Chapter
Twenty

Fanny had had barely a second to think all day, although when she had, she’d found herself thinking of Will Harvey.

They’d never talked as much as they had that morning. And she found that if she had liked him before, she liked him even more now.

Not to mention what she’d heard from Daniel and the others when they’d returned with the hampers following the barn luncheon. Apparently, after Will’s talk with her, he’d followed the family and their guests on their hunt, hanging back so as not to be seen, but then jumping in just in time to push Lady Katherine out of the way of danger.

Kind, he was, and brave, too.

Fanny had to admit she wouldn’t mind so very much if Will Harvey were to push her out of the path of danger.

Fanny couldn’t imagine Lady Katherine would even bother to feel appropriately grateful or show gratitude to him for it.

Not that Fanny would want her to anyway, at least not too much a show of gratitude.

It was the time of day—late at night, really—when it was Fanny’s duty to help Mrs. Owen set the kitchen to rights. Agnes and Becky were upstairs, helping the daughters of the house get ready for bed. Daniel and Jonathan were in the servants’ hall, playing one last game of cards before going up to the attic. Mr. Wright and Mrs. Murphy, the head housekeeper, were enjoying their nightly small glass of sherry in the butler’s pantry.

“It isn’t right,” Fanny said, moving leftover food from larger serving dishes to smaller ones before storing them in the refrigerator. That refrigerator was such a wonderful invention. Mrs. Owen always said that back before Fanny had started working there, before the house had gotten one of the first ones of its kind for commercial use, they’d mostly had to throw out a lot of things. So wasteful. At least now things would last for a bit. Of course, Upstairs could never be allowed to have a leftover pass their lips, but she and the others down here might enjoy it for their lunches tomorrow.

“What’s not right, Fanny?” Mrs. Owen said, adding in exasperation, “And watch what you’re doing with those plates! I’d like some of that salmon for my lunch tomorrow, but I won’t like it half so much if you drop it on the floor first.”

“What Daniel and Jonathan said, when they were bringing in the dinner things after service.” Fanny answered the question while ignoring Mrs. Owen’s exasperation. She was well used to Mrs. Owen admonishing her. It didn’t mean anything. “About them burying that valet in a back garden.”

“It’s none of our concern, Fanny. Our concern—”

“Mrs. Owen is right, Fanny!” a voice boomed.

Fanny looked up from her work to see Mr. Wright standing there, a small tray with two empty glasses with just dregs of sherry coloring their bottoms in his hand.

“How dare you question the judgment of His Lordship!” Mr. Wright continued when she initially failed to respond.

“I only meant—”

“I know what you meant, Fanny, but it is simply not your place to say it.”

“But they just killed him and—”

“And he was trying to attack Lady Katherine! I shudder to think what would have happened if Lady Elizabeth hadn’t acted so quickly.”

Fanny could well imagine him shuddering. They all knew how Mr. Wright felt about Lady Katherine, the first daughter of the house. Why, sometimes, you’d think he thought she was his daughter!

“They could have questioned him first before shooting,” Fanny tried again.

“I doubt there was time.”

“And to bury him in the garden…”

“Enough! I’m sure His Lordship was being facetious about that part. You know how humorous His Lordship can be.”

She did not. Nor did she think he was being so in this case.

“But if it is true—” she started.

“Enough!” Mr. Wright said again, more forcefully this time as he held up his hand firmly to stop her going on, and even she could see there was no point in it. “And if you say one word about the Titanic—”

“I won’t, sir.”

“That’s settled, then, and we shall speak no more about it.” He put down the tray with its glasses on it, adding it to the pile of things yet to be cleaned. “The footmen have gone up to bed and Mrs. Murphy has gone to her room and now I shall retire, too. Fanny. Mrs. Owen.” With a curt nod, he took his leave.

“What are we doing about breakfast in the morning?” Fanny asked Mrs. Owen, hoping to make peace with at least one person and seeing as how she knew food was Mrs. Owen’s favorite topic.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Owen said with a hearty laugh. “I suspect we’ll be eating it, I suppose! Isn’t that what you do with breakfast?”

“I meant for them,” Fanny said, gesturing with her chin toward the ceiling and the people who lived their lives above it.

“Oh, Fanny.” Mrs. Owen sighed. “I can’t even think about that right now, I’m that tired. Let tomorrow take care of tomorrow; we’ll come up with something. No doubt Her Ladyship will go over it first thing with Mrs. Murphy and then we’ll be notified last minute on what they’ve decided.”

Fanny could see that Mrs. Owen was tired, dead on her feet really. Well, Mrs. Owen wasn’t getting any younger.

“Why don’t you go on up?” Fanny suggested. “I can finish down here by myself.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Owen looked about with warring expressions on her face: eagerness to rest but reluctance to leave Fanny with so much mess.

“I’m sure. Sometimes I think I’m better when I’m on my own. It helps me to think.”

“I know I yell at you a lot, and you mostly deserve it,” Mrs. Owen said, laying a hand briefly on Fanny’s arm before passing her by, “but you’re a good girl, Fanny, and no one truthful could ever say any different.”

And then Fanny was alone.

She scrubbed and scoured stubborn stains off all the pots and pans.

As she performed these duties, she thought some more about the things Daniel had said while bringing in the serving plates from dinner.

Daniel had said that when they talked about having the valet buried in the garden, they’d mostly all just laughed about it. So maybe Mr. Wright had been judging it accurately, and that part was merely a joke?

Not that it seemed much of a joke to Fanny. None of it did.

But Daniel had also said that not all of them had laughed. Lady Grace hadn’t. Nor had Mr. Young or the duke or even that new cousin of theirs, Benedict Clarke. Fanny had only seen the cousin briefly the day before on his arrival and had caught a few glimpses of him since. He was handsome. And if he hadn’t laughed then maybe he was even nice, too. Or, at least, nice for one of them.

The scrubbing and scouring done, Fanny cleaned off all the countertops until you could eat off them. Then she got out the broom and swept, followed by wet-mopping the whole place until it was so spotless, you could eat off the flagstone floor, too.

Fanny was just about to finally go up herself—perhaps she could stay awake long enough to look at those medical books she’d secreted in her attic room earlier in the day?—when she felt warm, furry bodies, doing a dance between and around her ankles.

She looked down to find Henry Clay there, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern, too. The latter two didn’t typically go to the kitchen if they could help it—they preferred the posher parts of Porthampton Abbey even though there was all that food downstairs—but even they knew where to go if it was late at night and the rest of the house was asleep.

“You need to go out one more time?” she asked aloud as though they might answer her. “All right.” She opened the back door for the trio, who initially, suddenly, seemed reluctant to step outside. “Well, go on, then!” she urged. “But be quick about doing your business. Some of us still have to get up and work here in the morning.”

They scampered.

As they did so, Fanny herself stepped outside for a breath of fresh air and a look up at the stars. There were so many, and they were so pretty, but it was also so cold and, shivering against it, Fanny rubbed her palms up and down the length of her upper arms for warmth.

There came a sound some distance away, and Fanny looked toward it, catching a glimpse of a figure moving. Was that a long cloak flapping in the wind? Who was that? Who would be out there this time of night?

Fanny’s spine stiffened, and she was filled with a sense of alarm. Was this some sort of threat? Something to do with what had happened to Will’s uncle? Was this like the duke’s valet, Parker, who’d tried to attack Lady Katherine and Lady Elizabeth? She remembered what Will had said after the death of his uncle: that there might be more. And he’d been right. There’d been the valet, just that day. And where there was one, and then two, wouldn’t it be logical to conclude that there would, most definitely, be more? Was it that more, coming for her right now? Were the cats in danger? She squinted into the darkness, searching for those furry little bodies, hoping to hurry them inside to safety. If need be, she’d risk herself to save them.

But then Fanny realized that whoever the figure was, it was moving away from the abbey, not toward it. She let out a long breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in. That was all right, then. Whatever was out there, so long as it went in the other direction—let it just go away.

Now the cats were all circling her ankles again, only this time wanting in. She stepped aside to give them access to the house and, as she did so, she saw an envelope lying on the ground a few feet away from the doorway. Perhaps the cats had scattered it when they first scampered out?

She picked it up, turned it over.

It had His Lordship’s name on the front of it.

When had it come? And who had brought it? Fanny shrugged, bringing it inside. Perhaps Ralph, the chauffeur, had come with it during dinner service. Sometimes it got so loud in the kitchen, what with all of them scurrying around to make sure that everything was perfect for Upstairs, you couldn’t even hear your own thoughts, never mind a knock on the back door. Perhaps Ralph had come and, not wanting to wait, had left it there.

Fanny took the letter to Mr. Wright’s pantry and set it down on his table with another shrug. Let Mr. Wright take care of it in the morning, she thought. He’d know what to do.