| |
Saturday, 4 August 1821
The following morning, it did not surprise me when Tilda, the young girl now serving as my lady’s maid, tearfully asked if she was in danger of losing her post.
“I cannot speak for either Lord or Lady Medley, Tilda, but, if consulted I promise to speak highly of you.” I made a mental note to search out a reason to mention to Mrs. Bertram that I was quite pleased with the cheerful young girl.
At breakfast that morning, I was not at all disappointed when Lord Medley was a late arrival, however, when he did enter the sunny breakfast chamber, his countenance was once more at odds with the bright sunlight pouring into the room from the courtyard. After filling his plate with food from the sideboard and demanding that his coffee be returned to the kitchen, as it was too tepid to be drunk, he gulped down a few bites of ham steak and eggs, then turned to address me in a tone that I confess very nearly caused me to upend my teacup once again.
“Miss Abbott! Given that the library is currently overrun by the constable and his men, you will begin your work today by cataloguing every vase, figurine, and bit of sculpture on display in every chamber of the house. As well as the wall hangings and all the paintings above and below stairs. Once I have carefully inspected your report, I shall decide which pieces are to be removed for safekeeping into the new wing, and which shall remain in place where they are. I take it you are capable of carrying out my instructions?”
“Y-Yes, sir, q-quite capable,” I replied, aware that my eyes were inordinately wide, and my voice close on to trembling. Attempting to assume a far calmer demeanor than I felt, I added, “I shall be most happy to begin my work straightaway, sir.”
The gentleman sputtered, “You shall conclude your work straightaway, young lady! We’ve no time to waste. Too many costly items have already gone missing! I mean to lock up my valuables as soon as possible!”
“Indeed, sir.” Again my eyes widened as across from me, Cecil’s rolled skyward; his dark head wagging from side to side.
“You may as well know, young man,” his father whirled to confront him, “the authorities are even now searching your suite and, make no mistake, if my snuffboxes turn up in your bedchamber, there will be hell to pay! I shall not harbour thieves in my house, even if the guilty party is my own flesh and blood!”
Without uttering a word in his own defense, Cecil uttered a plea to be excused, then rose and promptly headed for the hallway. His exit would have had a great deal more impact had he not stubbed his toe on the fringed edge of the carpet only moments before he reached the door.
In Cecil’s wake, I heard his father declare, “I have long suspected that both my worthless sons are stealing from me, but, mark my words, that shameless thievery will soon grind to a halt!”
For the remainder of the meal, I chose not to lift my eyes from my plate. The moment both Hannah and Isabella asked to be excused, I chimed in and also took my leave not caring a whit that my departure left Lord Medley the only occupant in the now quite cheerless chamber.
I had only got a few steps down the corridor when Lady Medley, looking a tad bit haggard this morning, waylaid me.
“Please pay my husband’s outburst no mind, Miss Abbott. He is understandably distraught over the troubles that have beset us.” The regal woman, who stood several inches taller than I, walked alongside me towards the stairwell. “I would especially like you to begin inventorying the artifacts in my suite this morning. I have taken the liberty of gathering pen and paper for you. If you will come this way, please.”
“Thank you, Lady Medley.”
And with that, my assignment at Medley Park finally commenced.
* * *
I WAS UNPREPARED FOR the opulence I found in Lady Medley’s suite. In the center of her bedchamber stood the largest and most ornate bed I had ever seen. It was not only canopied but had a dome at the top from which billowing green silk bed curtains descended to the floor. The draperies in both her bedchamber and the sitting room were all fashioned in green silk, festooned with golden cords and tassels. Even the tall satinwood cheval mirror standing in one corner of her dressing room was embellished with gold inlay as were the clothespress and the commodes that sat on either side of the magnificent bed.
I set at once to work, soon filling several pages with descriptions of and notations regarding the size, shape, color, and artist, if known, of at least a dozen costly objects gracing the tabletops and commodes. At length, I turned to the tall case clock that rose majestically from the far end of her bedchamber. A pair of carved figures stood to either side of the silvered dial, the clock-case itself consisting of three tiers, the bottom being a cabinet within which one might store precious items. I wondered if that might be where she had stashed her now missing jewelry, but, of course, did not ask. A far smaller clock stood atop the mantelpiece, which Lady Medley informed me had once been in the palace of a Russian Count.
“Lord Medley purchased it and a good many other such items that I fancied at an auction on the continent.” Recalling the experience, her brown eyes misted over. “We were both young then, and quite in love.”
“Your home is filled with many lovely things, ma’am.”
“Thank you, dear. To be sure, your work in my suite would take a good deal longer if all my precious jewels had not been . . .” her chin trembled slightly as her voice trailed off.
“I am so sorry for your loss, ma’am.” I continued to slowly work my way about the elegantly appointed bedchamber, pausing to inspect every exquisitely painted porcelain figurine and intricately crafted crystal vase. On Lady Medley’s desktop I spotted an ornate silver inkstand with two compartments, both lidded, one for ink, the other for wax. Lady Medley said the inkstand had once belonged to Queen Elizabeth.
“Oh, my. That makes it quite precious, indeed.”
“As well as one of a kind,” Lady Medley added wistfully.
Due to the inkstand’s provenance, I rather feared to touch it. Next to the inkpot, a pink feather quill stood in its own little pot. I took it to be a new addition as over time, feathers do have a penchant to disintegrate.
In one corner of her ladyship’s sitting room stood a rosewood pedestal teapoy, which I assumed contained her favorite blends of tea. Although I added it to my list, she did not remark upon the teapoy’s history. A decorated mahogany piecrust tea table stood near a lovely Grecian-style sofa, both positioned beneath a window. I imagined how pleasant it would be to lounge on the sofa on a wintery day, a book in hand, a rug across one’s lap, warm and cozy indoors as large flakes of snow drifted to the ground out-of-doors.
“I have spent many a pleasant hour here,” Lady Medley remarked, arranging herself now upon the green silk chaise.
“The aspect from the window in this room is especially lovely,” I murmured before turning away.
Other than a few private moments spent in the dressing room adjacent to her bedchamber, Lady Medley remained with me the entire time I was in her suite. A part of me wondered if, perhaps, she was attempting to determine if I were trustworthy. To say truth, I was glad of her presence. Given what was currently taking place at Medley Park, I would far rather a member of the household remain at my side as I worked as fall under suspicion if anything else should turn up missing when I withdrew from the suite. By the same token, I could not help wondering what his lordship meant by his remark that he suspected his sons were stealing from him? Had something havey-cavey previously transpired between father and son, or sons, and if so, what?
Late-morning, a pair of housemaids attired in black frocks with white collars and cuffs quietly entered Lady Medley’s bedchamber. Both carried, and then silently set to arranging, an assortment of pink and white roses intermingled with long stalks of feathery white blossoms, which I could not identify, within a pair of cut-glass vases positioned on low tables near the sofa. When the maids’ task was completed, they wordlessly carted away those blossoms whose heads had begun to droop, which told me that the wilted flowers had, no doubt, been placed in her ladyship’s bedchamber a day or so before she and her husband returned home from London.
That set me to wondering if all the Medley Park housemaids had access to her ladyship’s bedchamber for the duration of her absence, which could account for the fact that all of her costly jewels had gone missing. I wondered if the key to her ladyship’s suite was handed only to the flower-bearing maids with instructions to lock the door to Lady Medley’s suite behind them once the fresh flowers had been arranged, and promptly return the key to Mrs. Bertram, or what? That all of Lady Medley’s precious jewelry had gone missing told me that someone who should not have been here had, indeed, gained access to her bedchamber in her absence and somehow made off with the jewels. The question, of course, was who?
I also wondered if her ladyship’s gemstones had been stored under lock and key in a hidden compartment somewhere within her suite, such as in the space beneath the case clock, or merely tossed into a jewel box upon her dressing table, which is where Lady Morland casually deposited her jewels. If under lock and key, to whom was that key entrusted and how could it have fallen into the wrong hands? Were all the jewels removed at once, I wondered, or were they slowly pilfered away until nothing remained? Of course, I had no way of knowing whether her ladyship’s suite was ever locked at all, which would, of course, make it easy for anyone to enter at anytime and ransack the premises, no one the wiser.
That the pair of Medley Park maids, who had just now come into her ladyship’s private quarters, did so without so much as a rap at the door also set me to wondering if the same task fell to the same housemaids each and every day, or was changing out the flowers performed by first one and then another of them? To deliver fresh flowers, even if accompanied by another maid, or even to enter a family member’s private chamber under the guise of delivering fresh flowers, would clearly provide one, or more, servants unlimited access to the personal belongings of every member of the Medley Park household. With Lord and Lady Medley being away meant there was no threat that he, or she, might pop back into a bedchamber, or sitting room, unannounced. Whoever had helped themselves to Lady Medley’s jewelry had been granted entire days in which to leisurely carry out their reprehensible deeds.
I wondered now how I might go about discretely learning whether or not her ladyship’s valuables had been locked up within a secure spot, such as inside a secret compartment behind a painting upon the wall, or even elsewhere within the house, perhaps even in his lordship’s bedchamber? On the other hand as my ruminations ran on, I finally reminded myself that both the theft and murder at Medley Park were truly none of my affair. To ask questions would clearly be overstepping the bounds, or perhaps even inviting suspicion to fall upon my own head. Still, it was impossible to halt my curious mind from mulling over the mysterious goings-on.
For instance, even over dinner last evening when his lordship declared his snuffbox collection had also gone missing from the drawing room, I wondered then if the guilty party was someone who had free access to the drawing room and whose comings and goings there would not arouse suspicion; which again suggested that the guilty party could be either a housemaid or a footman. On the day I arrived here and went in search of the red withdrawing room, I had come upon a pair of housemaids arranging flowers in that chamber with no family member present and therefore no one aware as to exactly what might have been taking place there. I fervently hoped Constable Wainwright was, indeed, questioning each and every housemaid and footman not only in regard to the missing articles, but also as to exactly what their daily duties consisted of within the large house.
A bit later, I wondered if any other such jewel thefts had taken place at perhaps other large estates in the area. To steal such a very large collection of precious jewels, as I assume Lady Medley’s to be, could quite possibly be the work of a professional thief, or even a highwayman, who might have known that Lord and Lady Medley were away.
But, to even be thinking about the matter was none of my concern, was it? Yet, even as I jotted down notes regarding the tapestries on the walls of Lady Medley’s suite, my thoughts turned to the young stable lad who had been murdered. Thus far, I had heard nothing in regard to the constable’s investigation into his tragic death; no explanation as to why the boy was killed, or to whom the finger of guilt might point.
The mysterious events taking place at Medley Park were all quite troubling and try as I might, I could not completely thrust the puzzle from mind.
* * *
I WAS READY FOR LUNCHEON that day long before the hour arrived, and to my surprise, when Lady Medley and I entered the small dining chamber, we both noted that neither Lord Medley nor Cecil were present.
Still, despite both gentlemen’s absence, conversation between myself, Hannah and Isabella, and Lady Medley and Miss Hutchens was thin to non-existent. I longed to ask Miss Hutchens how the murder investigation was proceeding, but refrained. Miss Hutchens seemed to wear a perpetual frown upon her face and I rather feared disturbing it, or in her case, provoking a lengthy lesson in morality or some other topic in that vein, so instead remained silent, although the questions that had churned in my mind all morning continued to churn now.
Before the small meal ensued, Miss Hutchens did bow her head and before squeezing her eyes shut, directed a stern look at both the girls and myself, silently instructing us to do likewise. We complied, although I was grateful the governess made no move to clasp my hand. However, I did note that Lady Medley murmured a few words at the end of the prayer and it was she who spoke the final Amen.
“Let us all enjoy a nice luncheon now, shall we?” the charming woman said as she directed smiles all around.
Today, I sat facing the courtyard, and as I ate I happened to catch sight of the black and white mother cat lounging in the sunshine; watching from the slits of her eyes as all four of her kittens romped and tussled about her. Oh, how I longed to be seated on a nearby bench, a fur ball in my lap while its brothers and sisters chased a leaf, or butterfly, nearby. Perhaps I would be granted a respite from my work later in the day. If so, I vowed to hasten to the courtyard in order to cuddle a kitten.
A bit further into the quiet meal, Hannah wanted to know if her lady’s maid, a girl named Mary, had lost her position this morning during her father’s rampage to rid the household of excess servants?
“Isabella had to help me dress this morning,” Hannah complained, “because Mary never appeared!”
“I’ve not taken inventory of the remaining servants, dear. I do know that, unfortunately, several were sent packing at first light. As you know, your father is quite an early riser and he was eager to dispatch the task today. I rather expect Mrs. Bertram will inform me as to what took place below stairs, and what might be the cause of Mary’s absence this morning. Until then, you and Isabella will carry on as best you can, and also continue with your lessons as usual.”
“But, Miss Hutchens is no longer with us.”
Lady Medley’s perfectly coiffed head jerked up. “What are you saying, dear? Miss Hutchens has not been sacked . . . have you, Miss Hutchens?”
Violet Hutchens sniffed piously. “Mr. Cecil Ruston has instructed that I assist the constable with his ongoing investigation. The constable asks questions and probes for answers whilst I meticulously jot down each and every reply, which I daresay is quite tedious work, indeed.”
“I see. But, could not one of the other maids, not that you are a maid, Miss Hutchens, but could not one of the other women servants, one who can read and write, of course, be engaged to assist the constable? You are needed in the schoolroom. Who is looking after the boys?” She gazed again at Hannah. “Are Spencer and Harry still in the schoolroom with you and Isabella, dear?”
“The boys spent the morning in the nursery with Mrs. Burton, whilst Isabella and I busied ourselves reading from our geography text.” Hannah cast a glance at me. “We especially wished to read about France.”
I smiled but said nothing.
“Well, I suppose the nanny is able to keep the boys entertained, but, to be at their lessons would better serve. I shall speak to my husband on your behalf,” she told Miss Hutchens. “I would far prefer that you continue with the children’s lessons than act as secretary to the constable.”
“Our music master arrives today, Mama. Isabella and I shall pass the bulk of the afternoon in the music room.”
“Oh, yes indeed; I quite forgot. Very well, then, you may carry on as before, Miss Hutchens. I shall speak with Lord Medley tonight.”
“We’ve services tomorrow, Mama.”
An audible sigh escaped Lady Medley. “Of course, we do. It had also slipped my mind that tomorrow is the Sabbath. I confess I feel a trifle turned around since we left Town.”
“Praise the Lord.” I heard Miss Hutchens murmur, her gray eyes downcast.
“Did you say something, Miss Hutchens?”
“No, madam. It’s just that . . . the week has been a strain upon us all. I confess I am quite looking forward to the soothing effects of a Sabbath sermon on the morrow.”
“Yes, well, I expect we all are. You will join us for services, will you not, Miss Abbott?”
“The church is in Stoksey and we all drive in together,” Hannah told me. “You recall, I pointed out the little stone church on the green next to the cemetery when you and Bella and I were in the village. You recall, do you not, Miss Abbott?”
I smiled. “Yes, I clearly recall you pointing out the churchyard to me, Hannah. The charming stone building overlooks an expanse of hilly countryside. It is quite a pretty aspect.”
“We’ve also a perfectly lovely chapel here on the grounds at Medley Park, Miss Abbott. You are welcome to visit the chapel as often as you like. Miss Hutchens lingers there quite often, is that not true?”
Miss Hutchens made no reply regarding her sojourns to the chapel on the estate grounds. Very little else was said for the remainder of the meal and a bit later, the five of us exited the cozy chamber.
Lady Medley and I returned to her suite where I set to work cataloguing all the watercolor paintings and tapestries on the walls of her bedchamber, the sitting room, and also the spacious dressing room. Before I was done, I rather felt as if I had visited an art gallery. Amongst the fine works was a portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds, a landscape by William Turner and even a sketch executed by the Dutch artist Rembrandt.
When I completed my work in Lady Medley’s suite, she, herself, remarked upon my singular dedication to my task, alluding to the fact that I had forgone tea that afternoon in order to continue my work. The thoughtful lady then suggested that I indulge in a few moments of rest before the family gathered again for the evening meal.
Rather than resting in my bedchamber, I escaped to the courtyard and passed a pleasant half hour petting an adorable black and white kitten, who seemed to have taken a liking to me. The tiny ball of fur, purring all the while, actually climbed of its own accord onto my lap, then seemed loath for me to set it aside. After reluctantly returning the sweet creature to its mother, I repaired to my suite in order to change from my serviceable fustian frock for one more suitable for dining with the family at the large estate.
I rang for Tilda to come and assist me and the smiling maid soon appeared. Unable to contain her joy over not being sacked that morning, she expressed her relief at once.
“Thank you for whatever ye’ done on my account, miss. I don’t know where I’d a-gone if I’d been turned away. And without a character, too,” she added. “Most all the girls what got sacked left here a-cryin’. Don’t none of us know what anyone done wrong.”
“I am glad you are still here, as well, Tilda.” It had slipped my mind that I had made a point to mention to Mrs. Bertram that I was quite pleased with Tilda’s help. That the girl had escaped Lord Medley’s wrath meant I felt a good deal less remiss over having forgotten to say anything on her behalf.
At dinner, Lord Medley also seemed a trifle less agitated than he had the previous evening, although when he did speak, his tone was as brusque as ever.
“Constable Wainwright is of the opinion that the stable lad’s death is the work of a roaming gypsy,” his lordship declared. “Appears a colony of them was spotted hereabouts and a similar death recently reported near Shrewsbury.”
“Ah. The second victim’s throat was also slit, was it?” Cecil asked, not looking up from his plate of roast mutton, potatoes and green peas. “I understand all gypsies carry daggers, ain’t that right?”
“I did not inquire as to the manner in which the second victim was killed,” Lord Medley replied, his attention also fixed upon his plate.
“Gentlemen, please!” scolded Lady Medley. “I do not believe murder to be a suitable topic for dinner conversation where ladies are present. Might we please discuss something other than . . . death and dying? Or gypsies, which I also find quite repugnant.”
Before Lord Medley could reply, Isabella blurted out, “I wish I could meet up with a gypsy. The life of one free to go anywhere one pleases seems quite romantical to me.”
“That is because you are a silly, thoughtless child!” interrupted Miss Hutchens, her shrill tone arresting everyone’s attention. We every last one cast a shocked look her way.
“I daresay that statement was entirely uncalled for, Miss Hutchens,” Lady Medley rebuked the governess. “You will apologize at once to Isabella. As you well know, she is a guest in this house the same as you are.”
We all waited to hear Miss Hutchens’ apology. Instead, the overset woman flung an aggrieved look about the table and with a fresh squeal of alarm, sprang to her feet. Running from the room, she cried, “My nerves are in tatters from listening to pleas of innocence from all and sundry! I cannot abide another minute of it!”
Shocked silence reigned, then once again Lady Medley spoke up. “I daresay to appoint another secretary to assist the constable is in order, Charles. It appears our Miss Hutchens is not quite up to the task. As governess, she is clearly better suited for the schoolroom.”
I fully expected his lordship to disagree, and also to disparage the actions of the put-upon governess, but instead the man’s lips firmed and he said nothing as he turned back to his meal. A moment later, he said, “I will consult with the constable before he leaves for the night, madam.”
“See that you do, dear.”
Following dinner, neither Lord Medley nor Miss Hutchens were present in the drawing room. Nor was Cecil. I had not yet heard the results of Constable Wainwright’s search of that young man’s bedchamber regarding the snuffboxes taken from the drawing room but since nothing was said over dinner, I assume the boxes had not yet been found. Still, without knowing precisely what was afoot, I could not help feeling a bit sorry for the handsome young man, who, for whatever reason, had managed to fall into disfavor with his father.
Only we ladies entered the drawing room that night as both gentlemen apparently had other things with which to occupy themselves. After a bit of strained talk, Lady Medley suggested that Hannah and Isabella take turns performing pieces upon the pianoforte. Each girl willingly complied and following every performance Lady Medley and I politely applauded their efforts.
“Very well done! Both you girls have clearly been practicing!” her ladyship exclaimed. “I have no doubt your music master will be quite pleased with your progress. As am I.”
“I wish Father were present to hear us,” Hannah murmured. It was plain to me the girl adored her father, however neglectful he was of her.
“Perhaps Uncle Charles is sitting with Aunt Martha,” Isabella suggested. “I sat with Aunt Martha and her little dog a good long while this afternoon. She repeatedly asks after Uncle Charles.”
“Aunt Martha repeatedly asks after everything!” Hannah giggled.
“Now, girls, you mustn’t be cruel. Your Aunt Martha has reached an age where it is difficult for her to recall a great many things. Or to see them, for that matter. At any rate, it was kind of you to sit with your Aunt Martha again today, Isabella. I do appreciate you spending such a great deal of time in her suite. I am certain she enjoys having you with her.”
“She sleeps a good bit,” Isabella murmured.
“Nonetheless, you are there and that is the important thing. It is kind of your father to sit with her, as well. Perhaps you might take a turn tomorrow, Hannah, dear.”
“Yes, Mama.”
The girls soon had their heads together, and Lady Medley quietly picked up her needlework. With nothing to occupy me, I took a slow turn about the room, noticing the costly artifacts, bronze statues and painted vases sitting here and there, then after pleading exhaustion, I excused myself to head up the stairs to my suite. Both Hannah and Isabella departed when I did and Lady Medley was also gathering up her things to leave. Unfortunately, on my way above stairs, I decided instead to take a slight detour and . . . knowing what I know now, fervently wished I had not veered from my course.