The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [89]
“Mrs. Emerson?”
‘If you are asking for my opinion, Miss Petherick, I think we should get your task over and done with.”
Miss Petherick’s doubtful expression indicated that she had had second thoughts about accepting my offer of assistance, but of course I proceeded as I had planned. The others left; I rolled up my sleeves and went into the bedchamber, followed by Miss Petherick.
The room was in a frightful state of confusion. Instead of proceeding methodically, she had emptied the wardrobe, flinging the garments haphazardly across chairs and tables and turned drawers upside down onto the bed. I considered this highly significant, though to be honest I wasn’t sure what her hasty, untidy methods signified. Had she cared more for her stepmother than she admitted, and found the sight of her belongings painful? Had she detested her so thoroughly that she wanted to remove every reminder as soon as was humanly possible? I confined my comments to a mild “Dear me, this will never do,” and began folding sable dresses and silken undergarments into neat piles. Stockings, shoes, handkerchiefs, and scarves went into one of the drawers. All of them, even the handkerchiefs, were heavily scented with some musky perfume. Miss Petherick stood watching me, her arms hanging limp at her sides.
“I know several ladies of limited means who might be glad of the gowns,” I said finally. “Mourning, alas, is always useful. The underclothes are worn and a trifle—er—youthful.”
“Daring, you mean?” Miss Petherick folded her arms.
“I suppose I do. Ah well, I suggest we simply bundle everything up—hats, gloves and all. I will have them brought to me and I will send them on to the proper persons. There is nothing you would like to keep?”
“No.”
“Not even her jewelry?” The contents of her jewelry box had also been tossed onto the bed in a glittering, shimmering tangle.
“The gems are all paste and the gold false.”
An examination, which I proceeded to make, proved she was right. I was a trifle surprised that a successful authoress, the wife of a man of means, should not have a few important jewels. I wondered whether Miss Petherick had already taken them.
It was none of my business if she had, but my expression must have been somewhat critical, for she volunteered a statement. “I took a few trinkets that had belonged to my mother. Their only value is sentimental, but if you would like to see them—”
“I assure you, that is not necessary.”
“I insist. I don’t want you to have any doubts about my honesty.”
She pulled open the drawer of the night table.
It took only a single glance to survey the contents. Unlike the tangle on the bed, these ornaments had been carefully laid out on the bottom of the drawer: several small brooches, set with seed pearls and chips of turquoise, two rings of equally modest value, and a garnet parure, consisting of bracelets, hair combs, and a necklace. They were of a style popular fifty years earlier, a mosaic of small gems set in silver. One of the combs had lost two of its teeth.
“She never wore them,” said Miss Petherick. Her tone left no doubt as to which “she” she meant. “They were too old-fashioned and restrained.”
I was unexpectedly touched by the little mementos and their careful disposal, nor did I blame Miss Petherick for taking them. By rights they ought to have gone to her instead of being handed over to her mother’s successor. I said as much, and saw the young lady’s stern face soften.
“My mother was a gentle, unassuming woman, Mrs. Emerson. She never asked for much, and she got even less.”
I am somewhat ashamed to admit my true reason for offering to take charge of Mrs. Petherick’s clothes. Miss Petherick had thanked me for my kindness, but as my more astute Readers no doubt realize, my motive was not so benevolent. I had not had the opportunity to examine the garments closely, turning out pockets and cuffs and looking for stains. All is fair in love, war, and detection, and one never knows when a clue may turn up.
In fact, several new clues had turned up. Most interesting was the young lady