The Runaway McBride (20 page)

“It must cost the earth to keep up a house like this.” Faith’s neck was craned as she looked up at the towering neo-classical building.

“It does. Places like these have outlived their usefulness. It won’t be long before they are pulled down to make way for something more in keeping with the times. It’s happening all over.”

They were making their way up the stone steps to the front doors, along with a crush of people, all waving their invitations under the noses of two stalwart footmen in black and silver livery. James took the invitation from Faith’s hand and held it up as they passed through the doors and into the house.

He pocketed the invitation. “This doesn’t seem democratic,” he said. “I thought that the Egyptology Society was open to one and all.”

“Well, it is, but this is not the official branch of the Egyptology Society.” She tried to recall Lady Cowdray’s words. “I think they call themselves the ‘Friends’ of the Egyptology Society. Most of the people here have been to Egypt and like to get together once in a while to reminisce about old times.”

“Good; then perhaps we shall learn something useful.”

“Well, I’d like to know what happened to my mother’s box for a start.”

Though it was early evening, the gas lamps had been lit to stave off the shadows cast by the dark clouds hanging low in the sky. Everyone hoped it would rain, because the rain would chase the last of the fog away.

The hall they passed through could have been mistaken for the Egyptian section of the British Museum. Faith’s eyes wandered from one treasure to another—life-size sculptures of lions, wall paintings of Egyptian hunting scenes, alabaster busts of handsome Egyptian men and women who walked the earth eons ago—and she felt as though she was walking on holy ground. She spoke to James in a husky whisper. “Mr. Hughes must have spent years collecting all these artifacts.”

He shook his head and replied softly, “Mrs. Hughes’s first husband was the collector. He died many years ago, but Mr. Hughes has preserved everything just as it was when he married the widow.”

They were almost level with their host and hostess in the receiving line. Beyond them, in the cavernous reception room, she saw waiters in livery dispensing champagne to a crush of guests who were dressed to the nines. Faith wasn’t intimidated by the elegance of the other ladies. She knew she looked her best in a nut-brown silk dress cut in the princess line with a fitted bronze-colored jacket, meticulously tailored, with a flaring hem.

Margaret wasn’t the only one who had bought a frock or two from Madame Digby. Faith had dipped into her rainy day fund and splurged on a couple of outfits for herself, and she didn’t regret it, not for one minute. Of course, if it rained, it would be a different story.

Her new outfit did wonders for her confidence, so much so that she did not blush when her host and hostess effusively expressed their pleasure at receiving Madeline Maynard’s daughter into their home.

“Elsie—that is, Lady Cowdray—promised you would be here,” gushed Mrs. Hughes. “As you may imagine, we are all dying to meet you.” She paused for breath. “You are so like your mother, it’s enough to make me cry.”

Those words warmed Faith’s heart. “Thank you,” she said.

Mrs. Hughes was of regal proportions and might have been considered handsome for a lady past her prime had she not chosen to outfit herself from her crimped hair to the hem of her flounced gown like a woman half her age. “Mutton dressed as lamb,” as her old nurse would say, thought Faith, and felt a shaft of pity for the lady.

As they passed into the reception room, Faith said, “I’m afraid Madeline was quite hard on poor Sophie Hughes in her diary, but I found her quite charming.”

James was almost as familiar with Madeline’s diary as Faith was, since in the last few days, they’d spent many hours poring over her script. It did not seem to him that the diary was suitable reading for a lady, but he valued his skin too much to utter the damning words. Lovers came and went in Madeline’s set with an almost tiresome regularity, but who those lovers were was still a mystery. None of the names they’d heard matched the initials in Madeline’s diary. Not that Faith accepted that these affairs were anything more than flirtations. He did not think Faith was narrow-minded so much as innocent in the ways of the world.

But Madeline was not ingenuous. What surprised him was that Madeline had attracted a following. The characters in her diary—her “friends”—were not described in anything but scathing terms. Only Lady Cowdray remained immune. Madeline might have had many lovers, but he doubted that she had more than one real friend.

Was her death an accident? It had occurred to him that she might have been blackmailing someone who had decided to silence her, but it was a theory he was not willing to share with Faith. In her eyes, her mother was a heroic figure. She would never stoop to blackmail. The only thing they could be sure of was that someone was willing to kill to get possession of Madeline’s diary.

Faith’s neck was arched to give her a better view of the ceiling. “Look, James,” she said in hushed tones, “there are galleries on two floors. This must be the ballroom, surely? ”

He shrugged. “Ballroom, reception room, lecture hall. It’s still too costly to keep up, but not half as costly as it is to keep up Drumore.”

She arched a brow. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m not your father.”

He was looking up at the galleries.

“What is it, James? What do you see? ”

He felt as though someone had walked over his grave. He looked down at Faith. “It must be the heat,” he said. “I turned dizzy for a moment.”

Her expression cleared. “It is rather warm in here. Let’s stand beside one of the open windows.”

 

 

They were sipping champagne when Faith murmured, “At
last, a face I recognize. Brace yourself, James, here comes Lady Cowdray.”

As the lady swooped down on them, James’s first impression was of a big, black crow, but a handsome crow with brilliant eyes to match her plumage. Second impressions were kinder to the lady. The blue black gown was a dramatic foil to silvery hair that fell softly about her shoulders.

As far as he could tell, she was the only female guest who was not wearing a bonnet. She was, of course, a nonconformist—weren’t they all?—and one of the few women who was much admired by Faith’s mother.

“So you did come!” she exclaimed, and she embraced Faith warmly. “You may imagine how worried I was after that dreadful business outside my house. I knew, of course, that you were to spend some time in Brighton, but you did agree to attend tonight’s lecture. If you had not turned up, I had decided to go to the police and report you as missing. Much good that would have done! They don’t seem to care.”

Faith managed to interrupt the spate of words by introducing James, but other than an indifferent “How do you do?” her ladyship paid little heed to him, and rattled on. James was amused. In his own circles, his opinions and advice were courted. Here, he was barely visible. He decided to make his presence felt.

When Lady Cowdray stopped to draw breath, he interjected, “Did the police catch the men who tried to waylay Miss McBride? ” He knew that they had not but hoped they had a lead.

“No.” Her ladyship’s eyes narrowed on him. “What did you say your name was? ”

“James Burnett.”

“So you do exist! The police tried to tell me that you had foiled those villains, but I thought . . . Oh, well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Come along, Faith. There are a number of people who are eager to meet you.”

As Faith was firmly propelled toward a throng of individuals beside the French doors leading onto the terrace, she threw James an amused look. His reply was to raise his glass in a tiny salute. It would look odd if he tried to stop her. Besides, his instincts told him that she stood in no danger. That did not mean, however, that he did not suffer a few qualms as he watched her progress.

He wandered a bit after that, taking stock of people, listening, but keeping an eye on Faith. Faith was the center of attention. People were practically fawning over her. Then why was he suspicious? Smiling too hard, trying too hard—that was the impression he was getting. They hadn’t liked Madeline and were not predisposed to like her daughter. It was Lady Cowdray whose presence made the difference. She seemed a bit of a scatterbrain, but he’d bet his last farthing that her influence held sway.

He’d bet his last farthing? What made him so confident? What did he think he was—a seer?

An incompetent seer. A reluctant seer. Someone who had not bothered to test himself. He believed in his dreams, but the odd sensations that occasionally touched him were so faint that they barely registered.

When he looked at the galleries above the ballroom, he felt oddly uneasy. What was he supposed to make of that? If there was a school for seers, he would be the first to sign up for it.

On the other hand, his gift had stood him in good stead when Faith was waylaid by villains. Faith, always and only Faith. That was when his gift of second sight was most potent.

He suddenly decided to put himself to the test. Eyes on Faith as she listened politely to what their hostess was blathering about, he silently repeated the mantra he’d taught himself.
Focus. Concentrate. Infiltrate.
Sounds and sights gradually faded. There were only two people in the ballroom: Faith and himself.
Focus. Concentrate. Infiltrate.

His heart stood still when Faith turned her head and smiled at him. Their eyes locked. Her smile gradually faded, and she raised her brows, questioning him.

So it was true! He could infiltrate her mind.

Or it could be coincidence.

He had to find out.

She was turning away.

She turned back to look at him.

Mesmerized, he watched as she obeyed his command. Then her brows came down and she studied him with ill-concealed suspicion. The next moment, her expression cleared. He could read her mind.
It’s all in my imagination,
she was telling herself.

A masculine voice at his back said, “I see you have been deserted, too. Don’t take it to heart. Miss Maynard was something of an icon. No one knew that she had a daughter. It was inevitable that Madeline’s cult of admirers would want to worship at her daughter’s shrine.”

The gentleman who joined James was his host, Mr. Hughes. His voice was pleasantly cultured and projected an indulgent tolerance of the group of ladies who hemmed Faith in on the other side of the room. He was in his early fifties, with light brown hair just beginning to silver at the temples. He looked distinguished, jovial, and just a tad cynical around the eyes.

James said, “You are not a member of the cult? ”

“Ah, no. I hardly knew Miss Maynard. We were barely acquainted when she died. It was my wife’s first husband who was the Egyptologist. Sir Franklin was something of an icon, too. As you may have noticed”—he gestured in the general direction of the entrance hall and anterooms where the Egyptian artifacts were displayed—“his influence has not diminished with the passage of time.”

“Ah, then your wife is the Egyptologist? ”

“She is an avid Egyptologist. I am one of her converts. Sophie would never have married anyone who did not share her passion for Egypt.”

James’s mind was distracted by a lady on the other side of the room who did not appear to greet Faith’s presence with the enthusiasm of some of the others. She seemed aloof and hostile and might have made her escape but for the strong arm of Lady Cowdray, who anchored her in place.

She was an exception to the rule, and that pricked James’s interest.

“Who is that lady with the orange hair?” he asked. He recognized her face. She was in the photograph Faith had given him.

“Ghastly, isn’t it? I mean the orange hair.” Hughes lifted his lorgnette and stared through the lenses. “Miss Coltrane, just as I thought. Yes. Jayne Coltrane. At one time, she and Madeline were great friends, so I’ve heard, but they had a falling-out. I have no idea what the quarrel was about, and neither does anyone else. They kept their differences to themselves. Ah, I see Professor Marsh is heading for the lectern, the signal for me and other like-minded Philistines to retire to my library for something more substantial than champagne. I’ve heard this lecture so many times, I could give it myself. Care to join us? ”

James smiled fleetingly. “Some other time, perhaps. I’m under orders to be on my best behavior.”

Hughes laughed. “They look innocent enough, don’t they? But trust me; when the lecture is over, the barbs will start to fly. My advice to you is don’t open your mouth or offer an opinion unless you really know what you’re talking about.” He turned to go. “The offer still stands.”

James smiled and shook his head.

As Hughes ambled toward the exit, James looked across the room at the knot of people around Faith that was beginning to unwind. She seemed to glow with life. Maybe it was the autumn colors in her gown that made her seem so vibrant. He did not think that anyone at St. Winnifred’s would recognize the conservative Miss McBride in the lovely, vivacious woman who held center stage.

His incipient smile died when Faith came face-to-face with a red-haired young gentleman who blocked her path. He certainly had plenty to say for himself. James’s eyes shifted to Faith. She, on the other hand, seemed flustered by the encounter. Another gentleman joined the first, then another.

Plastering a smile on his face, James sauntered over. One look at him, and Faith’s admirers had the good sense to melt away. With her path cleared, Faith quickly crossed to James.

“Who is that gentleman you were talking to? ” he asked. His voice was pleasantly modulated. “The one with the red hair? ”