Chapter One
Clementine Musgrave liked many things. Too many things, perhaps. She especially liked dogs.
Too bad Clem wasn’t allowed near them.
Too bad Lady Mary Jones owned at least half a dozen. The noise, the fluff, the wet noses, the lolling tongues...it took all her willpower not to crouch down in the brightly lit hallway of Hindwick Place and let them lick her to death.
“Children!” the petite lady bellowed with surprising strength. “Let Lady Clementine through.” Mary came to her rescue, pressing through the crowd of dogs of varying sizes and gesturing for Clem to follow her.
“How are you, my dear? Did you avoid the drizzle?” Mary hustled her along, scarcely giving her a moment to peel her bonnet from her head. The woman clucked her tongue. “Frightfully unpredictable weather we’ve been having.”
Small, with slightly stooped shoulders and white hair that shone in the intermittent sunlight that flashed through each of the tall windows of the long hallway, Mary continued along at a rapid pace. The dogs remained at her heel, content to trot along and nearly trip Clem up.
“Well—” Clem started.
“Of course, thisisEngland, and when is the weather ever predictable?”
Huge paintings hung on one wall and a dark splodge of a painting caught her eye. Clem paused. It must have been painted centuries ago when either cats looked exceedingly different or medieval artists simply had no idea how to paint the creatures.
“It is hideous, is it not?” Mary stopped and glanced over her shoulder then waved a hand at the painting. “It will be the first to go if I cannot sort out thiswill business.”
Clem made a small sound and nodded, uncertain quite what thiswill businesswas. All she knew was that she’d been summoned by her cousins in London to aid Mary. It was all rather cryptic and odd really, but she could not deny it had piqued her curiosity. She’d finally mastered the most difficult song she could find on the lyre and needed something new to do, especially as they were a month away from the start of the Season in Bath and there was little else to do apart from refine one’s accomplishments.
“Come now.” The woman gestured impatiently and scurried toward a door at the end of the hallway.
No footman opened it and Clem noted a distinct lack of servants for such a sizeable house set not far from the center of Bath. Surrounded by a large, fenced garden, the house offered all the trappings of a beautiful country estate set a mere walk from many of the entertainments the town offered. However, smudges marring the windows and dust coating the gilded frames alongside a withered fern indicated the servants were not just in hiding—they simply did not exist.
Was Mary more poverty stricken than any of them realized? It had been a while since she and her family had visited with Mary, but she had not given any hints there were any struggles since her arrival in Bath after the last London Season.
That was, until the letter from Chastity.
Her cousins, it seemed, had formed some sort of investigation society to aid women in need and had been quite successful indeed. Clem wasn’t certain what Mary needed or even quite why Clem had to be involved, only that Chastity was occupied with her two children, and none of her other cousins could currently come to Bath. It had seemed prudent that at least one of the Musgraves find out what this was all about, and Clem had the bad luck of drawing the lowest card.
Truth be told, though, she wasn’t entirely disappointed to have been the loser. Maybe this would be interesting…
That was if she could avoid the dogs, of course.
Clem did her best to ignore the dogs milling about her legs.Remember what happened last time you petted a dog?One might not think much could happen from simply patting a dog’s head or rubbing their belly, but Clem knew otherwise. The Musgraves were all but banned from going anywhere near the sweet, endearing animals.
A tiny white Highland terrier pattered along beside her. She flexed her fingers. Would one little stroke hurt?
“Here we are.”
Clem straightened when Mary leaned against a door apparently so heavy that she emitted a grunt as she pushed it open.
Blinking in the influx of sunlight causing the last of the raindrops to twinkle on the windows of the generous corner room, Clem realized during her visits to Hindwick she’d never been in this end. The room offered an eclectic décor with huge vases of maybe Greek origin, paintings from artists she did not recognize, and a huge stonework fireplace that stretched to the fairly low ceiling, also highly decorated in a somewhat oppressive swirling pattern. It might not be to her taste, but Clem imagined it offered a snug respite from the grander rooms of the house.
Mary ushered all the dogs but the white one through another door and Clem moved onto tiptoes to observe the animals hurtle outside, their barks of delight making her smile.
“Snowy has a tendency to run off,” Mary explained. “She isn’t allowed out without a lead.” She tugged a bell pull and gestured to two plush sofas.
When Clem sank onto one, it creaked, and she nearly tipped back into the seam of the furniture. These were no rigid Louis XVI chairs. She eyed the one single wooden backed chair with regret.
Forcing a smile as the dog took up a position around Mary’s feet, Clem laced her fingers in her lap and waited for the woman to ease slowly onto the sofa opposite with the help of her cane.
“Tea shall be along in a moment. Are you hungry, my dear? My cook does a frightfully good baklava.”
“Oh, no, there is no need—” Her stomach gave a timely grumble and Mary smiled as though she had somehow predicted Clem’s rush out of the door amongst the chaos of a family debate about whether chicken was the dullest meat in existence or actually the best. It was a rather unstimulating topic considering her family’s predilection for intellectual pursuits but both sides had managed to argue passionately.