thousand questions after your last visit. What did Miss Smith look like? What did she wear? Was Mr. Gladstone as handsome as Mr. Jack Langley?"
The Butterworth girls giggled again, neither looking up from their laps. I was beginning to see why Sylvia hadn't invited them to dine with us along with their parents. If they were always so silly, the conversation would be dull indeed. Besides, Sylvia was hoping the dinner would be a sophisticated affair similar to the dinners at the Beauforts' house, and there was nothing terribly sophisticated about the girls.
"We'll have to organize a picnic in the summer," Mrs. Butterworth went on. "You will both still be here in the summer, won't you?"
How should a dying person answer that? I blinked at her, my tongue suddenly too thick to form an answer. I dared not look at Jack to see his reaction, or Sylvia. Neither spoke, and it was left to Samuel.
"Of course," he said cheerfully. "Frakingham is our home now."
Mrs. Butterworth beamed. "Did you hear that, girls? Mr. Gladstone is staying. And Miss Smith too." The afterthought wasn't lost on me, although I didn't mind. I could see how a handsome gentleman would be more interesting to marriageable girls than a redhead of the same sex. "Just think, another gentleman and lady in our midst in little old Harborough."
I had the urge to giggle just like the Butterworth girls. If only they knew that I wasn't a lady. They'd turn up their prim noses at me.
"So what is it we can do for you today?" Mr. Butterworth asked, eyeing the clock on the mantel.
"This may seem a strange question," Jack said, "but I'm curious as to whether you've been planning any building works in the village recently. Perhaps for one of the societies you belong to?"
Mr. Butterworth exchanged a glance with his wife. "I can't think of any. Can—?"
"No, nothing," his wife said. "Why, Mr. Langley?"
Jack smiled and waved a hand, dismissive. "Ever since the renovations up at the house, I've become interested in architecture. I thought we could share plans and ideas."
"Oh. I see." Mrs. Butterworth seemed to accept his explanation, but her husband frowned at Jack. He said nothing. "There certainly haven't been any plans put forward through the council," she added.
I'd wondered if she had some influence in her husband's affairs, and her response confirmed it. Her domination of him was out of character for a man in a position of authority, and an elected official at that. I could imagine her taking charge of the campaigning on his behalf. She was quite a force.
A flash of something white by the door caught my eye. I seemed to be the only one who'd seen it. I kept watching and was rewarded with the sight of a little face peeking around the door jam. I smiled at the girl and she pulled back, out of sight.
"I'm sorry we couldn't help you, Mr. Langley," Mr. Butterworth said.
Jack held up his hand. "Another question, if you please. Do you know a man named Mott?"
Butterworth sucked on his lower lip. He shook his head. "Doesn't ring any bells."
"Why, Mr. Butterworth!" his wife cried. "Of course you know Mott. He was one of the men who died up at Frakingham. He's the reason the Langleys had to cancel Christmas dinner. Such a shame," she added with a shake of her head. Did she mean Mott's death or the canceled dinner?
"Ah, Mott ." Her husband gave an emphatic nod. "Yes, I remember now. Poor fellow."
"Were you in communication with him?" Jack asked.
"About what?"
Jack shrugged. "About anything."
"No, Mr. Langley, I was not. What are all these questions for?"
"Nothing," Samuel said quickly. Then, more soothingly, he said, "Nothing at all, Mr. Butterworth."
Both Sylvia and I glared at him. He was not going to hypnotize Mr. Butterworth, surely! Not when others were so close and in danger of falling under his spell too. It was bad enough having the girls blushing and giggling, we didn't need them throwing themselves at Samuel as well. It had been known to happen among the women
The Butterworth girls giggled again, neither looking up from their laps. I was beginning to see why Sylvia hadn't invited them to dine with us along with their parents. If they were always so silly, the conversation would be dull indeed. Besides, Sylvia was hoping the dinner would be a sophisticated affair similar to the dinners at the Beauforts' house, and there was nothing terribly sophisticated about the girls.
"We'll have to organize a picnic in the summer," Mrs. Butterworth went on. "You will both still be here in the summer, won't you?"
How should a dying person answer that? I blinked at her, my tongue suddenly too thick to form an answer. I dared not look at Jack to see his reaction, or Sylvia. Neither spoke, and it was left to Samuel.
"Of course," he said cheerfully. "Frakingham is our home now."
Mrs. Butterworth beamed. "Did you hear that, girls? Mr. Gladstone is staying. And Miss Smith too." The afterthought wasn't lost on me, although I didn't mind. I could see how a handsome gentleman would be more interesting to marriageable girls than a redhead of the same sex. "Just think, another gentleman and lady in our midst in little old Harborough."
I had the urge to giggle just like the Butterworth girls. If only they knew that I wasn't a lady. They'd turn up their prim noses at me.
"So what is it we can do for you today?" Mr. Butterworth asked, eyeing the clock on the mantel.
"This may seem a strange question," Jack said, "but I'm curious as to whether you've been planning any building works in the village recently. Perhaps for one of the societies you belong to?"
Mr. Butterworth exchanged a glance with his wife. "I can't think of any. Can—?"
"No, nothing," his wife said. "Why, Mr. Langley?"
Jack smiled and waved a hand, dismissive. "Ever since the renovations up at the house, I've become interested in architecture. I thought we could share plans and ideas."
"Oh. I see." Mrs. Butterworth seemed to accept his explanation, but her husband frowned at Jack. He said nothing. "There certainly haven't been any plans put forward through the council," she added.
I'd wondered if she had some influence in her husband's affairs, and her response confirmed it. Her domination of him was out of character for a man in a position of authority, and an elected official at that. I could imagine her taking charge of the campaigning on his behalf. She was quite a force.
A flash of something white by the door caught my eye. I seemed to be the only one who'd seen it. I kept watching and was rewarded with the sight of a little face peeking around the door jam. I smiled at the girl and she pulled back, out of sight.
"I'm sorry we couldn't help you, Mr. Langley," Mr. Butterworth said.
Jack held up his hand. "Another question, if you please. Do you know a man named Mott?"
Butterworth sucked on his lower lip. He shook his head. "Doesn't ring any bells."
"Why, Mr. Butterworth!" his wife cried. "Of course you know Mott. He was one of the men who died up at Frakingham. He's the reason the Langleys had to cancel Christmas dinner. Such a shame," she added with a shake of her head. Did she mean Mott's death or the canceled dinner?
"Ah, Mott ." Her husband gave an emphatic nod. "Yes, I remember now. Poor fellow."
"Were you in communication with him?" Jack asked.
"About what?"
Jack shrugged. "About anything."
"No, Mr. Langley, I was not. What are all these questions for?"
"Nothing," Samuel said quickly. Then, more soothingly, he said, "Nothing at all, Mr. Butterworth."
Both Sylvia and I glared at him. He was not going to hypnotize Mr. Butterworth, surely! Not when others were so close and in danger of falling under his spell too. It was bad enough having the girls blushing and giggling, we didn't need them throwing themselves at Samuel as well. It had been known to happen among the women
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