street.
Baxter narrowed his eyes slightly. There was just enough glare reflected from the gas lamp to make out the shadowy figure that slipped through the swirling fog. A servant returning after an evening off from his duties perhaps, Baxter thought.
Or was it someone who had no more business being in this neighborhood than he and Charlotte?
“Is something wrong, Mr. St. Ives? Why are you staring out the window?”
“I was merely examining the street.” The shadowy figure had disappeared. Baxter let the curtains fall back into place. “I believe we have done a sufficiently thorough job on this bedchamber. Let’s move on to the next one.”
“Yes, of course. I wish to find Mrs. Heskett’s chamber.” Charlotte scooped up the lantern and hurried toward the door.
She gave him a sharp, reproving glance as she went past him. Her cloak billowed out behind her in a seething, roiling movement that seemed to reflect its owner’s irritation.
Baxter followed slowly.
A few minutes later, in the midst of searching the last bedchamber, Baxter heard Charlotte give a soft gasp of surprise.
“Find something?” Baxter turned to look at her.
She was down on her knees again, bent at the waist, tugging on some object she had discovered beneath a large, mirrored wardrobe.
“What do you make of this, Mr. St. Ives?” She hauled out a large leather-bound volume and flipped it open.
“What is it?” He walked across the carpet to join her. “A journal?”
“No, it’s a watercolor sketchbook.” Charlotte turned a few pages to reveal a series of delicate pastel drawings. “Very likely it belonged to Mrs. Heskett.” She paused abruptly and stared at one of the sketches. “Good heavens.”
Baxter raised his brows as he surveyed the watercolors. “Mrs. Heskett appears to have had a great interest in classical statuary.”
“Indeed,” Charlotte said dryly. “Greek and Roman gods for the most part, I believe. They are, uh, exceptionally well-endowed figures.”
“Indeed.”
Together they both gazed silently at the pictures of nude male statues that filled the sketchbook.
Charlotte cleared her throat. “I have seen a few of these statues myself in the British Museum. I think it’s safe to say that Mrs. Heskett has taken some artistic liberties with certain portions of the anatomies.”
“One could certainly say that.”
Charlotte closed the book with a snap. “Well, her choice of subject is not of interest to us. The important thing is that I found this sketchbook shoved out of sight beneath the cabinet.”
“What’s so odd about that? Many ladies enjoy painting with watercolors.”
“Quite true. My sister, Ariel, enjoys watercolors also.” Charlotte raised her head, her eyes gleaming. “But she does not hide her sketchbook under a cabinet.”
He suddenly understood where her deductions had led her. “Hold on a moment, Miss Arkendale. I would advise you not to leap to baseless conclusions. It’s highly unlikely that Drusilla Heskett deliberately hid her book of watercolors. It was no doubt accidentally kicked under there by one of the servants when they packed up after her death.”
“I disagree, sir. I think it was deliberately concealed there.”
“If so, it may well have been because of the subject matter. Perhaps Mrs. Heskett did not want her staff to know that she enjoyed drawing pictures of oversized phalluses.”
Charlotte blinked. She looked away and suddenly became very busy attempting to tuck the large sketchbook inside her cloak. “Nevertheless, I shall want to examine it. I’m going to take it with me.” She gave up trying to stuff the book inside her cloak and clutched it very firmly in front of her.
Baxter frowned at her sudden agitation. It took him a few seconds to realize that he had embarrassed her. The notion of the formidable Miss Arkendale being disconcerted by the use of the word
phallus
amused him.
“Miss Arkendale, I feel compelled to point out that if you take that
Baxter narrowed his eyes slightly. There was just enough glare reflected from the gas lamp to make out the shadowy figure that slipped through the swirling fog. A servant returning after an evening off from his duties perhaps, Baxter thought.
Or was it someone who had no more business being in this neighborhood than he and Charlotte?
“Is something wrong, Mr. St. Ives? Why are you staring out the window?”
“I was merely examining the street.” The shadowy figure had disappeared. Baxter let the curtains fall back into place. “I believe we have done a sufficiently thorough job on this bedchamber. Let’s move on to the next one.”
“Yes, of course. I wish to find Mrs. Heskett’s chamber.” Charlotte scooped up the lantern and hurried toward the door.
She gave him a sharp, reproving glance as she went past him. Her cloak billowed out behind her in a seething, roiling movement that seemed to reflect its owner’s irritation.
Baxter followed slowly.
A few minutes later, in the midst of searching the last bedchamber, Baxter heard Charlotte give a soft gasp of surprise.
“Find something?” Baxter turned to look at her.
She was down on her knees again, bent at the waist, tugging on some object she had discovered beneath a large, mirrored wardrobe.
“What do you make of this, Mr. St. Ives?” She hauled out a large leather-bound volume and flipped it open.
“What is it?” He walked across the carpet to join her. “A journal?”
“No, it’s a watercolor sketchbook.” Charlotte turned a few pages to reveal a series of delicate pastel drawings. “Very likely it belonged to Mrs. Heskett.” She paused abruptly and stared at one of the sketches. “Good heavens.”
Baxter raised his brows as he surveyed the watercolors. “Mrs. Heskett appears to have had a great interest in classical statuary.”
“Indeed,” Charlotte said dryly. “Greek and Roman gods for the most part, I believe. They are, uh, exceptionally well-endowed figures.”
“Indeed.”
Together they both gazed silently at the pictures of nude male statues that filled the sketchbook.
Charlotte cleared her throat. “I have seen a few of these statues myself in the British Museum. I think it’s safe to say that Mrs. Heskett has taken some artistic liberties with certain portions of the anatomies.”
“One could certainly say that.”
Charlotte closed the book with a snap. “Well, her choice of subject is not of interest to us. The important thing is that I found this sketchbook shoved out of sight beneath the cabinet.”
“What’s so odd about that? Many ladies enjoy painting with watercolors.”
“Quite true. My sister, Ariel, enjoys watercolors also.” Charlotte raised her head, her eyes gleaming. “But she does not hide her sketchbook under a cabinet.”
He suddenly understood where her deductions had led her. “Hold on a moment, Miss Arkendale. I would advise you not to leap to baseless conclusions. It’s highly unlikely that Drusilla Heskett deliberately hid her book of watercolors. It was no doubt accidentally kicked under there by one of the servants when they packed up after her death.”
“I disagree, sir. I think it was deliberately concealed there.”
“If so, it may well have been because of the subject matter. Perhaps Mrs. Heskett did not want her staff to know that she enjoyed drawing pictures of oversized phalluses.”
Charlotte blinked. She looked away and suddenly became very busy attempting to tuck the large sketchbook inside her cloak. “Nevertheless, I shall want to examine it. I’m going to take it with me.” She gave up trying to stuff the book inside her cloak and clutched it very firmly in front of her.
Baxter frowned at her sudden agitation. It took him a few seconds to realize that he had embarrassed her. The notion of the formidable Miss Arkendale being disconcerted by the use of the word
phallus
amused him.
“Miss Arkendale, I feel compelled to point out that if you take that
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