Regencyland- The Bristle Park Murders Page 4

  “She looks lovely,” Hamilton said.

  Daley took her hand and wrapped it around his elbow, not bothering to spare a glance in Hamilton’s direction. “Tempting, I’m sure. Now come, my aunt is looking for you.”

  He led her away with a mischievous glint in his eye. He was laughing at her. What a prince.

  Chapter Five

  By seven-thirty that night, Shea was ready for sleep. Miss Smith and Miss Cross were both still wide awake and laughing with Captain Bayliss and Mr. Asher. The four sat at the card table by the door and passed around cards for a game of whist. Mr. Daley and Mr. Rafferty stood together at the fireplace, speaking in hushed tones that couldn’t be heard over the melodious tune, played by Mr. Hamilton. Mrs. Rafferty had excused herself a half hour before.

  Shea found a book of Shakespeare’s Sonnets and made herself comfortable on the couch.

  The hair on her neck rose, and she turned to find Daley and Rafferty. She made eye contact briefly with Mr. Daley, then focused on her book. The chuckle of the two men made her bristle. What was their deal? Would Daley be like this her entire stay, harassing and laughing at her? Because she wouldn’t put up with it. He was being paid a lot; he should be kind. Kind like…

  Her gaze strayed to the piano, to Mr. Hamilton as he softly swayed to the music, to his perfect posture and strong arms.

  He stared over the piano, his gaze going to the door. Then his hands slipped—a jumbled array of notes made Smith and Cross jump, then giggle.

  A woman sauntered in who could only be described as the Regency era’s version of sexy-as-hell. She wore a deep burgundy empire-waist dress that accentuated her curves and stately stature. She had a long graceful neck, and her hair was black as night. All this accentuated by a deep red lip. What drew Shea’s attention more than anything else was the confident expression on the woman’s face. A look that said I-get-what-I-want-when-I-want-it.

  Yikes.

  “Aw, there you are, my dear.” Mr. Rafferty crossed the room to her, taking her hand. “We wondered when you would arrive.”

  “A girl must always look her best.” She flipped open a black fan made of feathers, fluttering the thing in front of her face.

  Look her best? Not only did it look like she’d spent hours getting ready, but also like she’d gotten plenty of beauty sleep. Several days worth, and probably Shea’s as well.

  Mr. Rafferty spoke to the room. “Everyone, this is Miss Francis Gray.”

  Miss Gray glanced around, making eye contact with each of the men in turn, and avoiding the women entirely.

  Daley grinned, either liking what he saw or amused by it. It was difficult to tell with him.

  Shea narrowed her eyes, then glanced around at the rest of the men. Mr. Asher and Captain Bayliss gave completely different reactions to the woman. Asher went red in the face and avoided Miss Gray—her gaze, and her ample bosom. Bayliss wore an expression that said I-am-not-a-regency-gent-but-a-scoundrel… baby. Shea didn’t bother looking at Hamilton, remembering how he’d stumbled over the keys at the woman’s entrance.

  Wasn’t that just like men? Sex on legs walks in, and they’re all drawn to her like a germ to a sponge. Though, she could admit the double standard. Hadn’t she been ogling the men yesterday? Regretting her negativity, she smiled at the woman. Miss Gray looked her up and down, then smirked. It wasn’t friendly in the least. Shea pulled her chin back, grateful she wasn’t quick to blush.

  Miss Gray sauntered past her and to the fireplace. “You must be Mr. Daley,” she said in a low register. Well, that solved the mystery of the four men to three women.

  The two hadn’t been talking a full minute when Gray giggled and swatted Daley with her fan. Boy, did he have her number. They must be paired. She doubted anyone else could handle that woman. Or vice versa.

  For some reason her gaze strayed to Hamilton. He regarded Mr. Daley and Miss Gray with what appeared to be open disgust. Huh. He wasn’t taken with Miss Gray? How that was possible was completely beyond Shea’s comprehension. She was pretty sure that if the woman were trying to sell cow dung covered in cheddar and sour cream, she’d have men lined up with tortilla shells ready to get a burrito. She’d known a woman like Miss Gray before. She didn’t understand what it was entirely that made men go all goofy, but she could spot it like addicts with donuts. That was half her precinct.

  A moment later, she felt the couch dip beside her and a nervous tingling ran up her spine. Hamilton. She bit her lip before looking over. It was Mr. Rafferty wearing a wide grin.

  “What’s this I see?” he asked.

  Hamilton started playing the piano once more.

  Mr. Rafferty continued before she could answer. “We’ve been in this room now for well over an hour and you, my dear, have been sitting in quiet reflection the entire time.”

  She lifted the sonnets. “I found something to occupy my time.”

  “With all these handsome bachelors here, I wonder why you haven’t taken the opportunity to dazzle one with your charms?” It sounded like a statement but wasn’t one.

  A low giggle floated toward her from the direction of the fireplace. Daley certainly knew how to make women giggle. First Miss Smith and Miss Cross, and now Miss Gray. No wonder they kept him around. He alone was probably responsible for half the positive reviews this place got.

  Returning her gaze to Mr. Rafferty, she said, “I’m just tired. I’m sure I’ll be better rested tomorrow morning.” Not really, she’d still be sleeping on the floor by the door.

  “Why are you frowning?”

  Crap, she’d been making faces again. “I think I’m just about ready for bed, is all.”

  He leaned forward. “Does no one here catch your eye?”

  She fidgeted in her seat, then evaded. “Does Miss Gray visit often?”

  He raised a brow.

  “She seems... known.”

  Mr. Rafferty’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Yes, she’s been here before, but maybe not as much as you’d think.”

  The woman had to be rich if she’d visited more than once. Was she always assigned Mr. Daley, or was she passed around? She did seem pretty into Mr. Daley at the moment. The sexual tension was making Shea uncomfortable, and they stood several feet away. Captain Bayliss looked as though he might know her as well—possibly even intimately if the way he’d been staring at her was anything to go by. Miss Gray had barely given him a nod though, her gaze having immediately fallen on Mr. Daley.

  “Are you worried for your cousin?” Rafferty asked.

  “No. I’m sure my cousin is more than capable of taking care of himself.” Unless he pointed out the bags under her eyes again, then he’d for sure need protection. She leaned toward Mr. Rafferty. “I’m just trying to figure out how it all works. Yesterday, Mr. Hamilton was chatting up Miss Cross, Asher me, Bayliss Miss Smith and Daley, well I'm not quite sure about him. It appears there is a list.”

  Mr. Rafferty leaned back, his slightly portly belly sticking out, and laughed. “I told you he was a flirt.”

  Shea shrugged. “Not just him, no one is, as you put it, ‘charming’ the person they were yesterday.”

  He opened his mouth in an “aw” motion, then tapped the side of his nose. “Not to worry, Miss Shea, it’ll all work itself out.” He winked. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off for the night.” He patted her hand and left.

  Last night when Mary had helped Shea out of her dress and into her nightgown, Shea had wanted to die. The embarrassment of the pantaloons had made her blush something fierce. Tonight she was too tired to care; though, not too tired to ask about the inner workings of Bristle Park.

  After Mary had removed Shea’s corset, she crossed her hands over her chest and faced her. “How long have you worked here?”

  “Goin’ on five years, ma’am,” Mary said.

  “Do you like it here?”

  “It’s good work.” Mary grabbed Shea’s nightgown from her large wardrobe.

  Well, that wasn’t a yes. From he
r handbook, Shea knew that getting any real information out of Mary would be difficult. The servants weren’t supposed to engage in conversations. Yes, or no answers or clipped and to the point. Mary excelled at that. Shea just hoped that maybe she’d feel a little more comfortable with her, considering that she’d seen her in her bloomers.

  She thought carefully before asking her next question. “Still, the staff probably has a high rollover?”

  Mary helped her pull her nightdress over her head. “Charlie the cook, is the newest staff member and he’s been wi’ us nigh on a year and a half.”

  Straightening out the nightgown, Shea asked, “Then everyone must get on well?”

  Mary’s posture stiffened. “Yes, ma’am. Will that be all?”

  And that was a no. So, who didn’t get on with whom? Shea wished she could think of a way to pry it out of her, nothing came. “Yes, thank you, Mary. Have a good night.” She followed Mary to the door, where the maid bowed before turning to leave.

  Shea was just about to shut the door when she heard a scream from the direction of Cross’s room.

  Mary startled to a halt, and Shea had to push her to the side to get past. She tore down the hall and through Cross’s open door.

  Her room was in shambles. Cross stood just in the door with her hands out in front of her and her head whipping side to side. She’d still been downstairs when Shea had come up.

  Shea’d decided Cross would be safe enough in the crowd. Everyone was about to leave for bed anyway. Now, Shea wished she’d never left her side.

  “No!” Cross ran across the room and dropped to her knees and then stomach by the head of her bed. Shea barely had time to register that Cross was shimmying under the bed as she rushed in the room, and did a quick search of the bathroom and closet. When Shea was sure the room was clear, she went back round the bed and heard a relieved sigh from Cross who slid out from under the bed.

  Cross held a blue thumb drive in her hand that she pressed to her chest in an embrace; her complexion was tinged gray.

  What on Earth?

  Miss Smith scrambled into the room. “I heard a scream. What happened?”

  Cross’s eyes widened as though she suddenly realized she had an audience. “I… I got a little crazy this morning picking an outfit.”

  Shea put her hands on her hips and stepped forward as Cross got to her feet.

  “You did this?” Smith asked.

  “Yes, I’m so embarrassed,” Cross said, and it didn’t escape Shea’s notice that she was now concealing the thumb drive in her hand.

  Shea considered asking her what had really happened, but one begging look from Cross was enough to silence her. For now.

  As soon as Shea was back in her room, she grabbed her phone.

  “Brown,” Sergeant answered.

  “Someone just broke into Cross’s room.”

  “What?” Brown said a little too loudly.

  “They were looking for a flash drive—or at least I think they were. Did Cross’s uncle say anything about that?” Shea pressed her ear to the door and heard the floor in the hallway creek. Several voices were talking—sounded as though the rest of the cast were heading for bed now.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Whatever was happening back home has followed her here,” Shea said. “What’s going on?”

  He was quiet a moment as he considered this. “I'll get back with you.” He disconnected.

  Shea fought the urge to chuck her phone. Instead she went to the bed, grabbed a pillow and blanket, then took her spot by the door.

  Chapter Six

  Cross-stitching was not something that Shea ever imagined herself doing. In reality, cross-stitching had never crossed her mind. When Mrs. Rafferty had brought her, Miss Smith, and Miss Cross to the sitting room and given them patterns to work on, she wasn’t happy. It was deathly boring, but she’d pretended interest nonetheless. At least Miss Cross and Smith seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  “I haven’t done a cross-stitch since I was a child,” Miss Smith said. “This is so fun.”

  Cross smiled at her. “What’s yours?”

  The two women sat on the same couch, facing the door, while Shea once more took the chair at the head of the coffee table. Smith showed Cross a white canvas covered in flowers that she was filling with colorful thread.

  “Mine’s a cornucopia.” Cross lifted hers.

  In the spirit of pretending, Shea lifted her cross-stitch of a little lamb. Because the canvas was white, she’d chosen black thread to fill in the animal’s fur. That felt slightly ironic, but she chose to ignore it. She also chose to ignore the fact that Mrs. Rafferty had given it to her. Probably a coincidence.

  Miss Smith started laughing. “A black sheep.”

  Shea grinned and continued to sew. The work was so mindless she couldn’t help but worry about her conversation with Brown last night. He’d hung up so abruptly. She’d called him this morning, but he hadn’t answered. Her next call had been to Lee who’d answered immediately.

  “Mrs. Rafferty is giving us a hard time,” Lee said, “refuses to accept another client until the next session.”

  “Really? That’s strange. Another guest came in just yesterday.” Standing in front of her bathroom mirror, Shea’d tried to yank up her bodice over her newly discovered cleavage. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to her breasts being so on display. Cursed corset. “Although, I get the feeling the woman is paying a hefty price for the experience. I don’t suppose the department would be willing to pay hefty?”

  “Not even out of the tax payer’s pocket,” he replied.

  Boy, was that true. Their department never spent money. The office had fluorescent light bulbs that flickered on and off all day long, the restrooms had green toilet seats and blue tile, and their bullet proof vests were on loan from a neighboring department. No way would they send another agent at the cost it took to send her.

  “So, I’m on my own?” She yawned thinking about the nights ahead of her.

  “Unless or until we can figure out how to get that Rafferty woman’s panties out of the twist they’re in,” he said.

  She pictured the pantaloons and cringed at the thought of having to untwist those suckers. Talk about wedgie central. “All right, if I don’t hear from you, I’ll call again tomorrow.”

  And that had been that.

  Now in the sitting room, stitching a little black sheep on a white canvas, she was glad they weren’t sending help. How would she explain the need for help? They weren’t exactly booming with activity. Um, could you please thread my needle for me? Nope, no way. Still, she needed to find out more about the employees here. Someone had broken into Cross’s room, but figuring out who could be a challenge. So far she hadn’t even been able to sneak out to that wooded area where she’d seen the flash of light.

  “Where’s Miss Gray?” Miss Smith asked, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

  “Who cares?” said Cross. “That woman is insufferable.”

  Even though Shea had to agree with her, she wondered if Cross’s irritation came from the fact that the men were enchanted by the siren call—all except Mr. Hamilton. His distaste of the woman had given Shea warm and fuzzy feelings. Even if he was an actor paid to impress.

  “She’s not all that bad,” Miss Smith said immediately. Her manners obviously tightly, uh, stitched.

  “She’s worse,” Miss Cross said immediately. “she’s an attention whore.”

  Smith flushed, presumably at Cross’s use of the word “whore,” but Shea couldn’t be sure. It’s not like the woman was really from the regency era. She must have heard the word “whore” before? That aside, Miss Cross was right; Miss Gray was an attention whore. Though Daley had proved something of a challenge to the woman. Shea still guessed that was part of the act.

  If Daley hadn’t been intended for Miss Gray all along, he most certainly was now. He handled it well, she supposed, but then again he was an actor. What else was he supposed to do? His jo
b was to woo said attention-whore. Now that she thought about it, she didn’t feel all that bad for him. Miss Gray was a beautiful, smart, wealthy woman and he’d probably taken this job expecting much worse than that.

  Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure what she was worried about. He wasn’t really her cousin, and he definitely wasn’t complaining.

  “What do you think of her, Miss Shea?” Cross asked.

  Shea looked up from her sheep, and chuckled. “What is it with women like her? They can get men to do whatever they want, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why?” Wow, where had that come from?

  Smith furrowed her brow at her. “Really? I get it,” she said momentarily slipping from her character, “I mean, if I were a guy.”

  Huh. “Ah, crap, I sewed out of the lines.” Shea flushed then glanced up. Watch your vernacular. Please. Thankfully, they were both smirking.

  “Well, at least she’s not flirting with all the men.” Miss Smith was back in character.

  “Ah, yes, just Mr. Daley,” Miss Cross said. “Such a lovely man. He handles her well, that’s for sure. And better than anyone else could.”

  “I don’t know,” Miss Smith said. “Mr. Hamilton probably could.”

  Shea stabbed herself with the needle. “Ouch.” It started to bleed. She stuck her finger in her mouth.

  “Are you all right?” Smith stopped what she was doing, her needle hand suspended mid-air.

  “Mmm,” Shea pulled her finger from her mouth, and watched the blood pool on the surface again. Wow, it was flowing.

  “I don’t think so,” Cross said. “Hamilton has about as much interest in that woman as I do in Mr. Asher.”

  Smith’s face fell. “You don’t like Mr. Asher?”

  Miss Cross shrugged. “Asher’s kind and handsome, but I’m not really here for the romance.”

  Shea remembered what Cross’s uncle had said about her preparing for a part. Back in Brown’s office, she’d pictured Cross as a flighty, silly romantic. In the mere two and half days she’d been with her, her opinion had changed. Well, she still thought she was a little silly, but now Shea could see that she was also smart, and clever, and guarded of her heart. Fault of the ex-boyfriend?