Sleeping Engagement

XXII. Into the Woods

As Margaret studied the round golden brooch, her thoughts drifted to many possibilities.

Ida Devitt's brooch was oval. Cole's was round. Who else could have the same brooch? His father was dead, but if he had a connection with Osmond Trilby in the past, it was possible that the brooch found in Trilby's room belonged to him.

She stood by her window, gazing out into the quiet garden outside.

Proof.

The brooch was not enough. She already sent Calan Haverston a letter, inquiring more details on the brooch they found in the crime scene. Oval or round, it would lead her somewhere.

She drew a deep breath and turned toward the door. Night had come aboveground and the entire household had gone to bed. She grabbed her coat and silently crept out of her room.

Cole was waiting outside the side entrance of the Everard estate. He was older now, but she could still see the young man from a decade ago waiting for her in the same spot. He leaned away when Margaret emerged clad in a dark coat.

"You're wearing breeches again," he said as she stopped before him.

"Are we going somewhere else?" she asked instead.

His face tightened, perhaps at how proper she sounded. "The woods."

Her eyes widened. "Do you mean the cabin?"

"Yes," he said, leading the way to an unmarked carriage. "The last place we should be is the last place anyone following you will think of."

Margaret did not say another word. Careful no one was watching, they entered the carriage. Then, his coachman led them away from the manor in a steady pace.

She realized the closet in the opera was not the worst place she could ever be with Cole Devitt at this time. It was the cabin in the woods.

The moonlight shone through the holes above them, touching the trees and the ground like the lights in a theatre. It was almost magical, Margaret thought. She could almost hear the moonlight singing a fine tune.

After he ordered the coachman to wait, he turned to her, perhaps intending to take her hand, but she jumped off the carriage and walked to the direction of the trees. She could be blindfolded and she would still find her way to the cabin.

"How long had it been since you've been here?" she asked over her shoulder as she led the way.

"Long." His response was enough. He had not been here since he left.

"Not a lot has changed. It's still the same."

"As I hoped."

"Do be careful," she warned as they traversed down a slope. "Frances Highmore had quite an accident here," she said, smiling at the memory.

"Frances Highmore?"

"Mind not," she said with a wave of her hand. Frances Highmore was Benedict's fiancée before he married Agatha. Talking about her would mean talking about her brother to Cole. At this point, she would rather not.

"There is a natural stream around here somewhere," he said to her.

"I know," she said.

He said nothing after that. Neither of them talked as the familiar path led them to the cabin. It was not owned by anyone, just as many other cabins were in the Wickhurst woods. They were built for refuge to hunters. But when hunting season was off, they were mainly forgotten, especially this cabin. Situated against a wall of earth, it was mostly ignored. It was too far away from the hunting game.