A Lady Always Whispers (The Lizzie Blackwood Mystery Series Book 3) by Harper Kira Jane

Author:Harper, Kira Jane
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-09-30T00:00:00+00:00

The next day went by in a blur. I watched my mother send word to Lady Hawthorne, though we hadn't received a response yet. The waiting gnawed at me, a constant undercurrent of unease that refused to dissipate.

I paced the length of our drawing room, my footsteps a soft thud against the carpet. My mind wandered to the events of the previous evening, replaying every detail, searching for something I might have missed. But the more I thought, the more elusive the answers seemed.

Eventually, I sat down at the piano, hoping music might offer some distraction. I began to play, fingers dancing over the keys in a familiar melody. Yet, my concentration faltered, and wrong notes jarred through the air. Frustration bubbled up as I tried again and again, each attempt worse than the last.

"Goodness, Elizabeth," my mother exclaimed from the doorway. Her eyes narrowed in concern. "Ride into town and call on Maggie. You need to clear your head. I'm not sure what's gotten into you, but this is ridiculous."

I nodded reluctantly, knowing she was right. Seeing Maggie would be a welcome distraction and might help me regain some clarity—especially without an escort hovering over me.

"And take Mr. Jenkins with you," she added.

I gave her a flat look but nodded, nonetheless. There was no point in arguing; she would never allow me to venture into town alone.

As I prepared for the ride, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at my mother's insistence on an escort. Yet, beneath that irritation lay a flicker of gratitude—Mr. Jenkins had always been reliable and discreet.

Minutes later, I found myself seated in the carriage beside Mr. Jenkins as we made our way toward town. The rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestones provided a soothing backdrop to my thoughts. Port Meridian bustled with its usual energy, and townsfolk went about their daily routines.

The sight of Maggie's inn brought a sense of relief washing over me like a cool breeze on a hot day. As we pulled up to the entrance, Mr. Jenkins helped me down from the carriage with his customary politeness.

"Thank you," I murmured before stepping inside the inn.

The Siren's Song Inn greeted me with its familiar warmth and the rich aroma of simmering stew. Its timber beams and wooden floors gave it a rustic charm. The inn had a homely feel, with well-worn furniture that bore the marks of countless patrons over the years.

Mr. Jenkins followed me inside, his presence a silent comfort. He nodded toward the fireplace, where an inviting armchair awaited him. With a courteous bow, he excused himself and settled into the chair, picking up the latest copy of the Port Meridian Gazette from a nearby table.

I made my way to the bar and took a seat on one of the sturdy stools. The tavern was sparse at this hour, which made sense for an afternoon—most of the regulars would be out working or tending to their daily affairs. The lull in activity gave the place an almost serene atmosphere.

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