Death at the Manor, page 19
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The sound of silence woke Ofelia, and she realized that the rain must have stopped. Sliding out of bed, careful not to disturb her husband, she pulled her wrapper around her and padded on cold feet the window.
The sun wasn’t up yet, but she thought it might be soon; there was the faintest edge of shivering gold light at the edge of the blackness, illuminating the rippled undersides of the clouds that were starting to break up. She ought to go back to sleep, but she felt too wide awake. Thinking she might get a book from downstairs, she fetched the candle from her bedside, lit it at the banked embers of the fire, and slipped out the door.
The cottage was shrouded in shadows, the sunlight not yet finding its way through the windows, and Ofelia had to feel her way carefully on the unfamiliar stairs. She was so focused on watching her footsteps that she wasn’t paying attention to anything else, and she nearly let out a yelp of surprise when she reached the bottom and came face to face with Mrs. Adler.
Luckily, she didn’t drop her candle, though she did end up with a spill of hot wax on the back of her hand, and she grimaced as she held in a pained gasp.
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Adler asked in a hushed tone. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“Nothing to worry about,” Ofelia whispered back. “I could not sleep and thought I might fetch a book from downstairs.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Adler stepped aside. “Most of them are in the front parlor. Do you need me to show you the way?”
“No, thank you, I—” Ofelia broke off, her eyes narrowing. “What are you doing down here?” In the dim light, she couldn’t see whether her friend was blushing, but Mrs. Adler’s suddenly embarrassed expression made Ofelia think she might be. “Mrs. Adler, what—” That was when she noticed that her friend still had on the same gown she had been wearing the evening before. “Oh. Oh.”
“It is not what you are thinking,” Mrs. Adler said quickly, then winced. “Well, no, I imagine it is exactly what you are thinking.” She looked agitated, for the second time in as many days—she, who always seemed so assured in all of her decisions. “You’ll not say anything, will you? To the others, I mean. Please, not even Sir Edward.”
“Of course not,” Ofelia said, feeling affronted. However surprised she might be, she wouldn’t gossip about her friend. And Mrs. Adler was a woman grown, fully capable of making such decisions for herself—not only grown but widowed several years, as Mr. Samson had pointed out so recently. Ofelia held back an inappropriate giggle at the thought of the clergyman’s advice, wondering what he would thinking of seeing it put to such use. “If you are … content? With … how things are between you and Mr. Spencer?”
This time, she was sure Mrs. Adler was blushing. “For now,” she whispered. “I could not say what it means for the future, but … oh, it was lovely to feel so free again.” Her expression took on a mischievous look that Ofelia had never seen her wear before. “And to have such fun once more.”
“Yes, well.” Ofelia cleared her throat, surprised at how uncomfortable she felt. Her friend was clearly happy with whatever had transpired between her and Mr. Spencer. And she could not deny the appeal the man had, but … “What do you think the captain would say?”
There was enough light creeping into the hall now that she could see Mrs. Adler’s brows draw together in a frown. “I do not care what the captain would say,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “He cannot ask me to stay loyal to Mr. Adler forever, however much we both loved him.”
“Oh.” Ofelia felt her eyes grow wide. She had always thought Mrs. Adler exceptionally intelligent—but apparently even the cleverest of women could have unfortunate blind spots. Either that or Mrs. Adler was protesting a little too much because she knew, even if she had not yet admitted it to herself, what the captain’s objection might be. “Oh. No. I am sure he would not ask you to do that.”
“Then it does not concern him, not in the slightest.” Mrs. Adler said, her voice rising before she remembered to drop it to a whisper once more. “It concerns no one but Matthew and myself.”
“Just as you say,” Ofelia agreed, a little awkwardly. The two women stood in silence, still blocking each other from continuing on their way, until Ofelia cleared her throat. “Well, I suppose I should …” She gestured in the direction of the front parlor. “And you will want to … You would not want anyone else to see you wandering the halls at night.”
“No, certainly not. I—” Mrs. Adler broke off abruptly, her eyes growing wide and fixing on a point just beyond Ofelia’s shoulder. “I would not want anyone else to see me wandering the halls at night …”
Ofelia recognized the look on her friend’s face. “What is it? What have you figured out?”
“The maid, Etta. You said she was evasive when you asked why she was out of bed the night she encountered the ghost. Perhaps—”
“Perhaps she was wandering the halls at night for much the same reason you are?” Ofelia broke in, suddenly excited. If Etta had been discovered leaving her room to meet a lover, that could have dangerous implications for her employment. It might even have given her a reason to want Mrs. Wright gone. Or if she had been out of bed the night Mrs. Wright died for her own reasons, she might have seen something that could help them out. “She was very friendly with the manservant, Isaiah.”
“Then we need to talk to her today. As soon as we can.”
Ofelia couldn’t help the surprised lift of her brows. “Does this mean you intend to be involved once more?”
“I …” Mrs. Adler hesitated, then nodded firmly. “I do. Everyone has moments where they are not at their most observant, do they not? Particularly when it comes to those who are closest to them.”
“Indeed,” Ofelia murmured, thinking of the captain once more.
“But we are not close to Etta, nor to any of the Wrights. So we ought to find out what we can without letting the trail go cold before we have a response from Bow Street. And I am sorry,” she added, her words coming out in a rush, “for what I said before. There is nothing childish about you, and I value your friendship and your insight far too deeply to resent them. I was upset, and I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Of course I do,” Ofelia whispered. “I apologize, too, for the things I said. We neither of us behaved very well, did we?”
“Should I come with you to the parlor since we are both already awake? And you can tell me what you learned in the village today?”
“I think not.” Ofelia shook her head, giving her friend a pointed look. “I imagine you need to get what rest you can before breakfast. I shall fill you in on the details on the way to Belleford.”
CHAPTER 16
Matthew Spencer excused himself immediately after breakfast, explaining that he needed to return to his children. His manner toward Lily was not markedly different than it had been before, for which she was grateful. She did not want to deal with any speculative glances or, far worse, pointed comments. The only things that distinguished his farewell to her from the ones he gave to anyone else were the extra seconds he lingered over her hand as he brushed a polite kiss against it and the warm smile as he lifted his eyes.
“I will look forward to our next meeting,” he murmured before straightening and turning that charm on her aunts. “Miss Pierce, Miss Clarke, my deepest thanks for your hospitality. Lady Carroway, Sir Edward, a pleasure as always.” With polite bows for all, Matthew took his leave.
Lily was only a little sad to see him go. Last night had been enjoyable, to say the least, but it had also been an impulsive decision, and she so rarely made impulsive decisions. She needed to sort out how she was feeling, and she needed to be away from the influence of his many attractions if she wanted to do so with a clear head.
But all that would have to wait until she dealt with the more pressing matter of finding Etta and learning what the maid knew. Confronting Etta would not clear her head exactly. But it was something completely different. And it was far more important than figuring out how she felt about a handsome man with dark eyes and a too potent smile.
She and Ofelia left after breakfast, telling the others only that they were going for a drive. They didn’t want to answer questions, and Ofelia said she didn’t want to make her husband worry. And they had no intention of making a formal call, so it was unlikely that anyone would find out where they had gone or what they were doing.
They didn’t drive up to the front door—the old horse and gig were too recognizable after the number of times Eliza and Susan had visited in the last few days. And they didn’t want to be shown in properly and have to explain their errand. Instead, on the way, they agreed to tie up the horse and gig halfway down the Belleford drive, then walk around the property to approach the kitchen door without being seen.
“They’ve no cook at the moment, after all,” Ofelia pointed out as they hiked their way through the overgrown hedgerows and tried not to trip over the gnarled tree roots that were being steadily buried under autumn leaves. “And I think Etta has taken on most of those duties. So we are just as likely to find her in the kitchen as anywhere.”
“And less likely to encounter anyone else,” Lily agreed, stopping to untangle the hem of her dress from the grabbing branch of a shrub. “They also clearly have no gardener.”
“No, indeed.” Ofelia glanced around at the wilderness that the Belleford property had quickly become once they strayed from the road. “Though I suppose it could be called picturesque, which is stylish these days.”
“Not enough ruins for a picturesque view,” Lily said with a small smile, too busy catching her breath for a real one. She had not expected the walk to the kitchen to be such a challenge. “Though it does make it easy to picture a ghost on the property.”
“Why do you think everyone is so convinced there is one?” Ofelia asked as they set off once more. “Do you think there is any chance it might be real?”
Lily stopped, frowning as she turned to her friend. It was not a question she had expected. “Do you?”
“No. That is, it puzzles me that everyone here seems to believe. Ghost stories are hardly uncommon, especially in old houses. But this goes somewhat beyond that.”
“It does,” Lily agreed slowly. “It is odd that there is such a strong conviction, even among the people who one would think too rational for such a belief. But half the Belleford residents swear they have seen it in person—and that seems to be enough to convince the village.”
“Maybe Etta can shed some light on the matter. After all, she came face to face with it.”
“So she claims,” Lily said a little grimly. “Perhaps if we confront her with the truth about her nighttime excursions, she will be more forthcoming about this supposed ghost.”
Fortunately, the path back to the manor, though overgrown, was not long, and they were able to slip through the vegetable gardens around back—not barren, although certainly not well tended with only four servants in residence—and find their way to the kitchen door.
Their luck held on the way: they didn’t run into anyone, and the kitchen door was open.
For a moment, though, they both hesitated to enter. The door was open to let out a billow of smoke accompanied by the strong smell of burned bread and a female voice cursing loudly.
“Well, that makes one grateful for a trained cook,” Ofelia whispered.
Lily nodded, blinking against the smoke stinging her eyes as she tried to decide what the best manner of approach would be. As they stood, just out of sight beyond the doorframe, a second wave of smoke blew out, catching them where they stood and making them both cough.
Luckily, the sound was covered up by shouting from inside the kitchen.
“For God’s sake, what have you done now?”
It was Etta’s voice, and she sounded more exasperated than anything else. Lily and Ofelia exchanged a glance and stepped closer to the door, each of them trying to peer surreptitiously around the frame to see who was inside.
Alice stood before the smoky oven, looking both unhappy and embarrassed. Etta, who had clearly just come into the kitchen, stood at the foot of the stairs, hands on her hips as she surveyed the scene. She wasn’t wearing her uniform; instead, she was dressed in what was likely her best frock, with a pretty but cheap coat, left unbuttoned, and a fashionable, well-trimmed hat on her head.
In spite of her nice clothes, though, she pushed past Alice to grab a towel from the table, using it to cover her hands as she yanked open the oven door. “A right mess you’ve made of everything,” she scolded as she pulled out a blackened loaf of bread. Backing away, she tripped over the wood axe that stood nearby, nearly sending herself toppling to the floor. Cursing as she found her footing again, she slid the bread pan onto the table in the center of the room. “What did you go make such a mess for? It’s my half day—I don’t want to waste it cleaning up your mistakes.”
“Then don’t,” Alice snapped, the first time Lily had heard her raise her voice. But when Etta turned to her, looking daggers, Alice shrank back, her shoulders hunching. “I was just trying to get a start on dinner. I don’t know much about cookery.”
“Clearly not. I never met someone so useless in the kitchen,” Etta snorted, then sighed. “I’m sure you meant well, but now I’ll still have to make the bread when I come back, and we’re both going to spend the rest of the day smelling like smoke.” She touched her hat and made a face. “And I just bought this.”
“I’ll run to the inn for the bread—” Alice broke off, staring. “You bought it.”
Etta laughed shortly. “The hat? Of course I bought it. The milliner isn’t giving them away for free.” She preened a little as she fluffed her hair. “Isaiah said it suits me a treat. And it’s the prettiest one they’ve had in the window all month, don’t you think?”
“I do,” Alice said in a small voice, her face falling. “That’s why I was saving up to get it for myself.”
It was odd to watch them talking to each other; Lily had thought before they looked similar, had wondered even if they might be related to each other. But the similarities were mostly in their size and coloring; Alice’s appearance was more refined. She had a delicate prettiness to her face that Etta lacked, and her way of speaking seemed more gentle than was usual for a housemaid. But Etta, red-cheeked and outgoing, was more engaging. Lily wasn’t surprised that, even if they both had a tendre for Isaiah, he seemed to have chosen Etta. Etta might not have been as pretty, but with Alice, one almost didn’t notice she was there until she spoke.
“Oh, bad luck,” Etta said, grimacing in sympathy. “I had no idea, honest. But don’t you need to be sending your wages home to your mother, little mouse?” She laughed. “You never even go out on your half day, so it isn’t as though you really need a new hat. But I’ll let you borrow it sometime, if I don’t need it the same day.”
“Do you always get everything just because you want it, Etta?” Alice whispered.
“What was that?” Etta asked, not really listening.
Alice was already turning away. “You can clean up, then, since I’m so useless in the kitchen.”
“Alice, don’t you dare!” Etta snapped. “You know it’s my—”
The door shut behind Alice—not slammed, that didn’t seem her style, but with a firm and final click that seemed to leave Etta stunned. “My half day, you wretched girl!” she bit off, fuming as she turned back to the ruined loaf of bread. They could hear her muttering a string of curses to herself as she laid off her coat and pulled a large apron over her dress before opening the oven once more to assess the damage.
That sent another wave of smoke out, and Lily and Ofelia both ducked back around the doorway to avoid it. But they weren’t fast enough, and Ofelia began coughing fiercely.
The cursing abruptly broke off. “Who’s there?” Etta demanded, and a moment later she stood at the door, brandishing a heavy metal ladle in her hand. She lowered it when she saw the two ladies. “Did you lose your way trying to find the front door, then?” she demanded. Her eyes were red and irritated from the smoke, and she clearly was in no mood to be patient.
“No,” Lily managed to say, wishing they had made a more dignified entrance. She cleared her throat and straightened, trying to look as serious as possible. “We came to speak with you.”
Etta’s gaze darted toward Ofelia, and her eyes narrowed. “You was asking an awful lot of questions before, my lady. Can’t say I much feel like answering any more. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to be cleaning up a mess I didn’t make, so I can go enjoy my afternoon.” She gave them a curtsey that was almost insulting in its stiffness and turned abruptly back into the kitchen.
Lily and Ofelia exchanged a quick glance before following her.
“I think you will wish to hear what we have to say,” Lily said.
“Before we go speak to either of your employers about it,” Ofelia added, her tone almost too pleasant for the warning in her words.
Etta’s back had been to them; they both saw her stiffen before she slipped her hands under her apron and slid a second burned loaf out of the open oven. “And why would you think that?” she asked as she carried it to the basin, wincing at the heat. Still not looking at them, she scooped a pitcher of water from the bucket that sat nearby and poured it over the ruined loaf, filling the air with a wet, acrid smell.
“Because you lied to me about the night you claim to have seen the ghost,” Ofelia said.
Etta whirled around then, her cheeks flushed, though whether with anger or some other emotion it was hard to tell. “I don’t claim to have seen it—I did see it. And that’s the honest-to-God truth whether you believe me or not. Do you think I just go running around the halls at night and falling down stairs to please myself?”
“Well, that is a particularly interesting way to phrase it,” Lily said. “Because I suspect you would not like it if we went to Miss Wright and told her that you were, in fact, wandering the halls that night in order to meet a lover.”
