have them,” Phyllida said. She glanced at Mr. Frake but could learn nothing from his expressionless face. Did he believe Miss Yarborough? Phyllida wasn’t certain whether she did herself.
“You have them?” Constance straightened then smoothed the warm brown of her muslin skirts. “I am so glad. It would be quite dreadful if we were to lose them. People would think we didn’t really care and that would never do at all.” She cast a nervous glance at the Runner then looked back to Phyllida. “Where are they?”
“In my room.”
“Then let us get them at once. I feel so wickedly idle without so much as my sketch pad in my hands. I cannot even begin, though, when I don’t know who has placed an order or if they want a battle scene instead of a portrait. I do hope there will be at least one cavalry officer. I so love to sketch horses.”
The girl was babbling, Phyllida realized. But out of natural distress or a guilty conscience?
“Phyllida?” Constance set the papers down. “Can we get them?”
Phyllida looked toward the Runner. “Is it all right, Mr. Frake? Or do you wish to ask her any questions?”
“A little later, I think, if that will be convenient.”
“Yes, of course,” Constance said. “Whenever you wish. I-I will be in the Blue Drawing Room. For the light, you know. It gets full morning sun.”
“Lord Ingram?” Phyllida raised a challenging eyebrow. “Do you leave, or are you waiting for Allbury?”
The man regarded her from beneath lowered lids. “I had thought to lend our good Runner some assistance. He faces a formidable task.”
The Runner rocked back on his heels, a speculative glint in his blue eyes. “Well now, m’lord. That’s a mighty handsome offer. It will be a lot of work. But I think, under the circumstances, I’d best do it myself. And alone.” He held Ingram’s gaze for a long moment.
Only the slightest touch of annoyance flickered across Ingram’s face. “I hold myself at your disposal.” He turned to Phyllida and awarded her a short bow. “I will take my leave of you then.”
Good. She had no need of disturbingly handsome men whose sole interest in her was her connection to a murder. She rang for Louisa’s abigail to assist Mr. Frake in his search of the bedchamber, and as soon as the stern-faced woman arrived Phyllida ushered the other two out of the room. Ingram she delivered into Fenton’s capable hands and Constance she escorted up the next flight of stairs.
The girl stared at the carpeted steps as they mounted them. “I am so glad you have the papers, Phyllida. I don’t know what I would have done with nothing to occupy my mind.”
“Did you not seek to be of service to the dowager?”
Constance shot her a suspicious glance but Phyllida’s expression remained bland. “There was nothing she required of me.”
They reached the hall above and traversed the corridor to the back of the house where their bedchambers stood across from each other. They entered Phyllida’s and quickly found the orders lying on top of the writing desk. Miss Yarborough swept them up, expressed her thanks and scuttled across the hall to collect her pens, paints and the fans.
Phyllida sighed in the silence that followed the closing of her door. It was tempting to stay here and hide but she felt too restless to remain idle. Nor was she ready yet to watch a stranger turning over her sister’s belongings.
Instead she made her way to the Ladies’ Sitting Room. The pile of cards and notes of condolence had grown and with a heavy sigh she resumed her unpleasant chore of answering them.
Less than twenty minutes later the butler’s familiar rap on the door preceded the soft creak of its opening. Fenton paused on the threshold, his morose gaze resting on her.
“Lady Woking, miss.” He stood aside to permit the visitor to enter.
“My dear Miss Dearne.” Harriet, Lady Woking, one hand extended, sailed regally into the room, trailing a blue cashmere shawl behind her. A
“You have them?” Constance straightened then smoothed the warm brown of her muslin skirts. “I am so glad. It would be quite dreadful if we were to lose them. People would think we didn’t really care and that would never do at all.” She cast a nervous glance at the Runner then looked back to Phyllida. “Where are they?”
“In my room.”
“Then let us get them at once. I feel so wickedly idle without so much as my sketch pad in my hands. I cannot even begin, though, when I don’t know who has placed an order or if they want a battle scene instead of a portrait. I do hope there will be at least one cavalry officer. I so love to sketch horses.”
The girl was babbling, Phyllida realized. But out of natural distress or a guilty conscience?
“Phyllida?” Constance set the papers down. “Can we get them?”
Phyllida looked toward the Runner. “Is it all right, Mr. Frake? Or do you wish to ask her any questions?”
“A little later, I think, if that will be convenient.”
“Yes, of course,” Constance said. “Whenever you wish. I-I will be in the Blue Drawing Room. For the light, you know. It gets full morning sun.”
“Lord Ingram?” Phyllida raised a challenging eyebrow. “Do you leave, or are you waiting for Allbury?”
The man regarded her from beneath lowered lids. “I had thought to lend our good Runner some assistance. He faces a formidable task.”
The Runner rocked back on his heels, a speculative glint in his blue eyes. “Well now, m’lord. That’s a mighty handsome offer. It will be a lot of work. But I think, under the circumstances, I’d best do it myself. And alone.” He held Ingram’s gaze for a long moment.
Only the slightest touch of annoyance flickered across Ingram’s face. “I hold myself at your disposal.” He turned to Phyllida and awarded her a short bow. “I will take my leave of you then.”
Good. She had no need of disturbingly handsome men whose sole interest in her was her connection to a murder. She rang for Louisa’s abigail to assist Mr. Frake in his search of the bedchamber, and as soon as the stern-faced woman arrived Phyllida ushered the other two out of the room. Ingram she delivered into Fenton’s capable hands and Constance she escorted up the next flight of stairs.
The girl stared at the carpeted steps as they mounted them. “I am so glad you have the papers, Phyllida. I don’t know what I would have done with nothing to occupy my mind.”
“Did you not seek to be of service to the dowager?”
Constance shot her a suspicious glance but Phyllida’s expression remained bland. “There was nothing she required of me.”
They reached the hall above and traversed the corridor to the back of the house where their bedchambers stood across from each other. They entered Phyllida’s and quickly found the orders lying on top of the writing desk. Miss Yarborough swept them up, expressed her thanks and scuttled across the hall to collect her pens, paints and the fans.
Phyllida sighed in the silence that followed the closing of her door. It was tempting to stay here and hide but she felt too restless to remain idle. Nor was she ready yet to watch a stranger turning over her sister’s belongings.
Instead she made her way to the Ladies’ Sitting Room. The pile of cards and notes of condolence had grown and with a heavy sigh she resumed her unpleasant chore of answering them.
Less than twenty minutes later the butler’s familiar rap on the door preceded the soft creak of its opening. Fenton paused on the threshold, his morose gaze resting on her.
“Lady Woking, miss.” He stood aside to permit the visitor to enter.
“My dear Miss Dearne.” Harriet, Lady Woking, one hand extended, sailed regally into the room, trailing a blue cashmere shawl behind her. A
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