Agatha fiddled with the pages of her novel as she read, in an attempt to maintain her focus. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked away, but the sound was no longer comforting. Any amount of consistent noise could hide the approach of a wandering vagrant—or a dangerous criminal.
No one in the room spoke or made eye contact. On the other side of the wide Persian rug covering the floor, Lady Dalton sat stiff as a poker, completely absorbed in the contents of her embroidery hoop. Never mind that she had to pick out every third stitch—she, whose hand was always so steady—she sewed as if her life depended on it.
Agatha chanced to pry her eyes from the book and actually look toward the corner where Thomas sat—
He was no longer there.
Agatha clapped her book shut with both hands.
Lady Dalton cried out in pain and raised a finger before her face, frowning at her daughter as if she were to blame for the mishap—indeed, for all the mishaps. Not daring to perform any action so vulgar as sticking the injured digit in her mouth, Lady Dalton frowned further still as she pulled out her clean-white handkerchief to wipe off the bead of blood forming on her fingertip.
Lady Dalton sighed heavily over the state of her kerchief, not to mention her normally-flawless skin. "Inconsiderate!" She grumbled. "Now look what you've made me—"
"Where is Tom?" Agatha wasn't much interested in hearing out an accusation against her for something she very obviously did not do.
"Don't try to change the subject, Agatha Christine!"
A figure appeared in the doorway. "What's this about me?"
"Tom!" Agatha burst from her seat and fairly threw herself at her brother. The more she clung to his arms, the faster she could leave behind the terrible images of him lying somewhere with his head bashed in or his throat cut. "I was so worried about you! Where did you go?"
He squinted at her in confusion. "What do you mean? I only went for a walk around the grounds."
"Without telling anybody?" Lady Dalton rose from her chair with considerably more dignity than her daughter. "Thomas, there are criminals out there!"
Lord Dalton emerged through the dining room door at last, looking much more worn now than ever before. He glanced at each face before him.
"Oh, wonderful," he said in a dull voice. "You are all here." He directed his gaze toward his children. "Have a seat, Agatha, Thomas; there is something important you must know."
Lady Dalton moved forward to grasp her husband's arm. "Are we leaving Afton-By-The-Sea?"
Both siblings protested, "No!"
Lord Dalton shook his head. "No, the constable has asked that we remain here until the valuables are found and the thieves are dealt with. We will stay—but there is one thing I must ask of you all." He became very stern once more. "I have just been telling the servants that I am issuing a curfew for everyone in this house."
"Curfew?" protested Thomas.
"Everyone?" echoed Agatha.
Lord Dalton nodded. "All outings must end at ten o'clock. The servants will report to Mason where they intend to go and when they intend to return, so that we know where they are, and you two," he glanced between his children, "will report to Mother and I."
"Ten o'clock!" Tom grumbled. "That's not fair!"
Lord Dalton laced his fingers through those of his wife. "Only until the crime is solved; it would be safer that way."
Both siblings wilted at their dismal prospects.
"So much for a holiday," Tom grumbled, slouching on the sofa.
"You're one to talk," Agatha sighed grumpily. "I was looking forward to Lilly Montgomery's soirée, but now it looks like I shan't bother going to that if I can't stay!" She made mournful eyes at her father.
Dalton stroked his chin. "Inspector Tenney seemed to believe that someone in the house is responsible for conspiring with the thieves to permit them to steal our valuables." His keen eyes moved from daughter to son and back again. "This case could be solved much faster if we only knew who that was."
"Good grief, Dad!" Agatha burst out, resting a hand on her forehead to check her churning emotions. "You don't think one of us did it?"
"What about the servants?" Tom demanded, more than a little affronted by the insinuation.
"Mason is making inquiries," Dalton allowed. "He was interrogated by the police and they are satisfied that there isn't enough evidence to support the theory that he did it, so I have him on the watch downstairs to see if he can't find out who did."
"Oh this is awful!" Lady Dalton moaned. "Our whole holiday, ruined!"
"Yes," her husband murmured, "and every holiday after that, if Afton-by-the-Sea becomes a cesspool of all kinds of crime. Don't worry, my dear," he comforted his wife while his children sulked, "The police will sort this out, we'll get everything back, you'll see."
"Do you think it might have been someone who saw Tom and I shopping in town lately?" Agatha mused.
"Shut up!" Tom snapped at her, bounding suddenly to his feet. "Don't take that away from me, Miss Prudence! I still haven't got my glider, and hanged if I have to stay at home for the rest of the fortnight!" He stalked out of the room. Lady Dalton followed.
Agatha looked at her father, who sighed. "The truth of the matter is that it could very well be anybody," he said. "We never expected this sort of thing to happen, so we were never very careful about appearances."
Agatha huffed and flounced back to her seat as her father took up the day's newspaper. He cringed at the boisterous announcement of the robbery on the front page, and buried himself deep in the middle of it.
"I was never aware that we had left off worrying about appearances," she grumbled softly.
~<>~
Down in the kitchen, Pearl raced from door to door.
"Where's Mollie?" She asked Dot.
The laundress had spent a good deal longer than she liked being questioned by Mason about her movements on the night in question—as if he hadn't been responsible for half of them! And now, she was sadly behind on her duties. She didn't bother removing her hands from the big tub as she grumbled, "Don't know!" at Pearl.
The chambermaid passed by at the end of the hallway, and caught her comment.
"What ye lookin' fer Mollie about?" She asked.
Pearl snorted. "Dummy! Because she ain't heard the new house rule yet! Mollie!" She sighed with relief as the mottled blue skirt swished around the corner. Mollie froze guiltily as Pearl darted after her. "Where have you been?"
Mollie hung her head and slumped her shoulders. "Errands," she muttered.
Pearl opened her mouth, but Mason's cutting voice sailed over her shoulder. "What the bloody hell are you running errands for? Are you daft? The master says we're to account for our whereabouts at all times."
Mollie actually brightened a bit more than Pearl expected. "Is it the thieves they're after, then?"
Mason shook his head, a move that would have jostled the hairs of a lesser man, but his perfectly-sculpted coif remained exactly as it was. "No, it's worse," he leaned in. "They're saying it might have been an inside job."
Both women gasped.
"Ye don't mean they think one of us did it?" Mollie hissed.
His dark eyes narrowed. "It's in their nature to suspect the servants first," he said with a sniff. "It's not as if any of them did it. At any rate, the police are sure someone tipped off the men, and so we're all restricted," here a deeper glare at Mollie, "till we can find out who did it." He turned heel and stalked away.
Mollie expressed her opinion voicelessly by directing a series of contorted faces at his back.
Pearl shook her head. "I can't believe you would run errands like that," she murmured.
Mollie frowned and squinted at her. "Like what?" She took a step back toward the doorway.
Pearl shrugged and toyed with the starched cuffs of her sleeve. "You know," she hedged. "As if... As if nothing... Happened... Not that it didn't!" She put up her hands to soften the outrage of the young kitchen maid.
"Too right it did!" Mollie huffed. "And what are they doing about it?" She snapped her fingers in front of Pearl's face, "Bloody precious little!" She sighed and melted back into the room behind her, where four cots took up most of the space. She sank onto the one she usually slept in. "If you must know," she said, swinging her feet and glancing up at the house-maid, "I was out at the Buxtons', visiting Major as a thank-you for saving my life."
Mollie paused and frowned. Major hadn't been mortally wounded as she had expected, she wondered if perhaps she might have been mistaken as to the actual size of the knife and the violence of the blow.
Pearl bent to present her face before the mildewed segment of a polished mirror. She squinted and adjusted locks of hair around her face—a sure sign that she would be heading upstairs soon to attend to Miss Agatha.
"Well," she responded primly, "I hope the trip satisfied you, because it'll be the last one you take in a while; you can bet that Mason won't let you do anything so frivolous if he's got anything to say about it."
Mollie snorted and stretched her shoulders; a loud conversation down the hallway warned everyone that supper preparations were underway. Picking up the day's apron and tying it behind her, she muttered to herself, "Catch him trying to stop me from seeing that justice is done!"
Pearl stopped in the doorway, "What was that?"
"Nothing!" Mollie stood and sailed forward, pushing past the taller, more slender maid. "Out of my way!"
Pearl sighed and continued up the stairs.
~<>~
Agatha sat alone in the drawing room, staring out the window as the clouds rolled past. From their elevated vantage point, she could see a fair bit of the surf rolling in, just past the embankment all overgrown with tall grasses—all that separated the town from the beach. Movement across the street attracted her eye. Agatha allowed herself a small smile as she recognized the young girl from the kite shop she had met the day before, the one who thought she was a princess. Madi... A pretty name, and somehow fitting, as the girl skipped down the lane, swinging her arms; Agatha almost wished she could join her. A few paces later, Madi stopped, and a man joined her. Agatha tilted her head and studied the newcomer; it wasn't her father—this man wasn't the bashful, respectable man who had chided his daughter in front of a stranger. In fact, this man was abnormally tall—Agatha had never seen him before, and she concluded, by the friendly manner with which Madi regarded him, that he must be new to Afton-by-the-Sea, and already made friends with the exuberant girl.
Watching them make their way toward the beach, Agatha sighed at the current state of affairs; what wouldn't she give to be able to just go out, meet a person, and make friends with them so easily! Briefly, she reflected over the sorts of people she regarded as "friends"; these were citizens of the same social class as she, ones who revolved in much the same circles, or else they would probably never have met. In short, they weren't friends, exactly. They weren't the sort to invite on a walk to the beach; they were the sort to take tea and gossip with because of the strength of their sphere of influence. Common people could make friends all they liked, and these friends would support them, join them, and be content to merely spend hours doing nothing in particular, just to be among each other. Rich people had to make alliances, choosing wisely who to consort with, so as not to sully their reputation, and to advance one's status.
She barely glanced up as Pearl came in with the tea tray; the book had been forgotten in favor of the scene set before her, the one of the tall man and the young girl enjoying the freedom of a holiday together. Agatha let her gaze rest briefly on the face of the woman setting the teacup on the table by her elbow.
"Pearl," she mused suddenly, "what would you say if I told you to come with me on a walk to the beach?"
Pearl blinked, compulsively adjusting her cuffs and her apron as she fought to process the request.
"Well, Madam," she stammered. "I would ask what you would like to bring, and I would fetch it for you."
Agatha sipped her warm tea and tilted her head again. "What if I just said we would walk out, and that is all?"
Pearl stood like a schoolgirl taking an oral exam in front of the class. She folded her arms behind her back, which she held straight and stiffly upright. "I would probably bring along a coat for you, ma'am, and perhaps a hat—it is very windy out."
"Would you go with me?" Agatha pressed further. There was plenty of room on the sofa next to her—room that Thomas wouldn't hesitate to sprawl in as they talked. But Pearl wasn't Thomas. She stood in the middle of the room like a dog that has been told it mustn't touch anything.
"I would accompany you to wherever you wished to go," Pearl acknowledged.
Agatha huffed and crossed her arms. "That's not what I meant," she grunted. She turned to pick up her book again.
Pearl, seeing that her mistress no longer required her full attention, went about her customary duties of tidying up the room.
Agatha wasn't reading; she watched the fair maid over the cover of her book; someone in the house is responsible for conspiring with the thieves... A servant? Wouldn't that be so typical? But then—she had always felt Pearl to be the most typical servant in the whole of Afton-by-the-Sea. Agatha shook her head as Pearl removed the tea tray from the room; this whole fiasco was really starting to twist her mind in all sorts of strange directions!
Outside the window, two friends wended their way down the lane: one young girl recently arrived with her father, and one tall man no one had seen enter the village at any point.