George nodded. “When I mentioned the past few days, I was referring to Gibbs’s riding accident and the footman’s death.” He stopped abruptly and cocked his head. “By the by, did either of you know Michael O’Brien at all?”
“Can’t say I know any of the footmen or maids, sir,” Tuttle replied. “Got no business with anyone in the house besides Cook and her girls.”
Winnie shook his head. “I’m rather too new here to have made the acquaintance of any of the house staff beyond Mr. Crocker. The first I heard of O’Brien was when he’d died.” He cocked his head. “Are you saying someone murdered him?”
“Not as of yet, but three accidents in as many days strikes me as more than coincidence and makes me wonder if someone is up to no good.”
Tuttle stroked the whiskers on his chin. “Workers get hurt from time to time. It’s true we’ve never had so many mishaps before, but sometimes an accident is just an accident.”
“All the same,” Winnie added. “We’ll keep an eye out for anything or anyone suspicious, sir.”
George shrugged. “That’s all I can ask.” He gave Tuttle a slap on the back then swept a hand out to Winnie, who stared at it through narrowed eyes. For a moment, I thought he might refuse to shake George’s hand, but then he came jerkily to his feet and clutched it in a tight grip. George was still flexing his fingers when he stretched his arm out to me. As I allowed him to lead me to the door, I bid the two men a good day.
When the door closed behind us, he turned to me. “That was odd.”
I chuckled. “I believe Mr. Winnie might be thinking the same thing right now.”
“He didn’t want to shake my hand.”
“He didn’t know what to do with it,” I corrected. “I’m sure the earl never shakes his employee’s hands.”
“I suppose not. Now that I’ve had my fingers crushed, I won’t do it again either. Oh, well, live and learn. Now, tell me, what was your impression?”
Surprised by the abrupt question I blinked. “About what?”
“Did you think they were telling the truth? Winnie and Tuttle?”
“I have no reason to suspect they weren’t.” I looked at him in confusion. “Do you?”
He looked down and directed our steps to the maze. “No, I suppose I don’t. Winnie was in his cottage working on the accounts, and Tuttle was out checking on the coveys near the pond. Neither man would have seen someone skulking about the maze.”
“Mr. Winnie told me he heard the ruckus from his cottage when Charles was struck, so he came out to see what had happened. I suppose that means I can vouch for his whereabouts. What about Tuttle?”
“Tuttle was accompanied by one of the farmhands so his alibi can be verified.”
I let him guide me into the maze. “Why are we going in here?”
He shrugged. “It’s a quiet place to talk, and we won’t be disturbed.”
“It sounds as though you’re still wondering about the accidental nature of the recent events. Is that true?”
“The first two are yet to be determined, but I don’t know how any of the contestants could have accidentally shot an arrow into Evingdon’s backside, do you?”
“No. Had it been an errant shot, whoever did it would have let out a shriek, or a shout of warning.” George had released my arm and taken my hand. I walked behind him as we snaked our way through the narrow passages, drawing a fresh, woodsy scent from the yews as we brushed past them.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “If someone is up to mischief, I don’t want to see anyone else hurt. And I admit, I don’t like the idea of all these accidents happening on my watch. I think they warrant further investigation, don’t you?”
“I believe the decision has been taken out of our hands.”
“How so?”
Tipping my head to the side, I gave him a satisfied smile. “There was no arsenic in the ginger beer.”
His eyes widened. “No? Woodrow told you that?”
“He did. That’s also what he will be telling the local authorities. Does Michael’s death now sound less like an accident?”
“Perhaps.” He retrieved my hand and set off once more. “Come, we’ll sit and discuss this.”
A few more turns and we reached the center of the maze, a square garden, the size of a small room, or a large closet. Shade-loving plants surrounded a wrought-iron bench where George led me.
“It’s a hidden garden. How lovely.”
He smiled at my obvious delight. “When I was a child, it was just an open grassy area where we children snuck away to play, but I like what my brother’s done with it.”
I seated myself on the narrow bench, and he squeezed in beside me. When I turned, his lips were a mere breath away.
“I must say I like this version as well.” My voice had grown husky.
George stroked my cheek, leaned closer, and for the next several minutes, accidents and murders were the farthest things from my mind. He pressed a final kiss on my temple, and I rested my head on his shoulder.
“I found Lily and Leo leaving the maze on my way to see you. I wonder if this is what they were up to.”
“They’re in love, as we are. They’ll be married in a few days, so what matter?”
“No matter at all. I think they’re acting just as young lovers should, and I heartily approve. But I probably ruined their romantic moment.”
George’s chin brushed my head as he tipped it to look at me. “What did you do?”
“I sent them both to the house to see my mother. That might put a damper on their ardor.”
“Yes, I can see how that might happen.” George sighed. “Will you tell your mother of our plans while she’s here?”
I nodded. “After the wedding when you place that beautiful ring on my finger.” I leaned back to look him in the eye. “I assume she’ll return home with me. She might wish to stay for our wedding.”
He pursed his lips. “She might wish to do more than that.”
“What do you mean?” His countenance grew clouded for a moment. He covered it with a smile. I pulled away from his shoulder to gaze into his face. “George, is there something between you and my mother? I thought she’d acted strangely when I presented you.”
He gave me a look of mock horror. “Something between us? Please, Frances. Your mother is old enough to be, well, my mother. What could possibly be between us?”
I narrowed my eyes and examined him. “That’s what I’d like to know. First, she acted as though she couldn’t remember you. Then she seemed to remember you vividly and asked how you and I came to be friends. She seemed more than just curious. Did something happen between you two all those years ago?”
“I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Let’s just say Mrs. Price and I did not get off on the right foot. If you want further details, you must ask her.” He held up a hand as I would have pressed for more. “We should take advantage of this time to discuss the rash of so-called accidents, don’t you think? We’ll have to return to the house shortly.”
While I’d have preferred to use our time alone for something more romantic, I supposed he had a point. “All right then.” I filed my curiosity away for the moment. If he wouldn’t tell me what transpired, Mother certainly would. “I assume Woodrow will contact the police immediately, but I don’t know how quickly they will respond.”
“I’d wager someone from the constabulary will pay a call in the morning.”
“They’ll be investigating the death of Michael O’Brien. What of our two injuries? You thought they wanted further investigation.”
“I was so confident the arrow came from the maze. But Tuttle’s suggestion that an animal tore up the maze makes me wonder. After all, who here would want to hurt Charles?”
“I don’t think the culprit was aiming for Charles.”
“No, perhaps not.”
“You and Leo were standing by the target for a few minutes at least. Long enough for someone to take aim and draw their bow.” I shrugged. “Charles
simply stepped around you and into the path of the arrow. The culprit meant that arrow for either you or Leo.” I shivered as I said the words.
George grimaced. “Poor Charles. He stepped up at exactly the wrong time. Much as I dislike the thought, it makes sense, though I still don’t know what the motive would be. Who would want to murder either of us?”
“Do you think it was meant to be lethal? After all, the person aimed rather low.”
“I don’t know if it was meant to be anything. It might well have been an accident. But it isn’t necessary to shoot someone through the heart for an arrow to be lethal. Plenty of arteries to hit down lower. Or it could have dug deep enough to cause a deadly infection. Then there’s the fact of Charles moving in the way. It might have been enough movement for the archer to jerk and miss his target.” He raised his hands in a hopeless gesture. “Or an animal attacked the hedge, and one of the competitors hit Charles by chance.”
I relayed the details of my conversation with Dr. Woodrow to George. “I was surprised the arrow hadn’t gone very deep into Charles’s . . .” I turned away from George’s gaze. “His leg.”
He let out a hearty laugh. “He was hit right in the arse, Frances. Or backside, if you prefer. Plenty of flesh there, but also a sizeable muscle. Now that you mention it though, target arrows, at least those we used, aren’t particularly sharp. It would require the skills of an excellent archer to pull off a lethal hit. He could do some significant damage to bones, or produce an injury that could cause a slow death, but to hit the neck, or an artery somewhere, that would take some skill. Who would attempt such a thing with a target arrow? I am beginning to see this as more of an accident.”
“Dr. Woodrow said Charles was very lucky the arrow landed precisely where it did so I’m not so certain he’d agree with you.” I worried my lower lip between my teeth. “I’m not certain I agree either. If someone were trying to murder Leo, they might not realize target arrows were dull, and simply used what was at hand.”
George raised his brows. “Leo? Does someone have a grudge against Leo?”
“Perhaps. I don’t know the men well, so I can’t say this would push either to murder, but Mr. Durant is very covetous of Leo’s position with his father’s company. He’d love to become a partner himself, but Mr. Kendrick is only interested in promoting his son, no matter how hard his son-in-law works.”
“I don’t know the man well either, but I agree he seems to enjoy his work much more so than Leo.” He gave me an encouraging nod. “Who else?”
“His best man, Ernest Treadwell. The man is clearly infatuated with Lily and doesn’t attempt to hide the fact. What kind of friend is that?”
“Yes, I’d noticed it, too. Why doesn’t Lily stop him?”
“I wish I knew. She has no interest in the man, but I suppose she was flattered by his attentions. She and I have discussed the matter, and she intends to rebuff him the next time he flirts with her.” I paused as a thought occurred to me. “Maybe she already has rebuffed him, and he chose to take it out on Leo.”
George’s brows drew downward as he considered my information.
“I’m being absurd, aren’t I? No one would kill for such reasons.”
“I would never underestimate matters of the heart as a motive for murder,” he said. “Nor would I discount power and money, as might be the case for Durant. But while they each might have a motive to murder Leo, I can’t conceive any likely reason for either of them to want to harm my steward or my footman. Perhaps everything is as it seems—mere accidents.”
“Your steward says differently.”
“That’s right, I still need to pay him a call.”
“As soon as possible.”
He flashed me a grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And be serious.”
“I am quite serious, Frances. You are making good sense. Here’s what I propose; we’ll wait to hear the verdict from Tuttle about the hedges in the maze, and what Winnie has to say of the gardeners. Meanwhile, I’ll visit Gibbs, see how he does, and get him to show me that welt on his chest.”
I gave him a shove for his impertinence, but it only made him chuckle. “I shall also pay close attention to Treadwell and Durant and see if either has homicidal thoughts about Leo.”
“That’s a start, but I have yet another suspect. Mr. Bradmore. He was in the maze when the arrow was shot.”
“As was Treadwell.”
I nodded. “And Clara. And I know we’re no longer certain the arrow came from the maze, but let me focus on Bradmore for a moment. He is staying at the estate whose border is quite near the path where Gibbs was injured. He claims to be related to the family, yet neither you nor Fiona have ever met him.”
“That makes him a suspect?”
“Suspect may be too strong, but he is an unknown quantity who arrived in the country just a few days ago. Strange accidents have been happening since his arrival. That’s enough to make me wonder if the accidents and Mr. Bradmore are somehow related.”
“Anything is possible.” He pursed his lips before blowing out a breath. “The police may well call tomorrow while I’m gone. If they do, can you insinuate yourself into their investigation? They’re likely to interview the servants, and it would be helpful to know what they have to say.”
“I’ll do my best. Once we learn how Michael came by the arsenic, it may give us greater insight into all these accidents.”
“Then tomorrow we investigate.”
I gave him a cheeky grin. “We could begin tonight. Fiona’s invited Bradmore to dine with us. I shall ask her to seat him next to me so I can quiz him.”
“I’ll sit with Bradmore if you please.” George came to his feet and extended a hand to assist me. “The man’s single and might interpret your inquiries as interest. And if he doesn’t, I daresay your mother will.”
Chapter 12
I stepped into the breakfast room the following morning, surprised to see George, and only George, at the table, leaning back from a now-empty plate.
“Good morning, George. How lovely you’re still here.” I trailed my hand across his shoulder as I passed behind him. He caught hold of it as he stood, and with a mischievous glint in his eye, brought it to his lips.
“I’d be flattered by that comment, my dear, but I’m aware you’re only happy to have someone with whom to discuss murder.” He winked and squeezed my hand. “I suspect you only wish to marry me because I indulge your sense of the macabre—and supply you with your favorite beverage.”
I caught sight of a footman entering the room with a fresh pot of coffee, not something I’d expect in any home but my own. George gave me a smile. “With all the Americans in the house, I thought it best to have it on hand.”
Retrieving my hand, I leaned in close to George. “You are so thoughtful. An excellent trait for a husband, but you must know I’m marrying you because you can’t possibly get on without me. Don’t you remember?”
“You are correct, as always. I can’t imagine how I’ve managed all these years without your influence.” He laughed as I pushed him back toward his chair.
“You need not stand on ceremony with me. I can serve myself.”
With a gesture from George, the footman brought a cup from the sideboard and poured coffee for me, while I perused the breakfast offerings, plate in hand. Finally deciding on toast, a bit of sausage, and a boiled egg still hot from the chafing dish, I joined George at the table. He signaled for the servant to leave.
“I take it the gentlemen are already out in the field?” I reached for a cup of raspberry preserves and spooned some onto my plate.
“They left almost an hour ago. I was worried we might not have a chance to speak alone this morning, but I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of the other female guests yet.”
“Mother is having a tray sent to her room, and Rose will be joining her. Lily has not been feeling up to breakfast lately, the poor dear. And the Kendrick ladies are decidedly late sleepers.”
Geor
ge leaned closer until his lips brushed against my ear. “Then we have the room to ourselves with no one likely to interrupt us. An island of privacy in the midst of a busy house party.”
“Isn’t it lovely?” A turn of my head brought us nose to nose. “We can finally talk about our suspects without them overhearing.”
He moved back slightly and cocked his head. “Really? I was only teasing about your sense of the macabre. Are you sure this is how you wish to make use of our lovely privacy?”
I placed my hand on his cheek. “Don’t frown, George. It has nothing to do with my wishes, but our safety and that of our guests.”
“Fine.” He settled back in his chair, and I returned my attention to my plate. “Who in particular did you wish to discuss?”
I spread the preserves across my toast. “Did you learn anything about Mr. Bradmore last night at dinner?”
“Not as much as I’d expected.” He took a sip of coffee and pushed his empty plate to the side.
“Odd. He didn’t strike me as the reserved sort.”
“I don’t know that I’d call him reserved so much as cagey. I opened the conversation with generalities—hunting, shooting, how he liked the country, social life in town.”
“Yes?”
“Usually, that will elicit some sort of declarative statement—I like hunting, or I don’t. I prefer some other activity. When in town I usually visit this club or attend the opera, et cetera, et cetera.” He raised a brow. “You get the idea?”
“Indeed. I daresay he made no such statements?”
“Not a one, yet he chatted on genially, revealing nothing about himself.”
“What did you do then?”
“I moved on to direct questions—When did you last visit your aunt? What clubs do you belong to? Where do you go when you’re not in town?”
“Where were you when Mr. Evingdon was felled by an arrow?”
George pulled a face. “I doubt I could have acquired an answer for that one either.”
“You mean he refused to answer your questions?” I bit into my toast and savored the tangy sweetness of the berries.
A Lady's Guide to Mischief and Murder Page 13
