he who pulled
sword from stone,
for doomed love
he swallowed fire,
the truth you find
beneath his feet.”
Cleo sat tapping her chin in thought for some time before the sound of Mrs. McGrath bustling about drew her back to the present moment. Grabbing a sheet of paper, she hurriedly sketched a note to Arthur MacDonald telling him about her discovery and asking him to come at his earliest convenience to discuss the matter. She had contemplated including her translation in the letter but thought better of it. She liked the Earl of Irondale, more than she probably should, but she reminded herself that she could trust no one until her father’s murderer was discovered and that included the Earl.
“Perhaps he will see or know of something that I have overlooked. Let us hope that we uncover the meaning of the mystery before anyone else gets hurt, or worse yet another murder.”
Chapter 9
Cleo waited impatiently to hear back from Arthur MacDonald as she attempted to solve the riddle herself. She knew that it would take time for her letter to reach the Earl and that when it did it was unlikely that the nobleman would be able to drop everything that he was doing and race back to Oxford to speak with her. As the days passed, Cleo grew more and more restless.
Her Aunt Caroline had returned and moved into the professor’s old bedchamber, a fact that Cleo was less than pleased about. She did not understand why her aunt could not have stayed in the guest room as she had during her previous visits, but it did her little good to argue with the woman. Caroline was set in her ways and saw herself as the household authority now that her brother was gone. Cleo disagreed, but held her tongue.
The morning after Caroline moved in, Cleo awoke to find her aunt attempting to reorganize the entirety of the household. The very first thing that she had attacked was the kitchen pantry. Cleo was sure that she had never seen Mrs. McGrath looking so flustered. It was clear that the girl the cook had once helped to raise and care for had changed quite a bit over the years and that Aunt Caroline had her own way of doing things that did not agree with the older woman’s ideas.
“I have done things this way since ye were nae but a wee bairn,” Mrs. McGrath reminded Caroline, her hands on her hips in frustration. “It was good enough for ye then, it is good enough for ye now.”
“The world has moved on from the time that I was a child, Mrs. McGrath. There are new fashions that must be adhered to if we are to find a proper husband for Cleo,” Caroline argued, completely ignoring the cook’s discomfort.
“We dinnae have the means tae be hosting the bloody King of England,” Mrs. McGrath admonished as she peered over Caroline’s shoulder at the list of groceries that she was making. “Where do ye plan tae get the money for such lavish exorbitance?”
“Not the King of England, Mrs. McGrath, simply an earl or two,” Caroline corrected the elder woman. “The money will not matter if we are successful in our matchmaking endeavors.”
“Caroline Brown nee Wallace, I did nae raise ye tae be a barmy lass,” Mrs. McGrath looked at her former charge in disbelief. “Ye have gone mad if ye think that the shops will allow ye tae buy these items on nae but romantic dreams alone.”
“I will help to pay for the required items. As I said, it will be worth it when Cleo has caught herself a member of the nobility.”
“And what makes ye so certain that Cleo will want such a thing?”
“I will simply make it happen, and to that end, I have invited that nice young man from the funeral, the Earl of Dustshore, for tea.”
“Dustshore and not Irondale?” Mrs. McGrath asked with raised brows in surprise. “I would have chosen the Earl of Irondale.”
“I am sure that the Earl of Irondale is a perfectly agreeable young man, Scottish as he is just as my own dear Papa was, but we are old friends of the former Earl of Dustshore, and it only seems right to allow him first choice, does it not?”
Give him the choice?! What about me?!At this point in the conversation, Cleo was about ready to scream. It was as if her aunt had not heard a single word that she had said about not being ready to or desiring to find a husband.My father has just died, brutally murdered might I add, and all that his sister can think about is marrying me off to the next nobleman who crosses our threshold. Unbelievable!
“And what o’ what the lass wants for herself?” Mrs. McGrath asked attempting a gentler approach in hopes of getting Aunt Caroline to listen.
“She is not old enough to know what is best for her,” Caroline waved away the cook’s words of caution as if they were nothing at all.
“And ye are, are ye?” Mrs. McGrath was quickly losing her patience once more.
“Yes, I am.” With that, Aunt Caroline allowed for no more argument and gathering her list, sailed out of the door for the market, barely managing to grab her cloak and bonnet from the hook by the door before rushing out into the street.
“Saints preserve us, during this our time o’ need,” Mrs. McGrath murmured in prayer, her frustration written clearly on her face for all to see. “Och, lass, I did nae see ye there,” she startled in surprise as she caught sight of Cleo standing at the foot of the stairs.
“Nay, but I saw you. Thank you for attempting to come to my defense with Aunt Caroline.”
“Och, it is nae anything that I have nae done afore, but I admit I was nae quite prepared for it so early in the morning.”
