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LATE, VERY LATE, INTO the night, I was awakened by a rap upon the sitting room door. Expecting Tilda to rise from the small cot that had been brought in especially for her and answer the summons, I lay there in the stillness for a long moment, waiting. When I realized that Tilda must be so soundly asleep that she did not hear the rap, I instead padded barefoot to the door, and opened it the slightest crack in order to peek out.
“Miss Abbott? Might I come in, please?”
“Milly? Is that you?” I opened the door a trifle wider. “Has some sort of trouble arisen?”
Since our fruitless trip to the vicar’s hideout earlier that evening, I had wondered over and over again where the madman could have got off to, and who might have assisted him to escape. I had eventually settled on the notion that he was either now taking refuge in the barn, or perhaps he was below stairs, hiding somewhere within the servants’ quarters, having been assisted by an, as yet, unknown accomplice. I firmly believed that he had, indeed, managed to procure a helper from amongst the Montford’s lower orders; otherwise there was simply no way he could have got out of the tightly knotted cords that Tilda and I tied ‘round his neck, wrists and ankles. Or, got the door to the locked wardrobe open. The man had to have had help. Who had assisted him was yet one more mystery to unravel.
“Come in, Milly,” I said now, “but we must speak quietly. Tilda is fast asleep and I do not wish to disturb her.”
Because the fire in the small, close room gave off sufficient light that one could see well enough to get about, I led my late night caller to the chaise where I had bedded down. We both perched upon the edge of it.
Turning to gaze full at the girl, I could see that her eyes were wide, not with fright, but with apprehension. “What is it, Milly? Has something untoward happened?”
“N-not exactly, miss. But there is somethin’ you might not know and I thought I’d best tell you. Earlier this evenin’ after you and his nibs questioned ever’ one of us servants in the drawin’ room, then later, after Gaston and the footmen, who’s both named James, carted off Mr. Nordstrom’s body . . . oh,” she veered off-track to tell me, “I wonder if you’s heard that Mr. Nordstrom ain’t dead?”
“What?” I leaned in. “What are you saying? He is not dead?”
Milly shook her head. “Appears the old man dinna’ turn up his toes, after all. When James one and James two come back from the ‘dead room’ they was all atwitter to tell us that once they got old Mr. Nordstrom laid out beside the other two dead ones, of a sudden he lurched up and shouted, ‘What bloody fool opened the damn window? It’s too damn cold in here to sleep!’” Milly’s fingertips flew to her mouth to stifle a giggle.
I was hard pressed not to laugh aloud myself.
“I ain’t bammin’ you, miss? Both Jameses swore to it.”
“But . . . what could have transpired to make it seem Mr. Nordstrom had . . . ceased to breathe?”
She turned palms up. “Couldn’t say, miss. Both Jameses said that after he begun to talk, he just slid off the table, brushed himself off and told the footmen to lead the way to his own bedchamber. And, that’s where he is now.” She paused. “Lessen’ he’s gone off again.”
I stifled another grin, my head shaking. “Well. I-I have never before heard the like, but that is good news, indeed. Thank you for coming to tell me, Milly. I am certain the other guests will be vastly relieved to hear that Mr. Nordstrom is all right.”
“Oh, he ain’t all right, miss. He’s sick as a dog, been castin’ up his accounts and complainin’ of terrible stomach pains. At any rate, that ain’t what I come to tell you, miss, I . . .”
“Is it thought he ingested a vile substance that merely caused him to fall ill, but did not kill him?”
Milly nodded. “Cook is in the boughs over her stew being ruined with somethin’ what was likely spoilt, but . . . it cain’t be undone now.”
“Quite true.” After a pause, I asked, “What else did you want to tell me, Milly?” I’d very nearly forgot she had something more to say.
The girl sucked in a breath. “Well, what I really come to tell you, miss, is that you and his nibs dinna’ question ever’one tonight. ‘Course, I guess it don’t make no difference now, being that Mr. Nordstrom ain’t dead, but . . . I wager I know exactly who put that powder in the soup.”
Once again I eagerly leaned forward to listen.
“If you recall, miss, I tol’ you the day you and yer’ maid got here that her ladyship put on a few extra maids ‘specially for the house party. Well, one o’ the new girls has been a-tellin’ the rest of us a goodly number of high-water tales about how she was acquainted with the footman of that famous actress, Miss Ardeth Myers. He’s been a-stayin’ in the barn . . . that is, he was stayin’ there, afore Miss Myers said he should come stay in the house to be closer to her if’n she needs him.”
“Excuse, me,” I interrupted. “I was unaware that Lady Westcott had brought along a private footman.”
Milly shrugged. “He’s been here at Montford Hall all along, miss. If’n ye’ ask me, I believe he’s the one what stole the food from the larder. Nice-lookin fellow, only now, he’s a-hobblin’ around on a makeshift crutch. Fell onto a rock ‘neath the snow, which he told Bessie is how he lost his shoes and hurt his foot, at any rate, he ain’t walking too good.”
This bit of unexpected news brought me wide-awake. “Have you spoken with this young man, yourself, Milly?” I eagerly leaned in again to hear her reply. It was quite obvious she was speaking of the counterfeit clergyman, although it was unclear precisely where he was now.
“I seen him once or twice, miss. But, what I come to say, is that Cook took a likin’ to the new housemaid . . . the one named Bessie, and last night Cook said she could serve up the soup, but afore she done it, she had to do her regular duty, take the bread out to the stable hands in the barn. Anyhow, when Bessie come back, she was all smiles. Said, that since Miss Myers’ footman was a-havin’ trouble getting’ around that he promised to pay her extra to do somethin’ special for him.”
My breath grew quite short now. “What did he ask her to do?”
“Well, it seems Miss Myers takes medicine ever’ night and her footman was ‘spose to see she don’t forgit to take it, so’s he tol’ Bessie that since he got hisself hurt, he wanted her to sprinkle the powder in Miss Myers’ soup but to not let her see what she was a doin’. So . . . there it is, plain as a pikestaff, it was Bessie what dropped a extra ingredient in the stew and it almost done in Mr. Nordstrom.”
“I see.” Part of me wanted to spring to my feet and hurry below stairs to question the new housemaid Bessie about the part she played in this taradiddle, and of course, to question her further about her new friend, Lady Westcott’s footman. But, of course, as it truly was now the dead of night, I could scarcely do either of the things I longed to do. Now.
However, once Tilda awakened in the morning, and assuming his lordship did not issue an order forbidding either her or myself from leaving this room, I would, nonetheless, openly defy his order and send Tilda down to the servants’ quarters to bring Bessie back up here to speak with me. I had to know if it was she who had helped Ardeth Myers’ supposed footman escape from the locked wardrobe.
I also wanted to know what, if anything, Ardeth knew about any of the above. Thus far, however, I could not figure out how to approach her without causing another disagreeable confrontation. The expression on Ardeth’s face last evening seemed to tell one tale, but as I had learned tonight, not everything is always as it seems.
* * *
POOR TILDA WAS OBVIOUSLY quite exhausted for the following morning she slept a good deal later than I did. Since so many unanswered questions were swirling though my mind the very second I came awake that day, I found I could not sleep a wink longer. After rising and managing to properly dress myself without help, I was very nearly pacing the floor as I anxiously waited for Tilda to awaken.
My anxiety over what might lay ahead for us today grew by leaps and bounds the minute I gazed from the window in the room and was greeted with a sight that none of us had seen in nearly a sen’night, that of a clear blue sky and bright sunshine causing pink and blue and green sparkle berries to wink up at me from the snowy white landscape below. The blue sky and the cheerful sun shining down upon the snow was a glorious sight indeed, but it only reinforced within me the need to proceed with haste to conclude my investigation into who had committed the murders at Montford Hall. Once the snow melted to such a degree that one could safely travel without fear of one’s carriage overturning or becoming stuck in a muddy snow mire, I expected an exodus from Montford Hall would be in the offing, meaning that both Ardeth and her footman, if indeed, he were that, would be departing from here as quickly as possible, if not sooner.
I eagerly turned back to my sleeping maid and the very moment I heard a slight whimper that, to me, indicated she might be stirring, I hurried from the window where I had been anxiously gazing out.
“Tilda! You must make haste to dress at once. I need you to . . .”
Opening her eyes, she sat up and stretched lazily. “Mornin’, miss. Did you sleep wel . . .?”
“Tilda, I need you to go below stairs right away and request that Bessie come back up here with you to . . . that is . . . to assist us with . . .”
“Do you not mean Milly, miss? Milly’s the maid what . . .”
“No!” I leaned over her cot. “I mean Bessie, one of the new maids put on especially for the house party. I must speak with the girl at once!”
“Very well, miss. But, might I first use the . . .?” A glance indicated the privacy screen that now stood in a corner of the room.
“Yes, yes, of course, but hurry! The sun is shining today.”
“You mean it ain’t snowin’ no more? When can we leave, miss?”
Even as Tilda was dressing, I explained to her my need for haste. “I must unravel the mystery today, Tilda! Tomorrow might be too late. Ardeth and her . . . her footman, whom you and I know very well is none other than the killer clergyman . . . may, very well, be gone!”
“Oh, so in truth, the clergyman is Lady Westcott’s footman?”
“I rather doubt it. I only just learned during the night that that is the story he is forwarding amongst the housemaids.”
Tilda was busy tying her apron about her middle. “You spoke with someone during the night, miss?”
I pushed down a rush of impatience. “Just go, Tilda. Ask for Bessie, no,” I amended, “it would better serve to first ask for Milly. Tell her I wish the pair of them, herself and Bessie, to bring up our breakfast tray, and then to help us gather our things in preparation to depart.”
Tilda already had a hand on the door latch. “I’m to have Milly and Bessie bring up a tray and stay here with us a bit longer.”
“Yes!” I nodded. “And hurry! But, do not divulge to anyone what I just told you regarding the clergyman.”
“No, miss.” Tilda grinned. “I shan’t say a word. I shall do exactly as you ask and return in a pig’s whisker with Milly and Bessie!”
I shook my head. I often wondered where Tilda acquired some of her colourful phrases, but rarely paused to question where they came from.
A few moments later, I heard a rap on the interior door leading to Lady Montford’s bedchamber. Without waiting for me to answer the summons, she stuck in her head. “I thought I heard voices,” she announced as she came on inside. Noticing that Tilda’s bed was empty, she asked, “Has your maid already got off to . . .?”
“Do come in, Lady Montford.” I moved to straighten the covers on Tilda’s narrow cot. “I sent her below stairs to fetch a pair of housemaids.”
Lady Montford’s brow furrowed. “Is there something with which you require assistance, dear?”
Straightening, I said, “No, ma’am. Tilda and I slept very well, thank you. We both appreciate you allowing us to pass the night here. But, I wonder if you have yet heard the news about Mr. Nordstrom?”
Her gaze turned quizzical. “Did something else untoward happen since last evening when he . . .?” her sentence trailed off as we both slipped onto a pair of chairs positioned before the low-burning fire.
“Quite miraculously, Mr. Nordstrom was revived last night. He is back in his bedchamber even now recovering from his . . . illness.”
Her eyes widened. “What are you saying, my dear? That Mr. Nordstrom is not . . .? Why, how very extraordinary!”
“One of the maids delivered the news to me . . . during the night. The girl also relayed a good deal more that I found of particular interest. I sent Tilda down to bring up another of the housemaids so that I might question both girls further. Perhaps you might wish to remain here with me now and hear for yourself exactly what the young ladies have to say. I believe they will also be bringing up a pot of tea, that is, if Tilda and I are allowed to . . . partake of breakfast.”
“Well, of course, you are. I shall stay and have a cup with you.”
I smiled. I thought this was a perfect opportunity for her ladyship to hear firsthand exactly what had transpired at dinner last evening and also what might still be afoot. Far better for her to report my findings to her husband than for me to attempt to relay the information to him, and have him dispute, or ridicule, every word I said.
As we waited for the girls to appear, I noted that Lady Montford’s countenance grew curiouser and curiouser. I was relieved when we both heard the chatter of feminine voices coming from the corridor. Seconds later the three maids entered the room; Tilda accompanied by Milly and another young girl, who Milly told me, and her ladyship, was named Bessie. Milly set down the tea tray she carried upon which sat a pretty porcelain teapot and two teacups. On her heels, Bessie carried another tray containing a platter of toast points and a surprising, but small, pot of jam.
“Tilda,” I said, “would you run down and bring us up another cup, please. Lady Montford has agreed to join us.”
Her ladyship spoke up. “That will not be necessary, dear. I’ve a fresh cup in my bedchamber.” She motioned Tilda that way, then turned again to me, her eyes bright with curiosity, her gaze expectant.
The maids, who both appeared a trifle anxious, stepped back to wait a moment whilst I poured tea into all three cups. I then took several sips from mine and drug out the suspense a mite longer by smearing a dollop of jam onto a piece of toast and taking a bite, then I reached for the napkin to dab at my lips before addressing the maids. Tilda, now seated upon the chaise, and Lady Montford, next to me, continued to patiently sip their tea whilst I spoke.
“Bessie,” I began, “Milly tells me you have become acquainted with Lady Westcott’s footman, the one who now has an injured limb, is that not correct?”
Even as I introduced the topic to be examined, I heard Lady Montford suck in a breath, then exclaim, “Why, I was unaware Ardeth had brought along a footman.”
I turned to her. “According to Milly and Bessie, he is now staying in the barn, is that not the case?” I asked the girls.
Bessie, a sturdy girl who appeared to be about five and ten years of age, and quite possibly hailed from farm stock, had limp brown hair and wide brown eyes. She nodded vigorously. “Cook sends me out to the barn of a evenin’ with the bread for the men what’s a-stayin’ there, ma’am. I made the footman’s acquaintance the other night,” she concluded importantly.
“I see,” Lady Montford replied, her tone still laced with curiosity.
I cast a glance her way, then proceeded to address Bessie. “Had the young man been injured on the first occasion you spoke with him, Bessie, the night you made his acquaintance?”
“Oh, no, miss. He only jes’ hurt his leg. He weren’t always a-sleepin’ in the barn neither. He said her ladyship, I mean, Lady Westcott, found quarters for him inside the house,” she glanced at Lady Montford, “i-in one of the unoccupied suites, ma’am, and . . . uh . . .” she faltered.
“Please, do go on, Bessie,” I urged. “Lady Montford and I would like you to tell us everything you remember about your association with the . . . with Lady Westcott’s footman. Did you ever venture up to his suite within the house?”
“Ummm . . .” Bessie looked down, then back up, then at Mille. “Well, uh . . . yes, ma’am. I did see him there, once, or . . . perhaps, twice.”
“You’ve nothing to fear, Bessie, you are not in trouble. Her ladyship and I simply wish to gather the true facts of the matter. Do you know exactly how the young man injured his limb? Did you, perhaps, find him in a . . . peculiar situation when you visited him . . . say, yesterday?”
Bessie again cast wary glances about. “Well, uh, after I found he weren’t in the barn last evenin’, I went a-lookin’ for him. I knowed where he was a-stayin’ in the house cuz . . . like I said, I been there before, anyhow, when I didn’t hear no answer a-comin’ from his suite, I jes’ walked on into the room. That’s when, I heard . . . odd noises.”
“What did you hear?” I asked, once again trying not to appear too anxious, or as if the girl’s actions were being called into question.
“A thumpin’ noise, miss, a-comin’ from the wardrobe. When I hurried over to it, I found the doors was locked, but the key was right there sticking outta’ the lock, so I unlocked the door, and . . . there he was!” The girl actually grinned. I noticed then that one of her front teeth was missing, which gave her a rather queer look.
“What did you do at that juncture, Bessie?”
“Well, he said he and a mate was a’horsin’ ‘round, and the other fellow tied him up and locked him in the closet. Jes’ for a lark, he said. So’s, I ripped that black hood off ‘is head and untied all the ropes and whatnot. He was tied up hand and foot! After that, he tumbled out onto the floor.” She shrugged. “Whoever tied him up, did it right good, make no mistake. Took me a good long while to set ‘im free.”
I cast a glance at Tilda, who was listening raptly to the girl’s story. At that remark, she sat up straighter and flung a gaze at Lady Montford.
“And, then, what did you do?” her ladyship, who appeared now to be quite caught up in the tale, asked.
“Well, ma’am, once I got the cords off his wrists and ankles; I saw he weren’t wearin’ no shoes, so I asked him where they’d got off to. He said his mate took ‘em after they tussled. Said that whilst they was fightin’, he fell and hit his knee which is why he cain’t put no weight on his foot.”
“What did you do then?” I asked. “Did you help him to the barn?”
Bessie nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I sure did. That took a good bit a-doin’, to be sure; him a-limpin’ along with no shoes and a-hangin’ onto me like he done.”
“What happened when you reached the barn?” I prompted. “Did he ask you to perform some small task for him last evening?”
Shifting from one foot to the other, Bessie looked down, then back up. “I knows what yer’ askin’ about now, miss. But, he tol’ me he had to get Lady Westcott’s medicine to her ’cuz she had to take it ever’ night without fail, so that’s why I took the powder he give me and then later, in the drawin’ room, before I set Lady Westcott’s dish of stew down in front of her, I scattered the powder into it, jes’ like her footman tol’ me to do.”
Beside me, Lady Montford gasped. Her jaw dropped as she turned a horrified look on me. “Oh . . . oh, dear, me!”
Poor flustered Bessie exclaimed, “The footman, he tol’ me to do it, ma’am. I dinna’ know another one of yer’ guests was a-goin’ to eat it or that it’d make him sick. I’m real sorry, ma’am. I jes’ did what the footman tol’ me to do.” After a pause, she asked, “Are you gonna’ sack me now?”
With a sniff, Lady Montford thrust up her chin. “Not at this juncture, young lady. But, I do have a few more questions for you. Did the footman promise you something in exchange for . . . doing this favor for him? Did he promise to give you a few cents, perhaps?”
“No, mum. But . . .” She lowered her head and appeared to grow a trifle unsure how best to go on. “Well, he did promise to take me back up to Lunnon with him and show me around, said he’d take me to a show at Covent Gardens. I knows his employer Lady Westcott is a actress, ma’am. I wants to go on the stage me’self, ye’ know. I kin’ sing right good, I can. And, well, I-I thot’ this might be a fine way to get m’ foot in the door. I hear ye’ needs a proper introduction to go on the stage, ain’t that right?”
“Indeed.” Lady Montford’s lips pressed together. Turning to me, she said, “I believe I have heard quite enough, Miss Abbott. Do you have any further questions for either of the girls?”
Nodding, I replied, “Yes. I do have one.” I directed another look at Bessie. “Where is the . . . where is Lady Westcott’s footman now, Bessie?”
“Oh, he be a-sleepin’ on a pile o’ hay in the barn, miss. I tuk him out a bite of breakfast a bit ago. Without no shoes, he ain’t likely to go traipsin’ about in the snow.” She flashed another of her toothless grins. “His feet liked to froze off last night when I helped him get to the barn.” She paused, then said, “I-I got a question for you, miss.”
“What would you like to know, Bessie?” I asked.
“Well, miss, I wondered where the footman’s mate is, the one what made off with his shoes? Footman said he hit his mate real hard a’fore he hurt his knee. I jes’ wondered what kinda’ shape the other bloke is in?”
I looked past Bessie to where Tilda sat upon the edge of the chaise. “Would you care to supply the answer to that question, Tilda?”
Tilda looked surprised that I had addressed her. “Er, uh, no, miss. But, I was wonderin’ if Bessie could tell us the footman’s rightful name?”
Before Bessie could reply, Lady Montford rose. “You girls may both return below stairs now.” She turned to me. “You once said you had a theory as to the identity of the clergyman, Miss Abbott. Could I persuade you to divulge your thoughts to me now, please?”
I waited until the pair of maids had scurried from the room. “After giving the matter considerable thought, ma’am, it is my belief that the man parading as both a footman and the clergyman is Lady Westcott’s stepson, Charles. I believe he is responsible for committing both of the murders at Montford Hall, that of her maid, and also Mr. Torbitt. I further believe he resented the fact that Ardeth was squandering his inheritance on herself and others, and that last evening he attempted to kill his stepmother by asking Bessie to put poison in her soup.”
Her head shaking, Lady Montford said, “O-oh, my. If you will excuse me, Miss Abbott. I believe I shall pay a call upon my husband, I daresay he will likely wish to speak with you, and . . . perhaps, also with you, Miss Tilda.”
With that, she exited the chamber, leaving Tilda and me alone once more.