A Dangerous Collaboration (A Veronica Speedwell Mystery) by Deanna Raybourn (english novels for students .txt) 📕

“Bless you, miss, no.”

Mrs. Trengrouse hurried off. As the little boat drew near the shore, the fishermen dashed out to help heave her in. Helen was in a state of watery dishevelment and Caspian looked no better, the tails of his coat trailing seawater as he stomped across the shingle. The fishermen took it in hand to help Helen and convey the bags up to the castle while Caspian argued fiercely with old Trefusis, who refused to give back his money. In the end, the boy left it, shaking his fist as he took his leave of the elderly man, following the men who escorted his mother and their possessions to safety.

We moved into the dining room for breakfast, feeling a little deflated now that the drama was ended. We picked at the meal while Mrs. Trengrouse bustled in and out with pots of tea and clutches of freshly boiled eggs. Caspian and Helen were sent upstairs for hot baths and in due course they trailed downstairs again for some refreshment. Helen was holding Hecate close to her chest, murmuring endearments and feeding bits of bacon to the outraged cat.

“She is put out with me,” Helen said to no one in particular. “She doesn’t like boats.”

“I know you’ve just nearly died at sea, but do you think you might keep that animal away from the table?” Mertensia asked in withering tones.

Caspian, predictably, jumped to his mother’s defense. “How dare you—”

His mother spoke up, in a sharper voice than I had yet heard her use with her son. “Caspian, that is quite enough. Leave it. And, no, Mertensia,” she finished with a long, level look at her sister-in-law, “I do not think I will keep the animal away from the table. She has been dreadfully upset and needs consoling.”

“Oh, very well,” Mertensia said with ill grace.

But Caspian was not to be placated. He flung his napery aside and strode from the room. Helen fed another piece of bacon to the cat and said nothing. After that everyone drifted from the table, Tiberius back to his correspondence and Mertensia to her stillroom. Helen said she would rest in her room, trailing away with the cat still clutched to her chest.

“I believe ‘resting’ is a delicate euphemism for getting blind drunk,” Stoker said.

“Don’t be horrid. The poor woman has obviously had a fright—for which I am partly responsible,” I reminded him.

He pulled a face but followed me out of the dining room. As we passed one half-opened door, we heard the clash of balls and exchanged a quick glance. A peek inside the room revealed that Caspian had taken refuge in the billiards room, idly knocking the balls around with his stick.

“Ah, thank God!” he exclaimed when we entered, his expression still thunderous. “We can get up a game now. It seemed wrong to go in search of partners, but since you’ve come of your own accord, perhaps you won’t think too badly of me for wanting a bit of diversion.”

“Certainly not,” I said with a smile. I flicked a glance to Stoker, who went wordlessly to the rack and retrieved two sticks. We chalked the ends as Caspian gathered up the balls and arranged them in a triangle.

“Shall I play you first, Miss Speedwell? And then the winner can play Mr. Templeton-Vane? And shall we say a pound a game?” There was something hectic about his mood, and I realized then that gambling must be his consolation as drink was his mother’s.

We all agreed to the stakes and Caspian gallantly insisted that I have the first turn. I leveled my stick and sighted the ball down its length, conscious of Caspian across from me, watching narrowly as I bent over the table. With a single sharp motion I levered the stick, scattering the balls and sinking two.

Caspian’s mouth gaped and it remained open for the next ten minutes. I cleared the table, dropping the balls neatly into the pockets. When I finished, I put out my hand with another smile. “My winnings, Mr. Romilly?”

He grinned, although the smile did not quite touch his eyes. “My dear Miss Speedwell, you shall have to accept my word as a gentleman that I am good for it. I am afraid I have nothing in my pockets after that villain Trefusis took my last bit of money.”

“I will accept information in lieu of a banknote,” I told him as Stoker retrieved the balls and set up the table for the next game.

Caspian’s dark eyes narrowed. “I always pay debts of honor. Besides, what information could I possibly offer?”

I waited until Stoker had broken and Caspian had lined up his first shot to step into his sight line. “Information about why you and your uncle were quarreling so heatedly,” I said just as he moved. His hand jerked and his stick skidded on the green baize, ripping a tiny hole in the cover. He swore under his breath and stepped backwards, ceding his place to Stoker.

“I suppose it would be foolish to pretend it never happened,” Caspian said with a rueful smile. A single lock of dark hair fell over his brow, giving him the look of a very young, rather sulky poet.

“Extremely foolish,” I assured him.

Stoker broke the balls, dropping one with his first shot. “Laggard,” I said. He gave me a wink and moved around the table, taking his time in lining up the next. He was moving at a deliberate pace, giving me the chance to inveigle information from Caspian.

I gave the young man an encouraging look and went to stand near him, so near that I had to tip my head back and look up at him from beneath my lashes. “Now, if you tell me the truth, Caspian, you will not find me unsympathetic.”

He smiled again, but it was a sickly attempt. He looked for all the world like a child in trouble who was not certain if