Authors: Julianna Deering
Tags: #Murder—Investigation—Fiction, #England—Fiction
Death by the Book (25 page)
Drew woke up rather late the next morning and then only at the knock on his bedroom door.
Denny came in with his breakfast tray, not his usual job, and a message. “Chief Inspector Birdsong would like to know when he might conveniently call upon you, sir.”
Drew stretched and smoothed the hair back from his forehead. “Is my bath ready?”
“Yes, certainly, sir.”
“Very well, tell him anytime is fine, provided he gives me a half hour to eat and dress.”
“I’ll let him know, sir,” Denny said with a bow.
Precisely thirty minutes later, the chief inspector presented himself at Farthering Place. Drew was waiting in the library to receive him. Having Nick at his side and Madeline’s hand in his made it easier to bear as, at Birdsong’s request, he recounted his final conversation with Mrs. Harkness. He was shaken more than he liked to show by how nearly he’d brushed death the night before.
Birdsong was rather grim-faced as he took notes, asking for clarification here and there, but mostly letting Drew tell the tale. Afterward, the chief inspector held out a familiar-looking piece of parchment with delicately penned letters on it. “One of my men found this in her wastepaper basket. I don’t know what it means, but she clearly changed her mind at the last moment.”
Madeline took it from him. “‘With as much resolve as was
in the bandit from Cairo before he died.’ What does it mean? Who’s the bandit from Cairo?”
Drew frowned in thought. “She liked plays on words. And it’s no doubt something from Shakespeare. ‘Bandit.’ Hmmm. Could be outlaw, thief or robber.”
“‘Cairo,’” Nick mused. “Egypt perhaps? Africa?”
“Egyptian maybe. Egyptian thief? Good heavens . . .” Drew paled a little. “You know the one, Nick. From
Twelfth Night
.”
Nick nodded grimly.
Birdsong looked from one to the other of them. “What’s it say?”
“What is it exactly, Drew?” Nick thought for a moment. “‘Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, kill what I love?’”
“Oh, Drew.” Madeline pressed herself to his side, tightening her grip on his arm. “She was going to kill you along with herself. How could she? If she loved you, even in such a twisted way, how could she?”
“I suppose she couldn’t after all.”
“But she meant to,” Madeline insisted. “She planned to. What changed her mind?”
“I will forgive you, too.”
He drew a shallow breath. “Just one of those little decisions we make.” He smiled and kissed her hand, and Birdsong scowled at him.
“So what did the other one mean then, Detective Farthering? The one she wrote last. Who is Helena and what was at the end of her epistle?”
“As best I remember, the only one of Shakespeare’s many Helenas to write about her plan to go on a pilgrimage was in
All’s Well That Ends Well
.” Drew indicated the volume of Shake
speare’s plays that lay on the library table next to Madeline. “You’ll find her letter in Act Three, darling.”
Madeline picked up the book and hunted down the place he had indicated, the letter at the beginning of Scene Four. She scanned the brief lines until she reached the final two. Then she looked up at him, tears in her eyes now. “Drew . . .”
The chief inspector frowned, and she passed the book to him, pointing out the place.
He is too good and fair for death and me,
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.
By lunchtime Birdsong was, at least for the time being, satisfied that he could close his investigation. That left only one bit of unfinished business.
Drew swallowed hard. Despite what Madeline had said the night before, he couldn’t quite believe she had actually agreed to marry him. Sometimes he thought maybe he was still a bit muddled from the Mickey he’d taken with his tea. It hadn’t occurred to him until just now exactly what her acceptance would mean. Others, formidable others, would have to be told about their plans.
Still, there was nothing to do but to face the situation head-on. Madeline gave him a gentle push forward toward the parlor door, and he knew, right or wrong, now was the time to speak. Aunt Ruth was in the parlor as usual, Mr. Chambers curled up in her lap, asleep as she did her lace making.
“Miss Jansen?”
Her lips moving as she silently counted her stitches, Aunt Ruth didn’t respond.
“If I might interrupt you for a moment . . .”
She scowled, keeping her attention focused on her task. “Hold on.”
Drew glanced back at Madeline, his eyes begging her to let this happen some other day, but she only beamed at him and mouthed the words
go on
.
After what seemed an eternity, Aunt Ruth set down her thread and crochet hook and fixed Drew with a steely glare. “Well?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, but I have something frightfully important to talk to you about and I really cannot wait another moment.”
“What’s the matter? You have ants?”
That surprised a bit of a laugh out of him, but he also felt his face heat to burning. Why couldn’t he keep his composure around this woman? It must run in the family.
He swallowed again, but he saw just a hint, just the tiniest glimmer of humor in her eyes, and he dared smile. “No, but I’d like to have. One aunt, anyway.”
She arched one eyebrow at him. “Oh, yes?”
He glanced one last time at Madeline, and then he sat down on the sofa beside Aunt Ruth. “Look here, ma’am. I know we’ve been at loggerheads ever since we met, but I’d like that to change. I do love Madeline more than all the world, and I believe she loves me. I’d like your permission, and more than that, your blessing.” He let himself be vulnerable and earnest before her and made bold to take her hand. “I want Madeline to be my wife, and I’d like to have your consent.”
Aunt Ruth pursed her lips. “Humph. She’s of age. She can do as she pleases.”
“But will it please you, ma’am? As you know, I haven’t any aunts myself, but I’d like to have.”
Her face softened a bit. Bless her if she wasn’t fighting a smile of her own. “You do have the devil’s own silver tongue. I hate to think of the trouble that’s going to get the both of you into.”
“And out of, I hope,” Drew added.
Madeline came and sat on the other side of her aunt, taking her free hand. “Please, Aunt Ruth, say yes. I know we can do whatever we want, but we want you to be happy about it, too. Happy for us.”
“I suppose you’ll pester me until I give in.”
Madeline nodded, her eyes sparkling.
Aunt Ruth turned to Drew. “And I suppose you’ll carry on with the sweet talk until you get your way. No, don’t say anything else, young man. I guess I can see why a child like Madeline couldn’t stand up to you for very long. And maybe, just maybe, mind you, you’re actually half the wonder she thinks you are and won’t make her miserable for the next fifty years. And maybe you won’t get yourself killed in the next week or two. If that’s the case . . .” She took their hands and clasped them together between both of hers, waking Mr. Chambers in the process. “If that’s the case, you have my blessing.”
“Oh, Aunt Ruth.” Madeline threw both arms around her aunt’s neck and hugged her tightly. “Thank you.”
Drew stood up again in the extremely awkward and, for him, unusual predicament of not knowing what to say next, but both women were looking up at him expectantly.
“I’ll do my very best to take good care of her, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” The older woman again fixed him with that debilitating glare, and he felt his pulse increase.
“Miss Jansen?” he offered.
“I think it’s high time you called me Aunt Ruth.”
He smiled. “And perhaps, with the time being particularly high just now, you ought to call me Drew.”
Miss Ruth Ann Jansen
requests the honor of your presence
at the marriage of her niece
Madeline Felicity Parker
to
Ellison Andrew Farthering
on Saturday, the tenth of December
nineteen
hundred thirty-two
at three o’clock in the afternoon
at The Church of the Holy Trinity and All Angels
Farthering St. John, Hampshire
Reception to follow at Farthering Place
T
o my family, especially the feline contingent, for putting up with me.
To David Long, Luke Hinrichs, Noelle Buss, and all the fabulous people at Bethany House, just for being fabulous.
I have no words that can truly express how much I appreciate each of you.
Julianna Deering
, author of
Rules of Murder
, is the pen name of the multi-published novelist DeAnna Julie Dodson. DeAnna has always been an avid reader and a lover of storytelling, whether on the page, the screen, or the stage. This, together with her keen interest in history and her Christian faith, shows in her tales of love, forgiveness, and triumph over adversity. A fifth-generation Texan, she makes her home north of Dallas, along with three spoiled cats. When not writing, DeAnna spends her free time quilting, cross-stitching, and watching NHL hockey. Learn more at
JuliannaDeering.com
.
From Bethany House Publishers
T
HE
D
REW
F
ARTHERING
M
YSTERIES
Rules of Murder
Death by the Book
