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Before vacating the second floor of the house in search of Miss Hutchens’ bedchamber, I waylaid a servant and inquired where the governess’s suite was located.
“Two doors past yours, miss; on the opposite side o’ the hallway.” The maid pointed back the way I had just come.
Moments later, I rapped sharply at the door to Miss Hutchens’ bedchamber and was not at all surprised when she answered the summons herself. It being quite early in the day, she had apparently only just completed her toilette, apparently also without aid, for I spotted no maidservant about. Being a mere governess, I did not expect Miss Hutchens to have a personal lady’s maid. Even now she was smoothing the hair away from her temples into as severe a style as she could manage on her own, the knot at the nape of her neck already quite tight, and surprisingly tidy. Dressed in an equally severe manner, her black gown had a stiff white collar with prim buttons marching down the bodice. The slim skirt fell in straight folds to the floor.
“Ah, Miss Abbott. What brings you to my door so early this morning?”
“I beg a private word with you, Miss Hutchens.”
“I am preparing now to go down to breakfast. You are welcome to walk with me.”
“That will not do.” I stepped past her into the room and turned to face her, my chin aloft. “What I have to say must be spoken in private.”
Obviously taken aback by my remark, curiosity registered upon the governess’s face. “I see. Very well, then, what is it you wish to speak with me about?”
Miss Hutchens moved a small step away from the door as if she were, indeed, inviting me inside, although I was already in. Glancing about, I noted her bedchamber was a good bit smaller than mine and appeared to not contain a separate sitting, or dressing room. The furnishings were simple. There was no window seat, or fine tallboy with a fold-down desk. A small wardrobe stood opposite the bed, it devoid of hangings. The room looked to have been fitted out to house a servant, and I suppose, it did.
“What I wish to discuss with you, Miss Hutchens, concerns . . .”
In short order, I relayed to her all that had occurred between myself and her younger brother Dickon only a few hours earlier whilst the other occupants of the house slept soundly in their beds.
“I thought it best to alert you before I request the constable be sent for.”
As I spoke, her lips firmed into a straight line. Now a snort of derision escaped her. “The charges you are making are quite foolish, Miss Abbott. My brother Dickon would not hurt a fly. He is but a child, often given to boasting, I own, but that has nothing to say to anything. That a boy could kill a grown person is ridiculous. It is patently clear, Miss Abbott, that you merely suffered a bad dream. I assume Lady Medley sent up a dram of laudanum to treat your megrim. I daresay the opiate sent you off your head. Now, if you will excuse me . . .” She reached past me for the door latch. “I really must go now. My students will soon be awaiting me.”
“I am not off my head, Miss Hutchens!” I cried. “Your brother entered the house through a drawing room window. I followed him down the corridor and a few moments later, watched him emerge from the dining chamber carrying a pair of silver candlesticks, which he attempted to conceal beneath his coat; one of which he later raised to threaten my life. The boy was clearly stealing the candlesticks!”
A narrow-eyed look twisted her plain features into full-blown anger. “Your charges are quite ridiculous, Miss Abbott. Tell me, what were you doing tip-toeing through the corridor in the dead of night? Perhaps you were on your way to Miss Martha’s bedchamber to sift through her things for another costly item, which you intended to keep for yourself. Is that not the truth of it? So far as I know, Miss Martha’s suite has not yet been cleared away.”
“I was on my way to the library for a book when I heard a noise!”
“But, you work in the library, Miss Abbott. Why did you think it necessary to sneak into the library for a book during the night when you would be there, attending to your duties, only a few hours later?”
My heart pounded in my breast as I thrust my chin up another notch. “I know what I saw, Miss Hutchens.”
“You simply suffered a nightmare, Miss Abbott,” she replied in the stern, authoritative tone that only a schoolmistress can summon. “And dreamt that you made your way below stairs. You are clearly unwell. Shall I call for a maid to escort you back to your bedchamber?”
I glanced past her shoulder towards the corner of the room where a bell pull should hang, but one did not. Miss Hutchens could not summon help if she wanted to.
“I intend to pursue this matter further, Miss Hutchens,” I declared in a firm tone, “with or without your cooperation. If Lord Medley’s snuff boxes, which I now believe left this house within your brother’s pockets, are uncovered in his room, we shall see what his lordship says to that!”
Miss Hutchens’ nostrils flared. “I know nothing of his lordship’s snuff boxes. You are clearly off your head, Miss Abbott, and I insist you leave my bedchamber at once, or I shall be obliged to have you removed!”
“Do what you like, Miss Hutchens. But, I believe you know far more of this matter than you are letting on. Your brother raised a candlestick to me as if he meant to strike me. That the boy could easily take another’s life was patently clear to me. Good day, Miss Hutchens.”
I sailed past her into the corridor and although I could hear her footsteps behind me as we both headed down to breakfast, we neither one uttered a single word to the other, then or later.
At breakfast, I politely greeted the family and assured Lady Medley that I did, indeed, feel up to resuming my duties that day.
“Are you certain, my dear? In your absence, I ordered the library cleaned top to bottom, although if the servants run true to form, the dust may have only been swept into a corner. If you begin to feel the least bit weary at any time today, you must return to your bedchamber at once and continue to rest.” Lady Medley aimed a firm look at her husband, whose gaze remained fastened upon his plate. “For you to miss another day of work will delay nothing. In fact, you shall miss another day, for I insist you accompany the family to services on the morrow.”
“Thank you, Lady Medley.” I smiled with genuine relief. “I quite look forward to it.”
* * *
SATURDAY EVENING, 11 August 1821
The library was, indeed, a good deal less dusty than it had been the day before, but the air still reeked of stirred up debris and in places smelled quite musty. However, I remained at my duties the entire day and before leaving that evening, I was at last successful in locating Nicholas Culpeper’s book on plants and herbs and carried it up to my room to peruse at my leisure.
Following dinner that night, I made a point to approach Mr. Cecil Ruston in the drawing room. Because we had not spoken to one another regarding our ‘secret matter’ since the afternoon of Miss Martha’s memorial service, I determined that given my previous night’s encounter with the thief and the disturbing conversation this morning with Miss Hutchens, I now had something of import to impart to him.
“I wonder if we might take at turn about the courtyard, sir,” I suggested softly.
The handsome young man’s face lit up. “I would be delighted, Miss Abbott.” Wearing a dark blue cut-away coat over matching trousers, he looked especially smart this evening. Because his father was at the moment arguing with his other dark-haired son over Ned’s deplorable lack of direction, and funds, a contentious topic that Ned had introduced at dinner and one he seemed determined to win, I was certain that I was now, indeed, addressing Cecil, and not Ned.
As all the other members of the family appeared to also be engaged, Hannah and Isabella seated at the pianoforte as they laughingly stumbled their way through a duet; Lady Medley with her embroidery hoop in hand, Miss Hutchens thumbing through a ladies magazine, and as I mentioned, Lord Medley and Ned arguing, Mr. Cecil Ruston and I quietly vacated the room without a word of explanation to anyone regarding our intended destination.
I was glad I had the foresight to drape a lightweight shawl about my shoulders before coming down to dinner for the air wafting through the house already felt quite cool. Yet, once we stepped into the courtyard, I found the brisk air outdoors, heavy with the sweet scent of flowers, both delightful and invigorating. But then, almost anything at this juncture was an improvement over the stale air that still saturated the library and all its contents.
“Are you enjoying your brother’s company?” I asked as Cecil and I made our way down the stone path towards the open area that encircled the gurgling fountain in the center of the courtyard. The moon overhead dappled the gravel that crunched beneath our feet. I idly wondered if the kittens were anywhere about, and if so, would we come upon one or two of the precious creatures chasing fireflies or moonbeams?
“Hardly.” Cecil snorted. “That Ned was away on another of his pleasure jaunts for most of yesterday and the bulk of today was far more pleasant to me than attempting to converse with him. Were my brother to leave Medley Park altogether would not overset me in the least.”
“It does seem a shame that he was not here to attend Miss Martha’s memorial service, or that he knew nothing of her death until . . .”
“Ned was never particularly fond of Aunt Martha. So far as I know, he has scarcely noticed she is no longer with us. He remained at home for less than a day before he set off on another of his jaunts to heaven-knows-where. Mother does not even attempt to keep up with my brother’s whereabouts and Ned converses with Father only to beg for money to finance another of his ill-thought out ventures.”
For a moment, I said nothing, a part of me hoping that Mr. Cecil Ruston’s intense dislike of his brother did not portend another . . . deadly deed. But then that would mean I was now confiding in a killer, which, of course, I did not believe to be the case.
Aware that my tone no doubt sounded a trifle wistful, I said, “I am possessed of no family at all, Mr. Ruston. I cannot help but find it sad that you and your brother remain . . . perpetually at odds.”
“As you are aware, Miss Abbott, Ned and I have never found the other agreeable. Despite being twins, we are as different in personality as we are alike in looks. Ned and I personify the proverbial phrase: as different as chalk and cheese.”
The two of us walked a bit further in silence, then after inhaling a fresh breath, I said, “I’ve something to tell you, sir, in regard to the murder at Medley Park.”
His dark head whirled about. “I am all ears, Miss Abbott; please, do go on.”
In a calm, steady tone, I relayed to my tall handsome companion the events of the previous night, and also the details of my early-morning discussion with Miss Hutchens. To my lengthy tale, Cecil listened without comment. When my discourse concluded, I looked up at him, walking alongside me, both hands clasped thoughtfully behind his back.
“Sir, I cannot help but believe that Miss Hutchens is not as innocent of her brother’s intent to steal from your father as she claims to be. By contrast, judging from Dickon’s actions of last night, I cannot help but fear the boy is guilty of more than just the one theft.”
“Are you suggesting it was he who pinched Mother’s jewels?”
A regretful sigh escaped me. “At this juncture, I have no proof of that. After all, how could he, who even on a good day more closely resembles a London street urchin than not, have entered Lady Medley’s bedchamber and pocketed the gemstones, then strolled back through the house as if nothing were amiss, all while not calling undue attention to himself?”
“The servants are accustomed to seeing the boy about,” Cecil pointed out. “To have, as you say, strolled through the house, would not seem the least bit extraordinary to anyone.”
I glanced up. “But surely to be observed within her ladyship’s bedchamber would arouse suspicion. Certainly a chambermaid, or perhaps, even Mrs. Bertram, would wonder what reason the ragged urchin had for being there.”
“True. However, even whilst away, Mother’s personal chambermaid and others of the housemaids freely come and go as they please, to say nothing of the scores of footmen lining the hallways. As you say, it is, indeed, more likely than not that the boy would have been observed by someone, and even questioned as to his intent for being somewhere he shouldn’t.”
“Unless, he managed to carry out the thefts in the dead of night,” I suggested. “Whilst you and your parents were up to London, I presume no one was occupying your mother’s suite. I am assuming her lady’s maid traveled up to Town with her. Dickon could have climbed into the house through a window on the ground floor, as he did last night, then quietly made his way above stairs to your Mother’s bedchamber to pocket the jewels, then exit the house the same way he came in, no one the wiser.”
Cecil nodded. “Quite possible.”
“But,” I went on, “how would he have known exactly where your mother kept her jewels?”
Cecil gazed down upon me. “Another good point. Not even I know where Mother keeps her jewels. To my knowledge, even the paste copies are kept tucked away out of sight.”
A chuckle escaped me. “I wonder if your mother has enlisted the aid of an appraiser to study the jewelry now in her possession? Would be a fine joke on the thief if he had pilfered the paste copies rather than the genuine articles.”
Cecil laughed, then cast an appreciative gaze upon me. “You are, indeed, quite clever, Miss Abbott.”
“Thank you, sir.” I grinned. “Tell me, what do you know of the servants who frequently enter the family’s bedchambers and other rooms of the house in order to change out the flowers? Are only a special few entrusted with the task, or is it performed by first one, and then another?”
“I couldn’t say.” Cecil’s dark head shook. “I haven’t the least notion who does what in the household. I have a personal valet, of course, as does Father and Ned. Beyond that, I know nothing of the servants or their respective duties.”
“I wonder if one of them could have observed her ladyship withdraw her jewel case from its hiding place, then passed along the information to . . . the wrong person? I understand, there are no secrets amongst servants. If one of them knows something, they all know it.”
He exhaled a breath. “You make yet another good point. I wonder that the constable did not think of that. Or Father.”
“I also wonder if the noise I heard on that night, soon after I arrived here, could have been Dickon climbing into the house through a window, perhaps intent upon stealing some other small object. I take it your father’s snuffboxes have not yet turned up.”
“No. Nothing has turned up. Mother is quite distraught, as is Father. Of late,” he added, his brow furrowing, “Father seems a good bit disturbed by . . . I know not what. Perhaps he is still grieving Aunt Martha’s death. She was more a mother to him than a sister. Or, perhaps Ned’s waywardness is at last coming to a head. Whatever it is, I daresay something is amiss. More so than usual.”
Although I heartily concurred with Cecil’s assessment of his father’s state of mind, I offered no thoughts on the subject. Instead, I continued to speak on the topic of the servants having free access to the family’s suites in order to change out the flowers.
“I wonder that no more of the family’s personal items have gone missing given the servants are in the habit of bringing fresh flowers into the house every day. That alone provides them access to everyone’s belongings.”
“True.” Again, he nodded. “Somehow, I doubt that Mother has taken that into consideration. I was not wrong to enlist your help, Miss Abbott. You are quite astute in your observations.”
“Thank you, sir. I make an especial effort to be observant.”
“Do you think I should have a word with Miss Hutchens regarding her brother?” he asked.
“I leave that entirely to your discretion, sir. But, keep in mind that without proof we can hardly accuse Dickon of stealing your mother’s gemstones. I merely thought I should alert Miss Hutchens that someone in the household is now aware of what her brother has been up to. Dickon is just a boy, apparently with only an older sister to guide him; and she seems to be far more occupied with teaching the other children in her charge. Perhaps the boy thought that since other, more valuable, articles have already gone missing that Lord Medley would assume the same thief is responsible for all the pilfering that is taking place.”
“But, what of his claim to have killed someone?”
I shrugged. “Miss Hutchens declared him to be a braggart.” After another pause, I added, “I truly do not believe Dickon is guilty of poisoning your Aunt Martha. I also do not believe it was he who entered the house in order to make off with the valise containing your mother’s jewelry on that Sunday evening when most of the family were present in Miss Martha’s bedchamber.” I cast a gaze up at my handsome companion. “You lifted the valise, sir. It was quite heavy. Dickon is not a large boy. He would have had a difficult time hauling the heavy case up and over the windowsill, then tugging it alongside him whilst scampering away into the night. That task would better suit a grown man . . . such as Miss Hutchens’ other brother.”
Cecil’s dark head jerked around. “Her other brother? I was unaware Miss Hutchens had another brother.”
Although I found the gentleman’s admission odd, I did not question his statement. He had already admitted he knew nothing of the servants. Perhaps the offspring of the wealthy truly did not bother themselves by learning who amongst their servants were related to whom. Which reminded me of something I overheard one of the high-born ladies at Morland Manor say, in my presence, that servants, who at that time I was parading as, deserved no more notice from their betters than did a chair. As governess, Miss Hutchens was merely a few steps above a housemaid herself, but to her charges, she was still a servant. As was her brother Boyd, the gardener. He and young Dickon’s rank was so low on the hierarchy ladder, that no doubt, they were both still queued up to approach the bottom rung.
“Hannah informed me that Miss Hutchens’ older brother, whose name is Boyd, is a gardener.” Of a sudden, I blurted out, “Are you aware, sir, where young Dickon stays?”
Once again Cecil shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. Perhaps in the stable with the other lads who look after the horses and whatnot.”
I chewed on my lower lip. “And a stable lad was killed. If young Dickon has, indeed, stolen a good many things from the family, where would he have stashed the items he took? Somewhere in the barn, no doubt,” I answered my own question. “Perhaps hidden under the hay beneath the cot where he sleeps. What if another of the stable lads happened to come upon Dickon’s collection of nicked items? And, what if that boy threatened to expose him to Lord Medley? What would a frightened and angry young Dickon do?”
Cecil drew to an abrupt standstill and stared hard at me. “The boy bragged to you that he had killed someone.”
I nodded slowly. “That he did."
“Father must know of this at once, Miss Abbott!”
Shaking my head, I reached to touch his arm. “For now, let us say nothing of this to anyone. I would like to speak with Mrs. Bertram first.”
“Bertram?” Cecil’s brow furrowed. “Whatever for? What might the housekeeper have to say to anything?”
“We shall speak again tomorrow evening, sir. For now, I must . . .”
Turning around, I led the way back into the house, Cecil close on my heels. After quickly bidding Mr. Ruston a good evening, I went in search of the attractive young Medley Park housekeeper.