The Scarlet Wench (2 page)

  Declan hummed as he chose his best jacket. He felt energized, ready for a new adventure. Maybe he’d catch a dose of Nora’s enthusiasm and even enjoy this bloody play. Nora had recently gone back to using contact lenses when the baby started grabbing her glasses, and he looked forward to seeing her green eyes, one of the first things he’d noticed when they had met in Oxford.

  Folding the jacket, Declan saw his reflection in the mirror and tried to judge what Nora would see. His thick brown hair, with a few greys over the ears, had been freshly cut over the weekend. Upping the length of his morning run had allowed him to drop half a stone, despite his awful eating habits, which revolved around too many take-aways or not eating at all. All right, he had a tendency to frown, but surely, given he was nearing forty, he was entitled to some life experience showing. His grey eyes were clear, and from the front, the slight bump on his nose from his rugby days was hardly noticeable.

  He stood up and mentally surveyed what he’d packed, then opened his night table drawer and optimistically threw in a box of condoms.

*

9:45 AM

Darby, Simon’s Lakeland terrier, pranced around Nora and Sean as she headed to the lodge kitchen to see Agnes. Approaching the main hall, she heard the noise of the vacuum running upstairs. Hoovering, the Brits called it. Despite her years in England, her American roots were firm. Although she had appropriated many British phrases into her vocabulary when she spoke, she remained pure Connecticut in her thoughts.

  Agnes would feed the theatre troupe, but the lodge would suspend its usual evening dinners to the public for ten days. Nora found the lodge’s cook at her worktop, flipping pages in a well-thumbed cookbook. The woman perked up at the sight of them. She opened the back door to let the dog into the garden.

  “There’s the little laddie. How’s he doing today?”

  “Won’t nap and fusses on and off.”

  “Such a sweet bairn. Maybe his tummy’s off? My gran used to heat a bit of olive oil when one of us had a tummy ache.” Agnes tickled the baby under his chin. “We’ll all have a tummy ache when that group of barking actors arrives.”

  Nora wondered what the health visitor would think of the home remedy. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, as Val says. I’m looking forward to the actors being here.”

  “They say trouble follows that Grayson Lange,” Agnes insisted. “I read that magazine you used to work for, and he’s trouble.”

  “When I interviewed him, he was fine.” Just a terrible flirt, she recalled. Time to change the subject. “When does Darby go to the Barnums?” Callie Barnum was Nora’s mum’s helper who also worked for the lodge when her nursery school certification classes allowed it. This week, she was on spring break.

  “Callie’s brother’s coming for him. Just because one of these posh actresses is allergic to dogs, our Darby has to leave.”

  The desk bell clanged, saving Nora from a reply. Fiona Church’s allergy had been a sticking point until Simon agreed to farm the terrier out for her tenure at the lodge.

  “I’ll get it.” Nora made a hasty retreat.

  A young woman who reminded Nora of Audrey Hepburn stood by the desk, all slender arms and legs, her short, dark hair grazing her long neck. Her camel skirt sported sewn-on bows of different materials in a riot of color and patterns. Cream patterned tights ended in lime-green ankle boots. A woven oatmeal sweater had a high neck and concealed any curves she might have.

  “Can I help you?” Nora cupped Sean’s toes through the material of his stretchy onesie. She admired the woman’s bright and original outfit. It made her feel dowdy in her old jeans and shirt. “I’m Nora Tierney, helping the owners this week.” That felt bright and professional, despite the infant strapped to her chest.

  “I’m Poppy Braeburn,” the woman answered. “Sorry to be early, but there you go. Sweet baby.”

  “Thanks.” Nora didn’t think she looked sorry at all, but it didn’t matter because she knew Poppy’s room was ready. She was the first of the actors to arrive, and Nora wanted to make a good impression. “You’re in the Beatrix Potter Suite. I’ll have Simon bring your bags up. Follow me.” She led Poppy up the stairs to the northeast corner room, holding onto the railing with her precious cargo leading the way. Voices from the front of the lodge told her Simon and Callie were finishing the last room.

  Poppy carried her backpack and a portable sewing machine. Nora had poured over the cast list and knew Poppy would play the maid, Edith, and also doubled as the troupe’s costumer on the road.

  Poppy seemed pleased to have her own bathroom and didn’t comment on her room’s location at the back of the lodge. “Great room,” she told Nora, taking in the white iron bed and green-and-white striped wallpaper. A frieze of characters from the Potter books ran along the chair rail. There was a trundle bed under the queen bed that made the room ideal for parents traveling with children.

  Nora lifted the bed skirt and pointed it out. “I can have that removed if you’d rather.”

  “No, leave it.”

  Nora nodded. “Can I get you anything?”

  Poppy plopped her sewing machine onto the wide windowsill and yawned. “Think I’ll take a nap until the others get here.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, then.” Nora approached the woman to hand her the room key. That was when Sean, with an extravagant belch, threw up on Poppy Braeburn’s sweater.

Chapter Two

“ … something very peculiar happened to me.”

Charles: Act
II
, Scene 1

10:20 AM

All things considered, Poppy Braeburn reacted with grace. Nora decided Sean’s wide smile after he cleared his bubble had been a factor. She helped Poppy gingerly remove the wet sweater.

  “I’m so sorry. I’ll wash this right now.” Nora checked the inside seam for care details while Sean gurgled happily.

  Poppy washed her hands and brought a wet cloth for the baby’s face, gently wiping his chin. “No worries. Goes in the washer and dryer in a snap, one reason I wear it often.” Stripped to her camisole, Poppy smiled at the baby. “What’s his name?”

  “Sean, and you’re very kind. Not our best foot forward, I’m afraid. Certain I can’t get you anything?” she insisted. “A sandwich or some grapes? A new sweater?”

  Poppy laughed and pulled an apple from her backpack. “I have all I need, and I’ll probably crash out for a while.”

  Nora closed the door behind her and met Simon at the head of the stairs.

  “Someone here already?” He pushed his sandy hair off his forehead in a familiar gesture and reached out to tickle Sean’s foot. “Hello, Munchkin, thought you’d be asleep by now.”

  “Don’t ask.” They started down the stairs together, Simon a lanky head taller than Nora. “Poppy Braeburn checked in early, and Sean welcomed her by spitting up on this.” She held up the damp sweater.

  “A personal welcome to Ramsey Lodge. Well done, Sean!” Simon’s reward for his light tone was a huge grin from the baby as they reached the hall.

  “I’ll just chuck this in the washer,” Nora said. Simon’s good mood was infectious.

  He stopped her. “Since he’s awake and the next crew isn’t due for hours, do you want a lift to St Martin’s to get Kate’s things? I need to pick up the Dentons from the station, and you can walk back with Sean and post the text to the publisher on the way.”

  Nora had promised to retrieve the Ramsey heirloom Kate had used on the altar, a lace runner that was her way to represent her parents at the ceremony. Work on Book Two of Nora’s
Fairies of Belle Isle
series was done, and she needed to get the text to her editor while Simon finished the illustrations. “I’ll get his buggy and meet you at the car in ten minutes,” Nora said. “Maybe he’ll fall asleep on the walk home.”

  “I’ll take these bags up.” Simon took Poppy’s suitcase and a thick garment bag labeled “Costumes.”

  The kitchen stood empty; through the window, Nora saw Callie Barnum listening respectfully as Agnes gave a discourse by the herb garden. Darby had been whisked away; Callie’s brother must have arrived while Nora was upstairs.

  Nora started the sweater washing on a small load in the household machine. She went back to her room and took Sean out of the sling, changed his nappy and added a sweater and hat to his outfit. She opted to throw on her old zip-front Exeter sweatshirt, softened and faded through many washes. After checking the nappy bag, she added a bottle of water from her dorm fridge and her manuscript envelope, then stowed them in the back of the buggy, remembering how Simon had teased her for calling it a stroller. She was becoming more and more British every day. Diapers and cribs and strollers had been replaced by nappies and cots and buggies.

  Nora gave the baby one more kiss and strapped him into the seat of the buggy. Sean had learned this was the sign of an outing and kicked his legs in anticipation.

  She tried to keep the clutter of having an infant confined to her suite. It was enough that Kate and Simon had urged her to spend this past year with them. While she paid toward groceries and utilities from her small income and savings, they refused to accept formal rent, insisting they had no immediate use for the suite she occupied, the rooms of a former live-in housekeeper. By the end of the summer, she’d have to find her own lodgings, day care for Sean and a better job to earn a real income, a prospect she dreaded. How could she write her books and mother Sean if she were gone all day? She’d just have to cross that bridge when it rose before her.

  Nora stopped by the door and darted into the bathroom to run a brush through her hair, then clipped it back off her face. The bags under her eyes were just one of the many “delights” motherhood had brought her. She thought of her Caesarean scar and wondered what Declan would make of it if she found herself in a position for him to notice.

  Pushing the buggy through the dining room, Nora stopped in the hall near the front door to wait for Simon. The majority of the drawing room furniture had been piled into Kate’s studio barn a day earlier after clearing up Saturday’s reception. Folding chairs were stacked against one wall in anticipation of the audiences that would fill them for the play’s weekend performances.

Simon’s enthusiasm had infected everyone but Agnes when he’d shown them the plan for the set, a drawing room built on a slightly raised stage in front of the large windows that looked out over England’s largest lake, Windermere. Wrapped up in her wedding, Kate had readily agreed and had left the details to Simon to sort out.

  “This outing’s a tryout for a West End run he hopes to mount.” Simon had relayed what Grayson had explained during their negotiations. “From my point of view, the play should bring in fresh faces and exposure for the lodge.” Simon had confided to Nora it was the reason he’d agreed to share prop-rental costs with Grayson, a detail she knew he hadn’t mentioned to Kate.

  The view beyond those picture windows showcased downy white clouds reflected in the azure blue of the lake’s surface. Nora watched a steamer pull away from Bowness Bay and head out on tour. She hoped she and Declan would have time to take Sean on a ride. The mild spring had brought tourists out in as much force as the yellow forsythias lining the lodge’s driveway. She could still be impressed with the sheer beauty of the nature around her and often felt like a visitor on vacation.

  She had put out feelers for a freelance commission for an interview with Grayson and the troupe in the hope she could parlay that into another paycheck. Nora recalled her previous meeting with the director. Grayson Lange was tall and big boned with a long, carved nose and high cheekbones. His trademark salt-and-pepper goatee was impeccably groomed.

  She remembered his loud laugh and hooded brown eyes under a deep brow that gave him a bedroom look that had seduced more than one young actress. Nora hadn’t fallen under his spell, but his strong personality exuded an undeniably sexy and dynamic force.

  “Want me to drive?” Simon appeared next to her, pulling on a windcheater.

  “Sure.” It had taken Nora ages to qualify for her U.K. license after using her out-of-country license for well more than the approved year. She still smarted that she’d had to take the test twice. While she’d aced the written exam, the practical drive had been filled with laborious things she had never performed, like driving in reverse around a corner. Driving on the opposite side of the car on the opposite side of the road still didn’t feel natural. She tossed Simon the keys to her used Volvo, happy to let him drive.

  Nora buckled Sean into the rear seat, and Simon stowed the buggy in the cargo area. As they slid into the vehicle and he adjusted the seat for his long legs, Nora wondered how he really felt about his beloved sister’s marriage. Ian Travers was a decent guy and a good detective who had acted more than fairly last autumn when Simon had fallen under suspicion of murder. Still, Nora thought the new situation would take getting used to for Simon.

  “The Dentons play the neighbor couple, right?” Simon asked.

  Nora pulled lip balm from her sweatshirt pocket and applied it liberally. “Rupert and Lydia; she uses her maiden name, Brown, on stage. Married for decades.”

  Simon grinned. “You really soak this stuff up, don’t you?”

  Nora shrugged. “I used to work for a magazine that coveted details of any kind of celebrity. It sticks. And I’ve always loved the theatre. Have you heard from Kate today?”

  “She’s having fun in Paris. I don’t expect to hear from her again until they’re in Provence next week.”

  They drove on the cobbled street uphill toward the church, passing The Scarlet Wench Pub. “Look at that.” Simon pointed to the banner that hung over the door:
Welcome Lange’s Traveling Theatre Troupe
.

  Nora clapped her hands, making Sean squeal in response. “Daisy said she hoped you’d bring the group there. I know it’s one of your favorite places, but I’ve never asked you how the pub got its name.”

  “In the
1860
s when you lot were having your Civil War, the lake froze and people walked or skated across it. Some locals crossing the deep middle claimed they saw a headless woman under the ice, wearing a red dress and waving to entice them to drown with her. Daisy named the pub after the legend.”

  Nora gave an exaggerated shudder. “Brutal.”

  “Probably some idiot’s scarf, lost before the water froze.”

  “So cynical. And all this time I had you down for a romantic.”

  “I’ve become much more practical—” He stopped to allow an elderly woman to cross the street. “—which is why this theatre troupe is such a bloody good idea.”

  The tenor of his voice struck Nora; she felt a glimmer of revelation. “Simon, is Ramsey Lodge in financial trouble?”

  Silence as the woman reached the sidewalk. Then a casual shrug of his shoulders.     “Not deep trouble, just getting too close to our overdraft for my comfort.”

  Nora’s stomach tightened. She’d been so wrapped up in Sean these past months. Did their presence add to the strain? She remembered pledging her silence to Simon about the fact that he was fronting half the prop rental for the play, an expense he thought justified, as the lodge would get a cut of the ticket sales. Just how badly off was the lodge? “I didn’t realize, Simon. If there’s anything I can do … ”

  They pulled up in front of the medieval church.

  “There is one thing you can do, Nora.”

  “Name it.”

  “Pray this play is a rousing success and brings new life to Ramsey Lodge.”

  He left the car, whistling a cheery tune that didn’t fool Nora for a minute. She thought back over the winter. Bookings were down, but she’d attributed that to the rhythms of the tourist season. While Simon coming under suspicion in last October’s murders certainly had an effect on November bookings, she’d not spent a winter there before and so had thought the holiday season sent tourists to warmer spots. How could she not have realized her good friends were hurting? She doubted Kate was fully aware. It would be just like Simon to keep this downward trend from his sister, especially when she’d been caught up in the whirl of planning her wedding.

  Simon retrieved the wheeled base of the buggy and helped Nora set the bucket seat. She thanked him for the ride, as it would have been the uphill walk; going home would be downhill, requiring a death grip on the buggy and giving her a good workout for her stomach and leg muscles. She feared she’d never get that small roll by her waistband to disappear.

  Nora waved as Simon honked and drove away toward the train station in Windermere. She would keep Simon’s financial worries at the back of her mind for the next week and hope ticket sales kept increasing. Handing Sean his favorite stuffed bunny, she decided to do everything in her power to make this play a success and attract new customers to Ramsey Lodge.

*

10:50 AM

Nora approached St Martin’s, admiring the sandstone exterior and unusual lead roof while she mulled over the lodge’s precarious situation. There had been a church on this site since the early
1200s
; it had evolved to a mix of modern touches with a reverence for its roots. Nora had used the church for Sean’s December christening, and Kate had married Ian here two days ago.

  The original wooden doors sported etched-glass inner doors commemorating the new millennium, echoing the mix of old and new. Nora pushed Sean into the church’s cool interior. The baby seemed awed by the dark nave, unaware he’d been the center of attention when the vicar had poured holy water over his forehead from the font that had survived a fire in
1480
. All eyes had been turned toward Val and Simon, his godparents. Sean had frowned and gurgled his annoyance, then gone promptly back to sleep, setting up a ripple of laughter in the congregation. Nora carefully lifted the font’s lid and, as promised by the altar guild ladies, found Kate’s lace, folded in blue tissue paper inside a carrier bag.

  Nora passed memorials, set into the walls, dating back to
1631
and admired the east window; its crucifixion scene in jeweled stained glass glowed in the late-morning sunlight. She’d used the church as a setting for her second book. Her cranky gnome, sightseeing off Belle Isle by sneaking from the private island onto the Sawrey ferry, falls into one of the church’s organ pipes and has to be rescued by the rest of the fairies. Simon had labored over illustrations of the church’s ceiling beams, stenciled in religious quotations in gold. As homage to Nora’s American background, they’d decided to include the coat of arms of John Wessington, ancestor to George Washington, displayed in the interior. Nora felt pleased she’d been able to incorporate the space’s strong history to young readers without hitting them over the head with it.

  A sound like sobbing reached Nora from outside. She stopped in her tracks to listen but the noise ended, and she wondered if it was the spring breeze she’d heard, whistling through an ancient window. She glanced at Sean; his eyelids flickered in the dim light. She sat down in a pew next to him to allow him to fall asleep, stowing the carrier bag under the buggy. The mixed scents of burned candles, cool stone and old wood surrounded her and brought her back to Saturday’s wedding.

  There had been enough tartans and kilts to make her dizzy, and Simon had explained the extras that went into the outfit, like
the purse called a sporran that hung in front of the kilt and the oddly named knife, a sgian dubh, that was stuck into knee socks. There had been a lot of jokes about what kilted men wore—or didn’t—underneath, but she’d never received a straight answer. If Declan had been there, she might’ve been tempted to find out.