Chapter Six: Late Night Call

Catherine felt flushed and windblown, and she was very quiet as they rode home from the beach. Mr. Culpepper was right beside her, eyes on the road, driving her expensive new motor car as though nothing had happened. Catherine wanted to say something clever, something about the way they'd kissed on the beach. But she couldn't get the words right. Each time she tried to speak her voice was either a squeak or a sigh. She looked a mess, too. Her clothes were rumpled and her hair was all wild.

"I've drawn a nice hot bath for you, Miss Catherine. I'm sure you'll want to rest before dinner." Mrs. Holliday was waiting as Catherine came indoors, puffing a bit from the brisk walk up the drive and already pulling off her crumpled hat and dirty gloves.

"Yes, I want to clean up properly before dinner." The housekeeper gave her a warm smile, an understanding sort of smile, taking her arm as the two of them climbed the stairs. Catherine threw Mr. Culpepper a look over her shoulder, hoping to catch his eye. But he was busy giving orders about the new motorcar, something about a leaky radiator and the engine getting overheated. Catherine knew all about having an overheated engine!

While she was soaking her weary body in a steaming hot bath, she tried to put her thoughts in order. Catherine wanted to be a lady at dinner. She wanted to talk about what had happened on the beach, but in a sophisticated way. After all, she wasn't in love with her moody business manager. And she didn't expect Mr. Culpepper to swear eternal devotion to her! She just wanted to know that it had meant something to him, that she hadn't imagined that feeling of instant connection when their lips first touched. It was like a sizzling jolt that went right down to her toes.

"Come along, Miss Catherine. It's almost time for dinner!"

The tap on the door roused her from turbulent thoughts. Toweling herself dry, Catherine experienced a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach. At this very moment Mrs. Holliday was laying out a dress for her to wear for at dinner. She always had dinner with Mr. Culpepper, just the two of them all alone in the grand parlor. Usually he quizzed her about her finances and her vast fortune, making it clear that she had to know all about the money she would someday inherit. But tonight she wanted to quiz him about his feelings, and that kiss down on the beach. Her hands were a bit shaky as she powdered herself all over.

"What's wrong? I thought . . . you said . . . where are my clothes?" Fresh from her bath, Catherine stood staring at the big bed, a bit confused by the ivory lace bed gown lying on the velvet coverlet.

"Mr. Culpepper was called into town on business," Mrs. Holliday said briskly. The housekeeper had brought her dinner up already on a tray, and she smiled at the rather dazed look on Catherine's face. "You're coming along well with your lessons, bookkeeping and all. It seems Mr. Culpepper feels you've earned a night off."

"Yes, well . . . I'm sure it's very nice of him!" Catherine covered her disappointment with a dazzling smile of her own. Yet she couldn't help feeling let down, and her heart was heavy as she slipped into her bed gown and slid beneath the velvet bed covers.

"Mushroom soup, with biscuits and bacon," Mrs. Holliday said. "A hearty meal, just like what the fishermen eat after a day at sea!"

"Mm," Catherine replied. She was not in the mood for conversation. It seemed to her that Mr. Culpepper was deliberately avoiding her, and she wanted to know why. Was it because she'd kissed him shamelessly on the beach, forgetting her place as a wealthy lady and behaving like a cheap shop girl? Or was it because she'd already gotten him to reveal far too much of his own dark past?

It didn't seem all that long after dinner when the telephone on the bedside table rang shrilly. Awakened from a deep sleep, Catherine snatched it up in confusion, her heart thudding loudly in her ears. She'd been dreaming of that shameless kiss on the beach, and she was half expecting to hear Mr. Culpepper's voice.

"Catherine, dearest, how have you been? Have you gotten settled in your new home? Is all going well? I'm sorry to be ringing up at such a late hour, an ungodly hour, but I simply must talk to you!"

"Lady Cleveland? Is that you?" Catherine's dearest friend was calling her from London. Lady Anne Cleveland had been like a mother to her ever since her true parents were lost at sea.

"Yes, it's me! It's Anne, darling. Did I wake you?"

"No, no!" Catherine felt like a fool. She must have fallen asleep right after dinner, not even noticing when Mrs. Holliday took away her tray. She glanced at the mess on her cluttered bedside table. "I was just reading . . . reading the latest issue of the Strand magazine from London!"

"Ah, yes! Everyone is very excited about the new detective series, the adventures of Sherlock Holmes!" Lady Anne's cheerful voice suddenly grew quite serious, and a bit mysterious. "Actually, darling, the reason I called is because I have a mystery of my own to solve. And I was wondering if you could help me."