Page 16 of The Swan Detective (The Swan Syndicate #2)
The following morning, Stella woke briefly for Beckworth’s tantalizing kiss.
Before he left for his morning ride, he’d brushed her hair back and told her, “I’ll arrange a time for us to see Chester and Katherine.
Be gentle with the inspector.” She mumbled some response, rolled over, and fell back to sleep until Libby pounced in.
“Get up. You need a decent breakfast before the inspector arrives.” She laid the cleaned and mended ball gown from the previous night on the back of a chair and dropped the rest of the bundle she’d tucked under her arm on the chair seat.
“Come on, now. Bart is already complaining, and Lincoln is irritable. I swear it’s not good for him to spend so much time with that old man.
And poor Eleanor is caught in the middle.
She could use some help.” She marched to the windows and pulled all the drapes open.
Sunshine filled the room, and Stella threw back the covers, groaning as she sat up.
“Is it your headache?” Libby, who was too spunky for that early of an hour, softly lifted Stella’s chin. “Well, that’s going to be quite the bruise.”
Stella moaned again and swatted Libby’s hand away. “My head feels fine.” She touched the spot where the thief had clocked her. “Ouch. Well, maybe not completely fine. The headache’s gone, but it hurts if I touch it.”
“Well, then you know what not to do.” There was a knock at the door. “Let’s get you up. That should be the coffee.” Libby tossed Stella’s robe to her before opening the door. “Oh, Maggie, thank you for helping out.”
Stella slipped on the robe and tied the sash before glancing up.
“Morning, Maggie. You’re a godsend.” She zeroed in on the coffee like a bloodhound tracking a scent.
Her eyelids were at half mast, her throat scratchy, and she forced herself to wait patiently while the young housemaid filled her mug.
Maggie watched as Stella closed her eyes after taking her first sip. She gulped the hot liquid twice before opening her eyes.
Stella sighed with contentment and gave them a wide smile, her gaze bright. “The two of you take such good care of me. Now, let’s get me dressed.”
Maggie’s eyes had widened with Stella’s miraculous change in mood, and Libby elbowed her.
“I told you it was critical to have coffee ready for her when she first wakes.”
Stella plopped down at the dressing table and cringed when she glanced at the side of her face. The blue and purple coloration was indeed the first sign of a good bruise. She could either have Libby try to hide it or use it to her advantage with the inspector. She’d have to mull that over.
Libby picked up the brush and began taming Stella’s rat nest. “Maggie is being trained as a lady’s maid for when I’m not at the manor.
” Her gaze dropped. “I was hoping to stay overnight with some friends tonight. I know Maggie has never held this position before, but she’s a quick learner.
She might make a few mistakes, but she understands the basics. ”
Stella held up a hand. “Don’t oversell it.
” When Libby gave her an odd look, she said, “It just means don’t make her abilities sound more than they are.
You might need that for…” Stella paused and then snorted.
“I almost said Lady Agatha, but I wouldn’t wish her on any lady’s maid, let alone a new one. ”
Libby laughed, and Maggie’s cheeks turned a bright red on her porcelain skin. The young maid was quite a beauty. Something that could get her in trouble with the wrong lord of the manor. “Who do you work for, Maggie? Beckworth or Lord Templeton?”
Libby began to answer but stopped when Stella shook her head.
It took Maggie a moment before clearing her throat. “I’ve been temporarily hired by Barrington to assist Libby and Mrs. Evans while you’re in London.”
“Well, I’m sure Libby told you that as an American, I sometimes need help with proper English decorum.
I imagine we’ll both make mistakes along the way.
As long as I have plenty of coffee first thing in the morning, you can do no wrong.
” She pushed Libby and her brush away and turned to face her two lady’s maids.
“So, what do you think I should wear to meet the inspector?”
Thirty minutes later, Stella entered the dining room in a powder-blue day dress that made her appear demure and was immediately sorry she hadn’t taken another ibuprofen. Her headache was gone, but she felt another one brewing when she was confronted with a full-blown argument.
Bart, his face blotched red with anger and spittle flying, shouted out a comment that Stella didn’t understand.
Lincoln had apparently been expecting the old doc’s opinion.
His face contorted into exasperation and a touch of his own ire.
Eleanor had moved to the banquet table to get out of the line of fire and was filling a plate with more food than Stella had ever seen her eat.
Stella snorted when Eleanor shoved the plate in front of Bart.
“Eat this, and don’t say another word. We’re not alone anymore.”
Bart stopped in mid-sentence and stared down at his plate before glancing up and spotting Stella, who took a seat next to Lincoln. He picked up his fork and waved it at her. “She doesn’t count.”
“Hey,” Stella sounded wounded, but she couldn’t hold back her grin. She took Bart’s statement as a compliment that he considered her one of this odd collection of friends.
“You know what I mean.” He bent his head to focus on his food but couldn’t hide his own small grin.
“You don’t need to wait for me before eating.
” Stella waited while Matthew, one of the footmen, placed a plate filled with fried eggs, sausage, and diced turnips in front of her.
He’d been extremely helpful on her first morning at the manor, and it seemed she could do no wrong in his eyes. He’d since become her favorite footman.
Barrington entered the room and glanced at Bart with irritation, but his expression softened when the old man appeared focused on his plate of food. He turned to Stella. “The inspector should be here in half an hour. Which room would you like to greet him in?”
She swallowed her bite of food and considered the question. What would Mary do? “Perhaps one of the sitting rooms. What do you think?”
“The sitting room would be sufficient.” Barrington seemed pleased she’d guessed the right room.
She didn’t have the heart to say she’d almost said a drawing room, not that she really knew the difference.
“It would also be proper for you to offer him tea, which I’ll make sure is ready regardless of his answer.
You should pour a cup for yourself. You’re the lady of the manor and have full control.
You are a victim, not the perpetrator, regardless of how the inspector will frame it. ”
“What does that mean?” Stella asked. She hadn’t been worried about the inspector until now.
Eleanor took a sip of coffee and stared at her over the rim of her cup. “He means that the inspector will consider your actions of chasing down the thief to be improper, and that it impacted the duke’s security from doing their job.”
Stella couldn’t tell for sure, but Eleanor seemed to find the entire ordeal humorous.
“You mean I was in the way because I’m a woman.
Had I been a man, then everyone would have been shaking my hand instead of wringing theirs.
Everyone is more concerned about my improprieties than a thief getting away because none of the gentlemen seemed inclined to go after him.
” She used air quotes with the word gentlemen, even though no one would understand the gesture.
“Exactly,” Barrington responded. “I’d advise not to let him intimidate you, but I’m currently feeling sorry for the chap.”
Everyone tittered at that, even Stella. Her anxiety washed away with the solidarity she felt from the group. Besides, it wasn’t like this was the first time she’d been in a situation like this—in this time or her own.
At a few minutes to ten, her itchy nerves returned when a knock echoed through the foyer. She peeked around a corner to watch Barrington open the door for the inspector.
The man was of average height, slightly stooped, and carried a bit of a belly.
He kept pushing back the few strands of hair left on top of his balding head.
His suit was clean but of modest quality, which reflected his station in life.
She didn’t know much about the economics of the time, other than her awareness of the large gap between the rich and poor.
She imagined the inspector’s salary ranked below most merchants of the time.
What did he think of the aristocrats? Did he find their concern over a couple of bits of jewelry to be worthy of his time, or was he here simply to keep the duke happy?
She jumped back when Barrington escorted him to the sitting room. A deep breath shook some of the nerves away as she waited patiently for Barrington.
What seemed like forever but wasn’t more than a couple of minutes, Barrington strode down the hall.
He gave her a stern look. “You shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.”
“Do you think he saw me?”
“No.” He continued down the hall, but said over his shoulder. “I’ll have the tea service brought out.”
Stella waited several minutes, not wanting the inspector to think she was anxious about the meeting.
When she’d stalled long enough, she straightened her shoulders, brushed at her dress in case there were leftover crumbs from breakfast, and strode into the sitting room with her wide, realtor smile in place.
“Inspector. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. We had a slight emergency in the kitchen that couldn’t wait.” She had no idea what she was talking about, but she’d heard Mary make the comment once or twice and decided to follow her mentor’s lead.