A Curious Beginning

“Am I? I cannot think why. I am entirely reasonable and thoroughly logical.”


“That is what makes you impossible.” He lifted his head. “Very well. I will appeal to your sense of logic. If I do not know you are gone and where you are bound, how will I know if you are in distress?”

“Should I be in distress? In a meadow? You mean if the cows organize some sort of attack? I have extensive experience with cows. They almost never do that.”

“Forget the bloody cows,” he said, clearly making an effort to hold on to his temper. “The baron was killed, murdered in cold blood, or have you forgot that?”

“Of course I haven’t. But that has nothing to do with my going off on a butterfly hunt.”

“It has everything to do with it!” he roared back.

“Heavens, you’re a stubborn man! No wonder no woman will live with you.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished them back. His gaze fell to the slender gold band upon my left hand and he rose without a word and left the caravan, slamming the door hard behind him.

I slid the ring from my finger and held it to the light. It had not been worn for long, I realized, for the gold was still bright and the edges unworn, although it had been badly damaged at one time. An inscription had been engraved inside, and I turned it to the light to read it. For C.M. from R.T.-V. Sept. 1882. I did not know the identity of C.M., but it required little imagination to determine that the tender bridegroom had been Revelstoke Templeton-Vane, and that in September of 1882 he had taken a wife. The question was, what had he done with her?

I looked at the inscription again. No poetry, then, I thought, and for some reason, I was surprised. A man who loved the Romantic poets ought to have fairly covered the thing in verse. But there were only the initials, inscribed coldly into the gold, and nothing more. I slipped the ring back onto my finger and took up my reading, applying myself once more to the adventures of Arcadia Brown, Lady Detective, but my attention wandered. I had the beginning of a violent headache, and the vague feeling of a storm gathering. There were no clouds to be seen, and I was not often given to fancies, but I put a hand into my pocket and drew out my little velvet mouse and held him tightly in my palm as I waited for what was to come.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


Mr. Stoker nursed his resentment for the better part of that day, for I did not see him again until it was time for us to perform. That is not to say that I did not hear him. Shortly before we were to begin the act, I made my way to the tent, slipping through the shadowy areas behind, where few of the paying customers ventured. One had to be quite careful here, as the ropes and tent pegs were difficult to see, so I was picking my way slowly when I heard my name in conversation. It was Salome speaking, and I soon realized to whom.

“Why did you marry Veronica? Is she with child?” The voice was teasing, and the reply was brutal and swift.

“God, no!” Too late, he must have remembered that we were supposed to be devotedly in love, for he hastened to repair the damage. “That is to say, it is far too soon for that sort of thing. I would like some time with my bride all to myself before I have to share her with a child.”

Salome laughed, a velvety, seductive sound, and I knew instinctively that she would be standing quite close to him in the darkness.

“Oh, Stoker, why do you think you can deceive me? After what we have been together? Tell me the truth now. Do you really prefer her to me?”

I heard the rustle of fabric and a decidedly masculine gasp. “That’s really quite an inappropriate question under the circumstances, don’t you think? You oughtn’t—that is, I am a married man, Salome.”

“Are you? You don’t seem married to me.” After this came more rustling and another groan.

“Leave me be, Salome. I am quite devoted to Veronica,” he said, his voice strangled.

“I don’t believe that,” she murmured. “Tell me why you like her. Tell me why you married her.”

There was a moment of imperfect silence between them, for I heard still more rustling and then, quite abruptly, a ragged growl and another laugh from Salome, this one sharp and unpleasant.

“You think you can push me aside? You think you can forget me? For her?” Salome caught her breath suddenly. “Let go of my arm. You’re hurting me.”

“And I will do a good deal more if you try any more of your sly tricks, either on me or on Veronica. You’re not to go near her, do you understand me?”

“A little late for you to suddenly play the protective husband, don’t you think? Why did you do it? Tell me why you married her.”

“I mean it, Salome, and if you think I don’t, I beg you to give me the chance to prove it. Leave her be. And me as well.”

He must have stalked off then, for she cursed as she came around the corner. She brought herself up with an exaggerated start when she saw me.

“Oh, Veronica! I did not know you were there.”