Read Online Angel of Hever Castle, The by Kim Wright - Free Book Online
Authors: Kim Wright
Ads: Link
did indeed have the appearance of a respectable school, albeit one without any students, for the yard was empty and the entire scene eerily quiet. She pushed against the gate and it opened with a heavy creak, the sound of a hinge which was rarely moved, then picked her way through the crinkly leaves to the front porch.
Her ring of the doorbell was promptly answered by an older woman dressed entirely in gray, who motioned Emma in without asking either her name or her business there. Emma felt a surge of confidence. Trevor and the others were entirely too protecti ve of her. They were reluctant to send her on any missions that could become even remotely dangerous, and thus she was forced, over and over, to prove her worth to the team. But there were some situations in which a woman could get farther along the investigative path than a man, and this was clearly one of those situations. Especially if the woman was young, alone, and wearing a tremulous smile.
“I’ve come about my sister,” Emma said softly, dropping her eyes to the plush Oriental carpet in the hall. The word “sister” always stuck in her throat a bit and she supposed it always would. Her only sister, Mary Kelly, had been the last victim of Jack the Ripper and there were times when it took all the self-control Emma possessed to avoid sinking into despair at the memory. Mary had likely been her last true relative in the world, since their parents had died of typhoid and their brother Adam had disappeared into the wilds of America without a trace. Geraldine and the others were like an adopted family, and she loved them all fiercely, but still – blood was blood, and in this sense Emma Kelly stood orphaned in the world.
Tears sprang to her eyes, surprising her, although she supposed they also helped her ruse. The Kirkland School appeared to be quite accustomed to the sudden arrival of weeping women, for the woman in gray took her arm gently and guided her to a small parlor off of the entrance hall.
“Call me Mrs. Carter,” she said. “Would you like tea?”
Emma nodded, more to give herself time to think than for any real need of refreshment. It was odd, the way the woman had said “Call me Mrs. Carter” rather than “I am Mrs. Carter.” Perhaps contrived names were the norm of such a place. She looked around the room. It was somber in tone, but nicely furnished, and the roaring fire was welcoming. The tea cup, when it arrived, was of a fine bone china and the brew inside proved to be the same expensive brand that Geraldine served in her own parlor. Emma supposed that if a young woman was forced to wait out an unwanted pregnancy and give up her child, there were worse places to do so than within the Kirkland School for Girls.
“Now, tell me about you…your sister.” Mrs. Carter said, taking her seat across from Emma.
So she thinks I am the one who is pregnant and the sister is an affectation, Emma thought. Very well, I suppose one lie works as well as another.
“You must promise me absolute discretion,” she said, suddenly aware that Mrs. Carter had n ot yet asked her for her name. This could make matters tricky. In a house where women either went by assumed names or offered up none at all, how would they be able to find if any of the Kirkland “students” matched any of the names on LaRusse’s list of “muses”? The parlor door softly opened as she spoke and a young woman entered, carrying a tray of biscuits. She looked to be a full nine months into her pregnancy, far enough along that she waddled unsteadily on her feet and Emma was flummoxed by her presence. They made the pregnant girls at Kirkland work? Carrying a tray of biscuits was hardly the equivalent of plowing the fields, but it still seemed an odd task for the daughter of a genteel family, no matter how far she might have fallen.
“D iscretion is our hallmark,” Mrs. Carter was saying. “But as I am sure you can
Her ring of the doorbell was promptly answered by an older woman dressed entirely in gray, who motioned Emma in without asking either her name or her business there. Emma felt a surge of confidence. Trevor and the others were entirely too protecti ve of her. They were reluctant to send her on any missions that could become even remotely dangerous, and thus she was forced, over and over, to prove her worth to the team. But there were some situations in which a woman could get farther along the investigative path than a man, and this was clearly one of those situations. Especially if the woman was young, alone, and wearing a tremulous smile.
“I’ve come about my sister,” Emma said softly, dropping her eyes to the plush Oriental carpet in the hall. The word “sister” always stuck in her throat a bit and she supposed it always would. Her only sister, Mary Kelly, had been the last victim of Jack the Ripper and there were times when it took all the self-control Emma possessed to avoid sinking into despair at the memory. Mary had likely been her last true relative in the world, since their parents had died of typhoid and their brother Adam had disappeared into the wilds of America without a trace. Geraldine and the others were like an adopted family, and she loved them all fiercely, but still – blood was blood, and in this sense Emma Kelly stood orphaned in the world.
Tears sprang to her eyes, surprising her, although she supposed they also helped her ruse. The Kirkland School appeared to be quite accustomed to the sudden arrival of weeping women, for the woman in gray took her arm gently and guided her to a small parlor off of the entrance hall.
“Call me Mrs. Carter,” she said. “Would you like tea?”
Emma nodded, more to give herself time to think than for any real need of refreshment. It was odd, the way the woman had said “Call me Mrs. Carter” rather than “I am Mrs. Carter.” Perhaps contrived names were the norm of such a place. She looked around the room. It was somber in tone, but nicely furnished, and the roaring fire was welcoming. The tea cup, when it arrived, was of a fine bone china and the brew inside proved to be the same expensive brand that Geraldine served in her own parlor. Emma supposed that if a young woman was forced to wait out an unwanted pregnancy and give up her child, there were worse places to do so than within the Kirkland School for Girls.
“Now, tell me about you…your sister.” Mrs. Carter said, taking her seat across from Emma.
So she thinks I am the one who is pregnant and the sister is an affectation, Emma thought. Very well, I suppose one lie works as well as another.
“You must promise me absolute discretion,” she said, suddenly aware that Mrs. Carter had n ot yet asked her for her name. This could make matters tricky. In a house where women either went by assumed names or offered up none at all, how would they be able to find if any of the Kirkland “students” matched any of the names on LaRusse’s list of “muses”? The parlor door softly opened as she spoke and a young woman entered, carrying a tray of biscuits. She looked to be a full nine months into her pregnancy, far enough along that she waddled unsteadily on her feet and Emma was flummoxed by her presence. They made the pregnant girls at Kirkland work? Carrying a tray of biscuits was hardly the equivalent of plowing the fields, but it still seemed an odd task for the daughter of a genteel family, no matter how far she might have fallen.
“D iscretion is our hallmark,” Mrs. Carter was saying. “But as I am sure you can
Similar Books
