Once Upon a Wallflower

“‘Does it matter?’” she repeated, her voice hesitant with genuine confusion. “Of course it matters. How could it not?”

His mouth stretching in a thin, tight smile, Nicholas responded, “Perhaps it matters to you, Mira-mine. Perhaps it should even matter to me. But it certainly does not matter to anyone else.” His breath rushed out in a short, mirthless laugh. “Do you realize that you are the first person to ever ask me whether I am guilty? The very first person. The truth of the matter does not seem to concern anyone but you. And for that reason, I find no use for protestations of innocence.”

Mira ached for Nicholas. His tone was cavalier, nonchalant, but she detected a defensive note that spoke volumes to her. She understood the pain of people assuming the worst of you, having no faith or confidence in you. But she could not allow him to give up so easily.

She took a deep breath, looked him square in the eye, and told him, “I know you are innocent.”

She was unprepared for his response. He laughed. He sounded genuinely amused. She tried not to take offense.

“How, pray tell, do you know I am innocent?” he asked. “Do you have some otherworldly power of sight?”

Drawing herself up, Mira responded, “No, sir, I used my intellect. I used logic. I have found that logic is the most reliable means of ascertaining the truth, and I have the utmost confidence in its powers. The details are unimportant, but suffice it to say that I have concluded that you simply could not have been the killer. And if I can be made to believe in your innocence, then others can be made to believe it as well.”

Nicholas’s expression softened. “Your faith in me, while humbling, does not persuade me that others will share your opinion.”

“So everyone thinks you guilty. That does not mean the truth is irrelevant. Prove everyone wrong!”

“It is not my responsibility to champion the truth,” Nicholas hedged. “People labor under a great many misconceptions, and it takes a great man to change their minds. I am not a great man. I am an ordinary man who wants to paint. Nothing more.”

“The common perception seems to be that you practice black magic or that you consort with the devil or some such thing.”

“So I have heard. Though I am not sure what prompted people to believe me so powerful and mysterious.”

“Well, I think it’s because you roam the moors.”

For an instant, Nicholas froze, and something in his eyes, some glimmer of apprehension, sent a shiver down Mira’s spine. But then he shrugged, and his eyes narrowed in sardonic amusement. “I roam the moors? Of course I roam the moors. Everyone in Cornwall roams the moors. It’s all we have…moors and cliffs. If we did not roam moors, we would be forever housebound.”

Mira laughed, and her moment of unease was forgotten. With a great sigh of exasperation, Nicholas flopped down on his back without any apparent concern for his waistcoat or shirt. By the time they ventured indoors, every item of his clothing would be ruined, Mira thought. She couldn’t help but smile a bit at his absent-minded disregard for his appearance. It was rather endearing. And it suddenly made her remember something else.

“The blood!” she blurted.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Just another rumor I heard. That the smithy said he saw you one night on the curtain wall between the tower and the main house and that there was blood smeared all over your shirt and face. It’s a rather gruesome story and, frankly, seems fantastical. I am certain it was made up out of whole cloth,” she concluded with conviction.

“Hmmm. Probably not.” Nicholas laughed. “Do not look so shocked, Mira. I assure you that, whatever crimes I may be guilty of, stupidity is not one of them. I am hardly likely to wander about drenched in blood. I imagine what the good smithy saw was me smeared with red paint. I often become, well, a little exuberant when I paint. It is a messy endeavor. It was a source of great consternation to any number of valets I have employed in the past. That is one of the reasons that I finally decided to forego a more traditional manservant in favor of Pawly. Pawly cares even less for my appearance than I do, a quality that most would consider reprehensible in a valet but which is essential to the sanity of anyone in my service.”