by Deb Marlowe
“Miss Munroe!” the cook exclaimed. “What are ye—” Her face blanched. “Is it Molly? Is she—”
“No! Nothing of the sort,” Penelope hurried to assure her. “Mrs. Bromond is fine! I only came because she mentioned that the joints in your feet have been bothering you more than usual.”
“Oh, thank goodness. Ye frightened the wits out o’ me for a moment there. Come and sit and I’ll pour ye a cup o’ tea.” She settled Penelope at the massive kitchen table and bustled about with a tray and kettle.
“I’ve been working with Lady Tensford on her project. She’s made some lavender scented camphor ointment that I thought might help your poor feet.”
“Ah, are ye not the thoughtful one? Ye should not bother with an old woman’s nonsense, but aye, my feet do ache something fierce at the end of the day. It’s all these years standing and cooking on flagstone floors, taking their toll.”
The cook set the tea tray and a plate of cherry cobbler on the table and took up the jar. Carefully uncorking it, she sniffed. “Oh, and doesn’t the lavender improve the smell! I’ll be happy indeed to use this tonight. Thank ye, Miss Munroe.”
“Yes, well, I hope it helps.” Penelope eyed the second cup on the tray with relief. “Do you have time to sit for a moment and join me?”
“Hanged if I won’t make the time.” Mrs. Williams gave her assistant a look and the girl scurried out. Bringing a plate of cobbler for herself, she sat with a sigh as Penelope poured her tea. “Thank ye, Miss. I confess, we’re so isolated here, I’m happy to sit for a nice cuppa and a bit of gossip about what’s happening in the village.”
“I’m afraid to disappoint you. It’s as quiet as ever.”
“Well, after the excitement of Lady Glory’s wedding, I suppose we were due for a dry spell. Is there word when she and that earl of hers will be back to start in on the Roudley place?”
“None so far. I suspect Glory will wish to inspect every horse farm in Ireland before they return home.”
Mrs. Williams chuckled. “I would imagine Lord Keswick will keep her from going entirely horse mad.” She eyed Penelope as she took a long drink of tea. “And forgive my impudence, but when are ye going to find a man o’ your own? A pretty, young girl like ye, with such a sweet way about ye. The gentlemen should be trailing at your feet.”
“That does sound as if it would be a nuisance,” Penelope laughed. “But either way, there seems to be a scarcity of single, young gentlemen about.”
“Perhaps ye should go up to London.” Mrs. Williams nodded sagely. “I know it’s not the high Season, but ye could go up, get familiar with the ways and the lay o’ the land, and get a jump on all those young girls that will flock there in the spring.” She shrugged. “It’s late enough in the summer, the heat will start to break up. And it surely must not be devoid of all entertainment, or I could not see our master risk missing his harvest to spend any time there.”
“Your master? Mr. Stillwater?”
“Who else?”
“He’s in London?”
“Well, not likely yet. He only just left yesterday morn.”
Penelope struggled a moment. She must not show too much interest or surprise. “I did not know Mr. Stillwater was in the habit of visiting London.”
“He’s not. But there’s been a good bit of doin’s this summer, that none of us are in the habit of.”
“Goodness, you make it sound so dire.”
Mrs. Williams laughed. “No, nothing so terrible.” She leaned in. “It’s just, everyone knows he don’t allow visitors in the house.”
“Yes. It’s why I came to the back.”
“Nor would it have been any use to seek entrance at the front. Old Larkspur don’t even post a footman at the front of the house. Leastaways, he never did until this summer—after Lord Tensford found that big fossil.”
Penelope blinked. “How could the earl’s discovery affect the running of this house?”
“The earl’s discovery?” The cook looked at her slyly. “I heard it was your doing that uncovered the thing.”
“Not at all,” she corrected her firmly. “It was the merest accident that I grasped that section of boulder to try and keep my balance. The merest accident that happened on an expedition that Lord Tensford had arranged, on his own property.”
“Well, I can tell ye that Mr. Stillwater would have fought him over ownership of the piece, had he been the one to pull down that stone and expose it. We all heard him ranting about it.”
“Good heavens, such a thing never entered my mind.”
“Mr. Stillwater weren’t the only one that thought so. After Tensford put a guard on it, all the curious folk come to him with their questions. It got so he could not enjoy his pint at the pub without being swamped with endless discussions. Even after he quit going to the village, they all came here to pester him.”
“Why would they—? Oh, I’d forgotten that Mr. Stillwater is also a fossil enthusiast.” Penelope hoped she’d be forgiven that small untruth.
“Oh, yes. It’s his obsession.” Mrs. Williams eyed her. “What did ye think o’ it? The one ye unearthed?”
She shrugged. “It was interesting. I suppose one could call it beautiful, in a cold and alien sort of way.”
“Eerie, if ye ask me, thinking so much o’ old bones and rocks.” Mrs. Williams made a face. “Dust collectors, if ye listen to the maids. But the folks kept coming, hoping to see the master’s collection, or to hear o’ the worth o’ such pieces.”
“You would think the locals would know better.”
“And so they might have, had the master not broken his own rules.”
Penelope set down her cup. “He admitted someone to the house? This house?”
“For the first time in all the years of my employment here. At first, we thought it a fine thing. We keep it all in first-rate shape, and it seems useless, when no one ever sees it.”
“Good heavens. Whom did he allow in?”
The cook shrugged. “Some London gentlemen as were attending the house party. Several o’ them, at different times. And of course, the lady.”
“Lady?” Penelope held very still. “Who was she?” She waited, holding her breath, although she would bet her quarterly allowance, she knew the answer.
“I’m surprised you don’t know, seeing as ‘twas your own cousin who escorted her.”
“My cousin?” she said blankly. “Oh. Mr. Lycett, you mean.”
“Yes, him. He escorted the lady here, though the footmen said he looked bored enough with all the talk of fossils and where to find them. Apparently, though, the lady fell right in with Mr. Stillwater’s enthusiasm.”
“Well, you cannot expect me to know the lady by any association with Mr. Lycett. The countess was kind enough to invite him to join in many of her activities, for my sake. And I believe he made up to every female at that party.”
“Oh, one of those, is he?”
“Most definitely. He was staying with us, as a matter of fact, and he even tried to cozy up to my mother.”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Williams said knowingly.
“Indeed. You can imagine her reaction. She thought him a great nuisance and was glad enough to see his visit come to an end.”
“Well, the word is your mother would rival Mr. Stillwater on her rating of company.”
“True enough, you know she does not like anything or anyone who might distract her from her work. But other ladies seem to enjoy Mr. Lycett’s company. Was this particular lady also a guest at the house party?”
“I believe so. A widow, with a title. Lady Threshold or Threshing, or—”
“Lady Tresham,” she said.
“Yes, that sounds right.”
It sounded right to Penelope too, especially as she’d already decided the same lady was one of her main suspects—and the letter she’d sent off this morning contained a discreet inquiry about her. Her heart was pounding at this verification of her reasoning, but she could not show it.
“
Well, my mother will stand alone in her aversions, now that it seems as if Mr. Stillwater is changing his stripes. People in the house, and a trip to London! Who would have predicted it?”
“No one. Nor will it last, for the new pelt has already been thrown over for the old stripes. It was bound to happen, once the fossil went missing.”
“He was so distraught at Lord Tensford’s loss?” Now she was truly surprised.
“Not the earl’s loss. His own.”
Her cup stalled on the way to her mouth. “Mrs. Williams, are you saying that Mr. Stillwater also had a fossil stolen?”
“Indeed, he did. Several, in fact.”
“From his collection, here?”
“Yes,” she said, with all the satisfaction of having delivered a juicy bit of gossip. “And didn’t he rage up one end of the house and down another? It had to have been one of the visitors. And we are now forbidden to let another creature through the front door.”
“Well, I’m glad I had the thought to come to the back,” she said, blinking and trying to absorb this new nugget of information.
“If ye were to ask me, that’s why he’s gone to London. He wrote a flurry of letters and got a flood back, too. But one had him throwing clothes in a bag and heading right out. I say he’s likely gone to get his nasty old fossils back.”
“What makes you think so? Or was it just his urgency?”
The cook’s tone lowered further. “Well, he left his papers scattered on his desk, didn’t he? And one of the main floor maids can read. She says as how he was sent a notice of a gathering of parties interested in such things—a gathering that also includes a sale.”
“Of fossils?”
Mrs. Williams nodded.
“Well, I hope he finds what he’s looking for. He should return in a sweeter temper.”
“And so do we all,” the cook said breathily. She sat back, smiling. “My own temper will be improved if Lady Tensford’s ointment helps my aching feet.”
Penelope smiled back and gathered up her satchel. “Do let me know if it helps and I’ll contrive to get you more. Thank you for a lovely visit.”
“I will. And if you stop by in a week or so, I’ll have a jar of cherry preserves to send along to the countess, in thanks.”
“I’ll do that.”
“See if you can convince Molly to come with you,” the cook said as they moved out of the kitchen and down the hall.
“That may be beyond my powers of persuasion,” Penelope said with a laugh. “I don’t believe she pauses to take a breath all the day long.”
“All we can do is try,” Mrs. Williams said wisely.
She took her leave, then, and climbed back into her gig. She was going to more than try. She knew what had to be done. It was going to take every bit of influence, pressure and persuasion she could manage to make it happen.
* * *
* * *
* * *
He heard the sound of the quarry before he caught sight of it. Through the trees echoed the shouts of men, the creak of rope and wagon and the constant pinging of tools pounding into rock. Following a decently sized tributary, he came around a bend and pulled up so he could take it all in.
Across the fast-moving stream, an entire, high hillside was under siege. Terraced levels of bare stone marched down from the top and men swarmed like insects on several levels, all busy shearing away huge hunks of rock.
A small bridge crossed the stream and Sterne urged Scylla over it, to approach the wooden office on the other side. She kept on alert, her ears swiveling at the noise, but passed over easily enough, until they crossed beneath the large sign on the bank.
Brazard Quarry.
“Are you Mr. Brazard?” he asked the man who came stalking out of the office, muttering over a sheaf of pages.
“No.” The man looked up and looked Sterne over, from top hat to worn, but quality boots. “Brazard doesn’t come in for the day to day. I’m Lewton. I’m foreman, here.”
“A good day to you, sir. I can see you must be busy. I only mean to inquire after a couple of your men. The Curtis brothers were recommended for a job of heavy lifting and labor. I was hoping to speak to them, but I will keep it brief.”
“Permanent job?” the man asked, brow lifting high.
“No. Just a day’s work.”
“Well, then you may be all right hiring those two, but you won’t find them here.”
“Oh? I was told they were quarrymen.”
“And so they are. They work here—occasionally. They come in, do a week’s work, sometimes two . . . before they are gone again.”
“Gone?”
“They are free miners, as so many born around here are. They have their own gales and work it themselves.” He shrugged. “I’ve heard they craft a fine millstone. They haven’t been around here for a month or more. I expect they have some orders of their own.”
“Where do they have their quarry? Do you know?”
“It’s a site just past their home. The place is not much, just a small shack in the woods. Go back to where the trail turned from the main road and ride on about another mile or so. You’ll find the house. Go on past it to the site. They combined their lengths and claimed a good-sized hillside out there.”
Sterne dragged a few more detailed directions from the man and thanked him before he moved on. Even with the extra instructions, he nearly missed the faint track off the main road. But he caught a sign of a wagon’s passage and made the turn. It led through a close growing, sun-flecked wood before emerging into a small clearing. The listing wooden shack sat there, waiting.
He called out a greeting and jumped a bit when a raven burst from a nearby bush, but there was no other answer or stir of movement. He sat still for several minutes, waiting and listening. Finally, he knocked on the door, but when there was again no answer he vaulted back into the saddle and moved on.
Once more, he heard the sound of the quarry before he saw it, but this time it was only a small, steady plink, plink that called him on. The shrub and bushes cleared again, and he emerged before a very different sort of quarry. A much smaller hill had been only partially dug into, at irregular intervals. A trench stretched across the front and in it had been placed a couple of tall, wooden tripods, all hung with ropes and pulleys. The noise had come from the base of a large pile of scraps and tailings. An older woman sat there, upon a leather pelt spread across the uneven ground. She hunched over a slab of sandstone, painstakingly pecking away at a pattern of small holes in the piece.
“Good afternoon,” he called.
She looked up in shock, grey hair falling away in all directions from an untidy bun. She let out a screech and dropped her tool.
“Don’t be alarmed! Please.” He dismounted, holding up a hand. “I’m only looking for the Curtis brothers. Is this their quarry site?”
“Aye. Who are ye? It’s all square and legal, here,” she said defiantly. “They’ve paid their shillings and pence to the Gaveller, just the same as any free miner.”
“I’m sure they did. You know them, then? The Curtis brothers?”
Snorting, she climbed to her feet, clutching her tool once more. “Happen I do know them, as I birthed them.”
“Oh. Well, good day to you, Mrs. Curtis. Are your sons available? I’d like to hire them for a job. It requires heavy lifting of a delivery of furniture and they come finely recommended.”
“Aye, they are strapping lads,” she agreed. “They do sign on for a bit of that kind of work, but they are not here. They already have a job, making a delivery themselves.”
“How disappointing. Would you mind if I left my card, then? The delivery arrives next week. Perhaps they will have returned by then.”
“Not likely.”
“Are you sure?” He watched her closely.
“Sure that it’ll take longer than a week to get to London and back,” she scoffed.
“London?” His pulse picked up, but he only grinned at her. “That does sound grand. I’m sur
prised you did not shame them into taking you along on the adventure.”
She made a face. “No, I don’t think so. Not at the pace they’ll set, trying to make it on time. And unlike some, I’ve no desire to consort with the high and mighty.” She stopped suddenly, looking as if she realized she’d spoken out of turn. Turning, she gestured toward the hill behind her. “We had an order for a grindstone,” she said hurriedly. “We make ’em strong and they last, should you find yourself in need of one.” She swept a hand toward the slab she’d been working on. “We do fine pierced work, too, if you need drain covers.”
He merely nodded and praised her painstaking work, all while his thoughts raced behind his polite words. The Curtis brothers were making a delivery—a fast delivery—to London. And to someone fancy. He’d eat his boot before he believed it was a grindstone.
“Thank you for your help, madam. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He bowed low and mounted while she simpered a little.
“Think of my boys again, should you need some strong shoulders,” she called.
“I will. Good day to you.”
He set out, heading back at a trot, his mind racing. Why the hurry? What awaited the brothers and their delivery in London? He could think of several disturbing options, and none of them boded well for Tensford getting his fossil back.
He sifted plans and plots as he rode. His sense of urgency grew. So much so, that it was a relief when rode through the village and saw Tensford holding his countess’s elbow and smiling as he ushered her into the Cock and Crown.
Sterne went around the back and left Scylla with a groom. Entering the tavern, he held tight to his impatience. The earl had likely brought his countess to meet the new Mrs. Thomkins. It wouldn’t be polite to interrupt—nor would it win him any points with Tensford, and he suspected he was already going to have to work to get him to go along with his plans.
