Page 96 of Impetuous

Like a tongue to a sore tooth, Cassandra’s thoughts kept returning to the illogical attack on her. It bothered her so much, in fact, that the next morning she set out for the village herself, heading straight for the jail. It took a little persuading, but finally she cajoled the constable into letting her see their criminal.

“Ah, Miss Verrere,” Mr. Simons said, smiling just as if they were meeting on the street or in his shop. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

“Mr. Simons.” She stood for a moment, looking through the bars at him, wondering how to begin.

In the end, it was he who started the conversation. “I trust you realize, my dear, that it was never my intention to harm you.”

Cassandra looked at him in some astonishment. Apparently, he had forgotten the fact that he had held a shotgun aimed at her the day before.

“I have always been fond of you,” he was saying. “And your father, too.” He sighed. “It was greed that was my downfall, of course. Once I had read about the dowry, I simply had to see it, possess it. I hope you will forgive me.”

“I hope I will, too,” she replied levelly. “But at the moment my feelings are a trifle too fresh.” She paused, then continued, “If you did not intend to harm me, then why did you have me locked up in the windmill?”

The older man stared at her blankly. “I beg your pardon? The windmill? My dear Miss Verrere, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“I’m talking about the fact that you had someone knock me over the head, drag me into the windmill and lock me in. It was sheer happenstance that anyone found me.”

The book dealer looked at her in dismay. “But my dear…how could you possible think that I had anything to do with that?”

“You seem to be the only possibility,” she replied bluntly.

He continued to gape at her, unable to come up with any sort of argument. It was his stymied look that convinced her more than anything. He was very good at creating trust where it was not deserved, of course. In proof of that, she had his seeming kindness toward her when all the while he was plotting behind her back to steal the Verrere treasure. Still, she could not believe that his astonishment was feigned. It seemed to her that he knew nothing about the windmill incident.

Her mind buzzed all the way back to Haverly House. If Mr. Simons had not locked her into the windmill, who had? And why?

Surely Joanna or Aunt Ardis could not have been so jealous, so afraid of her spending time with Philip, that they would have hatched up this scheme to stick her out of sight for a while. Greedy they might be, and definitely foolish, but Cassandra did not want to believe that either of them was wicked enough to have done that to her.

She came up to the house through the side garden, so deep in thought that she was almost upon Sarah Yorke before she saw the woman walking toward her through the garden.

“Miss Verrere!” Sarah cried in delight and hurried forward. “I had just called at the house and was so disappointed to find that you were not there. I had been hoping to talk to you.”

“Really?” Cassandra did not feel like talking to Sarah or, indeed, anyone, right now, but she tried to put a good face on it. She did, after all, like the woman.

“Yes. I—” Sarah glanced around, almost as if she were looking for something. “Why don’t we take a walk? Would you care to stroll through the garden?”

Cassandra sighed inwardly, but said only, “Of course, if you would like.”

“Yes, I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

They turned and started across the garden, moving past the fragrant roses and down into the lower part of the garden.

“What did you want to talk about?” Cassandra prompted when the other woman did not say anything more.

“What?” Sarah glanced at her blankly.

“You said that you had hoped to talk to me. I thought you meant that there was something in particular…”

“Oh! Oh, no, nothing in particular. That is, I was hoping, you know, that we might have a chance to chat, to—to get to know one another better.”

It struck Cassandra that Miss Yorke was acting in a most peculiar manner. Her speech was vague, and she kept darting looks around her, as if she were hoping to see—or avoid—something. She seemed unusually nervous, and Cassandra thought that her eyes had a rather odd, wild look to them.

“Miss Yorke…is something the matter? Something that I can help you with?”

“Help me!” Sarah whirled on her, her eyes flashing, and Cassandra took a step backward. “Help me! How can you say that?”

Cassandra stared at her, puzzled and rather alarmed by the young woman’s odd demeanor. She didn’t know what to do, but she was aware suddenly that she did not want to walk any farther away from the house with the woman.

“Why don’t we turn back?” Cassandra suggested, starting to follow her words with action.