A Changing Light by Edith Maxwell (feel good books to read txt) 📕

against her brow. “I am sure that will not come to pass, Mrs. Clarke.”

I studied her. She feigned sorrow at the thought, but I doubted it was real.

“Georgia, how is thy passel?” I asked.

She laughed and smoothed back her white-streaked brown hair, done up today in a classic but somewhat out-of-fashion chignon. “They are blessedly all well, including little Rosie. Mrs. Dodge saved my life after I gave birth to my youngest,” she told Luthera. “And we named the baby after her.”

The long case clock in the entryway chimed eleven times.

Luthera stood and lifted her chin. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to be getting into town for a meeting with prospective customers. My father’s business continues regardless of personal tragedy.”

I rose, too. “Shall I walk with thee?”

The corners of her mouth turned down. “Thank you, Mrs. Dodge, but I’m sure Mrs. Clarke will be supplying me with more suitable transportation.”

“Yes, with pleasure.” Georgia rang a little bell. When the maid arrived, Georgia said, “Please have Wilson bring the buggy around for Mrs. Harrington.”

“Thank you,” Luthera said. “I’ll fetch my hat and my reticule. It was pleasant to visit with you, Mrs. Dodge.”

I doubted she had actually found it so. “I was glad for the chance, Luthera. I hope the rest of thy stay is uneventful. When will thee be traveling back north?”

“It is not yet certain. Good day.”

I sat again after she disappeared into the hall, the clicking of her heels on the stairs growing fainter as she ascended.

“Well, well, Rose.” Georgia clasped her hands in her lap. “Now you can tell me what you know.”

“I am more interested in what thee knows.” I leaned closer and murmured, “About thy guest.”

“Let’s wait a moment, shall we?” She cast her gaze upward, from whence came footsteps returning down the stairs.

Luthera, now clad in coat, gloves, and a different, fur-trimmed hat, with one hand in a fur muff, said from the doorway, “I shall return at the end of the day, Mrs. Clarke.” She raised a gloved hand.

“Farewell, Mrs. Harrington.” Georgia waited until the front door clicked shut after Luthera. “What do you mean, what I know about her?”

“For example, I heard she was at the soiree last evening. What about the night before? Did she stay out late? Was thee with her then?”

“Let’s see, now.” Georgia tapped her mouth, thinking. “Why, no, I wasn’t. The Harringtons were at the banquet, of course. My oldest was feeling poorly, and I decided to stay at home to comfort him. He’s nine but still appreciates his mama’s affection. I hope he always will.”

“Did thee notice what time Luthera returned?” I asked. Obviously Justice didn’t return with her. He was lying dead in an alley.

“No. But I can ask Wilson when he returns what time he brought them home. Oh! I mean her.”

“Wilson is thy driver?”

“Yes, and he does all manner of other tasks around here. He’s an entirely competent and genteel man.”

“I would appreciate thee inquiring of him. In a discreet manner, naturally.”

“Rose.” Georgia grasped my hand. “You can’t think Mrs. Harrington would kill her own husband, can you?”

“One must suspect everyone at this stage in an investigation. Perhaps she stands to benefit from his death. They could have had an unhappy marriage, short as it was. Or he might have been abusing her in private. We don’t know.” And Luthera was a tall woman with a slender shape. In the dark, she might be mistaken for a tall lean man wearing a long coat. If the person Pierrot saw had been Zeb, I prayed he had a good explanation for his presence in the alley.

“But surely others would have had more cause than his wife to end Mr. Harrington’s life,” Georgia protested.

“That’s also entirely possible.”

She nodded, then gazed with a little smile at my waist. “Rose Dodge, I think you’ve been holding out on me. Are you carrying a child?”

I smiled back. “As it happens, I am. And this week everyone seems to be noticing. I guess I’m finally showing my condition, as the phrase goes.”

“Indeed you are, and I couldn’t be happier for you. You’ll be giving birth in the summertime, I wager.”

“Thee is correct.” I rose. “I must be off, but I wonder if I might avail myself of thy water closet before I continue.”

“Any time, my dear. I know well the urge to relieve oneself when one carries around an increasingly full womb. It’s under the stairs.”

“Please telephone me after thee speaks with thy manservant.”

“I will. And you be careful out there.”

“Have no fear.” I supposed everyone telling me to be cautious went hand in hand with people noticing my gravid state. So be it. I had no intention of coming to bodily harm, or worse.

Chapter Fifteen

After a rest at home and a bite to eat, I ventured out again toward Carriage Hill. All the factories were hosting open-door showrooms this afternoon. If I paid a visit to the Parry and Bailey displays, I might be able to learn something. And I very much wanted to speak with Zeb in private, if I could.

I left my cycle at home and strolled instead of riding. I passed the bustling TW Lane carriage manufacturer on Elm Street and kept going up the hill to the Parry factory on Chestnut Street. The broad doors were flung all the way open, despite the brisk air, and people bustled about. Several vehicles stood outside for viewing. As a man regarding a surrey spit to the side, I covered my mouth and gave him a wide berth. I’d read that physicians in New York City had implored their public health department to ban public expectoration. The department had complied by widely circulating a leaflet cautioning against the germ-spreading practice. I wished Amesbury would follow suit, or perhaps the Commonwealth would enact a law to that effect.

I meandered inside. The latest innovations in carriage design were displayed, from a bright red governess wagon to a four-person closed Rockaway with the wheel cutout that allowed for easier