Beatrice (7 page)

“You are
not going to carry me downstairs,” Beatrice declared firmly as she
hobbled out of the bedroom.

He
rolled his eyes. Although he wanted to, even he wasn’t that brave.
He held his elbow out to her instead. “Use the wall and me to
steady yourself, and shuffle along beside me. Put most of your
weight onto me.”

They
made their way back to the sitting room without too much trouble.
However, once there, he waited until she had taken a seat on the
couch and then knelt at her feet.

“Let’s
take a look at this boot, shall we?” he murmured gently and began
to untie her laces.

It felt
terribly scandalous to lift her skirts out of the way and allow him
greater access to her ankles, but she could hardly refuse now that
he had already started to pull the first boot off. That was fine,
but then she hadn’t injured that one. However, as soon as he
started to remove the boot from her injured foot, the aching
increased with a vengeance and continued to grow steadily worse, to
the point that she had to grit her teeth to withhold her cry of
pain. Even from a distance, her ankle looked bruised and swollen
but, luckily, now that it was free of the confines of her boot, she
could at least move it.

“I don’t
think it is broken, but you do need to rest it for a while,” Ben
murmured and placed her foot on the table before them. Once he had
put more logs onto the fire, he took the tray of tea things and
disappeared into the kitchen.

“Thank
you for everything you have done for me today,” Beatrice said as
she handed him his cup of tea from the fresh tray of tea things he
had placed before them. “I feel awful that you are the one doing
everything that I should be doing. It is not very good of me to
allow my guest to make his own tea.”

“I am
perfectly capable of making a cup of tea Beatrice,” he smiled at
her. “Besides, you have a very good reason for not being able to,
so I am sure that I can forgive your lapse.”

His
smile dimmed as he looked deeply into her eyes. The atmosphere
between them shifted; softened a little, and drew them ever
closer.

“I am
really glad that I am here, Beatrice,” Ben confided quietly, and
meant every word. “I am going to keep an eye out for that carriage
driver, and will give him a piece of my mind if I see him again, I
can assure you. The reckless idiot could have caused you
considerable harm today. You are lucky that ankle wasn’t broken. It
could very easily have been, and I might not have been able to
rescue you. The consequences don’t bear thinking about. I am so
very glad that I was there for you; that I am here for you
now.”

“I am
glad that you are here now too,” she whispered. She really couldn’t
argue with him because he was right. Ben had been her saviour this
afternoon. If he hadn’t come back for her in the lane, heaven only
knew where she would be right now.

They sat
back to enjoy the companionable atmosphere that had settled over
them while they drank their tea. Now that Ben was beside her, she
had the courage to take a look out of the window behind her, but
was unsurprised to find nothing but sky visible through
it.

As if to
prove the storm was still a threat, a loud rumble of thunder
reverberated around the house and was accompanied by a jagged
streak of lightning that lit the room.

“While
we are waiting for the storm to pass, let’s take a look through
these books.” He lifted one off the pile between them and handed it
to her before he picked up a second book for himself.

Silence
settled over them while they began to search for the name of the
plant.

An hour
later, rain still pelted down outside with ferocious determination
but inside Brantley Manor, Beatrice and Ben were safe, warm and
blessedly dry. The tea pot was replenished and amply supported by
several large slices of fruit cake and, in spite of the rather
restricted choice of food on offer, it really was rather
delightful. The ambience within the room had settled into something
that was comfortable and relaxed, and it helped them both take the
time they needed to forget the troubles that had brought them
together only hours earlier.

Ben
closed his third book and placed it on the floor by his feet with a
sigh. The thought of having to trawl through all of the books in
the study horrified him, but he seriously couldn’t even begin to
consider leaving Beatrice to do it by herself.

He
studied the packaging paper on the table and picked it up. It had
been cut a little too big for the parcel because it had been folded
while being wrapped, but it was rectangular and a fairly
nondescript kind that could be purchased anywhere. He carefully
pulled the paper flat, and smoothed out the crumples so he could
study the whole sheet carefully. Apart from the smudged address on
one side, it was just an ordinary piece of packaging paper.
However, when he turned the paper over, it became evident that
something out of the ordinary was going on.

There,
barely visible in the crease lines was a single line of neatly
penned script.

“Beatrice.”

“What’s
that?” Beatrice murmured and peered over his shoulder when he
pointed to the tiny writing.

He
tipped the paper toward the candle beside him so he could read the
words more clearly. “It says: Caelestia Perfectionis. Extremely
rare; water sparingly, keep away from drafts. Needs warmth and
sunlight. Do not pass on to anybody. B. Mottram.”

“B.
Mottram.”

“Caelestia Perfectionis,” Ben murmured, thrilled at the
thought of a mystery. “I think that is Latin for Celestial
Perfection.”

“Latin?”
Beatrice scowled at the neatly penned script. “That’s not Uncle
Matthew’s handwriting.” It was the complete opposite to her uncle’s
spidery scrawl but looked similar to the writing on the front of
the package.

“Do you
know a ‘B. Mottram’?” Ben asked hopefully. Unsurprisingly though,
Beatrice shook her head. “I don’t suppose you know if he was one of
your uncle’s associates?”

He knew
from the look of regret in her eye that she didn’t. He got the
impression from what she had told him earlier in the study, and her
lack of knowledge about what was seemingly a large part of her
uncle’s life, that the two hadn’t been all that close.

Beatrice
sighed and stared down at the paper. “If ‘B. Mottram’ is someone
associated with uncle, why didn’t he at least put his head around
the door to say hello?” She started to feel a little annoyed by the
way the plant had mysteriously appeared, without warning, by an
unnamed person who hadn’t even seen fit to leave a note in the
box.

“Why put
this in the crease? Why not leave a note inside the box?” She
demanded after several moments of thoughtful silence.

“I don’t
know,” Ben sighed. “What kind of plant to you think it
is?”

“Well,”
Beatrice sighed. “It’s a flowering plant of some kind, but it says
on this paper that it is rare, and so most probably won’t be
detailed in any of the books.”

“Unless
it is listed in one of the books about rare plants.” He shook his
head. “Right now, I don’t even know what variety it is to know
which book to look in.”

“There
may be something like it in uncle’s conservatory.” She glanced
toward the window again and sighed at the relentless nature of the
rain. “Unfortunately, I doubt we are going to have sufficient light
to see anything if we go out there to take a look.”

Ben had
to agree with her and heaved a frustrated sigh as yet another
rumble of thunder echoed around the house.

“I take
it that you like mysteries?” Beatrice mused wryly as she watched
him study the packaging paper again with more curiosity on his face
than frustration.

He
glanced up at her and smiled so sheepishly that he looked like a
naughty little boy who had been caught with a handful of biscuits
before dinner. The dimples that flashed in his cheeks made him look
endearing and, incredibly, considerably more handsome than before.
She found herself smiling back at him without even realising she
was doing so.

“I have
to admit that I am more than a little intrigued by all of this. It
is rather odd to think that not only have you nearly been run down
– twice, in the space of an afternoon, but you have also seen
someone outside the window and had a mysterious plant delivered by
person or persons unknown.” He stopped right there because he
didn’t want to scare her and lapsed into thoughtful silence while
he considered the paper in his hand.

Now that
he came to think about it, it was rather a lot to happen to one
person in the space of an afternoon. He couldn’t help but wonder if
it was all mere circumstance, or whether it was connected in some
way to the curious flowering plant with the rather unforgettable
odour.

CHAPTER
FIVE

Beatrice
opened her mouth to speak only to frown when a series of heavy
thumps on the front door interrupted her. She turned her gaze
toward the hallway, but made no attempt to get up and answer the
summons.

“Are you
expecting anyone?” Ben growled as he pushed to his feet. “Stay
there, I will get it.”

“I am
not expecting anyone. It’s not Maud,” she replied as he moved to
the door. “She won’t walk through the rain while it is as heavy as
this.”

Ben
nodded and sighed when the impatient knocking on the door began
again. His scowl was deep when he yanked the door open, and
deepened even further when his gaze landed on the much shorter man
on the doorstep.

His gut
instinct warned him that there was something amiss about this
stranger. Rather than step back and allow him into the house and
out of the pouring rain, Ben blocked the doorway and studied him
expectantly. He knew his instincts were right when, at first, the
man tried to look into the hallway behind him before he began to
scour every inch of the area around him as though he was looking
for something; or scouting the area.

“You are
the owner of the house, I take it?” The stranger demanded
rudely.

The
rather arrogant way he looked Ben up and down was so dismissive
that Ben felt positively insulted and he didn’t even know the man.
It was all he could do not to slam the door in the man’s face, and
was glad that Beatrice hadn’t answered the door.

He heard
her gasp behind him but made no attempt to look at her, purely
because he didn’t want to take his eyes off the visitor. He felt
certain that if he did, the stranger would take the opportunity to
wriggle his way past him and stalk straight into the
house.

“What do
you want?” Ben snapped.

“You
have something of mine,” the smaller man drawled somewhat
snootily.

“Oh?”
Ben knew he was being obtuse but didn’t care one bit if the man was
offended by it.

“I was
passing by earlier today and noticed that you had a package on your
doorstep. I think it may have been meant for me. I would like it
back.”

Ben’s
brows lifted and he stared dismissively back at the smaller man. “I
have nothing of yours.” When he moved to step back from the
doorway, the smaller man hurriedly stepped forward. Ben flicked him
a look that warned him to stay right where he was, and it was
enough to make the smaller man freeze.

“But I
saw it on your doorstep,” the man argued. “I was waiting for a
package; a plant, but I think my friend must have left it here by
mistake.”

“I have
nothing of yours,” Ben snapped. “Now I suggest you go and look for
your package elsewhere.” He pinned the man with a narrowed gaze.
“There is nothing here for you.”

The man
opened his mouth to speak only for Ben to slam the door closed. For
added emphasis he slammed the bolt across before he turned to face
Beatrice.

“The
plant isn’t his,” she assured him.

Ben
nodded in agreement. “Have you seen that man around here
before?”

“I don’t
think he is an associate of my uncle. He has certainly never been
here before while I have been here,” she whispered in deference to
the fact that there was only a wooden door between them and the
caller outside, and could be overheard.

She
suddenly gasped and stared at Ben with wide eyes. “You don’t think
he was the carriage driver who tried to run me down, do you?” Her
eyes grew even wider. “Do you think he was the person I saw outside
the study window? Was he looking for the plant, do you
think?”

Ben
would like to assure her that he couldn’t possibly be but, in all
conscience, couldn’t. If he was honest, he rather suspected that
the visitor was certainly rude enough to think nothing of peering
through a person’s windows.

“I don’t
know, darling,” he drawled ruefully. “I think that while he is
around and, until we can solve the mystery of who sent you the
plant and why, you need to keep your doors locked and be extra
vigilant.”

Although
he didn’t say as much to her, he rather wished that her house was
considerably closer to the village than it was. At least then she
would have someone to call upon if anything happened. He hated the
thought of her being all alone in the house with that man stalking
around.