sketching in the future, I forgot Renshaw for a moment. When he spoke, I gave a little leap of surprise.
“It’s very peaceful here,” he said. There was a tinge of reverence in his tone, the sort of hushed voice one hears in church. I sensed that he appreciated the simple beauty of my outdoor cathedral and liked him better for it. He spied a snakehead and went toward it. “This must be where you were sketching,” he said.
“No, it was farther to the right.”
He went along and found the very plant I had sketched the day we met Stoddart, close to the spot where Lollie had found his body the next day. I noticed Renshaw peering into
“I take leave to tell you, Mr. Renshaw, that you are a weasel. I repeat, why should you want to con me?”
“And you, ma’am, are a badger. I was not trying to con you. Any bachelor will tell you the way to a young lady’s heart—or at least company—is via her chaperone. Beau said your aunt was ‘crusty’ and suggested she was not vulnerable to compliments but to an interest in palmistry. You see what a deal of trouble I’ve been to, only to get you into my carriage. And what thanks do I get? Common sense. Nothing but common sense. Really, Miss Renshaw, I expected better of an artiste.”
That explanation was a mite too flattering to swallow holus-bolus, but I knew I would get nothing better from this prevaricator. “Pity Beau hadn’t warned you of the danger of a fire hand,” I said.
“Next time I shall read the tea leaves and give your aunt back for that estimate of my character.”
“Oh, are you taking Auntie to tea? She didn’t mention it.”
He emitted a long, exasperated sigh. We drove a few miles east of Chilton Abbas, then he turned the curricle around and we drove back toward Oakbay Hall. I picked up the whip, just fiddling with it to give my hands something to do. Taking into account our delays in the village, it had been a long enough drive for a first outing. I expected we would go directly home. But as we passed the church, Renshaw drew off the road and stopped.
“The water meadow where you did your sketches is behind the church, I think you mentioned?”
I hadn’t mentioned it, but he might have learned it from Beau. “Yes.”
“It sounds fascinating. Could we have a look at it?” I felt a shiver to even think of that place. Yet it held a fascination as well as repugnance. I wouldn’t go there alone for some time, but I felt safe with Renshaw.
“Very well, but there is not much to see.”
“I think you mentioned a graveyard.... That is ‘a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.’ “
He came to a dead stop. “Oh, Lord! What an asinine thing to say! You’ll think I’m planning to misbehave. I promise you I am not. The lines are from a poem.”
I looked at the whip, thinking it would provide a weapon—not if Renshaw misbehaved. I wasn’t really concerned about that. But if the murderer had returned to the scene of the crime ...
“You shan’t need that. Word of a gentleman,” he said, and removed the whip from my fingers. Setting it aside, he alit and helped me down from the high seat of the curricle.
Chapter Six
There is some enchantment in a water meadow. The atmosphere is so soft and moist. The very air looks green from the surrounding trees and grass. Light from the water plays on the vegetation, giving a magical sense of movement to the stillness.
On arrival, all seems silent, but if you stop a moment and listen, there is a veritable symphony of nearly inaudible sounds. The buzz of insects, the rustle of a leaf as it is moved by the breeze, an occasional chirp of a bird, and the louder splash as a frog leaps for a gnat.
As my eyes toured the greenery for a likely candidate for sketching in the future, I forgot Renshaw for a moment. When he spoke, I gave a little leap of surprise.
“It’s very peaceful here,” he said. There was a tinge of reverence in his tone, the sort of hushed voice one hears in church. I sensed that he appreciated the simple beauty of my outdoor cathedral and liked him better for it. He spied a snakehead and went toward it. “This must be where you were sketching,” he said.
“No, it was farther to the right.”
He went along and found the very plant I had sketched the day we met Stoddart, close to the spot where Lollie had found his body the next day. I noticed Renshaw peering into
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