Death of a Stranger - Anne Perry [93]
The door was answered straightaway by a footman of towering height and excellent legs, the qualities most admired in his calling.
“Good evening, Miss Ballinger,” he said stiffly. “Mrs. Courtney is expecting you and Mrs. Monk. If you would care to come this way.” He ushered them in, and Hester could not help glancing around the perfectly proportioned hallway with its black-and-white flagged floor leading to a magnificent staircase, and the walls hung with ancient armor, decorated swords, and flintlocks, stocks inlaid with gold wire and mother-of-pearl.
The footman opened the withdrawing-room door, announced them, and then showed them in. Hester saw Margaret draw in a deep breath and go forward.
Inside the room, oak-floored with paneled walls, heavy plum-colored curtains framed high windows onto formal gardens beyond. Three people were awaiting them. The woman was obviously Margaret’s sister. She was not quite as tall, and judging by her skin and slightly more ample figure, the elder by four or five years. She was handsome in a conventional way, and gave the air of being extremely satisfied with all about her. She was fashionably dressed, but discreetly so, as if she had no need to make herself ostentatious in order to be remarked.
She came forward as soon as she saw Margaret, her face beaming with welcome. Either she was genuinely pleased to see her sister or she was a most accomplished actress.
“My dear!” she said, giving Margaret a swift kiss on the cheek, then stepping back to regard her with great interest. “How delightful of you to have come. It has been far too long. I swear I was quite giving up hope!” She turned to Hester. “You must be Mrs. Monk, Margaret’s new friend.” This welcome was not nearly so warm—in fact, it was merely courteous. There was something guarded in her eyes. Hester realized immediately that Marielle Courtney was not at all sure that Hester’s influence upon her sister was a good one. It might have replaced some of her own, and with less desirable effects. And of course she could not place Hester socially, which set her at a disadvantage in estimating her desirability.
“How do you do, Mrs. Courtney,” Hester replied with a polite smile. “I think so highly of Margaret that to meet any member of her family is a great pleasure to me.”
“How kind of you,” Marielle murmured, turning to the man to her right and just behind her. “May I introduce you to my husband, Mr. Courtney?”
“How do you do, Mrs. Monk,” he responded dutifully. He was a bland-faced man of approximately forty, already a little corpulent, but full of assurance and general willingness to receive his wife’s family, and whoever they might bring with them, civilly enough.
The third person in the room was the one they had come to see, the man who might be able to tell them more about Nolan Baltimore. He was slender and unusual in appearance. His thick hair waved back off a high brow and was touched with gray at the temples, suggesting his age was more than his ease of carriage and elegance of dress portrayed. His features were very aquiline, his mouth full of humor. Marielle introduced him as Mr. Boyd, and laid rather more emphasis on Margaret than Hester was prepared for.
She saw Margaret stiffen and the color rise to her cheeks, although she masked her discomfort as well as possible.
The usual formalities of refreshment were offered and accepted. Marielle invited them to remain for dinner also, and Margaret declined without even referring to Hester, stating a previous engagement which did not exist.
“It is very good of you to come in order to furnish us with assistance and information, Mr. Boyd,” she said a little stiffly. “I hope it has not spoiled your evening.”
“Not at all, Miss Ballinger,” he replied, smiling very slightly, the humor going all the way to his eyes, as if he saw some joke that might be shared, but not spoken of. “Please tell me what it is