Masquerade at Middlecrest Abbey by Abigail Wilson

Author:Abigail Wilson [Wilson, Abigail]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780785233015
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2020-05-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

“What about a poem for our new mama, Ewan?” Juliana smiled from across the drawing room rug, but there was an inquisitive curve to her lips that I couldn’t like. “She must not be left out of all the fun. Besides, she is not that much older than the two of us.”

I’d been paying little attention to Ewan Hawkins’s silly recitations and Phoebe’s prattling, but my ears perked up at the mention of my new name. Juliana probably meant to fluster me with such a ridiculous declaration, but I was not so easily overset.

“You are a poet, Mr. Hawkins?”

Phoebe bounced where she sat on the drawing room sofa and clapped her hands. “Oh, yes! Yes, indeed. Ewan is so good at describing us. His poem for Juliana has grown to seven stanzas over the past few weeks. ‘The Determined Swan’ is most definitely my favorite. See, look how she blushes.”

Juliana turned to the window as Mrs. Ayles rapped her cane on the floor and grunted beneath her breath. Clearly the self-appointed matriarch had little use for Ewan’s artistry. Earlier in the evening she’d perched herself in a large winged chair near the fire, her back straight as a board, her eyes cunningly sharp as they took in the room.

She had chosen to wrangle Middlecrest’s dwindling group of people into the drawing room following dinner. Since Giles’s death she’d encouraged just the opposite, and I wondered what prompted her to push for us to be together now.

Initially I too fought the idea of any sort of evening entertainment, worrying it might put undue stress on Juliana, but she had blossomed amid an evening of conversation, particularly with Ewan Hawkins right beside her. Perhaps I had been wrong to agree to the isolation. Time in the drawing room also afforded me the perfect opportunity to observe the family at their leisure. Beyond everything else, the murderer could very well be in this room, and I was determined to fish him out.

I began to gracefully refuse Juliana’s little suggestion and relieve Ewan of the awkward moment when Mrs. Ayles startled me into silence with a tight-lipped, “Well this should be entertaining,” under her breath.

I don’t know what I expected her to say, only it wasn’t that. I took a sip of tea to hide my surprise.

No doubt sensing my discomposure, Ewan dutifully crossed the room and stopped a few feet in front of me, his eyes narrow, his gaze direct. “But can I do her justice?”

Adrian, who’d kept quiet throughout the exchange, cleared his throat, the hint of a laugh christening his words. “I highly doubt it—as far as your talents are concerned. She’s beyond poetry.” He flicked his wrist before resting his arm on the mantel. It was a subtle movement few would notice, but I did.

I forced myself once again to join the act. “Thank you, darling.”

Ewan made a production of kneeling on the carpet for his performance, but Adrian walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Any poetry for my wife will most assuredly be composed by me.

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