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“W e can go anywhere except the schoolroom,” Athena informed Mr. Vernon. “Selena is teaching a class there at present.”

“And the schoolroom is… where?”

“I believe it was formerly called ‘the ladies’ parlor’?”

“Ah. Understood.”

As she and Mr. Vernon wandered through the rooms and halls on the ground floor, his eyes were everywhere, taking it all in with undisguised fondness.

He made occasional comments, interested in the small changes that Athena and her sister had made—a new rug here, a different paint color there, a picture that had been moved.

Athena sensed that he knew and loved Thorndale Manor on a profound level that she could never hope to match, even if she were to live here her entire life.

They entered the dining room, where he stood with his hands behind his back, as if lost in thought. Is he thinking of the thousands of meals he enjoyed in this room? He had no doubt dined at this very table.

“Mr. Vernon,” Athena said quietly, “I’ve never had a chance to thank you for agreeing to leave so much of the furniture when we bought the house.”

He replied in a rueful tone, “I couldn’t very well have fit it all into the cottage.”

“You could have sold the furniture to someone else, I expect, at a greater profit.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. But it has been here so long, I felt that it should stay with the house. And I hoped it might prove useful to you if I left it.”

How kind , she thought. “It has been a godsend. My sister and I could never have afforded to furnish Thorndale Manor otherwise. Every single piece has been a boon for the school. Take this dining table, for example—it is not only beautiful, but the ideal size for our purposes. Has it been in your family a long time?”

“I imagine so. It was here when I was a boy.”

A thought suddenly occurred to her. “I wonder if you could solve a mystery for me. It involves this very table.”

His eyebrows raised. “What mystery?”

“There are some initials carved into its underside.” Athena crouched down beside the table. “One of my students found these recently. Do you have any idea to whom they belong?”

He bent down and studied the carving on the table’s underside, then let out a light laugh. “I never noticed this before. This could only have been carved by Edward Ackroyd—the rascal.”

Edward Ackroyd. Athena’s pulse jumped. Here was her chance to learn more about Ackroyd, to find out if he was capable—and culpable—of murder. “He was the sailor who was in love with your sister?”

“Yes,” he said as they rose to their feet. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he had carved that as a child.”

“A child? How long did he and your sister know each other?”

“Oh, for years. They met at a fête, as I recall, on the grounds of Darkmoor Park. Mrs. Hillman used to hold them annually for all the children in the neighborhood. She liked Edward and sometimes invited him when my sister and I went over to Darkmoor Park. I was six years older, but Edward and Caroline were the same age and got along like a house on fire. Every now and then, he was allowed to visit here at Thorndale Manor. My father didn’t approve of their friendship—Ackroyd was the son of a coal miner—but that didn’t matter to Caroline.

She used to beg and plead and harangue until she wore my father down. ”

“When did Mr. Ackroyd join the Royal Navy?”

“At age twelve.” Mr. Vernon leaned up against the sideboard, his arms crossed against his chest. “Ackroyd’s father said it was time for the boy to start working in the coal mine.

Ackroyd refused, ran away, and went to sea.

He and Caroline wrote to each other for years, and he visited us whenever he came home on leave. ”

Athena took in this information with great interest. “Mrs. Hillman said they had hoped to marry?”

“Yes. It might have been a difficult life for Carolyn to be married to a man who was away at sea so much of the time, but they were head over heels for each other.”

“My sister Diana married a captain in the Royal Navy. They’ve only been wed about six months, but they are madly in love as well. I know she can’t imagine her life without him.”

“It was the same for my sister. I think she and Ackroyd would have been happy together. If only…” He drew an invisible design in the carpet with the toe of his boot.

“When Caroline turned eighteen, she confessed to me that they had been secretly engaged for four years. My father got wind of her plans and put an end to them.”

Athena remembered this part of the story. “He gave her a coming-out ball.”

“The likes of which this county had never seen. He invited young men from all the best families in Yorkshire. Caroline received at least half a dozen offers of marriage, all excellent prospects. She turned them all down. Father was furious and affianced her behind her back to the man he had wanted from the start.”

“Harold Sinclair.”

Mr. Vernon nodded. “Sinclair was ten years older than Caroline, and they had nothing in common. Caroline told me she hated him. My father used to arrange small meetings alone between them, completely against propriety, hoping my sister would warm to him, I suppose. But it didn’t work.

Worse yet, during these unchaperoned intervals, I suspected that he was hurting her—physically, I mean—but she always denied it and I could never prove it.

I think she was worried I might retaliate and get injured myself. ”

Athena recalled Neville Sinclair’s description of the older brother who had bullied him. “It’s such a sad story.”

“The whole thing not only broke my sister’s heart, but Ackroyd’s as well.”

Mr. Vernon had made Edward Ackroyd out to be such an agreeable individual. But who knew to what lengths a man might be driven to protect the woman he loved? “Was Mr. Ackroyd home the summer your sister was due to be married?”

“Yes.”

Athena’s pulse jumped at this news. “Did he attend the garden party at Woodcroft House where Sinclair was poisoned?”

“I don’t know. I was in London at the time.”

But Edward Ackroyd might have been there. All the neighborhood was said to have been invited.

“What did Mr. Ackroyd do when Miss Vernon was arrested?”

“He wasn’t here. As I understand it, the day after that party, he had to return to his ship. A few days later, Caroline was sent to York prison. After her joke of a trial and the hanging, I wrote to give Ackroyd the news. He was so devasted, he stayed away at sea for years.”

It was just as Athena had theorized. Edward Ackroyd could have killed Harold Sinclair and kissed Caroline Vernon goodbye, hoping to marry her the next time he got leave, having no clue that his love would be sentenced and hanged for the crime.

“I am so sorry for your sister and for Mr. Ackroyd. I wish I could have met them.”

“Well.” Mr. Vernon looked at her. “As it happens, you can meet him .”

Athena stared at him. “How?”

“Ackroyd is home on leave at present from the Navy.”

“Home? Now?” She breathed in sharply. “How do you know?”

“We’ve kept up a correspondence all these years. He returned about a fortnight ago. He visited a friend for a few days, but I believe he is back home at his parents’ house again. If he’s at church tomorrow, I’d be happy to introduce you.”

Athena couldn’t believe her luck. She thanked Mr. Vernon and walked him to the door, where they agreed that he would return to confirm his suspicions about the roof after the weather cleared.

No sooner had he gone than Athena heard the schoolroom door open and the chatter of girls hurrying to the dining room for luncheon.

Athena’s mind was in a whirl as she made her way to join them.

Edward Ackroyd had not only been in the neighborhood when Harold Sinclair had been killed… he had also been here two weeks ago, when Sally Osborn had died.

Was it just a coincidence?

Athena didn’t believe in coincidences.

*

At services on Sunday morning, as she sat with Selena and their pupils, Athena stole glances at the congregation, wondering if Edward Ackroyd was there.

The small church was nearly full. Athena caught Mr. Vernon’s eye.

He nodded and touched his hat. Mrs. Hillman, elegantly attired in a frock of lavender silk, sat in her allocated pew across from the section reserved for the Sinclair family, where Athena spotted Neville Sinclair, his wife, and their two young children.

Mr. Quince, the silver-haired apothecary, sat with his unmarried daughter, Margaret, a broad-shouldered blonde who looked to be in her late thirties.

Farther back, Athena caught sight of Bridget Osborn and her father.

After the service, while the congregation milled out front and their students played tag on the scrubby lawn, Athena spoke with Selena in the churchyard. “I didn’t see anyone new.”

“Neither did I.”

They had gone over everything Athena had learned about Edward Ackroyd the evening before.

“It is so frustrating. I know in my bones that Caroline Vernon did not kill Harold Sinclair. Whoever did it got off scot-free, and they may have murdered Sally Osborn as well. I’m not going to rest until I find out the truth. ”

Selena shot Athena a warning look, just as a ragged cough resounded. Bridget Osborn and her father were standing just a yard or two away. Athena realized her mistake and blushed. Had the Osborns overheard what she’d said? She hoped not. Athena crossed to them, with Selena at her heels.

“Good morning, Miss Osborn, Mr. Osborn.” Athena greeted them with a smile.

“How are you?” Selena asked.

“As best as can be expected, for a man with one arm,” grumbled Mr. Osborn.

“We miss Sally something fierce.” Miss Osborn was racked by a cough.

“Miss Osborn, is there anything we can do for you?” Selena asked softly.

“I don’t expect so, Miss Selena.”

“She’s fine,” Mr. Osborn insisted gruffly. “Let’s go, Bridget.”