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Friday, 3 August 1821
The following morning when Tilda arrived to help me dress, she told me that breakfast was served in a smaller chamber in the east wing of the house; a room with flowered wallpaper that overlooked the courtyard. After pausing only once to inquire of a footman, I found the sunny room, which was as agreeable as Tilda declared; the walls prettily painted with clumps of lilacs surrounded by sprays of greenery.
Both Hannah and Isabella, along with Miss Hutchens were seated at the oblong table already eating, which surprised me a bit. Then I noticed the platters of food laid out upon the sideboard, four footmen, two at each end, poised to serve up coffee or tea, leaving the family (and guests) free to help themselves to the foodstuffs of their choice. Carrying a small china plate, upon which I had placed a scone, some fresh berries and clotted cream, I overheard Hannah speaking in an agitated tone to her cousin Isabella as I approached the table.
“I could not find my locket anywhere this morning!” Hannah exclaimed. “I am certain I left it on the dressing table last evening.”
“Were you not wearing your locket at dinner?” Isabella asked flatly.
In my estimation, her tone did not sound as sympathetic as it ought. Perhaps the girl did not own a locket and was a trifle jealous of her far more blessed cousin.
“You know I was not wearing my locket at dinner, Isabella. I always wear pearls with my blue silk. I wore the locket yesterday when we took tea with Vicar Fulbright. Upon arriving home, I removed it and placed it alongside the pearl-handled brush on my dressing table as I always do.”
Reaching the table, I thought it odd that Miss Hutchens offered up no censoring remark following the girl’s squabble, but keeping her eyes downcast, the governess continued to eat her coddled eggs and toast.
“Good morning, Hannah. Isabella,” I said cheerfully as I slipped into a chair across from the young ladies, and purposely, several seats away from Miss Hutchens, too far away for her to snatch up my hand should she decide of a sudden to launch into another sermon.
“Good morning, Miss Abbott,” Hannah said. Looking up at me, the pain clouding her lovely blue eyes was evident.
“I could not help overhearing you say that you had misplaced your locket. I am so very sorry. Surely it will turn up.”
“Thank you.” Hannah sighed. “I do hope so."
“Hannah lost a brooch last week, and the week before a . . .”
“I did not lose the brooch, Isabella! It, too, also vanished!”
“Girls!” Miss Hutchens finally sputtered. “You sound as disagreeable as your brothers when they set to squabbling. Eat your breakfasts. I expect to see you both above stairs in a quarter hour, at which time your lessons shall commence.”
“Yes, Miss Hutchens.”
Silence reined for several seconds as both Hannah and Isabella obediently fell to nibbling at the food upon their plates.
A moment later, Miss Hutchens rose and uttering a murmur of excuse, exited the pretty chamber that did, indeed, overlook the courtyard. Today, long shafts of early morning sunshine spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows; the sun dappling the crisp white linen cloth beneath our plates and stippling the lilacs on the wall with specks of dancing light.
A few silent sips of tea later, long strides carried Mr. Cecil Ruston into the bright, but now somewhat cheerless chamber.
“Good morning, ladies.”
The handsome gentleman directed smiles all around. He was as impeccably attired this morning as he had been last evening, today wearing a forest green coat over tan breeches tucked into polished brown top boots. I thought perhaps the gentleman intended to take a brisk ride through the countryside following his morning meal.
“I only just passed Miss Hutchens in the corridor,” Cecil said, “which means I managed to miss this morning’s Bible lesson. You can imagine my disappointment,” he muttered beneath his breath as he began to fill his plate, choosing from several types of meats, cheeses, breads and fruit. In an undertone I heard him mutter to a footman, “Remind me to give thanks to the Lord for my tardiness.”
Turning from the sideboard, I noted his lips twitching as he approached the table, where we three ladies continued to eat in silence.
“Why the long faces, my dears? Good morning, Miss Abbott. You look charming today.” Setting down his plate, he slipped into a chair. “I must say the frown you are wearing, Hannah, is quite unattractive.”
“She has lost her locket,” Isabella blurted out.
“I did not lose it, Isabella!”
Her cousin’s lips firmed. “Very well, then. Someone snuck into Hannah’s bedchamber during the night and made off with her locket.”
“What’s this now?” Cecil draped a napkin across his lap.
Hannah directed a pleading look at her half-brother. “The locket Mother and Father presented to me on my birthday has gone missing. And, I did not lose it! I wore it only yesterday; and last evening when I . . .”
Cecil raised a hand to halt his sister’s plea. “Say no more, poppet. I shall speak with Bertram. Quite possibly one of our army of chambermaids simply borrowed it.” He downed a quick gulp of the coffee a footman had only just poured into his cup. Taking up his knife and fork, he cut a bite from the slice of beefsteak on his plate. “If you’ve not yet noticed, Miss Abbott, Medley Park overfloweth with servants.”
“Mrs. Bertram apprised me of that fact, sir.” I smiled. “I daresay I have beheld a good many of them.”
“Unfortunately, not all are pattern cards of honesty.” He scooped up a forkful of coddled eggs. After swallowing, he turned another look upon his sister. “Whilst you are at your lessons this morning, pet, I shall see if the missing locket can be found.”
“Thank you, Cecil. As you know, I am quite fond of it.”
“But, you have others, do you not? Shouldn’t want my pretty sister going about without a locket ‘round her neck.”
The look on Hannah’s face revealed her confusion over whether or not her brother’s remark was spoken in earnest or meant as a jest. Instead of replying, both girls rose and murmuring a plea to be excused, exited the breakfast chamber, leaving myself and Mr. Ruston alone in the room, save for the footmen maintaining a watchful vigil over the silver tea and coffee service at the sideboard.
Unable to fix on something proper to say, I said nothing. Between mouthfuls, Cecil soon filled in the gap by inquiring if I found my accommodations to my liking and had I slept well?
“Indeed, sir; quite well, thank you.” I wondered if the young man had any notion when his parents might be returning to Medley Park, and in the interim, if I might not be allowed to begin my duties today in, perhaps, the library, cataloging books, or whatnot. Since I detest sitting idle, I would far rather get to my task than accomplish nothing throughout the long day. But, before I could properly form the question, or express it, suddenly both the butler, whose name I believe is Winkle, and Mrs. Bertram burst into the room.
Cecil turned around. “Is something amiss, Winkle? Bertram?”
“Sir, if I might have a word?”
“I’ve scarcely swallowed a bite, Wink; speak up, old man.” Cecil tossed a glance my way. “You do not mind if we speak openly, do you, Miss Abbott?”
“No, of course not,” I murmured. “Or, perhaps I should . . .” I made as if to rise.
“Stay where you are, Miss Abbott.” Cecil lifted a hand. “What is it, Wink? Ah, Bertram, I’ve a matter to take up with you. Get on with it, Winkle.” The young man turned his full attention back to his breakfast even as the black-clad butler appeared near to bursting.
“I regret to inform you, sir, that a stable lad has been found murdered.”
I gasped aloud as a thin stream of coffee spewed forth from Cecil’s mouth.
“Say, what? My good man, there has never been a murder at Medley Park! You must be mistaken.”
Mrs. Bertram rushed forward. “The boy was clearly murdered, sir! His throat was slit!”
“There appears to be a good deal of blood, sir.”
I cringed as Cecil flung aside his napkin. “Dash it! I was enjoying my breakfast! If you will excuse me, Miss Abbott.”
In seconds, I was the only person left in the sun-filled room, save for the servants, who had silently begun to replace the lids on the china tureens still virtually filled to the brim with today’s breakfast feast.
* * *
HURRYING UP TO MY BEDCHAMBER, the enormity of what was taking place at Medley Park engulfed me. Within one day of arriving here, already someone lay dead! I had so wished to be spared all vestiges of murder and mayhem at Medley Park. Now, it appeared I was to once again be plagued with the same sort of dreadful doings I had encountered at Margate and a twelvemonth ago at Morland Manor. At least, I could not possibly be accused of this crime!
But, who had killed the stable boy? And, why? And, what could have happened to Hannah’s precious locket? And the brooch Isabella declared had also gone missing? I exhaled a long breath. Perhaps having so many servants about did rather increase the possibility of small personal objects suddenly taking flight.
Slipping onto the cushioned bench beneath the window in my bedchamber, I cast a troubled gaze downward in time to observe what appeared to be a good deal of scurrying about in the courtyard below. Apparently the entire household had been made aware of the murder at Medley Park, which could account for the increase in thither and yon-ing. Watching the rushing about, it was difficult to determine who was doing what, or why. It seemed as if housemaids and footmen were merely scampering here and there with no thought for where they were going, and no one pausing to speak to anyone. Amongst their number, I did finally spot Mrs. Bertram pause to say something to Winkle, then the pair separated and hurried off in opposite directions.
I was too far away, of course, to accurately assess anyone’s demeanor, but I could not help wondering about the servant’s state of mind. Were they in shock? Were they saddened by the horrific news? Was the poor dead stable lad related to one of them? A footman or maid’s younger brother, perhaps? Would the boy’s family soon arrive to collect their son’s body, or if the lad had no home, would he be buried somewhere on the Medley Park grounds? I also wondered if Cecil had sent for the constable, and how quickly the man would arrive?
At the same time, I wondered if Medley Park did, indeed, lay near Morland Manor and if so, was it at all possible that the same disagreeable man, Mr. Wainwright, might also serve as constable in this quarter of the county? I had heard no mention made of the wealthy Sir Morland, but perhaps that was because no occasion had arisen in which to remark upon the gentleman. Unfortunately, beyond London and its immediate environs, I was as unfamiliar with the English countryside this far from Town as I had been when I arrived at Morland Manor a twelvemonth ago. Still, something told me it was quite possible the two estates could march along together, or at the very least did not lie a great distance apart. The countryside hereabouts was not dissimilar, a colorful patchwork of fields broken up by the occasional stream trickling through a copse of trees. At times a section of land appeared so dense with foliage it could be deemed a forest. I recalled a forest lay to one side of Morland Manor.
It suddenly occurred to me that I might find a credible map of England in the Medley Park library. For me to also become familiar with what sort of books and other materials might be found there would be putting the hours of the long day that stretched before me to good use. Rising, I reentered the corridor, meaning to inquire of any maid or footman I chanced upon where I might find the library. However, on my way downstairs this time, I chanced upon no one. But then, perhaps, the bulk of the servants were still busy chasing one another about the courtyard.
On the ground floor, I walked as far as the foyer hoping to find Winkle, but he was also nowhere in sight, so I turned back to head toward the drawing room. Perhaps I’d find a maid, or footman, there, polishing furniture or . . . carting in more flowers.
Entering the corridor that led to the crimson chamber, I suddenly recalled the noise I had heard at about this same location last evening on my way up to my suite. Could that disturbance have had anything to do with the murder? I also recalled that by then, Mr. Cecil Ruston had already vacated the drawing room. Still I doubted his retiring so very early in the evening had anything to say to the matter. Cecil Ruston would have no cause to take the life of a stable boy. Before reaching the drawing room, I did come upon the sullen housemaid, Lottie, a feather duster in hand. Pausing, I asked the girl to please direct me to the library.
“Book room’s in the opposite wing, miss,” she said, continuing to walk, although a head-bob did indicate the direction I should take. “Past his lordship’s study and the green drawing room,” she added. “Course the green drawing room’s shut up tight now. Just keep walking and ye’ll find it.”
“Thank you, Lottie.” Falling into step beside her, I seized the moment. “Were you acquainted with the stable lad whose life was taken?”
Her eyes became mere slits in her head. “Why you askin’ me that, miss? I ain’t never even talked to the boy. I don’t even know ‘is name.”
“Are the outdoor staff given to quarreling with one another?”
“I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout nothin’, miss!” And off she scurried.
Hmmm. Quite obvious to me was that the girl did know something and rather than speak of it, she was choosing to protect the guilty party.
I decided then and there it would behoove me to speak with Cecil Ruston regarding the tragic matter.
My opportunity came sooner than I expected.
I had only just eased open yet another door in the opposite wing of the house in search of the library when, this time, I found myself already within the large book-lined room. Exhaling a breath of relief, I stepped noiselessly inside and closed the door behind me, yet when I turned back around, Cecil’s dark head appeared from ‘round a corner at the top of the room.
“Ah, it’s you, Miss Abbott. I was expecting Winkle to show in the constable. Need to get this nasty business over and done with as quickly as possible.” I moved towards the agreeable young man as he continued to speak. “Wouldn’t do for Father to return to a muddle of this sort, now would it?”
“Indeed, not, sir,” I replied. “I had wondered if you sent straightaway for the authorities. Such a vicious attack most assuredly should be looked into by . . .”
Just then, Wink the butler stepped in from the corridor. That he was followed into the room by another man who looked alarmingly familiar to me caused me to duck my head and turn the opposite direction.
“Mr. Ruston, sir, Constable Wainwright has arrived in place of Mr. Thompson, our local man of law, sir.”
My heart sank. Constable Wainwright, who appeared every bit as scruffy and unkempt as I remembered from the day he questioned me at Morland Manor, ambled forward, a hand outstretched toward Cecil.
“Thompson and the bulk of his staff is up to London, sir, for the coronation,” Wainwright said. “I generally serve the next county over but seeing as how Thompson weren’t nowhere abouts, I was ’structed to fill in for him whilst he’s away.”
A sinking feeling beset me as the two men fell to talking. I had just about made my way to the opposite side of the room when Cecil called, “Miss Abbott, if you would join us, please. This gentleman is Constable Wainwright, come from Thornbury County to conduct the official inquiry into our little crime. Perhaps you would agree to assist him.”
Pasting a small set smile upon my lips, I turned back around.
“You!” sputtered the constable, his brow furrowing with a scowl.
I tilted up my chin. “Lovely to see you again, sir.”
Cecil appeared taken aback. “You two are acquainted with one another?”
The constable’s eyes narrowed. “I recall saying that murder follows you wherever you go, Miss Abbott. And, here you are at Medley Park and we’ve yet another murder on our hands.” Constable Wainwright turned to address Cecil. “Perhaps I should begin by questioning Miss Abbott, sir.”
Cecil’s face became a thundercloud. “You shall do nothing of the sort! Miss Abbott arrived only yesterday and is acquainted with no one at Medley Park save my father!” He turned to me. “Forget what I said about assisting the constable, Miss Abbott. I shall send for Hutchens to aid him, that is, once Wainwright has extended a proper apology to you for his insolence.”
Cecil Ruston, who stood a good head and shoulders taller than the squatty, now quite red-faced constable, glared down upon the outspoken man.
Wainwright jerked off the rumpled cap he wore and although it was plain to see he was loath to do so, he mumbled, “My apologies, Miss Abbott. I was out of line.”
“I should say you were!” Cecil exclaimed. “Miss Abbott is above reproach!”
“Thank you, Mr. Ruston, I murmured. “I shall just leave you gentlemen to your . . .”
Cecil gazed beyond the constable’s head, then upon noting that Wink had already left the room, he addressed me once more. “Miss Abbott, might I prevail upon you to ask Miss Hutchens to join me here in the library, please?” He cast a glance at the constable. “I assume you will need someone to keep a written record of your findings.”
Wainwright opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut again.
I recalled the man carried an occurrence book into which he jotted down the answers he pried from those he questioned. “I will be delighted to fetch Miss Hutchens for you, sir, if you could please direct me to the . . . schoolroom.”
Once he had done so, I sailed from the library, my chin aloft. Unfortunately whilst in the book room, I had not got so much as a glance at any of the titles of the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of volumes lining the walls, or the free-standing cases, nor those volumes stacked helter-skelter upon the floor. I had also not spotted anything that resembled a map. Although, now that my suspicions regarding the proximity of Medley Park to Morland Manor had been verified, I had no need to consult a graphic outline of this westerly section of England.
However, as I made my way back up the stairs and down the corridor opposite to that which led to my suite of rooms, a fresh question burned in my mind. Was Mr. Philip Talbot still a resident of Morland Manor, and if so, was it possible I might once again be granted an opportunity to see him? That thought eased a bit of my consternation over being confronted by the disagreeable Constable Wainwright and instead, brought a smile of sweet remembrance to my lips.
On the heels of that thought, however, I told myself it was far more likely that everyone at Morland Manor, including Mr. Talbot, had also journeyed up to London for the king’s coronation. Therefore, I had best not raise my hopes in regard to once again seeing the kind gentleman with whom I had become acquainted at Morland Manor, and for whom I still harbored warm feelings.
Casting aside any lingering regret, I soon located the chamber that served as the Medley Park schoolroom and was astonished to find Hannah and Isabella, and the two youngest boys, Spencer and Harry, all with their heads bent quietly over their studies. A third boy, whose name I did not know, but whom I recognized as the child who had taken part in terrorizing the kittens the previous afternoon, stood at the top of the room speaking with Miss Hutchens, who sat behind a large oaken desk.
The room itself was simply furnished, to the point of being austere. Long and narrow in shape, the planked wooden floor was bare of a rug, and there was only one window partially hidden behind a movable closet that I assumed contained pens, paper and books; tools necessary for teaching children how to read and write.
The tight-lipped governess looked up when I entered the room. “Ah, Miss Abbott. Have you lost your way?”
I smiled. “Indeed, not, Miss Hutchens. I have come bearing a summons from Mr. Ruston. He requests that you join him in the library. The constable has arrived and Mr. Ruston is now with . . . that gentleman.”
I detected a flicker of alarm cross Miss Hutchens’ face, but it quickly vanished as she arose. “Children, you will continue with your studies. I will return shortly.” She turned to the boy who stood beside her. “Dickon, take your seat and . . . say nothing until I return.”
A look of distress flashed over the boy’s plain features, but to his credit, he obeyed the governess’ stern command without protest.
“Might I prevail upon you to remain here in my absence, Miss Abbott?” the young woman inquired as she drew nearer to me. Lowering her voice, she added, “Young Dickon will give you no trouble, but the Medley Park boys are often unruly.” Without waiting for my reply, she turned to the class. “I expect you boys to behave yourselves and to do precisely as Miss Abbott instructs.”
I glanced toward the two youths in question and noted their eyes had already brightened with mischief. A wave of apprehension surged through me as I rather reluctantly headed towards Miss Hutchens’ desk. I had had no experience whatever in shepherding young children and would have no notion how to handle a mutiny, should one arise.
Easing into the chair Miss Hutchens had vacated, I heard Hannah cough, then aim a sidelong look at Isabella, who was closely watching me. The youngest Medley Park child, whose name I believe was Harry, had already begun to poke the straw-headed boy, the lad Miss Hutchens had called Dickon, in the back. He instantly spun around, one hand balled into a fist.
“You heard m’sister!” He cried. “She said for us to behave!”
Ah. My brows lifted in surprise. So, Dickon was Miss Hutchens’ brother, was he? Which explained why he was in the schoolroom in the first place, when from the look of him, he belonged in the barn tending to the sheep or donkeys. Since the low-born child was allowed to mingle with Lady Medley’s sons, I wondered why she had not seen to providing the boy with finer clothing. But, perhaps her generosity extended only so far as providing him with a proper education, albeit at the feet of his older sister.
When Hannah raised a hand, I cast aside my ruminations. “Yes, Hannah. What is it?”
She glanced again at her cousin, then said, “Isabella and I thought that . . . since you are here and . . . and Miss Hutchens is not . . . that you might teach us a few French words. Please? Miss Hutchens does not speak French and thus far, the only word we know is Oui.”
Isabella boldly spoke up. “Uncle, that is, Lord Medley promised a good bit ago to provide us with a language master, but . . .”
“It is true,” Hannah concurred. “Father promised the last time he went up to London to bring back a French instructor, but, as yet, no one has come. Might you help us learn a bit of French, Miss Abbott? Please?”
I smiled. “I would be happy to; that is Je serai heureux de . . .teach you girls what little I know.”
“What about us?” the elder of Lord Medley’s youngest sons cried.
“Are you saying you would also like to learn a bit of French, Spencer?”
The boy cocked his dark head to one side. “How do you know my name?”
“Your older brother, Cecil, told me your name.”
“Harry, too?”
I nodded. “Harry, too. Would you boys also like to learn a few French nouns and verbs?”
“Not me!” cried the little one, whose curly brown hair was a bit lighter in color than either Cecil’s or Hannah’s, although both boys resembled their older siblings. Today, wearing tan trousers and dark blue jackets that buttoned onto their pants, both boys looked like miniature adults. “I want to go outdoors and play! Can Dickon and I go outside and play ‘til Miss Hutchens returns?”
Hannah spoke up. “You boys are to continue with your sums whilst Isabella and I study French. Isn’t that right, Miss Abbott?” She cast a gaze my way. “Might Bella and I come and sit on either side of you?”
“Oui.” I nodded consent. “But, I shall require pen and paper,” I added, glancing about.
Both Hannah and Isabella rose and moved to either side of the desk where I sat. “Miss Hutchens keeps paper and an inkpot in a drawer,” Isabella said, “so the boys won’t topple it. That dark stain, just there on the desktop,” she pointed to the discolored smear, “is ink.”
“Ah, I see.”
While the girls drew up chairs, I was quite astonished to note that all three boys remained quiet and did, indeed, resume their work as I settled in to teach the girls to pronounce, and spell, a few French words.
Things progressed nicely for close on an hour until our lessons were interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Bertram who arrived to alert us that it was time for luncheon. Another, older woman, whose white hair was tucked up beneath a cap and whom I took to be the younger boy’s nanny, arrived along with the housekeeper. She herded the three boys off to the nursery where, I presume, they took their meals.
Hannah, Isabella and I followed Mrs. Bertram back down to the same chamber where we had all taken breakfast. On the way, Mrs. Bertram informed us that Miss Hutchens had been commissioned to assist the constable conduct his investigation into the death of the stable lad. The news put my mind at ease. The last thing I wanted to do was spend any time at all in the company of the disagreeable Constable Wainwright. The man had made my life miserable with his unfounded accusations whilst at Morland Manor and caused me far more anxiety than I wished to ever be subjected to again!
“What is Miss Hutchens doing for the constable?” Isabella wanted to know. “She knows nothing of the law,” she added a trifle petulantly.
Suddenly from behind us, a male voice spoke up. “I am in hopes that after hearing a bit of Miss Hutchens’ moral claptrap the killer will be frightened into confessing.”
Four heads turned to find Mr. Ruston approaching on our heels.
“Cecil, you are incorrigible!” Hannah cried, grinning; as were we all, although I made an effort to conceal my amusement.
“Yes, well, you must agree the woman’s pious views have grown quite tiresome. Which is why I am rarely punctual for a meal.”
“I daresay the children’s governess means well,” put in Mrs. Bertram, who upon reaching the dining chamber walked on past it as the rest of us entered the room.
Taking seats ‘round the table, Cecil and I sat facing the girls, seated across from us. In the absence of a sermon from Miss Hutchens, luncheon was promptly served up by four liveried footmen, far more than was truly necessary. Consequently, if the meal had meant to be served hot, it would have, indeed, arrived upon our plates in that state, but since the luncheon fare consisted of cold meat and crisp vegetables, the respite from a mid-day sermon meant only that the very moment one of us consumed a single sip of water, or, in Cecil’s case, ale, the glass or cup we drank from was instantly refilled by a watchful footman.
The talk amongst the four of us during the meal centered around the constable’s plans to question every single Medley Park servant, both inside and out, in an effort to hastily uncover the facts of the case; then to arrest the guilty party and remove him from the premises. No doubt, in chains.
“Appears to me the constable is being a tad bit optimistic,” Cecil declared, “if he expects to conclude his investigation in a single day given there are such a vast number of servants to question.” He motioned for a footman to place several more slices of cold ham steak upon his plate. “I’ll wager the task will likely extend into next week.”
“When do you expect Father and Mother to return home?” Hannah asked her brother. “It seems they have been gone an age. And, what of Ned? Does he intend returning home with them, or . . .?”
Cecil shrugged. “I rather expect Ned will remain in London until there are no further dinner parties or fancy-dress balls in which to drink oneself into oblivion.”
“That could very well be a good long while,” I put in. “Given that the coronation festivities are expected to continue throughout Christmastide.”
“Be that as it may, it is of no concern to me. The longer Ned is away, the happier I shall be.”
“Cecil! You mustn’t speak so disparagingly of our brother.” However, a smile twitched at Hannah’s pink lips as she turned a look on her cousin. “I rather expect Isabella hopes Ned will return long before Christmastide, do you not, Bella?”
I noted that Isabella colored, which meant the freckles on her cheeks became one large brownish-pink stain, yet instead of disputing Hannah’s words, she cast a glance toward Cecil. I wondered if the timid cousin, who, at times, did not appear quite so timid, had aspirations towards one, or the other, of her handsome cousins? The unanswered question was . . . which one? Cousins often wed one another so it would not be outside the norm for her to fix on one of the twins as a future mate.
Before our luncheon concluded, Miss Hutchens appeared and slipped onto a chair at the bottom of the room. Judging from her prim expression, she was not at all pleased by the sudden upset in her duties. After a plate had been set before her, she declared with a frown, “It appears I shall be in the company of the constable for the remainder of the afternoon, girls, so you may as well consider yourselves on holiday.”
Hannah and Isabella exchanged elated looks as Cecil asked, “How is the investigation proceeding? Have any likely suspects turned up?”
The governess’ lips pursed. “Things are progressing quite slowly. As you know, there are a great many servants to question.”
“What sort of questions does the constable put to them?” Isabella asked.
Without looking up from his plate, Cecil replied, “I expect, the usual. Where were they last evening? Had the boy quarreled with anyone, and if so, with whom, and over what? That sort of thing.”
I spoke up. “Actually, I observed something last evening that might be pertinent.” Instantly, I regretted speaking up, for at the same moment I realized that by saying anything at all on the subject, I was opening myself up to yet another distasteful interview with the constable. “Or, perhaps, it means nothing,” I added. “Actually I did not observe it, but I . . . I heard something a trifle odd.”
Cecil had looked up, his expression curious. “Pray, what did you hear, Miss Abbott?”
“I expect nothing of consequence.” I shrugged. “Just that, on my way above stairs last evening, I heard a . . . a noise of some sort, coming from a chamber near the stairwell. I did not pause to investigate, as I had no clue, and still do not know, from precisely which chamber the noise arose. I simply thought it odd that no flicker of light was visible beneath any of the closed doors thereabouts. Light would have been present if someone were moving about within the chamber and I saw no light beneath any of the doorways there.”
Cecil’s interest seemed aroused. “What sort of noise? Loud? Sharp? Muffled? Did the noise continue on for a spell, or was it merely a . . . single blast?”
“I really couldn’t say, sir. Not a loud disturbance, more of a shuffling sound, actually. Such as might be made if a servant were setting things to rights. Moving a piece of furniture, or, perhaps, opening, or closing, a window.”
“For a servant to be opening a window would not be possible,” Miss Hutchens interjected as she raised a napkin to her lips. “By the time you exited the drawing room, Miss Abbott, all the windows in the house would have already been lowered, and latched.”
“Not all of the windows in the house are latched for the night, Miss Hutchens,” Hannah disputed. “I often leave mine open a crack to let in fresh air. The hint of a gentle breeze, with night scents upon it, feels quite pleasant to me whilst I sleep.”
“But, to leave your window open at night, could also be an invitation for someone to enter your bedchamber and make off with your locket,” Isabella suggested, her tone a trifle condescending.
Hannah’s blue eyes narrowed. “Well, at least you have abandoned the notion that I lost my locket.” She turned to her brother. “Cecil, I do hope you told the constable about all the articles that have gone missing of late.”
His brow puckered. “I was unaware that any articles beyond your locket had gone missing, pet? What, besides it has been lost?”
“I did not lose my locket, Cecil!”
“You lost a brooch last week,” Isabella persisted.
“I did not lose either of them! I told you, they both simply vanished!”
“Girls, that is quite enough! You are giving me a megrim. The morning was quite tedious. I do not relish . . .”
“Oh, do be still, Hutchens!” Cecil let his knife and fork clatter to his plate. “If Hannah maintains that both a brooch and a locket of hers has gone missing, I do not doubt her word. Rest assured, sweeting, I shall inform the constable that one of the servants, most likely a chambermaid, has been pocketing valuables. Whilst the lawman is here, we may as well get to the bottom of all the mischief that has been taking place at Medley Park.”
“Well, I would hardly call murder mischief!” Miss Hutchens shot back. “Thou shalt not kill, sayeth the Lord.”
Flinging his napkin aside, Cecil sprang to his feet. “I have heard quite enough from you, Hutchens! In future, you will confine your morality lectures to the nursery!” With that, the handsome man strode angrily from the room.
That Isabella’s pale blue eyes followed him provided a hint as to where her affections might lay.
I think.