The Wrong Girl(15)

"I'm not sure I'm at liberty to say." She picked up the hoop but didn't stitch. "Let's wait for Jack to arrive."

I was beginning to think Sylvia was very much like Vi. Neither wished to say or do the wrong thing, and both saw their position in the household as a lowly one compared to the other members. At least Sylvia put herself above the servants if her direct manner with Tommy was any indication. Vi had never given Miss Levine an order when she was perfectly within her rights to do so.

"I will take you shopping, you know," Sylvia said.

"Shopping?"

"After you've...settled in."

"I wouldn't hold out much hope. Your cousin doesn't want me to run off. Understandable considering the trouble he went to abducting me. I can't imagine how awful it must have been for him to pretend to be a gardener for two whole weeks."

"Is that sarcasm again?" Sylvia chuckled. "I dare you to say that to his face."

"Be careful. I rarely back down from a dare."

She dropped her needle, and her eyes widened. "It was only a joke. Don't tell him I suggested it."

"Why not? Are you afraid of him?"

She concentrated on her stitching for a long moment, then said, "He can be unpredictable."

Unpredictable. The word was like a siren song to me. I'd lived with routine and order my entire life. I did the same thing, day in and day out, saw the same people, walked the same paths. As much I would do anything to see Vi again, I was missing my life at Windamere less and less with each passing hour. Sylvia was different enough to be interesting, but her cousin was positively exciting. He was a mystery I wanted to solve. That morning, I'd looked for him around every corner, hoped to see him in every room I'd passed through.

"He never complained, you know," she said.

"Jack? About what?"

"About being a gardener. He only returned home once during that time, and all he spoke about was how poorly treated you were. It was he who discovered you were kept in the attic not of your own volition, but on Lord Wade's order."

"How could he possibly have learned that?"

"He said your governess tailed you everywhere on your walks, and that a free woman would not be in need of such close guard."

I was taken aback by this keen observation and rendered quite speechless.

Tommy arrived with my breakfast. I ate toast and poached eggs at the table by the window. Unlike the previous night, I was terribly hungry, and I was intent on finishing everything on my plate when Jack arrived.

"Good morning, ladies," he said. "Sleep well, Violet?"

My mouth was too full to respond in any manner other than a nod. I pressed a napkin to my lips to cover my chewing and to dab away any crumbs. It would be too embarrassing to have such a man as he see me with half my breakfast on my chin. He was too handsome, too self-assured, and I was the naive madwoman kept in an attic most of her life.

That didn't stop me from looking at him. It seemed that every time I set eyes on him, I noticed something new and intriguing. The intensity of his green eyes, the bow-like curve of his mouth, or the small scars on his upper lip and above his right eyebrow. With the sunlight streaming through the window, I saw that his hair had different shades of brown through it. Some light strands, some so dark to be almost black and everything in between.

"Yes, thank you," I finally said, sounding a little breathy.

"I'm afraid our training will have to wait. I must leave for Harborough immediately. I won't be back until this afternoon."

Sylvia set down her embroidery hoop. "Why?"

"August's business."

"Oh."

"Does it have anything to do with those men who were here?" I asked.

"The constabulary?" Sylvia said.

"Police!"

Jack scowled at her. "Syl, hold your tongue."

"If you wish me to live here," I said, "then I expect to be treated as you treat each other. I won't be kept in the dark. Is that understood?"

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Quite," he bit off.

Sylvia made a small choking sound in the back of her throat, but when I glanced at her, she was intent on her embroidery.

"Were they both policemen?" I asked. "One wore a helmet."

"He was a constable in uniform," Jack said. "The plainly dressed gentleman was a detective inspector."

I set the napkin down and met those all-seeing green eyes. "Were they looking for me?"

"No." Was it my imagination, or did sympathy flicker across his face? "Someone broke in last night. Some of August's papers were stolen, and he's in a bit of a state about it. August in a state is not a pretty sight."

"What sort of papers?"