Death at the Manor, page 22
He shook his head ruefully. “I had hoped we might have some time together, in some degree of privacy to … discuss how we are both feeling.”
“And instead we find ourselves swept up in murder once more?”
“Which I think we can both agree takes precedence,” he said quickly, though there was a slight question in his voice, and he looked relieved when she nodded in immediate agreement. “But I wanted you to know …”
He cleared his throat again and took her hand, looking more hesitant than she had ever seen him. Certainly he had not hesitated at all last night. He was nervous, she realized, being unsure of her feelings. The thought was so endearing that it made her want to kiss him again, though of course she couldn’t, not on her aunt’s front steps.
“I wanted you to know how highly I regard you. How much I enjoyed the time we’ve spent together.” When Lily’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, he immediately realized what she thought he meant and flushed. “I did not mean last night! Though—” His voice dropped, and the low sound sent a shiver down her spine. “I did enjoy that too, very much. And I hope you did as well.”
Lily felt her face heating, but she didn’t look away. “I think you know that I did.”
That made him smile. “I like you very much, Lily, is what I am doing a poor job of saying with any eloquence. And I feel honored by the trust you bestowed on me last night. I want you to know that I have no expectations of what might come next between us—that is, I have hopes, certainly. But if they do not align with your own, I also hope we can still remain good friends.”
“And you will not tell me what those hopes are?” Lily asked, feeling brave enough to tease him. “Are you afraid they will shock me?”
That made him laugh. “Will you tell me your own thoughts in return for my very awkward honesty?”
“I hope you will not be offended if I tell you I am still figuring out what they are,” Lily admitted. “But I also like you very much, Matthew. And once we are through this terrible business, I think I would like to continue spending time together.” She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “In whatever manner you are hoping for.”
She would have thought she had thrown kindling on a bonfire, the way his eyes lit up.
What either of them might have said or done next, she did not know. But at that moment, John brought Matthew’s horse around from the stable, saddled and ready, and their private moment was gone.
Matthew took a smooth step back, putting a little distance between them, and cleared his throat. “Miss Wright asked me to pass on a message for you.”
“Oh?” Lily grimaced, sure that whatever Miss Wright might want of her, it would not be pleasant. “I suppose I owe her a visit after what I set in motion.”
“That was the message, yes,” Matthew said with a grim smile. “Mr. Powell might have mentioned to her that you were the one who discovered the affair between her brother and the maid. I believe she is hoping for some kind of explanation.”
“Thank you for passing on the message.” Lily held out her hand, conscious of the manservant’s eyes on them as Matthew took it and bowed. “And thank you again for your visit tonight. It set all our minds at ease to know what has passed.”
“It was my pleasure.” He hesitated, as though deciding whether to say something else, but in the end merely smiled, gave her hand a quick squeeze, and took his leave.
Lily watched him go until he was out of sight, her mind jumping between thoughts of the previous night and thoughts of the Wrights until she was exhausted. When she went back inside, she found the others had left the table and settled in the parlor. Susan and Eliza kept their eyes politely on their occupations, but Ned and Ofelia were watching for her. Ned regarded her with undisguised curiosity that she knew had more to with Matthew than with murder, while Ofelia nibbled her lower lip anxiously, the normally smooth skin of her forehead marred with a deep frown.
Lily spoke to her friend first. “Miss Wright has requested that we visit her tomorrow. She seems to be hoping for some sort of explanation.”
“One cannot blame her for that,” Eliza said gently, glancing up from her embroidery.
“No,” Ofelia agreed, sitting upright. “And that may be to our benefit, Mrs. Adler. You said you wanted to take another look at Mrs. Wright’s room, did you not? Perhaps this will be our chance.”
“It may,” Lily agreed, perking up a little at the thought. She hated feeling as though she were missing something important, and seeing the dead woman’s room might jog her thoughts or her memory in just the way she needed. “We shall see in the morning.”
* * *
Their departure the next morning was delayed, however, by an unexpected arrival.
Breakfast was just ending when the housemaid Addie came in with a quick curtsey and wide eyes. “Begging your pardons, Miss Pierce, Miss Clarke, but there’s a man here to speak with Mrs. Adler. He says he is from Bow Street in London. I’ve put him in the front parlor to wait—I hope that was all right.”
“At last,” Lily said, sighing with relief. “I was beginning to worry that my letter had gone astray.” She stood, only to be confronted with four sets of eyes staring at her with varying degrees of eagerness, apprehension, and curiosity. Lily shook her head. “Well, come along then, everyone. I cannot imagine an audience will make much difference to Mr. Page.”
But when she came to the parlor door, she halted abruptly, the others crowding behind her. “You are not Mr. Page.”
The young man waiting for them shut the book he was perusing with a sharp, nervous snap, tossing it behind him on the couch, as though to hide what he had been doing, as he sprang to his feet. He could not have been more than five-and-twenty years of age, Lily thought, and perhaps less, with sandy hair that stuck out in too many directions and a prominent Adam’s apple that bobbed nervously as he bowed to them.
“Mrs. Adler, I presume?” he asked, his voice surprisingly low for such a gangly frame. He winced. “Sorry, ma’am, my apologies, I mean. That’s not the right order. I’m George Hurst, of Bow Street, and I’ve been sent to look into the matter you wrote to Mr. Page about.”
“Mr. Hurst.” Lily, still stunned and confused, went through the introductions by rote as the others nudged her into the parlor so they could properly see the newcomer. When they were all seated once more, she could not help adding, “Please do not think me ungrateful for your presence, but I had been expecting Mr. Page himself. He and I know each other well, you understand, and I had written specifically asking for his assistance.” She wanted to add that Hurst looked far too young to know what he was doing, but managed to keep that thought to herself.
Mr. Hurst nodded, still tripping over his words a little and speaking quickly. “Unfortunately, Mr. Page couldn’t be released from his duties, and the magistrate sent me instead. But Mr. Page has told me what he can. I understand there’s a local magistrate that I may speak to?”
“Did Mr. Page have any letter for me? Any message?” Lily pressed.
“Just his regards that he sends. But he said …” Mr. Hurst hesitated, looking a little embarrassed. “He told me I should listen to what you have to say?” He said it like a question, as though he weren’t quite sure whether he had gotten the message right.
Lily resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. She had wanted the insight of a constable she knew and respected, not a young man who was so green that he still spoke as though worried someone would cut him off if he took too long. But there was nothing to be done about it. Mr. Page’s superiors had made their decision, and that was all there was to it. She at least appreciated Mr. Page’s attempt not only to provide assistance but to make sure she was not cut out of whatever might come to pass.
“The magistrate?’ Mr. Hurst asked, looking from one person to another, as though unsure who he should actually be asking for assistance.
“Lady Carroway, do you remember where Mr. Powell’s is?” Lily asked.
“I do,” Ofelia answered promptly. “Perhaps Sir Edward and I could escort Mr. Hurst there?”
“If you would be so kind, I think that would be best,” Lily agreed. She wanted to hear what might be said between the constable and magistrate, but she didn’t have the sense that Mr. Powell would welcome a large audience. And she wanted to see Miss Wright sooner rather than later. “I have some calls to make this morning.”
“We would be pleased to take you in our carriage, Mr. Hurst,” Ofelia offered while Ned offered an agreeable echo. “We will be able to share what we know of the situation on the way there.”
The Bow Street constable was torn between staring at Ofelia in surprise and stammering his gratitude, looking overwhelmed at the prospect of being offered a seat in a baronet’s carriage. Lily wondered briefly who his parents were and how he had come to work at Bow Street, but she did not have time to dwell on it. Within a few minutes, John was riding for the village inn where the carriage was stabled, and before long the Carroways and Mr. Hurst had set off, the horses moving at a brisk trot.
Lily turned to her aunt, who, along with Susan, was watching her anxiously.
“I am surprised you did not wish to go with them, Lily,” Eliza said. Beside her, Susan nodded, looking unhappy.
“Miss Wright is still expecting me to call this morning,” Lily said. She did not add that she hoped to spend as little of her time as possible talking to the fluttery, fidgety Miss Wright and fully intended to both speak to Etta and take another look at the bedroom before the constable and magistrate arrived. “Do either of you wish to come with me?”
Susan shook her head, looking horrified, and Eliza slipped a comforting arm around her waist. “Susan will remain here, I think. But I will come with you.” She gave her niece a considering look. “I imagine you may need someone to distract Miss Wright when it’s time for you to sneak away?”
“I did not—that is, how did you—?”
Eliza smiled. “I’ll see the horse is brought around.”
CHAPTER 19
They were met at the door to Belleford by the ancient butler, who regarded them with pale, watery eyes and an expressionless face before stepping aside and bowing. “Miss Wright was hoping to see you today, Mrs. Adler. Please, come in, and I will let her know you have arrived.”
“A moment, Mr. Mears,” Lily said as the door swung closed. He turned to her expectantly, though with the same unreadable expression. “Have there been any more sightings of the ghost in the last nights?”
“Mr. Wright saw the gray lady the night after his mother’s death. We all heard her wails two nights ago as well, though I do not believe anyone saw her. Understandably, the household has very little desire to encounter her,” he answered gravely. “But last night, we were thankful that she left us in peace.”
“You believe in her, then?” Lily pressed. Etta had been locked up last night, she remembered, unable to keep a suspicion from growing in her mind. There had been other nights the ghost did not appear, of course. But Etta—and Mr. Wright—were the two residents of the hall most likely to be wandering the halls at night. They were also the two with the most to say about the ghost’s presence, and Mr. Wright made no secret of his wish to leave Belleford. Perhaps … “Have you seen her?”
“I do not leave my bed at night,” the butler answered, which was not quite an answer to the questions she had asked. He stepped around them, gesturing with one hand for them to follow. “If you will—”
“Wait.” Lily paused, unsure how blunt she wanted to be. Very blunt, she decided. “Why do you stay, and under such trying circumstances, when you have no love left for the family?”
Only the slightest flicker of his eyelids betrayed any emotion. Mr. Mears regarded her for a long moment, and at first Lily thought he was not going to answer. But at last, he gave a slight nod of his head.
“My father once held the same position that I am now honored with,” he said, his eyes still fixed on her with that disconcerting stare. “Mr. Wright’s children have not yet learned to live up to their father’s legacy. But until they do, I shall honor his memory by remaining at my post.”
“And Mrs. Wright?” Lily asked.
Another flicker of his eyelids, and this time she could see his jaw tighten. “I’ve no desire to speak ill of the dead, Mrs. Adler. And I do not gossip. But were I to do either of those things, I might tell you that Mrs. Wright didn’t prove the helpmate that her spouse deserved. That after his death, she grew miserly, unsociable, and self-satisfied. That she failed to honor his legacy by behaving in ways worthy of the position that the Wrights of Belleford have always held in this neighborhood. I might even say her death was a relief, that it has made me hopeful her children will be forced, now they are at last freed from her shadow and influence, to finally live up to the memory of their father.” His voice did not rise during the entire harangue, and the contrast between his soft tone and his bitter, spiteful words so unnerved Lily that she had to fight the urge to shrink back toward the door.
Mr. Mears regarded her gravely. “Is there anything else you wish to ask of me, madam?”
“No,” Lily managed to say.
He nodded, still expressionless and polite. “Then if you would be so good as to wait in here, I’ll let Miss Wright know you have arrived.” He bowed them into the drawing room, then bowed again as he withdrew in search of his employer.
“Do you think Mrs. Wright knew that he despised her so?” Lily asked her aunt, her feet carrying her around the room in her agitation.
Eliza, looking just as rattled, had chosen a spot by the fireplace, which had burned down to nothing but cold ashes, as though no one had remembered to tend it in days. She shivered as she sat. “I do not know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “In general, I would say that most women are well aware when a man despises them. But if she had been, I cannot imagine she would have kept him on so long. She was a dignified woman, but not a generous one. And he gives away so little of his feelings, even when he speaks …” She shivered again. “Do you think we ought to say something to Miss Wright?”
Lily stared out the window, looking at the shifting shadows on the ground without truly seeing them. “If we think he had something to do with her mother’s death, yes. Otherwise, Miss Wright seems to have been particularly attached to her mother and her home. Telling her that a trusted servant—who has likely been here since before she was born—despised her mother and was disappointed in her would do no good.” She felt a pang of sympathy for Selina Wright, whose entire world had been shaken to its foundations with her mother’s death, then the remains shattered when her brother was arrested.
Eliza nodded, shivering again as she glanced around the room. “Goodness, this is a miserable place to put guests. Do you think he despises us too? One would think it had not been tended to in over a day.”
“There is only one maid remaining in the house, with Etta locked up,” Lily pointed out, though she could not quell a shiver of her own. “Perhaps she simply cannot keep up with the work.” Going to the heavy, dark curtains, she tried to pull them farther open to let a little more light into the room, and was rewarded with a cloud of dust and several sneezes for her trouble. “Since it seems that even between the two of them, they have not been able to tend the house properly in some time.”
Eliza looked around, her face drawn with sympathetic unhappiness. “What a miserable place to live.”
“It is my family’s home.”
Lily and Eliza both jumped, startled by the sudden voice, and turned to find Miss Wright standing in the doorway, eyeing them coldly. “It is my family’s home,” she repeated, “and has been for generations. If you do not like it, you may do me the courtesy of never visiting again.”
She spoke, for the first time that Lily had ever heard, with real dignity rather than in her usual timid, hesitating manner. And she made a disturbing, almost spectral figure standing in the doorway—clad this time not in black mourning clothes, but in an old-fashioned, threadbare dress that was covered in white lace. It did not fit her well, hanging from her shoulders and wrists so that she looked like a child dressed up in her mother’s clothing. Which is what she was, Lily realized after a moment—she had last seen the dress hanging in Mrs. Wright’s wardrobe.
A draught blew in from the hall as a door opened and closed somewhere, sending the thin fabric billowing around Miss Wright’s gaunt figure. Lily had to fight the urge to shrink back from the doorway.
But a moment later, Miss Wright glanced around, her face falling as she took in the barren chill of the sitting room. “Though I suppose this room is not very pleasant at the moment,” she admitted, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion and a tremulous whine entering her voice. A black shawl trailed from her hands this time, dragging along the floor until she recalled it was there and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. “Why must everything be so difficult all at once? Mr. Mears!” She turned back toward the hall, glancing left and right before shaking her head. “Gone, of course. Never a servant around when you need one.” Still muttering to herself, as though she had forgotten for the moment that she had guests, she crossed the room to the bellpull and gave it a sharp yank while Lily and Eliza watched her, neither of them quite sure what to do.
At last, Miss Wright sank into a chair with a deep sigh, all the dignity and defiance seeming to fade out of her. Her face was pale and ashen, and there were dark shadows of exhaustion under her eyes. “I suppose I should thank you for coming to see me,” she said at last. Her tone was ungracious, but Lily could not blame her for that. “You can guess, I am sure, why I wanted to speak with you.”
“I imagine you wish to know what I learned of your brother and Etta,” Lily replied quietly, taking a seat at last.
“We do not need to say her name,” Miss Wright said, her voice sharp and brittle, her eyes narrowing. “I do not believe a word of what Mr. Powell said yesterday. But if it is true, she ought to have known better.”
