Chapter Eight: Two Types of Clue

"Good heavens, what filthy weather," Lady Cleveland exclaimed, sweeping into Catherine's bed chamber the next morning. A plump little chambermaid in a cap and apron had already drawn back the curtains, revealing steady rain, wet and slimy streets, and a soot-gray sky.

"Filthy weather," Catherine agreed, sighing deeply and hugging the pillow without opening her eyes. Instead of rising, she dozed for another moment or two while Lady Cleveland gave instructions to the maid. All of Anne Cleveland's servants had been with her for years, and her tranquil old London house ran like clockwork. Her fiercely loyal household staff had known Catherine since she was a baby, and all of them knew she wasn't a morning person.

"What do you say to a cup of tea, my dear? Something to clear your head, and then we can get to work finding young Paul Atherton and solving the mystery of the missing artefacts."

"Right, the mystery! That nice old minister with the sad blue eyes. He's counting on us to help. Have we got any clues yet?" Catherine shook off slumber at once. During the night she'd dreamed of hunting down clues like a real detective. Now she opened her eyes and sat up in bed, her stomach growling. The plump little parlor maid giggled as she served the breakfast tray.

"There, what did I tell you, ma'am? Miss Catherine loves her breakfast." The cheerful old maid was plumping up pillows and uncovering dishes, smiling at Catherine and chatting away. "Remember when she sweet-talked her way into the pantry and got into the plum preserves? Made a right sticky mess of her face and hair, she did, and her so beautiful. Such a beautiful baby girl!"

"Yes, and she's even more beautiful now that she's all grown up."

"Both of you are quite impossible!" Catherine tried to force a frown, but she couldn't help smiling back at the two older women.

"That will be all for now, Betty. I wish to discuss some important matters with Miss Catherine, woman to woman." Lady Cleveland dismissed the giggling maid and perched on the side of the bed.

"I'm glad you don't think I'm still a baby. I'm sure Betty does!" Catherine settled back against the pillows, sipping her tea with an air of pouting discontent. "I've changed a lot since I went away."

"Yes, of course you have." Lady Cleveland sipped from her cup with a thoughtful look. "Have you thought about how we can find the missing artefacts?"

"Well, there must be clues at the scene of the crime. We can poke around the cathedral grounds and look for footprints. Check the doors and windows to see if anyone entered through the basement or the bell tower." Busy with her toast and jam, Catherine chewed and swallowed and then drained her teacup.

"How clever you are!" Lady Cleveland said, swiftly refilling Catherine's cup. "I'll tell poor Percival to check the churchyard for footprints. Not that there's much chance of finding anything. The grounds must be nothing but mud by now, thanks to all this rain. It started late last night and it's kept on all morning. Beastly weather! But perhaps you and I should focus on the real mystery."

"What do you mean?" Catherine had forgotten about the weather. No use looking for footprints in the pouring rain. But what else could they do? Her puzzled face wore a sticky purple smear.

"Perhaps we should find out what's become of Paul." Lady Cleveland reached over and dabbed the sticky jam from Catherine's cheek and chin, using the lace napkin from her tray. "They say he was one of the handsomest young men in London, a charmer much sought after by young women. And some not so young. I wonder if that's what got him into trouble."

"Let's find out!" Catherine forgot all about searching for footprints in the muddy churchyard. Lady Cleveland was clearly on the right track. Paul was the clue that would unlock the mystery. Catherine felt that if she could only see him, up close and face to face, he would soon tell her everything.

She was already planning what she would wear.