On the way back to her office Margery poked her head through Celia’s door, ostensibly to see if she was all right and thank her for her kind words earlier that day. Celia looked up from the papers on her desk and smiled.
“Think nothing of it, Mrs. M. You stepped in when I wasn’t able to. That’s what makes things work around here. We’re supposed to be a team, don’t you agree?” She paused, looking at the woman in the doorway. Margery looked as if she was trying to say something. Celia was the very picture of wide-eyed innocence.
“Um, did you find what you were looking for when you went upstairs, the boxes with the old registers, I mean?”
“As a matter of fact I did. They were right where you said they’d be. No need to take them down now that I know where they are. They won’t be going anywhere, will they?”
“Everything’s all right up there then?” The woman was the very picture of sly innocence.
“Why on earth wouldn’t it be? You oversee the storing of things, and the attic was as well ordered as you keep your desk. I was very impressed.”
“Nothing out of order?”
Celia balled her hands into fists under the desk to keep from laughing out loud. If the implications and ramifications of all of this subterfuge weren’t so dire, this would be like something out of Gilbert and Sullivan, only she knew it wasn’t.
“Nothing that I could see, but then what do I know? Aren’t you the one that oversees the record keeping and the storage of same? I’m new here, Mrs. Mosely. You’re the one with the history.”
Margery looked like she had a hot potato in her mouth and wanted to spit it out, but instead she lifted her chin and said, “Very well, then I’ll be off now.”
When she left Celia turned back to her own work and noticed a small plate with three iced biscuits on it, which someone had left on her desk while she was out of the office. She automatically reached for one and was about to bite into it when she remembered Olympia’s warning about eating anything she hadn’t prepared herself. Then she thought about everyone drinking their tea out of the same pot earlier in the day. Had that been a mistake? Too late now; she had no option but to wait and see. It had been several hours since she’d had the tea and, fingers crossed, so far, so good. Celia took one of the biscuits, wrapped it in a paper napkin and slipped it into a side pouch on her purse.
She leaned forward, propped her elbows on edge of the desk and dropped her head into her hands. Maybe, when all of this was settled, she would look for another job. She’d been hired to turn The Moorlands around and make it a viable operation, but it would seem that someone was trying to do the exact opposite and make sure it failed. Why would anyone want to do that, or to be more accurate, why is she doing that?
Celia lifted her head, took a deep breath and smiled as a possible answer occurred to her: because someone might have a lot to gain if it fails, like a lot of hidden money. Her racing thoughts were interrupted by the repeated clang of the dinner bell and the memory of Olympia’s warning. Don’t eat anything here. It was time to find her husband and tell him she was going home a little early. No, she wasn’t feeling poorly, in fact just the opposite. It had been a long day, and she was hungry. She didn’t tell her husband the real reason she was going home early. Celia was planning to call the members of the board and request an emergency meeting as soon as possible.
With things inside The Moorlands apparently back to normal, Frederick went back to the pub on a mission of his own. He’d timed his arrival to be when business would be light, and he could chat with the barman and not interfere with the man’s work. It had been a productive afternoon. Frederick had learned a lot about the history of the village and even more about the history of Margery Mosely. Now it was already dark and time to go back to The Moorlands and tell the Attisons and Olympia what he’d learned.
The way was familiar to him now, and he was striding along as though he lived there when he saw a man stagger and fall on the road ahead of him. Without a second thought Frederick rushed to help and discovered it was Steven Warner sprawled at his feet. One look and one whiff told him the man was drunk as a most unprepossessing and disheveled lord.
Frederick leaned over, got his two hands under the man’s armpits and dragged him off to the side of the road out of harm’s way. Now what to do? The man was a sight, a sight no one should see and one poor Warner would likely prefer not to remember. On the other hand, considering the condition of the man at his feet, he was not likely to remember anything. Warner was curled on the ground, snoring wetly against the brick sidewalk.
It was about ten minutes’ walk from The Moorlands, and by the look of him, the man on the ground wasn’t going anywhere. He’d go back and find Robert Mosely and ask him to help. No point in alerting the others and causing the poor bloke even more embarrassment when he sobered up.
As Frederick picked up his walk to an even trot, he wondered where they could keep Warner hidden until he came round. Something else to ask Robert Mosely, he told himself, and I wonder where I might find him at this hour?
Robert, Margery and Thomas, the cat, were all sitting by the fire having their tea when Frederick knocked on the door.
“Door’s open,” called Margery.
Frederick entered and stopped just past the threshold.
“Um, Robert, I wonder if you might be able to lend me some assistance. I’ve got a bit a problem out here that needs another pair of man’s hands.”
“What might that be, Mr. Watkins?” Margery looked sharp-eyed and suspicious.
“We have a bit of an awkward situation outside, Mrs. M. One of the punters has had too much to drink and needs a little help getting up to his room. I think he’d rather the others didn’t see him like this so I thought …”
“Go on then, Robert, take him up the back stairs. It’s your Christian duty. And take an extra jumper so you don’t catch a chill.” Margery waved him off like an irksome fly and returned to staring at the fire and sipping her tea.
When the two men were outside, Frederick said, “I don’t suppose you’ve got a wheelbarrow?”
“Is he that bad, then?”
Frederick grimaced and nodded. “Pissed as a newt.”
Warner was right where Frederick had left him and floppy as a smelly ragdoll as they tried to maneuver him onto the barrow.
“We’ll do as Margery suggested and take him ‘round to the rear and up the back staircase.”
“I didn’t know there was another stairway.”
Mosely nodded. “Aye, there’s a total of three, if you’re counting. This is the second back one. It’s not like we are trying to hide it; we just don’t use this one very much. They’re marked as fire exits, but originally they were for the servants to use. They go all the way to the top of the house. Couldn’t have the servants going up to bed where the lord and lady of the manor might see ‘em, now could we?” He snorted. “What rubbish. I’m glad those days are gone.”
He started to say something else but stopped just as they wheeled the barrow and Steven up to the door. He was starting to stir.
“Up we go, my friend,” said Frederick.
He positioned himself on one side, and Robert took the other, and between them they managed to haul the poor man up the stairs and into his room without anyone being the wiser.
Frederick wet the corner of a towel and wiped the Steven’s face and neck, and the two of them pulled off his shoes. Mosely thoughtfully put the tin wastebasket next to the bed and then went back and got a glass of water and left it within reach on the nightstand. Then the two of them left the way they came, quietly, down the back stairs. When they were outside once again, Robert shook his head.
“That man is not going to be very happy tomorrow morning, poor bugger.”
“I don’t think he’s very happy right now, which likely explains why he’s in the condition he’s in.”
“Happens,” said Mosely.
“To the best of us,” said Frederick.
“Cold orange juice and plenty of Paracetemol.”
Frederick nodded. “It’ll either kill him or cure him, but either way, I’ll see that he gets it.”
When Frederick joined the others at dinner, they were already well into their pudding, and there was not time to tell Olympia what he’d learned in the pub. He wanted to speak to her first and get her thoughts on what to tell who and when to do it, and that would require some time alone. Of course, time alone with Olympia often led to other things. He smiled. Control yourself, Watkins, all in due time. No, I take that back, we are leaving on Friday; that give us only two days. Priorities, man. Crikey!
Olympia was playing catch-up that night. The events of the day had interrupted her workshop schedule, so that evening they agreed to have a sermon session in the sitting room by the fire. Frederick planned to park himself in a corner with a book and wait until such time as he might have a word with his lady wife.
The opportunity came later when the two were sitting chastely in their separate beds, each with a cup of chamomile tea. When he finished the saga, Olympia whistled and shook her head in amazement.
“That is some tale. Who’d have thought?
“Precisely. Who in the world would remember the poor disgraced kitchen maid, and even if they did, how likely is it that person would know anything about her granddaughter?” said Frederick.
“I’m still trying to get my head around it. It happened almost seventy years ago.”
“Who knows why people do what they do, Olympia. We’ll never know what Margery’s mother told her or what really happened. It’s all hearsay history now. That’s some grudge to be carrying.”
“We can’t make assumptions, Frederick. If, in fact, Margery Mosely is the one who is bankrupting this place, it would be nice to find out why.”
“Revenge, most likely, and I don’t think there anything nice about it.”
“Wrong word, sorry, Frederick. So is it revenge or some sort of vendetta, or is it simple greed with no personal history at all? The woman is very smart, she’s very good with numbers. She saw an opportunity and seized it. If the story is true, then she was probably dirt poor as a child, and now she sees a chance to be rich and the devil take the hindmost. It could be as simple as that.”
“It could be, but I don’t think it is.”
“I wish I didn’t agree with you, Frederick. That woman is strange. There’s something about her. I’ve been watching. There are times when I’ve seen her just stop wherever she is and start staring into space at nothing—well, nothing I can see. Next she starts pulling at her collar. Then it’s like she snaps back into the here and now and just carries on like nothing happened. Weird, I’ll tell you.”
“We have to tell Richard and Celia first thing in the morning.”
“It’s late, darling, and we’ve both had a long day.”
“By the way, Steven Warner was missing tonight. You didn’t happen to see him while you were out, did you? He was looking pretty rough this afternoon after he got word that Rosie left.”
“He’s safe in bed.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Robert Mosely and I dragged him upstairs and poured him into it. He went and got himself thoroughly and completely paralytic with drink. He’s sleeping it off.”
“Oh, dear,” said Olympia.
“It’s late, darling, and we’ve both had a long day.”
“You said that before.”
“You didn’t hear me the first time.”