A Lady's Guide to Mischief and Murder

by Dianne Freeman

  This was, perhaps, more information than she ought to discuss outside her own family circle. “I’m certain your father knows his business and has good reasons for his decisions.” I gave her a firm nod, intending to end the discussion.

  “Of course. He expects Arthur to quit working as soon as he inherits his father’s title. Why should he invest the time to train him, and give him a position of responsibility, if he’s just going to leave the company?”

  That reasoning made perfect sense except for one crucial detail and good manners aside—I had to inquire. “He does realize Arthur Durant’s father is not yet fifty, does he not?”

  Anne nodded and bit her lip, clearly trying to hold back her laughter, which ultimately snickered its way out. Rose and I joined in though I wasn’t sure Rose understood why we were laughing. It was a fine morning, she was riding with two companions, and that was reason enough.

  “I do hope Lord Durant is not aware my father expects his demise to come at any moment.” Anne barely choked out the words through her laughter and tears.

  “I promise never to breathe a word of it.” I leaned forward to give Rose a conspiratorial smile. “Rose, we must ask you to keep this secret as well.”

  She drew a cross over her heart with her finger, and I was much relieved.

  “I’m glad Aunt Lily and Mr. Kendrick decided to hold their wedding here rather than at a big church in London. The country is so much better.”

  Anne nodded her agreement. “A society wedding is just for show, don’t you think?”

  Rose looked a bit undecided, but I could attest my own wedding had been entirely for show. I’d been utterly embarrassed by the pomp and ceremony my mother had insisted upon. I hoped I’d be able to console her when she learned Lily was to have such a simple affair.

  “I do prefer an intimate, family ceremony over a lavish public display.” I smiled at the girl. “And I love being in the country, so for me, I must agree with Rose, this is much better.”

  “There’s your hat, Mummy.”

  I glanced around, expecting to see it stuck to an unreachable branch or attached to a hedgerow, but instead saw it in the hands of an elegant gentleman dressed in tweeds and a homburg, walking toward us with a friendly smile.

  We stopped as he approached. “I suspect this must belong to you, madam?” He held out the chic top hat with its now-torn veil. He had a gentleman’s hands, his nails neatly trimmed and buffed.

  I took the hat and returned his smile. “Sir, if you are implying I should cover my bedraggled hair, well, I can only agree with you.”

  He removed his own hat and gave us a courtly bow. A shock of blond hair fell over his dark eyes, and he swept it back in a reflexive motion that suggested habit. “I would never imply any such thing. I only noted it seemed to match your habit. Are you ladies riding out from Risings?”

  “We are. And you, sir? This seems a strange place for a man on foot.”

  “Ah, perhaps it does to you now, but if you go forward just a few steps”—he gestured behind him—“you will see the lane leading to Fairview. I’m visiting my aunt there at present.”

  I searched my memory for the owners of Fairview. “That would be Lady Esther, would it not? You are her nephew?”

  “Great-nephew.” He grinned, deepening the lines around his eyes. “Percy Bradmore at your service. You know my aunt?”

  “You have indeed done me a service, Mr. Bradmore. I thank you for rescuing my hat. As to your aunt, we have met many times in town. How does she fare?”

  “Not well at all, I’m afraid. She’s recuperating from an illness, and while she’s much improved, she has some way to go before she can claim good health.”

  I had a sudden rush of guilt for having always thought of Lady Esther as a crotchety old woman. Though I had never wished her any ill, I had often wished her out of my sight. Or better yet, my hearing. Considering this man was her relation, and George’s neighbor, it seemed churlish to refrain from introducing ourselves.

  I gave Mr. Bradmore our names and leaning over as far as the saddle, and my stays, would allow, shook his hand. “I’m glad to hear someone is in residence at Risings,” he said. “I’d heard the earl is traveling on the continent.”

  “You heard correctly. His brother, Mr. Hazelton, is in residence, and he is hosting both a shooting party and a wedding.”

  “Is Hazelton to marry then?”

  His question sent heat rushing to my cheeks, but I was quick to clarify my statement. “He is not the groom. Are you acquainted with the Hazelton family?” I waved a dismissive hand. “Of course, you are. How foolish of me. You are neighbors after all.”

  “Actually, we are not acquainted, at least not as adults. The last time I visited here I was a child of six. I recall something of children in the neighborhood at the time, but not enough to know who they were.” He shrugged. “Neither do I spend much time in London, which explains why we have never met, my lady. I hope while my aunt recovers, I may call on her neighbors and have a bit of conversation. I only arrived yesterday and already the quiet of this house has become rather gloomy.”

  Poor man. I knew well what that was like. During most of my marriage, I’d been left alone at Harleigh Manor. Too much solitude can be depressing to the spirit.

  “You do seem to be a man who prefers society,” I said. “I hope you will call on us when you have some idle time.” I made a mental note to tell Fiona I’d met her neighbor. No doubt she would send over a message inviting him to join us. And perhaps the gentlemen would welcome another gun.

  “Thank you, I shall. The shooting party is after woodcock, I’d wager.” His broad grin faded as he turned serious. “Is that how the earl’s steward was injured? I’d heard he was recuperating with his sister.”

  Word certainly traveled fast in the country.

  “He took a fall from his horse,” Anne said.

  Bradmore cocked his head. “Truly? The talk around the village was a bit more extreme. I believe someone said he was set upon by brigands, though I thought that unlikely.” He chuckled. Not only did word travel fast, it escalated.

  “Nothing so dramatic as an attack, I’m afraid. Simply an accident.”

  He nodded. “Accidents can be every bit as dangerous. I hope you’ll all take care, especially those in the shooting party.”

  “Most of them are quite experienced, and I’m certain they’ll keep a sharp eye on the novices.”

  Bradmore gave me an expansive bow. “It was a great pleasure meeting you, ladies. I look forward to furthering our acquaintance in the coming days.”

  As Rose grew restless, I thought it best to move on. We bid Mr. Bradmore good day and set off back to the estate. The sound of gunfire warned me we were approaching the open meadows, and I motioned for the groom who trailed behind to move ahead and lead us back to the estate. He guided us back to a path through the wood which would take us around the grounds to the far side of the house and on to the stables.

  We walked on companionably, chatting when we could ride abreast, and lost in our own thoughts where the path narrowed. The day had turned from bracing to brisk and it was a pleasure to be on the sun-spattered trail. As we took a turning, I realized this was the path Fiona and I had taken to the village. Just up ahead was where the steward had fallen.

  I wondered if Mr. Gibbs’s insistence he hadn’t fallen but was knocked from his seat had any basis in fact, or if the man was trying to divert attention from an embarrassing fall. The path grew narrow here, but as I’d noted yesterday, the trees were mature, with branches closing in overhead—well overhead. Mr. Gibbs was surely taller than I, but he’d have to be a good three feet taller to come into contact with any of these branches.

  While we passed through the area, I looked around for any broken branches and gashes in the trees where a limb might have broken off. I don’t know what I expected to see. Did it matter whether Mr. Gibbs fell off his horse or was knocked off?

  Then my gaze lighted on something that didn’
t belong. A length of line tangled among some leaves. I urged my mount closer to the branch. It looked like a braided fishing line, tangled about shoulder height, but the branch sprouted from the tree about six inches lower. Try as I might, I could not disengage the hopelessly tangled mess.

  “Would you like me to get that for you, my lady?”

  The groom had stopped at my side, and my two companions waited patiently behind him, giving me curious looks. “What would this be doing here, I wonder?”

  “Couldn’t say, my lady. Maybe someone swinging a fishing pole got the line caught. At least that’d be my guess.” The young man looked as if he couldn’t imagine what interest this bit of line could hold.

  “I suppose that’s possible.” I set my horse back on the path. “No need to remove it. It just stuck out amid the greenery and caught my attention.” I smiled at Anne and Rose. “Excuse the delay. I expect you’re as hungry as I am. Shall we head in for breakfast?”

  They agreed readily, and we headed past the stables and across the lawn bordering the maze. My stomach growled, pushing the thought of the fishing line from my mind. It might have been tangled there for years.

  The three of us dismounted in the drive and headed to the house, leaving the horses in the care of the groom though Rose wanted to stay to help.

  “Nanny will be waiting for you, dear,” I told her. Passing through the great hall, I sent her upstairs and turned to Anne. “Do you suppose if we take the time to change out of our riding gear and freshen up first, there will still be some breakfast left?”

  She looked doubtful. “Lady Fiona planned an outing for this morning, and I suspect the group left early. I’ll go and check the breakfast room. If the chafing dishes are still out, I’ll ensure they stay there until you come back down.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Anne was off, but before I could place a foot on the stairs, the housekeeper, Mrs. Ansel, pushed through the baize door at the end of the hall and called out to me. She rushed forward with some urgency.

  “Yes, Mrs. Ansel? Is something wrong?”

  “My lady, there’s a terrible ruckus below stairs, and I’m afraid I just can’t settle everyone down. Mr. Hazelton has been gone since dawn, and Lady Fiona took the rest of the guests on a jaunt early this morning, so there’s been no one about while all the staff is screaming bloody murder.”

  How strange. The staff had seemed so disciplined, it must be quite a crisis to have set them all off. I turned and walked with her toward the service door. “Of course, I’ll do what I can, Mrs. Ansel. What exactly happened?”

  She raised troubled eyes to mine and heaved a sigh. “One of our footmen died during the night, and some are saying it’s murder.”

  Chapter 6

  Murder? Good heavens!

  Mrs. Ansel set a brisk pace through the gallery back to the north wing, and through the service door to the kitchen and the servants’ hall. It did indeed appear to be in chaos despite the sharp words from the butler who stood with his back to us. Two young maids, probably from the kitchen, huddled together in the corner, while tears streamed down their faces. An older woman sat at the table, her face buried in her hands, while two footmen argued over her head. Several of the other staff muttered among themselves. The butler looked on in horror, clapping his hands in a fruitless bid for order.

  I raised my voice to speak above the din. “I understand you’ve suffered a tragedy.” The butler, Crocker, swung around, and upon recognizing me, a wave of relief cleared the displeasure from his expression. Everyone scrambled to their feet and silence fell on the room.

  “Is it true one of your footmen has passed away?”

  He nodded. “Yes, my lady. It appears he died in his room last night or early this morning.”

  “Has someone sent for a doctor? And Mr. Hazelton?”

  “We have sent for the doctor, but not Mr. Hazelton as yet. He did not leave word where the shoot was taking place today. I was just about to have someone inquire of Mr. Tuttle.”

  One of the footmen who’d been in the shouting match approached us. “I heard one of the gentlemen at breakfast this morning say where they were shooting. Shall I run and fetch Mr. Hazelton?”

  “Go to the stables and send one of the grooms for him,” Crocker said. “Make sure the groom tells him what has happened and that we are in need of his assistance.”

  The young man bobbed his head and made off. I wondered how distorted the story would be by the time George received it. I motioned for Mr. Crocker and Mrs. Ansel to join me off to the side of the room. “Now tell me, why is the staff in such a state? Who called it murder and can it be true?”

  Mrs. Ansel cast a worried glance at the butler. “Mr. Crocker,” I prompted. “Did the footman not die peacefully in his sleep?”

  “No, ma’am.” The lines in his forehead deepened. “The lad was clearly ill, violently ill even. We are short one footman, so he did not share a room with anyone. Mores the pity, for then we could have called a doctor in sooner.”

  “I see. This is a somber event. I can understand why the staff is so distressed, but why the uproar? Why did someone call it murder?”

  Mrs. Ansel made a grunt of disgust. “They’re saying he must have eaten something that made him so sick. Some are pointing a finger at our cook, saying she poisoned his food.”

  Her remark left me speechless. Someone dies, and members of the household are prepared to suspect one of their own of murder? I couldn’t imagine my staff acting in such a manner. “Have they any reason to believe she’d do such a thing? It sounds rather foolish to me since all evidence would point directly back to her.”

  “No reason at all, ma’am.” Mrs. Ansel spoke up when the butler remained silent. “I don’t know why they’d make such foolish claims. It all seemed to grow out of nothing. First, three of the maids left the house, shouting about Russian influenza. The under-butler called that a convenient excuse, a way to cover poisoning.” She fluttered her hands helplessly. “Someone suggested one of the maids poisoned him. The next thing I know, everyone’s looking at the cook with a suspicious eye.”

  What an odd group. “I’m sorry you’ve had to bear this burden. Once the doctor has arrived and given his verdict, send word to those maids that they should return to their duties.”

  Crocker gasped and looked at me in horror. “After abandoning their posts, you’d bring them back?”

  “Lady Fiona may feel differently, but once the doctor can assure them there’s no fear of contagion, we should allow them back. I can understand the girls’ concern after all. Do you recall how quickly the Russian flu spread? I can hardly blame them for running off. As for Cook, well, accidents do happen, but it would seem unlikely a bad bit of meat would affect only one of you.”

  I took in the handful of staff in the common room. “Has everyone else returned to their duties?”

  “Most of us were already going about our business when we heard the news.” Mrs. Ansel fidgeted with her cuffs. “Mr. Crocker set everyone else back to work. Mrs. Humphries’s girls are at a loss without her guidance.” She nodded at the cook. “And I can’t say why the footmen are still milling about.” She raised her voice, causing the two footmen to look up, then scramble to the door. I’d have stopped them, but what was the point? If someone on the staff had caused the footman’s death, he’d had plenty of time to cover his tracks by now.

  Mrs. Humphries drew a shuddering breath. “Try to calm her, Mrs. Ansel. I daresay, the doctor will be here soon and will likely exonerate her of all wrongdoing.”

  In fact, it was the doctor I expected to see when I turned at the sound of boots on the stairs. Instead, it was George who rounded the corner, his face full of alarm. His gaze took me in.

  “Frances, er, Lady Harleigh, have I heard right? Has someone died?”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hazelton, but yes, you did hear correctly.” I explained the whole of my knowledge of the matter in a few short sentences. “The doctor should be here soon.”

  He nodded.
“I’ll check on the lad in the meantime.”

  Crocker made as if to lead the way, but I placed a hand on George’s arm. “Do you think that’s wise? What if it was influenza?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve heard nothing of influenza in the county, and I’d like to see for myself what happened to the young man.”

  “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

  He stopped and gave me a quizzical look. “I thought you were concerned about influenza?”

  “But you’ve just said that’s not possible.”

  His brows drew together as he turned and placed a hand on his hip in a show of impatience. “I didn’t call it impossible, just highly unlikely.”

  “If highly unlikely will do for you, it will do for me.” I gave him a look that dared him to say no.

  “It won’t be a pretty sight, Lady Harleigh.”

  “We have cleaned up the room, sir.”

  George threw a glance at the butler. “Have you removed the body?”

  Crocker took a step back. “No, sir.”

  George pursed his lips and turned to me, leaning in close. “I think you had better stay down here.”

  By no means did I wish to be in a small room with a dead body, but I truly hated to be coddled. I gave George a look of deepest disdain. “It’s not as if I haven’t seen a dead body before. I’m coming with you.”

  I caught a glimpse of Crocker’s horrified expression as I swished past him and followed George through the servants’ hall and up the enclosed staircase to their quarters. The tap of our shoes on the wooden steps echoed and sounded overly loud in the close confines.

  “Crocker, what is the lad’s name?”

  “His name is Michael, ma’am,” he said, following us up the stairs. “Michael O’Brien.”

  “Thank you. It feels rather cold to continue referring to him as the footman.” George had already reached the second-floor landing and turned left into a hallway. I hurried to catch up with him.