The Adventure of the Murdered Gypsy by Liese Sherwood-Fabre

Author:Liese Sherwood-Fabre [Sherwood-Fabre, Liese]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-952408-01-4
Publisher: Little Elm Press

Despite her warnings to me as well as her siblings, Constance agreed to Mother’s request to accompany us to the Romani camp. After lunch, they met in her sitting room. Afterward, my friend sought me out where I was finally playing that promised game of chess with Trevor.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she said after we exchanged greetings.

“Are you going somewhere?” Trevor asked, glancing first at me and then Constance. “Mightn’t I come too?”

“We’re not going anywhere,” I said in a tone I hoped warned Constance to change the subject or at least make the appointment less appealing.

“That’s right. We’ll just be practicin’ some more. Mrs. Holmes still wants us to perform after your Aunt Rose arrives.” She glanced at us and the board. “I can tell you’re concentratin’ now, and I’ve got to get back to the children. See you later.”

After she’d gone, my cousin stared down at the board and picked up a pawn he’d captured from me. He rolled it between his two palms. “I’m not sure we’ll be here when Aunt Rose comes. Mummy wants to leave. Miss Bowen told me.”

He set the piece down with a sigh. I gazed at the board but found my thoughts kept returning to this bit of news. Despite all that had happened, I saw no prospect of Meredith or the colonel leaving soon. While she was no longer confined to bed, she appeared less than hardy and required help from her uncle or, at times, Mycroft’s arm when a bout of dizziness hit her. I now had to consider she might be acting. And maybe not just for pretense sake—perhaps to ensure Mycroft’s attention as well.

If Aunt Iris left, however, it would mean new sleeping arrangements could open up. Iris’s departure would mean Miss Meredith could abandon my room and move into my aunt’s. A few days ago, the idea would have caused me great joy.

Now, however, Aunt Iris’s parting would mean Trevor’s as well, which struck me as…regrettable. I glanced at the boy. His head was down, and his lower lip protruded, not in concentration, but in melancholy. We both were upset about the prospect of him leaving. His presence had been a constant this past week and, although at times annoying, had provided some pleasant pastimes. Not to mention some valuable observations on the night of Chanda’s husband’s murder.

“I don’t think your mother will be ready to travel for at least a few more days,” I said, hoping to raise his spirits. The woman remained in bed, and Mother continued to send up pots of tea to keep her nerves calm. “By then, who knows? She might change her mind.”

“I hope so,” he said, picking up his knight and placing it on a space occupied by one of my own. “There’s so much more to do here than in London.”

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