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Friday, 10 August 1821
After passing another long morning sequestered in the library, I felt near to bursting from the painful megrim that began almost as soon as I entered the room following breakfast.
By luncheon, I began to think I could not bear another minute of breathing the dust-filled air in the chamber and rather than forgo today’s small meal with the family, I took myself to the dining hall more as a way of seeking relief from the dusty air than to fill my stomach with food.
“Miss Abbott, you do not look at all well!” Lady Medley announced by way of greeting before the small meal even commenced.
Sniffing, I said, “I confess I do not feel at all well, ma’am.”
“What is the trouble, dear? Is it your . . .?” She left the question hanging.
Assuming she was alluding to that monthly malady common to all women of child-bearing age, I tightly shook my head. Then upon feeling a sneeze approach, I snatched up my napkin mere seconds before a decidedly unfeminine explosion burst forth. Dabbing at my nose, I murmured, “Please forgive me. I fear the dust in the library . . .” Once again, another hearty sneeze escaped me.
“Charles, you are over-working Miss Abbott!”
His lordship had only just taken a seat. “What’s this?” The gentleman aimed a scowl my way.
“I said Miss Abbott is not feeling well. I believe she is vastly over-worked and as a result, has fallen ill. I insist you allow her to . . .”
“Miss Abbott is being fairly compensated for the time she spends at her work!”
“That she is, or is not, being compensated is not the issue, Charles! I insist that Miss Abbott be excused for the remainder of the day, and perhaps also for the morrow if she continues to feel unwell.”
Springing to his feet, the still scowling Lord Medley flung his napkin onto the table. “I shall not be ordered about like a servant, madam! There is work to be done in the library and Miss Abbott has agreed to do it, therefore I expect her to . . . to set to without complaint. And, with haste!” he added as he angrily stalked from the room. On his way out, he bellowed for a footman to deliver his luncheon on a tray to his study at once!
Following his lordship’s thunderclap of an exit, a deafening silence ensued.
However, it was soon shattered by yet another sneeze from me, a weaker one, but nonetheless, a sneeze. Murmuring an apology, I instantly rose to my feet, causing both Cecil and Ned, seated across from me, to also lurch upward.
“If you will please excuse me, I shall just . . .”
“Hannah, do escort Miss Abbott to her bedchamber. She has clearly taken ill. I will send up a tray, Miss Abbott. I insist you spend the remainder of the day in your room.”
I was only too glad to comply and a bit later, did not refuse the dram of laudanum Lady Medley also sent up to help alleviate the throbbing pain in my head.
* * *
DESPITE THE CONTINUOUS tat-tat-tat from the hammers of the workmen at the far end of the courtyard, and even a volley of shouts as one of them ordered the scaffolding to be shifted about, I did manage to get some much-needed rest that afternoon. At about tea time, Tilda scratched at my door, and without waiting for me to reply, quietly entered my bedchamber carrying in another tray containing a pot of steaming hot tea and plate of small sandwiches and dainty crème-filled tarts.
“Her ladyship insisted, miss,” she said by way of an excuse for disturbing me.
Opening my eyes from where I lay curled up on the bed, I cleared my throat. “How kind of her.”
Holding the heavy tea tray by the edges, the girl stood in the middle of the room. “Shall I just . . . or, would you like it . . .?”
Pulling myself to an upright position, I reached for my wrapper draped over the end of the bed. Digging my toes into a pair of slippers, I murmured, “I shall come and sit on the window seat.”
As I slowly moved that direction, the girl set the tray on the desktop, then hurried to draw up a small piecrust tea table closer to me. After pouring a cup of tea, she settled the warm cup in my hands. The warmth felt so comforting, it made me shudder a little. And, also sneeze.
“Lady Medley has dispatched a half dozen maids to the library to clean it top to bottom, miss; so once you’s up and about, neither the books, or the room, will be dusty no more.”
“Oh.” I dabbed at my nose with a handkerchief. “How very thoughtful of her.”
“Her ladyship’s right kind, she is, miss.”
“I must send her a note expressing my gratitude.”
“Oh, I ‘most forgot!” Tilda plunged a hand into her apron pocket. “This just come for ye’.” She handed me a folded-up missive. “Come today from London, it did.”
Curious as to who might be writing to me, I managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Tilda.”
“I’ll just leave ya’ to your tea, and your letter, miss.” The cheerful girl dropped a curtsy. “You be sure to ring if you needs anything more. I’m a-sittin’ near the bell-board, so’s I can be certain to hear ya’.”
I nodded, then before she left the room, I said, “There is something else you can do for me, Tilda.”
“Anything, miss!” The girl eagerly whirled about, her eyes a question.
“Could you please fetch my notes from the library; the list of book titles I was compiling. The pages should be right where I left them on the long table at the top of the room. I shouldn’t want the maids to toss them into the rubbish bin.”
“Right away, miss.” Tilda bobbed another curtsy before she softly closed the door behind her, then vanished into the corridor.
I was in hopes she could find my notes and bring them to me before the pages disappeared altogether, meaning I would be obliged to repeat the past two day’s work all over again, something I did not wish to do.
Whilst awaiting Tilda’s return, I unfolded the letter I had received and found it was from my housekeeper Mrs. Gant in Mayfair. The woman had written to tell me that I had recently had a caller, a gentleman named Mr. Sheridan, (I gasped with both surprise and pleasure!) who said he was in hopes of seeing me whilst he was up to London. Mrs. G said she hoped I did not mind her telling Mr. Sheridan where I was at present.
‘Indeed, I do not mind in the least, Mrs. G!’ However, I did wonder if the gentleman entertained a notion of popping in here to see me at Medley Park? If so, I fervently hoped it would not be today, or even tomorrow, for I rather expect it would be several days before I felt up to receiving a caller; most especially a gentleman so . . . intriguing as Mr. Sheridan, a man for whom I would most certainly wish to appear at my best. Goodness, just the thought of that handsome, and oh-so masculine gentleman set my insides to fluttering. Having left Margate so very suddenly and under such unpromising circumstances, I had rather thought the chances of ever seeing Mr. Sheridan again were slim to none.
A few minutes later, Tilda returned with my notes.
“I’ll jes’ put ‘em here on the desk for ya’, miss.” She turned to me. “Goodness, ‘ye already look as if ye’ feel a good deal better! The tea and cakes must ‘a done ye’ a world o’ good, miss.” She paused and then grinned. “Or, perhaps it was the letter.”
Though I felt a rush of warmth stain my cheeks, I said nothing.
Several hours later, Tilda again rapped at my door to deliver my dinner to me on a tray, most of the food miraculously still hot. Again, I ate heartily and afterward, without bothering to crawl into bed, fell sound asleep where I sat, my legs pulled up beneath me on the window seat.
Much, much later, I did return to my bed but this time, was unable to fall sleep, perhaps because I had slept away nearly the whole of the afternoon and a good portion of the evening. At any rate, my mind kept flip-flopping from the heart-warming news Mrs. G had imparted to me to the mysterious goings-on here at Medley Park, which thus far I had not made so much as a dent in unraveling. How lovely it would be if Mr. Sheridan did turn up and I could consult with him regarding yet another mysterious happening into which I had inadvertently stumbled.
Lying there awake, from somewhere within the sleeping house, I heard the haunting echo of a case clock strike three bells. Then, after additional attempts, all in vain, to turn off my thoughts and fall again to sleep, a long sigh escaped me when I realized I would likely get no more sleep the remainder of this long night. Rising, I padded across the room to the window seat and sat gazing down upon the darkened courtyard. After a bit, I decided to make my way down to the library and search out a book to keep me company whilst the rest of the house slumbered. Perhaps, this time I would be successful in finding Mr. Culpeper’s work on plants and herbs.
I affixed a half-burned candle into a holder and lit it, then decided to properly dress myself in the off chance I bumped into another resident of Medley Park also suffering a bout of insomnia. I was not, after all, inhabiting the pages of a Gothic novel, where the silly heroine, clad only in her diaphanous night rail, sets off to wander through the darkened corridors of the castle in the hope of happening upon the lord of the manor sipping brandy whilst gazing broodingly into the fire. I even took the sensible precaution of draping a warm cloak about my shoulders. In the dead of night, I was certain the large house would be quite chilly, indeed, and I did not wish to wake the dead with a volley of sneezes.
Cupping one hand around the lit candle, the holder gripped tightly in my other hand, I quietly set out to tip-toe down the corridor and on down the stairwell. I had only just reached the foyer on the ground floor, when I was suddenly startled by a disturbance coming from somewhere nearby, perhaps from within the drawing room. The noise sounded a bit like a window being slowly lifted upward. Quite soon thereafter, I heard the sound of footsteps falling upon the planked wooden floor. One or two of the floorboards in that room were loose, therefore, one or two of the footfalls caused the floor beneath the weight of the person treading upon them to complain.
Certain now that someone had entered the house and was carefully creeping across the drawing room towards the corridor, I quickly blew out the candle I carried and attempted to wave away the lingering smoke before I set the holder onto the floor to . . . wait and watch.
At the far end of the long corridor, near where Miss Martha’s bedchamber was located, a lone candle flickered behind a wall sconce. The light it gave off was slight, but it was sufficient for me to soon see a shadowy figure emerge from the drawing room and set off tip-toeing up the hallway towards . . . I knew not where.
Because the person did not appear too terribly large, my apprehension was not too terribly great. Therefore I decided to follow the intruder to see what sort of mischief he was up to. In an attempt to muffle the sound of my own footfalls, I took the precaution of shrugging off my slippers and padded in my stockinged feet along the center of the strip of carpet running up the center of the hallway. Because I was now familiar with the layout of the house, I was fairly certain the shadowy figure had turned into the dining chamber and that before doing so, he had not paused to look in either direction behind him. Had he done so, he would have spotted me for, by now, I was following quite closely behind him.
As the figure advanced into the dining room, I sought refuge behind a large porcelain vase to avoid being seen when the intruder again emerged. I could not help thinking that if the fellow were merely a hungry stable hand, or even a gypsy in search of food, why he did not instead seek to enter the kitchen or the pantry? Food was rarely left sitting out on the sideboard in the dining hall. On the other hand, that the prowler knew the exact location of the dining chamber told me he also clearly knew his way around inside the large house, and for some reason, had chosen to enter the dining chamber.
In seconds, I spotted the really quite small figure reemerge from the dining chamber. In his hands, he carried a pair of long silver candlesticks. At once, I realized I had encountered the Medley Park thief! The bit of light from the wall sconce caused the silver candlesticks to gleam even as the boy attempted to conceal his prize beneath his coat. Yet before he took more than two steps beyond the doorway, I sprang from behind the vase in the corridor in an attempt to surprise, and hopefully, frighten him.
“What have you got there, young man?” I demanded in a normal tone of voice, hoping to alert perhaps a chambermaid or footman, who might be up and about this early, that something untoward was afoot.
The boy was so stunned, he actually dropped one of the candlesticks, which clattered to the floor and began to roll away. “I was . . . I was gonna’ put candles in ‘em so’s I could see where I’m a-goin’.”
“And where are you going?” I demanded. Standing squarely in front of the boy now, who could not have been more than ten or eleven, I glared down upon him. My eyes narrowed. “You are Dickon, are you not? Miss Hutchens’ brother.”
“What if I am?” His chin jutted up defiantly.
I leaned closer to him. “So, are you planning to pawn the candlesticks, Dickon? And do not fib to me, young man!”
Although his gaze remained defiant, the boy flattened himself against the wall. “What’s it to you?”
I folded both arms across my chest. “As I am sure you are aware, a series of thefts have taken place here at Medley Park, and I have been commissioned to run the thief to ground.” No matter that I was now fibbing, if I were addressing the thief, the means clearly justified the end. “Now that I have caught you red-handed, young man, I have no choice but to alert the authorities!”
“See if I care!” The boy’s tone grew angry as he raised the candlestick he still carried high above his head. “I dun’ kilt someone already. I can kill you too!”
My lips pursed. “I do not believe you wish to kill me, Dickon.”
With that the youth angrily flung the candlestick to the floor and took off running. A few seconds later, I heard the window in the drawing room bang shut as he exited the house the same way he had entered it.
Because I was still reeling over the child’s admission that he had killed someone already, I made no attempt to thwart his escape. But, I could not help wondering who the angry child had killed? The stable lad or . . . Miss Martha?
My reason for coming below stairs having long since fled, I instead picked up both candlesticks and returned them to the dining chamber; although once there, I wasn’t at all certain where they had been standing. But, no matter, they were now back in the room where they belonged as opposed to being left lying upon the floor, or deposited onto the counter of a curiosity shop in Stoksey or Hereford. Or, used as a weapon to bash in my skull if Dickon were, indeed, the ruthless killer he claimed to be.
* * *
SATURDAY, 11 AUGUST 1821
Back in my room, I could scarcely wait for the sun to come up that morning. Even before it did, and long before Tilda arrived to help me dress, help which I truly did not need as I had been dressing myself for a good long while, I reemerged from my room intent upon finding and speaking with Medley Park’s righteous young governess, Miss Violet Hutchens.