Page 81 of The Tartan Trap

The first of the gentlemen was Lord Lawrence, who seemed a kind sort of fellow. He wore a drab grey shirt beneath his crisp black suit, which was a little odd for a dinner party, but he smiled so openly at each of the guests when he was introduced that Margaret was quite determined to like him. She had seen him in their parlor before—he was one of the gentlemen who’d visited Lily early on.

Next was the blond, curly-haired gentleman who had arrived with Callum and had been standing at his elbow ever since. This, Margaret knew, was Callum’s cousin, Mr. Ellis Buckley. Margaret couldn’t help but notice that his eyes took on an interested sparkle when he watched Rachel. Margaret wished she might find an excuse to warn him that her friend was determined not to marry at all if she could help it.

Lord Shaw made the surprising last addition to their party. He looked exceptionally handsome in his dinner finery.

“I’m the replacement,” he said with a little mocking bow when he was introduced. “Lord Cavendish finds himself otherwise engaged.”

“And we’re very happy to have you,” Rachel said pertly, not contradicting him. “It would have been an odd grouping with only seven of us.”

“I rather think it might be odder with me than without, but I am very happy to be included, nonetheless.”

Several people laughed as if he’d been making a joke, but Beatrice narrowed her eyes ever so slightly, and Margaret smiled nervously. It felt to her that Lord Shaw truthfully would rather not have been involved in whatever the evening held. Judging by what she’d overheard the previous day in her brother’s study, William was looking to hire the man. Perhaps Lord Shaw thought his attendance this evening was a mandatory condition of his forthcoming employment.

“Now,” Rachel said. “This isn’t a regular dinner party.”

“Of course not,” Lord Shaw breathed.

Margaret was the closest to him and therefore the only one who heard. She winced and looked up to find Callum studying her from across the room, his head cocked in question. Then his eyes slid from her to Lord Shaw behind her, and his features lost their softness.

“I say, Lord Shaw,” he said. “Come over here and stand with us. For some reason, though we’re evenly divided, I rather feel as if the ladies outnumber us. They are in league together on this evening’s entertainment, make no mistake.”

Lord Shaw gave what Margaret thought was his first real smile of the evening. “Forgive me for saying so, Your Grace, but of all the gentlemen in this room, you are the only one ever surrounded by enough ladies to feel outnumbered.”

“Not to be contrary,” Rachel said, even as Lord Shaw joined the group of gentlemen, “but only Lord Lawrence and I know what is to transpire this evening.”

“I don’t like surprises very much,” Lord Lawrence admitted. “Especially not when they involve blood.”

“Blood?” Lily exclaimed.

“Oh, not real blood, Miss Lily. Forgive me. Just a slurry of beet juice made to look like blood.”

It was clear that Lord Lawrence thought his explanation sufficiently reassuring, but if anything, Lily looked more alarmed.

She turned to Margaret with wide eyes and whispered, “I despise beets.”

“I have written a mystery that we will solve as a group,” Rachel said crisply, as if such things were commonplace. “Lord Lawrence has generously offered to act as our victim.”

Lily gave a little gasp; Beatrice rolled her eyes at her sister.

“There are several clues that will be important, so please pay attention once we go through to the dining room,” Rachel said. “Now, if you’ll give me and Lord Lawrence several minutes to get the tableau set up, I will collect the rest of you when it’s time to start.”

The two of them exited.

Lily turned to Margaret. “I hope it isn’t too realistic.”

“Why does it matter how realistic it is, as long as you know it’s fake?” Beatrice argued.

“It just”—Lily wrung her fingers together—“I don’t know. It just does.”

Several minutes later, Rachel appeared in the doorway, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “If you would please follow me to the dining room.”

Callum gallantly escorted Rachel through. Ellis offered his elbow to Lily, and Lord Shaw escorted Beatrice. Margaret followed behind, very curious as to what clues her friend had devised for them.

When Ellis and Lily stepped over the threshold of the dining room, Lily gave a strangled gasp. “Lord Lawrence, you must assure me that you’re all right.”

Even Margaret had to admit that it was a grisly scene. Lord Lawrence lay on the floor in front of the fireplace. He’d removed his jacket and waistcoat and wore only the muddy grey shirt—a good thing, as his chest and neck were smeared with what looked very much like real blood. If Margaret had come across such a spectacle without warning, she might have screamed or fainted or both.

“It is extremely convincing,” Beatrice admitted.