The Carousel Painter (20 page)
“But you were asleep.”
I didn’t know what difference it made if I slept on the bed or if I sat in a chair with my eyes wide open while I waited. It obviously mattered to Augusta. She stood in front of me, satin and lace flowing over her arms in myriad colors.
“I’ve brought these for you to try. Frances is coming with some more.”
“I don’t want to try on all of these gowns.” I pointed to a charcoal gray offering. “That one will do.” Besides, it would match my best shoes. I was thankful my toe no longer pained me. Otherwise, the pointed shoes would have pinched. And I didn’t think Augusta would permit my ugly work shoes with a formal gown. The very thought was enough to make me giggle.
“I think this one is better,” Augusta said. “And what is so funny?”
“Just a fleeting thought,” I replied while Augusta tugged a gown from between Frances’s arms and held it against my waist.
One look in the mirror and I gasped. The color was a shade that could only be described as somewhere between fuchsia and purple. It reminded me of a petunia. Even the sleeves drooped like the edges of the trumpet-shaped bloom. I didn’t intend to arrive at the party resembling a drooping fuchsia flower.
“No. The gray. I insist.” Crossing my arms over my waist, I began tapping my foot, determined this skirmish would not be lost. “Frances can return the other gowns to your room, and you can help me change.”
Augusta didn’t argue. I don’t know if it was the resolve in my voice or my firm military stance, but she piled the gowns into Frances’s arms and sent her down the hall. Augusta helped me with my dress, then Frances returned and arranged my hair in a tea-cake coiffure. She draped far too many curls across my forehead, but when I raked my fingers through the fringe, her lips tightened into a knot. There was little doubt I’d offended her, but I didn’t intend to go out in public with those drooping tresses hanging in my eyes. They reminded me of the thick trim that decorated Mrs. Galloway’s frightful table coverings.
“A bit too curly, don’t you think?” When Augusta and I locked gazes in the mirror, I arched my eyebrows.
“It’s perfect. We don’t have time to straighten it. Besides, curls are in fashion.” She selected two aigrettes and shoved them into the curls. “Perfect.”
In my estimation the coiffure was far from perfect, but I thanked Frances for her help. She frowned in return. Apparently my words didn’t ring true. Then again, it may have been my exercise in finger-combing that had offended her.
Before there was time to further consider her behavior, Augusta grasped my hand and pulled me toward the bedroom door. It was when we stopped to gather our wraps from the nearby chair that we heard Mrs. Galloway’s screams.
W
hile we raced down the hallway, I pushed the curls off my forehead, thankful I could finally see where I was going. Had anyone observed Augusta yanking on my hand while we hurtled toward her mother’s room, we would have been declared completely mad. Augusta rushed to her mother’s side, but I skidded to a dead halt just inside the door. To say Mrs. Galloway’s appearance was startling would be an understatement. How her facial features could contort into such an unattractive assemblage was beyond my comprehension.
Augusta clutched her mother by the shoulders and begged to know what was wrong. Mrs. Galloway gasped great gulps of air and waved her arms toward the dressing table. Clasping a hand to her heart, she exhaled several indistinguishable sounds before screeching, “My necklace is missing! My diamond and sapphire necklace. The one your father gave me for our anniversary.”
She collapsed into Augusta’s arms and continued her zealous weeping while I stood frozen in place, my mouth gaping like an open door. I didn’t know what to say or do. The woman appeared inconsolable. I decided her flair for the dramatic had once again taken over. Augusta was having little effect, so hoping to lend aid, I stepped forward and reached to open one of the drawers in the mahogany jewelry box.
Mrs. Galloway shifted toward me with the speed of a cat pouncing on prey. “Don’t touch a thing!” she shrieked.
Hand trembling, I jumped back. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . . I only hoped to help. I thought perhaps you had placed your necklace in a different drawer when you last put it away.” I stifled the gurgling onset of a hysterical giggle.
“Do you think I would keep a valuable necklace in a simple jewelry box? The necklace was in my husband’s safe.” She tapped a velvet case sitting on her dressing table. “In this box. The necklace is gone,” she hissed.
I edged toward the door. “Would you like me to fetch Mr. Galloway?”
“Yes. You do that,” she said between sobs.
Relieved to be away from the frenzied woman, I rushed down the stairs toward Mr. Galloway’s library—and directly into the arms of Tyson Farnsworth. I silently chastised myself for not watching where I was going.
“To what do I owe this privilege?” He held me close, the warmth of his breath causing me to lean backward.
“Let me go. I must speak to Mr. Galloway at once.” I yanked away, but not before his fingers traveled down my back in a bold and frightful manner.
The thought of slapping his face flitted through my mind, but such a reaction would only add to the current havoc taking place in Mrs. Galloway’s room. The woman couldn’t handle another problem at the moment—nor could Augusta. Tyson followed behind me. I didn’t know why. Either he was checking to see if I’d told him the truth or he planned to offer his assistance. Knowing Tyson, I didn’t think it was the latter.
After I located Mr. Galloway in the rear garden talking to Thomas, I relayed the details. He motioned me to follow while he continued to ask questions. Tyson remained close on my heels, and I watched while Mr. Galloway examined the safe in his library for any evidence of foul play.
“I know I opened the safe to place the deed inside only an hour or so before retrieving the jewelry box. I thought I’d locked it, but it’s possible I could be mistaken.” He rubbed his forehead and stared at the floor. “I simply can’t be certain,” he mumbled. “Why don’t the two of you wait in the parlor while I go up and speak to my wife.”
I wanted to oppose Mr. Galloway’s suggestion. But any objection would call for an explanation and further turmoil, so I followed behind the older man until we reached the parlor. The moment Mr. Galloway was out of sight, Tyson lunged toward me. His teeth gleamed like porcelain daggers. I needed a plan. A plan that would put some distance and several large objects between us. After a glance over my shoulder, I swiveled around and dashed to the other side of the settee. I felt like Little Red Riding Hood with the wolf poised and anxious to devour his prey.
Tyson snickered and followed. “No need to run and hide. There’s no one watching. Why don’t you come over here and sit with me? I’d like to talk with you about your life in France and your father’s paintings.”
Ha!
He no more wanted to talk about my life in France or my father’s artwork than he wanted to perform a day of manual labor. Did he think me a fool? That I would immediately rush to his side like an unsuspecting child? I remembered well what had happened to Red Riding Hood.
“I prefer to remain here. Why don’t you sit down and tell me about your time in college and how you plan to make a living now that your schooling is complete.”
Surprisingly, he dropped into the chair and laughed. “I don’t think your innocent ears could withstand an accounting of my college years.” He leaned forward and rested his arms across his thighs and smirked. “Would it surprise you to know that a fine fellow like me was dismissed from college because of his unwillingness to abide by the rules?”
“Not in the least.”
He laughed, a little too loudly. “That’s what I like about you, Carrington. You say what you think. But let me—”
Before he could finish, Augusta bounded down the steps and settled into a chair beside him. His piercing blue eyes remained fixed upon me, and an unexpected shiver spiraled down my spine.
Augusta grasped Tyson’s arm, and he looked away. “Poor Mother. I believe she has finally calmed a bit. Father told her he would replace the necklace, but it won’t be the same as having the one he presented to her on their anniversary. She’s determined the thief be apprehended.”
“I couldn’t agree more. And we should all do whatever is necessary to discover who the culprit may be.” Tyson tapped the arm of his chair and stared at the rug. Moments later, he lifted his head with a jerk. “I know! We need to determine the last time your mother saw the necklace and then compile a list of any possible suspects.”
I wondered if Tyson had been reading some of Allan Pinkerton’s detective novels and now fancied himself a sleuth of sorts. Or perhaps he hoped to impress Augusta or Mrs. Galloway with his ability to retrieve the necklace or apprehend the culprit. Surely he realized he didn’t need to do anything more to win Augusta’s affections. As far as I could tell, Mr. and Mrs. Galloway thought him the perfect escort for their daughter. I thought his idea rather silly.
“I’m certain your father will want to contact the police,” I said. “They’re familiar with the proper techniques to solve a crime.”
Tyson stabbed me with a menacing sneer. “There’s no reason we can’t begin to compile information before they arrive.” He turned to Augusta for validation. She leaned into his arm and bobbed her head in agreement. I wanted to shake her into reality but knew my efforts would prove fruitless.
“He’s right, Carrie. I’m sure the police would be grateful for any help we can give them.”
“I disagree. I think they would choose to gather the information themselves and then tell us what we can do to assist them.” I truly didn’t know what the police would prefer, but I wanted Augusta to agree with me.
“Admit you’re wrong, Carrie. You’re simply permitting your pride to take over. Tyson is correct this time,” Augusta said. Tyson preened like a cat that had just lapped up a bowl of cream. He knew he’d won.
Augusta’s words stung. That was twice in recent days that I had been called prideful. Couldn’t she see this had nothing to do with pride? I was trying to save her from a scoundrel of the worst sort.
“Do you truly believe I’m prideful?” I wasn’t certain I wanted to hear the answer, yet I couldn’t resist asking. Was the fact that I couldn’t resist asking a matter of pride, too? Would Augusta agree with Mr. Tobarth’s assessment of me? A jumble of thoughts tumbled around in my head while I awaited her judgment.
“Maybe a little,” she said. Her voice was tentative, and she couldn’t quite look at me. Her gaze rested on my chin. I wanted to tell her she should have the courage of her convictions and look me in the eyes when she said something so hurtful.
Prideful?
I considered some of the things I’d said and done since arriving in Collinsford. I had to admit there might be a minute possibility others thought I possessed a slight attitude of superiority.
There was the incident in which I’d defended my artistic ability and told Mrs. Galloway I was a talented painter. I’d been somewhat prideful when I’d told Mrs. Wilson about painting stripes on horses at the factory; and I’d been defensive when Josef hadn’t been impressed by my painting qualifications. And, of course, there was my refusal to use the maulstick. There probably were other incidents I couldn’t think of at the moment. Still, there were many other people I considered much more arrogant and prideful than me. How could Augusta turn on me? I didn’t need to ask, for I already knew the answer. She wanted to please Tyson.
And please him she did. While Augusta hurried off in search of paper and pencil for his list, Tyson smirked at me. “You should have known she would side with me, dear Carrie.”
A rush of fear surged through my body. He was playing a game with me, and I didn’t know the rules. Truth be told, I didn’t even know the game.
“Ah, here is Augusta with paper and pencil. Now, let’s see. We need to determine who was in the house when you first discovered the necklace was missing.”
“There’s no way to determine when the necklace was removed since Mrs. Galloway had placed the jewelry case in Mr. Galloway’s safe,” I countered.
“Then we must begin by determining the last time the necklace was seen.”
Tyson’s attempt to adopt the role of detective was most annoying. “Wouldn’t you need to speak to Mrs. Galloway in order to gain that information?” I asked.
“Mrs. Galloway or the person who carried the case to the safe,” he said, with a glint in his eye.
“Oh, you are so clever,” Augusta cooed.
I considered countering the silly comment but held my tongue. Mr. Galloway was leading his wife down the stairs. I’d wait and see if he judged Tyson clever or if he’d prefer to have a policeman investigate. Mrs. Galloway settled in one of the upholstered chairs. Her complexion had turned the shade of cold ashes, and I feared she would swoon if further confusion arose.
Deciding to be on my best behavior, I waited for Augusta or Tyson to make the first move. Tyson didn’t disappoint. Quicker than a bird taking flight, he detailed his plan to capture the culprit. I couldn’t believe my eyes or my ears. Both Mr. and Mrs. Galloway offered him their undivided attention. Why didn’t they simply contact the police? I stared out the window, half listening, annoyed by the entire scene. Several children were playing jump rope out front, and I soon found myself absorbed in their game of double dutch. Their ability amazed me. I’d never been much good at jump rope—even with a single rope, but the
slap, slap, slap
of the two ropes and the laughter of the girls mesmerized me.
