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FOLLOWING MY ODD INTERVIEW with Lady Montford, I headed back to my own bedchamber, my thoughts once again a muddle. The longer I thought on what had taken place between myself and our hostess, the more I became convinced that there was obviously some additional unpleasantness regarding her sister that she did not wish to bring into the open or to become public knowledge.
Of course, I had no clue what it could be. The bits and pieces of information her ladyship had imparted to me the previous morning had painted her sister as a beautiful and talented dancer who captured the hearts of all who saw her perform upon the London stage, and that the girl was on her way to becoming a great favourite amongst theatre-goers. However, there also appeared to be a hidden element of trouble, or misfortune, connected with the girl that for whatever reason Lady Montford wished to remain private. I did rather think that she had embarked upon a daunting task of uncovering what had happened to the girl if she were loath to even speak her name to those from whom she wished to seek answers.
By the time I reached my bedchamber, I had successfully convinced myself to waste no more time thinking on the matter. True, my method of extracting information regarding a crime about which I knew nothing was, indeed, exhaustive, yet, despite Lady Montford taking umbrage at my forthrightness, I knew full well that the authorities would approach the matter in the exact same fashion that I was attempting to uncover the facts. Something told me Lady Montford would not proceed very far in her quest to learn of her sister’s whereabouts unless she were prepared to hear the whole truth, however unpleasant it might be.
Upon entering my bedchamber, I was already thinking ahead as to what to do with myself for the remainder of the day. Finding myself entirely alone, Tilda having perhaps gathered up our small clothes and carried them below stairs to be laundered, I pulled my shawl closer about my shoulders and drew up a chair before the fire in order to consider my options. Several notions sprang to mind including to go down to the drawing room in order to strike up a conversation with whomever I might find there. Perhaps ask a few questions of one of the actors or actresses whose biography I intended to add to the Playbill. I rather expected any one of them would be more forthcoming than Lady Montford had been.
However, following my unfortunate debut as a journalist with her ladyship, reticence had set in and I found I was not as eager as I thought to try my hand at interviewing another thespian. Instead I rose and idly wandered to the tall narrow window cut into the rough stone wall of our chilly chamber and reached a finger to rub away the ice crystals forming intricate patterns upon the glass. And found that, for the most part, the scene that lay before me today was an exact replica of that which had lain before me the day before and the day before that.
Huge flakes of fluffy white snow were still coming down so hard and fast one could scarcely see through the white curtain, let alone make out much of anything between here and the blurry expanse of gray wall on the opposite side of the courtyard. Near the ground, I did detect mounds of snow climbing higher and higher up the gray stone structure. From where I stood on an upper floor, only three wings of the castle were visible to me, not including the one directly beneath me, of course. It and the other wings formed an elongated courtyard with a single archway at the far end of the opposite side.
Hugging the lower half of the walls, but now only faintly visible beneath the high snow banks, were unidentifiable shapes of what I assume in springtime would be ornamental shrubbery that in the months to come would burst forth with new life, turn a brilliant green and become quite pleasing to behold. Today, however, everything lay draped in a frozen layer of ice topped by another layer of fluffy white snow giving everything the look of a dessert covered by luscious servings of whipped crème.
Not even the wind howled today, nor did the windows rattle. Consequently, the eerie silence rising from the picturesque scene below was deafening. The world beyond my window seemed unnaturally peaceful as Mother Nature quietly sculpted a stunning wonderland from a chilling palette of frost, ice and snow.
Suddenly, I spotted a slight movement at the far end of the courtyard within an open area beneath the archway. I leaned forward in an effort to better see. Were my eyes deceiving me, or did I see a slim, shadowy form? A man . . . wearing a long black robe; a clergyman, perhaps, who had emerged from a doorway and was now picking his way across the slippery, ice-covered flagstones that would eventually take him away from the castle to . . . where? I did not know. As the man carefully stepped from the treacherously slick flagstones onto what was surely a snow-covered path that led . . . somewhere, he was obviously surprised to find the snow banked up far deeper than he expected. He stumbled and nearly fell, then after regaining his balance, I watched as he gathered up the clerical robe he wore and carried the bunched-up cloth before him as he carefully picked his way along the frozen path to . . . wherever he was headed beyond the castle and out of sight.
I sucked in a breath as I turned away. Perhaps there was indeed a chapel at Montford Hall. I made a mental note to inquire if a Sabbath service would be held somewhere within the castle walls come Sunday morning. And, hoped against hope that there would be. At this juncture, comforting words from a man of God would be . . . most reassuring.
* * *
AN HOUR OR SO LATER, when Tilda returned, she arrived bearing a tray containing two bowls of soup and, judging from the aroma, a plate of freshly baked bread for our luncheon.
“Door to the larder froze shut last night,” she announced, “so Cook spent all morning making soup from the vegetables she scooped out of the pot left from last night’s dinner. Bread’s fresh-made though.”
“Here. Let me help you.” I hurried to take the tray from her as she shut the door in an effort to keep what warmth might have gathered in our room in our room.
“Housemaids says all the guests is starting to complain about the cold and how coal and food is becomin’ scarce. Everythin’s being rationed so as to not run clean out.”
“Oh, my; I daresay Lady Montford’s house party is not proceeding nearly as well as she hoped.”
Tilda and I pulled a pair of chairs as close to the fire as we could without posing a danger to our skirts, or the lap robes draped over our knees, catching fire. Once settled, we began to eat our lunch.
After one spoonful of the lukewarm soup, I pulled a face. “Oh. I must say the potatoes tasted a far sight better last night than they do today swimming about in watery-thin broth.”
“Servant’s is only getting bread for luncheon. They only had bread for breakfast, too.” She grimaced. “Cook discovered a family of mice nestin’ in the flour bin last night.” She grinned. “Appears ever’ livin’ thing in the house is a-lookin’ for a warm place to sleep.”
“Oh-h, dear!” I pulled another face. “I do hope she was able to successfully remove the mice from the flour bin. As well as all vestiges of them having been there.”
Tilda grinned. “Did the best she could, I wager.” A moment later, she added, “I heard the hen’s has quit laying. Half of ‘em froze to death last night. I told Cook the other half is jes’ too plain stubborn to lay eggs in the ice-cold henhouse. Besides, the egg’s would freeze the minute they dropped outta’ the hens anyways.”
My little maid’s outspoken reply brought a smile to my lips. “Well, I cannot help but wonder what the Montford’s intend to do now, what with a house full of servants and hungry guests to feed, and if possible, to also keep warm.”
Tilda’s fair head shook. “Guess we’d all best pray real hard for sunshine.”
“Oh.” I brightened. “Speaking of praying. I believe I spotted a clergyman this morning. From the window . . .” I pointed that direction. “I am certain I saw a man of cloth emerge from the opposite wing of the house and disappear beyond it. Have you heard any of the servants mention Sabbath services, or a chapel on the premises?”
Tilda’s head wagged. “Ain’t heard a word. But, the footmen did get the . . . body, that is, Lady Westcott’s maid, carted to the opposite side of the house. Must be freezing cold over there. Freezin’ cold here, for all that. Housemaids’ been tol’ they kin only bring one bucket of coal per day to the rooms what’s occupied. All the others has to stay shut up tight until the snowstorm lets up.”
I glanced nervously towards our fire, and saw that, for now, it was burning briskly; the bright orange and yellow flames dancing on the hearth. However, the coal bucket sitting nearby was less than half full and . . . there were still a good many hours of the day left to keep warm. What would Lord and Lady Montford do if the icy weather did not let up soon? The disaster could mean, that they and all their guests might be in danger not only from the killer, but also of freezing to death. As well as all the servants, and the animals housed in the stables.
“Guess if the heavens keeps on spittin’ snow,” Tilda muttered aloud, “we’ll have no choice but to spend ever’ day in bed, trying to keep one another warm as best we can.” After a pause, she said, “Wish we’d brung Little Georgie with us.”
“I thought of that very thing this morning!” I exclaimed, then told Tilda of my conversation with Lady Montford and how I’d suggested she have a footman bring in a kitten from the stables to keep her husband’s feet warm in their bed at night. Tilda agreed it was a capital idea.
“Georgie’s too big now to ride around in my pocket, but he kin sure keep a body’s lap warm.”
Remembering my sweet kitten and those delightful days spent with both Little Georgie and Mr. Sheridan, I smiled. Did this treacherous snowstorm extend as far as the continent, I wondered? Was my dear, kind, Mr. Sheridan now somewhere snug and warm, or was he galloping over the frozen countryside atop his magnificent black steed King George, intent upon carrying out the mission he’d been assigned by the crown? My fervent prayer, of course, was that he was not only warm, but also safe; and would forever remain out of harm’s way.
By mid-afternoon, I managed to gather my courage and again emerge from our bedchamber to go below stairs, but was surprised to find the drawing room deserted, and with no fire in the hearth, it was also quite cold. Because I did not know exactly where each of the guest’s bedchambers were situated within the large house, and did not wish to disturb Lady Montford again in order to inquire, I decided instead to go in search of the library. Perhaps I might find an interesting book, or two, to carry back up to my bedchamber to read. Moving down the deserted corridor, pricks of fear began to inch up my spine. Thus far the house seemed uninhabited. I did not now wish to come face-to-face with the killer lurking in the hallway.
At length, I did come upon a footman and inhaling a breath of relief, inquired if he could please direct me to the library. The young man nodded, and seemingly happy to have an errand to discharge, offered to take me there.
“’Fraid it ain’t warm in here either, miss,” he said as he pushed open a set of wide, double doors that led to a spacious chamber, the high ceiling criss-crossed with dark beams, the room itself containing hundreds and hundreds of books all neatly shelved within floor to ceiling cupboards.
“My,” I marveled, gazing about with wonder. “For a certainty, one could surely find a book here to spark one’s interest.”
“Shall I open the drapes for ye’, miss? Ain’t no candles in here to light. His nibs and her ladyship has instructed us to gather up all the candles in the house, as well as, all the spare coal we can find and take it down to the kitchens. Got to keep them fires burnin’, don’t ye know? Guests got to be fed and their rooms lit and warmed as best we can.”
“I see.” Supplies must have become even more scarce than I thought. That candles might also be in short supply had not occurred to me, but then with no extra coal to light extra fires in order to melt tallow to make additional candles, and no way to travel into whatever village lay nearby in order to purchase ready-made tapers, I suppose candles, as well as coal and foodstuffs, must all be carefully meted out without an ounce of anything going to waste. It did rather seem as if the misfortunes here at Montford Hall were piling one atop another at an alarming rate.
With my footman escort awaiting me to choose something to read, I hurriedly selected a collection of plays by Moliere and a novel I had already read by Mrs. Radcliffe, and followed him from the room, noting that he firmly shut the huge doors behind us.
With something of interest to occupy me for the remainder of the day, I decided to wait until the evening meal to approach others of the guests in regard to when I might interview each of them for the Playbill. Something told me there would be plenty of time in the coming days for all of us to pursue whatever diversions we might fancy, indoors. In light of our enforced seclusion, that could very well mean that the proposed stage production might never come to fruition.
* * *
WHEN THE DINNER HOUR finally rolled around, I was more than ready to return below stairs and join the other guests in the dining hall for our evening meal. Tea that afternoon had been sparse, a pot only half-full of very weak and decidedly lukewarm tea and a plate containing what could only be called a crust of cold bread with no trace of butter, and no accompanying pot of jam.
Once again emerging from the tower staircase onto the steps that led to the spacious, but still quite chilly foyer; then hurrying down the poorly-lit corridor towards the dining hall, and encountering no one, I began to wonder if all the other guests had somehow managed to vacate the castle and not a one of them had bothered to alert me to the exodus. At last, I began to hear murmured sounds of . . . what sounded a good bit like discontent coming from the dining hall.
Stepping to the doorway, I blinked with renewed alarm when I spotted only two, two! candles, one placed at each end of the lengthy room as if two bright spots were sufficient to illuminate the spacious chamber! The bulk of the guests had not yet taken seats and now appeared as little more than shadowy forms clustered here and there around the table, each complaining about the shocking turn of events here at Montford Hall.
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