He turned back to me. “What’s this about suitors, Annaleigh?”
Camille’s smile faded. “Suitors? For whom?”
“Eulalie,” Papa said, his tone darkening.
The weight of their gazes fell heavily on me.
“Is this about that watchmaker? I told you it was just some stupid fantasy he made up to—”
“Watchmaker?” Papa interrupted.
“It’s not about Edgar, and please, Camille, will you leave us alone?” I pleaded, raising my voice to be heard above them.
Though she stalked into the Blue Room, a bit of her skirt protruded from the archway. She was obviously eavesdropping.
“I keep wondering about Eulalie,” I said, turning to Papa. “I think someone was with her on the cliff walk that night.”
Papa sighed. “When someone dies unexpectedly, it’s normal to want to find someone to blame.”
“That’s not— This isn’t just grief, Papa. I truly think someone hurt Eulalie. On purpose.” I gathered my courage, and the story flowed out in a rush. “Eulalie was running away from home that night. She was going to elope with Edgar, the clockmaker’s apprentice, but someone else was waiting for her.”
Papa stifled a laugh, and my heart sank.
“Edgar Morris? That little man with the spectacles?” His lips twitched in amusement. “He wouldn’t have the gumption to pick up a copper florette left in the cobblestones, let alone elope with my eldest daughter.”
He breezed into the Blue Room, joining my sisters.
“Papa, listen to me, please!” I cried, running after him. “Edgar proposed—he gave Eulalie the locket she was buried in, the one with the anchor and the poem inside. He said when he arrived to take her away, he saw a shadow on the cliff, just after she fell. She must have been pushed.”
“Nonsense.” He swatted his hand, easily dismissing my theory.
“It’s not! Someone was there. Someone who didn’t want Eulalie to marry Edgar.”
“That could be anyone,” Camille cut in. “I can’t think of a more unlikely match.”
Papa sank into his armchair, chuckling. “Quite true. If I half suspected Edgar capable of stealing Eulalie, I’d have pushedhimoff a cliff. Gladly.” He rubbed at his eyes. “That’s enough of this, Annaleigh.”
“But how can you be so sure—”
“I said enough.” His voice was sharp and swift, a guillotine axing the conversation. “Now, what’s this I hear about shoes?”
Everyone exchanged tense glances. Finally, Honor pushed her way forward and lifted her skirts to reveal very battered slippers. The soles were scuffed, and the navy dye had completely worn away in spots. Most of the silver beads had chipped off, and the ribbons were completely tattered.
Papa slipped a shoe off, mystified. “Are they all like this?”
The triplets glanced at each other before raising their skirts.
“The cobbler promised these would last all season. They look as though they’ve seen a hundred balls.”
Lenore twisted her mouth, visibly uncomfortable. “Maybe there was something wrong with the leather?”
“And you’ve no other shoes?” Papa asked, his skepticism evident. “I just paid three thousand gold florettes for a set that didn’t last a month.”
“You burned our others,” Camille reminded him. “On the bonfire with the mourning clothes, remember?”
Papa sighed, pressing the pads of his fingers to his forehead. “Isuppose a trip to town will be necessary. But you’ll have to wait. I’m leaving for Vasa the day after tomorrow, at first light. There’s a problem there with a clipper’s hull. I won’t pay for shoddy craftsmanship.” He glanced back at Honor’s slipper. “Not on ships and certainly not on shoes. I could go early next week.”
“We can’t go barefoot till then,” Rosalie exclaimed. “Could we take the rowboat? We could go tomorrow. We all know how to row.”
