by Sara Rosett
“Of course not,” I said.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Beatrice added.
Thunder rumbled distantly as Waverly announced that dinner was served, and Beatrice went to sort out the order of precedence, which would have been much easier in Regency times when people paired off and promenaded to the dining room according to social rank, but in today’s more democratic times precedence was a bit trickier, depending on how you sorted people. If it were by net worth, then Toby would certainly go first…or perhaps Beth Coleson, going by the sheer size of her engagement ring. On the other hand, if the deciding factor was social media influence, Monique clearly outranked everyone.
Beatrice arranged us, putting Monique at the head of the line with Sir Harold. Toby and Beatrice were next. I was paired with Michael at the end of the line, which didn’t bother me a bit as it let me watch everyone else.
I asked Michael about his book as we promenaded. “It’s an in-depth study of butterfly collectors with a focus on Victorian lepidopterists,” he said then seemed glad to deposit me at my chair and escape to the other end of the table. Was he embarrassed that I’d seen him sneaking into the dining room? And why had he come in from the outside when he could have just walked in from the hall?
I was seated between Simon and Jay. Beatrice cleared her throat, and everyone looked her way. “We are leaning toward historical accuracy tonight, but not bowing to it. Just as we had cocktails before dinner, which did not happen in the Regency, we will also have some contemporary food as well as food that would have been served at a Regency dinner party.”
I looked over the dishes that were already arranged on the table and was relieved to see some foods I could actually identify, including lamb, peas, and bread. “We have our version of Austen’s white soup, venison, pheasant, lamb cutlets, and turbot with lobster as well as various side dishes. Gentlemen, please serve the ladies. If you cannot reach something, Thomas or John will help you.” She smiled at the footmen on each side of the room. Waverly stood behind Beatrice’s chair, monitoring everything, his expression blank, and I wondered if my eyes had somehow played a trick on me. Had I really seen him juggling spoons? “Remember,” Beatrice said, “this is the first course, so gentlemen, you converse with the lady on your right.”
Simon, his coat straining around his bulky arms as he reached for dishes, offered them to me, and I sampled most of them—research, you know, thinking that the dining experience alone would interest Elise and the viewers of the documentary series. Once we had our food and drink sorted out, he asked what I did.
“I’m a location scout.”
His spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “Never met anyone who does that. Tell me about it.”
It was the usual reaction when I mentioned my job, and I had the reply down pat, describing how I looked for locations for television, film, and advertising clients as I tried the white soup, which was a creamy soup flavored with some sort of meat. Probably chicken, I decided.
Aware of the etiquette of the dinner table, I turned the attention back on him and asked about his work. He told me he worked for a plastics company, but it was obvious his real passion was the “preparedness movement” because that’s where he directed the conversation as soon as he was able.
As he speared a glazed carrot, Simon said, “Of course, the biggest thing we have to worry about—the thing no one seems to care about— is an EMP.”
“EMP?”
“Electromagnetic Pulse, a huge burst of electricity that produces magnetic fields, which are so powerful that they wipe out the electric grid. Could be from a solar flare or from a nuclear device. With no electricity, life as we know it would be over. Everything runs on electricity now. Gas pumps, bank ATMs, streetlights, all the fancy gadgets the doctors use in hospitals, not to mention communications systems like phones and the Internet.”
“I see. Sounds awful.”
“Oh, it will be. That’s why I’m so interested in Parkview Hall. It’s good to see how sustainment worked on a large scale historically.”
Thunder boomed again, sounding closer. I looked at the candles. “At least we won’t have an issue if the power goes out.”
“That’s the idea of sustainable living. You’re already prepared, no matter what comes.”
The plates were cleared, and the top tablecloth was removed, revealing a second tablecloth under it. Plates and silverware were positioned again and the second course was served: turkey, chicken, roast loin of pork, and mushrooms. The more exotic choices included eggs in aspic jelly and mayonnaise of fowl, a dish of chopped fowl coated in mayonnaise and garnished with watercress and hard-boiled eggs. I ate less of this course, knowing there was still dessert to come. While I nibbled, I asked Jay if he enjoyed any sports.
“Saw me watching the game?” he asked with a half-smile. “Yes, baseball. I’m a Cubs fan,” he said resignedly.
“Always hopeful, then.”
“Yes, I have to be.”
“It’s quite a sacrifice, to come to a house party where you can’t watch your games.”
“Well, Jo needed to come this weekend, and I’ll be able to watch the games, just not at dinner. They do have Internet here. I guess people want to experience what life was like in olden times, but with all the modern conveniences.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” I said, thinking of the built-in bath with a shower that I’d been so glad to find tucked away behind the floor-to-ceiling cabinets in my room. “So, Jo—I mean, Mrs. Funderburg,” I corrected myself as we were all using formal address tonight, “she must be a big Austen fan.”
He looked across the flickering candles and caught his wife’s gaze on him. “Oh, yes. Big fan. Really big fan,” he said, then concentrated on cutting his turkey, and I wondered why he sounded so stilted.
A few minutes later, the tablecloth was removed to prepare for the dessert course, which Beatrice said would be ices and fresh fruit. “Regency ices were flavored shaved ice,” Beatrice explained. “The ices were a delicacy because only the wealthiest families had ice houses to store meat and ice cut from the rivers in winter.”
How spoiled I was, compared to the people who had lived even a few hundred years ago. Even my tiny cottage had a freezer. I could have ice cream whenever I wanted, and if I didn’t happen to have any at my house, a large variety of ice cream was only a short walk away in Nether Woodsmoor’s grocery.
I glanced at Simon. “You’re right. If there ever is one of those EMP things, we’re all toast. We wouldn’t know how to begin to survive, much less store ice and make ice cream in the middle of the summer without electricity.”
“Oh, I think we could figure it out. It’s amazing how ingenious people are…when they have to be.”
The footman swept up the white cloth, revealing the polished wood, except for a white square in front of Sir Harold. With everything else removed from the long expanse of the table, we all looked toward the white square. For a second, I thought it was a napkin that had been left accidentally under the tablecloth when the table was laid earlier, but then I saw that it was a piece of paper with opaque tape running along the edges, holding it in place.
Block letters in a thick black marker were written on the page, so large that even I could see the words and read them upside down from almost the other end of the table. Evil. You can’t hide anymore. Soon everyone will know. Two arrows ran down each side of the page, pointing toward Sir Harold at the head of the table.
There was a beat of silence. When the cloth was first removed Sir Harold looked puzzled, but as he read the words, his face paled. But he was British and kept his emotions in check. He motioned to the footman who had frozen like the rest of us.
“Thomas, remove this, please”
Thomas, his hands encased in white gloves fumbled with the tape, but managed to peel it away and remove the paper.
“It appears we have a practical joker in our midst,” Beatrice said. She sat rigid in her chair, but her eyes blazed with anger.
�
�With an inappropriate sense of humor,” Toby said easily. “It’s like hate mail, which I get all the time. It’s a mark of success. Probably a jealous competitor, working to make you look bad.”
Beatrice cleared her throat. “The dessert course, Waverly,” she said, and a huge silver bowl with four arms extending out from it with small bowls at their ends was placed at the center of the table. Apples, oranges, and pears filled the center bowl, while the smaller bowls held cherries, strawberries, and nuts.
We followed her lead and ignored the note, but there was a strain in the atmosphere that hadn’t been there before. Conversation limped along until Beatrice stood, signaling the end of dinner. “Ladies, let’s retreat to the drawing room.”
Chapter 5
THUNDER ROLLED, SOUNDING AS IF the storm was directly overhead as I entered the drawing room with the other ladies. “Tea, I think, Waverly,” Beatrice said. “I know I would like a cup. We also have coffee and other drinks, if you’d like a nightcap.”
Beatrice had been more formal and correct all night than I’d ever seen her before. Her usual, almost brash, manner with its hints of good humor shining through, had been tamped down. Overseeing a house party had to be exhausting, and she was also educating all of us on appropriate Regency behavior, which had to be tiring. And then there was the note.
Torrie went to the harpsichord and began to pick out a tune. Monique and Beth took seats on either side of a piecrust table, Beth asking questions about the vendors Monique had used for her wedding. Jo and Audrey headed for a chessboard and set up on opposite sides of it.
“Thank goodness no one wants to play cards. I don’t think I could handle teaching the rules of loo.”
“Loo?”
“One of the card games mentioned in Pride and Prejudice. Holly found the directions for how to play it online. The last group of house party guests had a woman who was a Regency expert and was shocked—shocked!—that I wasn’t familiar with the game and didn’t know how to teach it.”
“Well, there doesn’t seem to be anyone like that at this party.”
“Thank goodness. I suppose I can stop going on about how things were in the Regency.” Beatrice’s gaze rested on Monique and Beth. “This group of guests is different from the last one. The only true Regency aficionado is Audrey.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. I mentioned Mr. Woodhouse to Jo, and I don’t think she knew who I was talking about.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with a luxurious weekend in a country house. That is part of what we advertise. Libel at dinner, on the other hand, is not what we promise.”
“You were right earlier. It is escalating.” Instead of online accusations, the harassment had shifted to an intimate, yet public, setting with some very influential people.
“What’s behind it?” Beatrice asked, shifting on the cushion and frowning at the floor. “Was it simply to embarrass Harold? Or is there something else? I can’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop. Surely someone wouldn’t go to the trouble of anonymous online posts and then sneaking into the dining room to plant the note unless there was more to it than an effort to humiliate Harold, because that’s what happened tonight. He was hurt. He didn’t show it, but I could tell. So hurt.”
“Can you think of anyone who has a grudge against him? Anyone who has been angry with him?”
She rolled her eyes. “No. And I have thought about it. It’s me people become upset with. Harold is off in his own world. I’m the one who makes the decisions and implements the changes. Like with the cottages, but that’s died down, and I can’t imagine anyone making accusations regarding Harold because I shifted a few of the cottages to holiday rentals.”
“Perhaps someone is angry with you, and they’re attacking Sir Harold because they know it will hurt you, too.”
She considered the idea. “It’s possible, but the trouble over the cottages…well, the people who were upset—it was only two or three actually, but they were extremely vocal—they have moved on, out of the area, in fact. And it’s not like we evicted people from their homes. These were all people who were moving out anyway.”
“Perhaps you should look into them. Find out what they’re doing now, where they are.”
“Perhaps.” She shifted again, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t like it, checking up on people. The cottage issue is closed. We’ve moved on.”
That was Beatrice in a nutshell: get it done and move on. “Maybe someone else moved away but hasn’t moved on.”
“But that can’t be right. It has to be someone here, someone on the staff. That note under the layers of the tablecloths proves it. It had to be one of the staff. The process of setting the table is long and involved. Waverly and the staff began yesterday, collecting the china, silver, and linen. The tablecloths were put down this morning, and the place settings for the first course were laid this afternoon. Once the places were set, you couldn’t slip a note under the cloth.”
“And it was taped, too,” I said, thinking that would require more than a few seconds. “I did see Michael lurking about the dining room on my way down tonight, but the note would have to be in place before the table was set. I suppose the footmen set the table?”
“Yes. And I know them all. They have all been on staff for,” she paused to think, “at least over a year. And I can’t think what grievance they would have with Sir Harold.”
“Waverly?” I asked.
She stopped her immediate denial then said, “He’s worked with us occasionally, but I don’t know him well. I will check.”
“I think you should check the background of all your staff, long term and temporary. See if anyone has a connection to another former employee…maybe someone who was dismissed or quit unexpectedly.”
Beatrice sighed. “Yes, it looks like I will need that private investigator after all.”
Waverly arrived with the tea tray, and everyone gathered around except for Jo and Audrey, who were both concentrating on the chessboard. Beatrice poured. Thunder had been rumbling as we spoke, but as Beatrice handed the teacups around a sudden tapping on the windows made us all turn. “More rain,” Beatrice said. “And I thought we’d had our share for the summer.”
The tapping increased as drops drummed down. With her teacup in hand, Torrie went to the window. “No archery for you, Amanda.”
We all looked at her curiously. “I brought my bow and arrows with me,” Amanda said almost apologetically. She lifted her shoulder and ducked her head a bit in embarrassment.
“Amanda’s hobby is quirky hobbies. She’s always into the most unusual things,” Torrie said. “Archery, whittling—”
“And tumbling,” Beth added. “She’s quite a good gymnast, you know. Used to terrify me, what she’d do on the balance beam and the bars when we were in school.”
Amanda said, “I don’t think tumbling is an odd sport.”
“Geo-cashing,” Torrie went on, listing them on her fingers, “hula-hooping, skimboarding—”
“Okay,” Amanda said, “perhaps you’re right. Maybe I’m a little weird.”
“Not weird. Unusual,” Torrie said. “Unusual is good.”
Amanda shifted her attention to Beatrice. “I enjoy archery, but there’s not many places you can practice in London. People tend to frown on me shooting arrows at a target in the park. It sounded as if there would be plenty of room to practice here.”
“Yes, by all means. We probably have something you can use for a target. Check with Neil tomorrow. You’ll find him in the old stables.”
“Speaking of stables,” Monique said as she sat down in a chair next to the sofa where I was seated. “Are there horses? I’d like to ride.”
“We don’t keep horses here, but we can arrange for you to ride. Chandford is only a few miles away. They have a nice stable and welcome our visitors.”
“We’ll need a private space tomorrow for our discussions,” Beth said as if she was part of a treaty negotiation.
“Discussions?” Beat
rice asked.
“The wedding plans,” Beth said, a frown on her face. How could anyone forget she was here to plan a wedding?
“Of course. Perhaps you’d like to use the China room. It’s out of the way. You won’t be bothered or distracted there.”
Beth said, “Yes, that would be the perfect atmosphere.”
I was trying to think of something to say to Monique, but my style didn’t run to haute couture, so I couldn’t go there. I’d decided to ask her how she was enjoying Parkview and was bracing myself for a brusque answer when the men joined us, their voices mingling with the rain pounding down. Toby immediately moved across the room to Monique. He leaned over, one hand on his flat stomach. “Darling, let me have one of your mints.”
“Indigestion again?” Monique asked without looking at him as she stirred her tea.
“A bit.”
It was the first words they’d exchanged all evening, I realized. The atmosphere between them was decidedly frosty. Apparently they hadn’t made up since their spat on the terrace.
“No wonder, after all that rich food.” Monique removed her spoon and sipped her tea. “Too bad. I don’t have any mints. I’m sure Lady Stone could order you mint tea.”
So, no, they were still at odds. I was about to slip away and leave them to their chilly form of fighting, but Toby straightened.
“Never mind.” He walked away and accepted a cup of tea.
As Beatrice poured out more tea, she said, “No one needs to feel obligated to stay here. You can return to your rooms and relax there, if you’d like. You can request a nightcap or snack, just use the bellpull in your room. In the morning, if you’d prefer not to be awoken in the Regency manner, which means that a maid brings you chocolate and opens the curtains for you, just inform the maid assigned to you of your preference. Tomorrow morning is at your leisure, but I will give a tour of the house, if anyone is interested. Then in the afternoon we have a variety of activities to choose from—needlework lessons, clay pigeon shooting, boating on the lake, and a garden and greenhouse tour.”
