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“GOOD GOD, MISS ABBOTT! Is no one safe where you are present?” Lord Montford was clearly irate and had good reason to be. He and the others had returned to the drawing room mere moments before Gaston pronounced old Mr. Nordstrom dead as a doornail. His words exactly.
Stunned, both Tilda and I fell onto nearby chairs to digest the awful news even as the others streamed into the drawing room, most wearing wraps, a few wearing gloves, some with warm mufflers wound around their necks, all looking as if they were ready for a leisurely stroll about the snow-covered courtyard.
“John, I doubt that Miss Abbott had anything to do with Mr. Nordstrom’s sudden demise.” She turned to me. “Did you, Miss Abbott?”
“No! Of course, not,” I cried still attempting to clear my head.
“A likely story,” accused Ardeth, flinging yet another seething glare my way. “We all leave the room and the moment we return, another one of us has been struck down. Who amongst us is safe when you are about, Miss Abbott?”
“It does seem a trifle suspicious,” put in Emma Stevens, her ungloved hands jammed into the pockets of her tattered outer garment.
“Gaston, what can you tell us of this latest tragedy?” Lady Montford asked. “You were here in the drawing room the entire time we were away, is that not correct?”
“Indeed, madam.” The white-haired retainer nodded solemnly, his hands clasped behind his back, his chin elevated. “I did not vacate the premises for so much as a second. Both ladies and I have been right here. As was the deceased.”
“But, what did you see, man?” sputtered Lord Montford, not nearly so calm as his lady wife. “Certainly you must have seen something untoward. A gentleman, in apparent health and fine fettle, does not simply fall down dead without cause!”
Before Gaston could reply, Mr. Egerton spoke from where he had been examining the body. “Come to think of it, Montford, Nordstrom fell asleep mere minutes after we vacated the table. I recall asking if he would like a splash of brandy soon after you inquired it of Lyttleton and me. I thought it a bit odd then that Nordstrom made no reply. Appeared the old fool had already nodded off. Was seated right here in the chair just as you see him now.” He stepped away. “Poor fellow must have expired on the spot.” He scratched his chin. “Could have been his ticker; has seemed a trifle weak, of late. What think you, Lyttleton?”
Mr. Littleton was now feeling around Mr. Nordstrom’s neck in search of a pulse. Shaking his head, he rose. “Not so much as a flutter.” He thought a moment. “I say, Ardeth, did not you and Nordstrom change places at dinner tonight? I recall him complaining of a draft where he sat, his back to the window. You offered to switch places with him. I thought it quite kind of you at the time, although a trifle . . . uncharacteristic, nonetheless . . .”
“So, what if I did change places with the old fart? Nordstrom continually complains of being cold. I have seen him stand with his back to the flames and complain that his knees feel chilly.”
“Yes, well; I daresay this does put a different complexion on things,” concluded Mr. Lyttleton, now gazing somewhat suspiciously at Ardeth.
“What are you getting at?” she demanded. “Do you think I killed him? That, I purposely doused the seat of my chair with some sort of deadly substance and when he sat down, it seeped into his rump and minutes later, the old fool dropped dead? Is that what you think?”
Grinning from ear to ear, Mr. Egerton exclaimed, “Yet, another excellent plot device! I was certain I would stumble upon a wealth of ideas for a new play here, and by jove, I have! Ardeth, you’re a gem!”
Listening to the unorthodox exchange amongst the actors, it suddenly occurred to me that old Mr. Nordstrom might have, indeed, ingested, as Ardeth suggested, some sort of deadly substance and it . . . instantly killed him. But, since Ardeth switched places with Mr. Nordstrom at the dinner table, was the deadly substance instead meant for her? Not that it had been placed onto the chair, but into her food. In other words, some sort of poison had killed Mr. Nordstrom. Poison meant for Ardeth.
I rose, the action causing everyone to look my direction.
“So, do you now have something to say, Miss Abbott?” Lord Montford wanted to know. “Have you tired of listening to the rest of us speculate upon the cause of Mr. Nordstrom’s death, and you are now ready to make a clean breast of things, namely, to confess to the dastardly crime of murdering yet another of our good friends?”
“No, sir. I am most certainly not ready to confess to a crime I did not commit,” I relied tartly.
“Well, what about your maid? Thus far, she has said nothing. Are you guilty as charged, young lady?” he inquired, looking about for Tilda.
I cast a gaze about for her, as well, as she was not seated where she had formerly sat. My heart lurched to my throat. “Where is . . .?”
“She is just there, Miss Abbott,” Helen said calmly as she pointed across the room.
My gaze darted that direction and to my surprise, Tilda appeared to have also nodded off. That is, I hoped she was sleeping and not . . . I rushed to where my little maid lay curled up asleep on a sofa against the far wall. Two or three of the others followed me.
“Tilda?” I reached to touch her shoulder and was joyously happy when beneath my touch she stirred, but did not fully awaken.
“Poor dear, she is exhausted,” I said, turning to face the others who had also hurried over.
“Yes, well, I suppose the act of taking another’s life does tend to rob one of one’s strength,” Ardeth muttered, one brow lifted, her lips pressed together.
“On the contrary,” I shot back. “Tilda merely consumed a tad bit too much wine.” I gazed past Ardeth to where Gaston remained standing before the sideboard, then hastened that way.
“Sir, I wonder if you might tell us who served tonight’s dinner? More specifically, who brought in the main entrée? I do not know precisely what was served at dinner tonight as I was not present.”
“More stew,” supplied Carlotta, who had followed me across the room. “Without meat this time.”
“It was a lovely vegetable stew,” said Lady Montford, also coming along, a small smile upon her lips. “Cook outdid herself tonight, given that she had so few ingredients to work with,” she added, not the least bit apologetically.
Standing before Gaston, I continued, “Did you, sir, or did another member of the kitchen staff carry in tonight’s meal?”
Of a sudden Lord Montford exclaimed, “Young lady, I do not recall granting you permission to question a member of my staff. One of our guests, or rather another of our guests, has been found dead and in my estimation, the cloud of suspicion rests squarely on your shoulders, consequently I shall ask the questions!” He addressed the butler. “Who brought up the soup tonight, Gaston?”
Standing stiffly as he gazed straight ahead, both hands clasped behind his back, Gaston replied. “I did, sir.”
Despite Lord Montford’s unfair dressing down, I found I could not hold my tongue. “Was the stew brought up to the drawing room in a single pot, sir, or had it already been dished into separate servings?”
His lordship shot me another glare. “I said I would ask . . .”
“It had already been spooned into separate servings, miss.”
“I see,” said I, “and who amongst the . . .?”
“Miss Abbott! I said I will ask the . . .”
“John, Miss Abbott has a point,” interjected Lady Montford. “Gaston, precisely who amongst the kitchen staff actually placed each dish of stew onto the table before each of our guests?”
“I do not recall, madam, therefore I cannot say with certainty who did what tonight.”
I noted that despite every one of us gazing directly at him, Gaston’s demeanor remained unruffled and he continued to stare straight ahead as if nothing were amiss. Apart from myself and the Montfords, all four of the lady guests and the two remaining gentlemen, Mr. Lyttleton and Mr. Egerton, each now stood before the black-clad man eagerly hanging onto every word he uttered.
I cast a glance at Lady Montford. “Might we request that the entire serving staff be brought up, ma’am?”
“Exactly what are you attempting to get at, Miss Abbott?” demanded Lord Montford, his countenance a scowl of annoyance.
To myself, I rolled my eyes and wondered how any man could be so frightfully dense. “It seems to me, sir,” I began patiently, “that if the dish intended for Lady Westcott had been doused with a deadly substance, one that, if ingested, might bring on a swift demise, that whomever put the poison into the stew, and set the bowl in front of her, might very well be the culprit. It seems imperative, sir, to determine exactly who performed that particular task.”
“She is right, John. You must summon the entire kitchen staff and allow Miss Abbott, or . . . if you prefer, you must question each and every one of them until we get the matter sorted.”
His lordship exhaled an irritable breath. “Gaston, you will . . .”
“As you wish, sir.”
When the butler made a move to exit the room, I hurriedly spoke up. “I daresay it would better serve if you summoned the kitchen staff using the bell pull, sir. To do so in person will only invite questions from the others as to why they are being summoned, which will have the effect of alerting the guilty party that something is amiss.”
“Miss Abbott, I warn you . . .!”
“Oh, do be still, John. Once again Miss Abbott is right. Gaston,” Lady Montford’s index finger indicated the bell pull. “The bell pull.”
When the butler had carried out her ladyship’s wishes, she turned and calmly said, “Shall we all wait by the fire?”
Both gentleman guests had already turned that way and we ladies now did likewise, all shrugging out of our coats and pulling off warm gloves and scarves.
“Shall we question them one-by-one, Miss Abbott?” her ladyship asked as she fell into step beside me.
“I believe that would better serve, ma’am. It is quite possible the guilty party, whether footman, or housemaid, was quite possibly instructed by the killer to administer the poison and the villain also instructed his . . . accomplice as to whom that particular dish should be served. If it were, indeed, meant for Lady Westcott, then, the fact that she changed places with Mr. Nordstrom before the meal commenced would explain why, and how, he inadvertently consumed the tainted dish.”
“So, you still believe this . . . clergyman is the killer?”
We had reached the other side of the spacious room and she had indicated a place for me to sit beside her. I eased onto the plush chair and replied. “I do, indeed, ma’am. We have established that Lady Westcott has ties to each of the previous victims and for reasons known only to the killer, I believe the murderer is now targeting her.”
She digested that, then quietly asked, “Have you . . . uncovered the identity of this unknown clergyman, my dear?”
A few of the ladies seated nearby might have been attempting to hear our private conversation. However, Ardeth was now conversing with the gentlemen, all of whom were standing before the fire, Lord Montford amongst them. Carlotta had again taken up her knitting. Helen and Emma seemed idle, so, I suppose it was possible either of them might be attempting to overhear Lady Montford and myself discussing the matter.
After a pause, I lowered my voice. “I have only observed the young man whilst wearing his disguise, ma’am, if, indeed, the clerical robe is that, but I have not yet spoken with him. However, Tilda has and as it happens, I have conceived a theory as to the young man’s identity. I daresay if my theory proves correct, it shall not come as a surprise to you.”
Lady Montford sat up straighter. “Oh, my. I am quite keen now to hear more of your theory, Miss Abbott. You have, indeed, aroused my curiosity.”
* * *
AFTER THOSE OF THE kitchen staff who’d had a hand in preparing, delivering, and ultimately serving up tonight’s dinner had each appeared before us one-by-one and the frightened creatures all questioned in depth by his lordship (for the most part, me saying very little) none of the servants’ remarks provided anything the least bit peculiar, or of special import.
To myself, however, I made particular note of the fact that although it was determined that the soup dishes had been placed before each guest after he, or she, were seated at the table, no one could recall, or would own up to, having actually set the tainted bowl before Lady Westcott. A fact that, to me, seemed suspect. And, made me wonder if the clergyman had, indeed, managed to enlist a trusted accomplice amongst the kitchen maids, or footmen, and that he or she was now remaining steadfastly loyal to him.
On the other hand, the clergyman could have promised something of value, a sum of money for instance, to his co-conspirator, in exchange for doing his bidding. For now, I had no way of knowing which notion was correct, or how to coax the information from the counterfeit clergyman that did not involve torture. If Mr. Sheridan were present, he would, without a doubt, know how to accomplish the feat. When circumstances called for it, Mr. Sheridan could be quite persuasive, indeed.
However, he was not here and, at the moment, Lord Montford wore an irritable but oddly satisfied expression, and seemed to take pleasure in announcing it was high time to bring this travesty to a close.
“The hour has grown late,” he concluded, a dismissive wave of a hand sending the last of the kitchen staff scurrying from the room.
“Indeed, sir, the hour is late,” I agreed rising to my feet and absently brushing the wrinkles from the skirt of my tea-stained gown, “nonetheless, I still feel it is of supreme importance that you be made aware of the presence of a killer who, at this moment, is taking refuge within your home.”
“A supposed killer, Miss Abbott,” that gentleman retorted angrily, though he also rose, which prompted his lady wife to do likewise. “We’ve no concrete evidence yet as to this . . . unknown clergyman’s existence, let alone his participation, or guilt, in any of the murders that have taken place at Montford Hall. You, Miss Abbott, are still squarely in my sights.”
Sucking in my own frustrated breath, I realized that in the past half hour my head had begun to pound with pain. If you recall, dear reader, I had had precious little sleep the night before and had spent a goodly portion of the day searching for Tilda on the cold side of the house, and another portion of it crouched within a cramped cupboard in a chilly chamber on the far side of said house. And, through it all, I’d had very little to eat. A part of me now longed to do nothing more beyond crawl into a warm bed and allow sleep to overtake me. But, I was determined to see the matter through and would not cease fighting to accomplish my goal.
“Sir, I can assure you there is, indeed, a fugitive even now taking refuge within your home. Furthermore, we have no assurance that the man does not intend to kill again. I, for one, am convinced that he has set his sights on . . .” I cast a glance Ardeth’s way, “Lady Westcott. I am further convinced that whatever substance brought on the death of Mr. Nordstrom was instead meant for her, and in whatever fashion the deed was accomplished, it is patently clear that the means intended to bring on Lady Westcott’s death unfortunately went askew.”
“Unfortunately!” cried the injured lady. “Are you saying that if I had fallen dead from the poison in my soup, that my death would be fortunate?”
I sucked in another long-suffering breath. “No, madam.” For an instant, my eyes squeezed shut. “It was not my intention to imply any such thing . . . however, sir, I beg you to please indulge me a few moments longer. I am prepared to stake my own life on the fact that it is only a matter of time before the madman strikes again. Of course, I cannot say with certainty who his next victim will be. But, I do believe that at this very moment the killer is planning his next move.”
I realized I might be stretching the truth a bit for at this precise moment, I knew for a fact that the killer sat bound and stuffed into a locked closet and unless he was also a sorcerer, it was not likely he could escape. But, I did not wish to take the chance that he might also succumb to death where he sat now; Tilda, after all, had struck him quite hard, twice. The killer’s demise would, of course, constitute another deadly crime, which most assuredly would be laid at my feet. At the very least, the clergyman was injured and the damage to his limbs, and perhaps, also his head, should be seen to, although, for safety’s sake, I firmly believe the man should be restrained even as his various wounds healed.
All I truly wished at the moment was for this nasty business to be over and done with and, to that end, was willing to gather what little strength remained in my own weary body to see the matter through to an end. Thus far tonight, nothing had been settled. I, and perhaps, also Tilda were still under suspicion and I did not relish feeling as wretched as I did now for the entire night and on into tomorrow. Not when I was certain matters could be settled within the hour. If only his lordship would agree.
“Please, sir. Might you consent to accompany me to the location where I left your stolen pistol, sir, and . . .” I reluctantly added, “where the killer is also hiding.”
“Ah, so now you claim to know precisely where the killer is hiding, do you, Miss Abbott? If you have known all along where the madman is, why have you not said so?” he demanded, his anger again rising.
However, a moment later, his lordship exhaled an exasperated breath. “Very well, if you insist. I will accompany you, and your maid, to the killer’s hideout. Although, be forewarned, young lady, I am carrying a pistol and if you, or your maid, or the killer, attempt to ambush me, or any one of the rest of us, I can tell you now who the next victim will be! And, it will not be one of us.”
