“I didn’t realize you were not alone, my lord,” she said looking somewhat deflated. “I had heard you were in the servants’ hall and…”
And she’d suspected him of questioning them without her, he guessed. But the opportunity that presented itself when he’d found Jem lingering in the kitchen waiting for Mrs. Bacon’s scones to come out of the oven had been too much to resist. The presence of Ivy, a newcomer, would likely inhibit the older woman from speaking frankly.
Even so, he wasn’t about to help her reprimand him. One had to take advantage of opportunity when it came to call.
“And, Miss Wareham?” he asked, brows raised.
“And,” she said with a speaking look, “I thought perhaps you were searching for your missing bag. The one that inadvertently was left in my chamber. I suppose when the bags were brought in yesterday one of yours got mixed in with mine.”
Her eyes told him not to correct her, and it was rather good as reasons for seeking him out went. Though a more correct lady might have had her lady’s maid perform such a task by having her converse with his valet. But something about the simplicity of her gowns and the self-sufficiency she evinced made him suspect that Miss Wareham did not enjoy the services of an abigail. At the very least not one all to herself. “Ah, yes,” he said with a nod. “I am glad you spoke up. I noticed its absence last evening, but didn’t wish to disturb you by sending my valet for it.”
Looking ill at ease, Ivy bit her lip, causing a host of less-than-polite thoughts to flood his imagination.
“Would you like a scone, Miss Wareham?” said Jeremy, very effectively puncturing Quill’s wanton imagination. “There’s some left ain’t there, Mrs. B?”
“I’ll just get you a plate, miss,” said the housekeeper bustling around as she set a place at the table for the interloper—as if she entertained parties in the kitchens every day.
“Oh, I…” Ivy began, but when Jem stepped forward and took her hand in his, she gave one helpless look at Quill before giving in to the child’s tug and following him. “I suppose I could have one. Though I’ve just had breakfast.”
“You won’t let a little thing like that keep you from the county’s best scones, will you, Miss Wareham?” Quill asked with a grin. “I thought you were bolder than that.”
* * *
“Do you have scones at your house, Miss Wareham?’ Jeremy asked, watching avidly as Ivy spread butter followed by gooseberry jam on her scone. “They’re my favorite.”
Ivy smiled indulgently at the boy, revealing a dimple in her left cheek that Quill hadn’t noticed the night before. “Indeed I do, Jeremy,” she assured him. “Though I must confess that my absolute favorite confection from our cook is her lemon tart.”
“You surprise me, Miss Wareham,” said Quill, biting back a grin. “I shouldn’t have thought you would have a taste for tarts.” It was juvenile of him, but he found himself fighting a boyish impulse to tweak her pigtails, or in this case, to tease her with double entendres. “It is unusual, I think, for a lady to express such a desire.”
Her lips twitched, and he had no doubt that she’d understood the jest. “There’s a great deal you don’t know about me, my lord,” she said guilelessly. “Indeed, I must confess myself surprised that you prefer scones to tarts yourself. I was given to understand that men of your social station possessed an insatiable appetite for them. At least, that is what I hear from the gossip.” It was clear from her expression that she didn’t approve of it, either.
“Well, we don’t all enjoy tarts,” he said feeling as if he needed to defend himself against her censure. “I will grant that a great many titled men seek them out. But that doesn’t mean that we all do. Some men, myself amongst them, are more selective about the … desserts we choose.”
“I like all kinds of sweets,” Jeremy offered helpfully. “Biscuits, cakes, tarts, Christmas pudding.”
At the mention of pudding, Ivy covered her mouth with her hand, and her cheeks turned red with the suppression of laughter.
“I think perhaps we’ve bored Miss Wareham enough with talk about ways to quench her sweet tooth, Jem,” Quill said, clapping the boy on the shoulder even as he exchanged a wry grin with Ivy. “If you’re finished with your scone, why don’t you go see if York will let you assist him with polishing my boots. I know you enjoy it.”
“I like to see my face in them,” Jeremy said with a grin, pushing his chair back from the table at once. Then, mindful of his manners, he gave Ivy a very correct bow. “Good day, Miss Wareham.”
When the child was gone, Ivy gave Quill an exasperated look. “You should be ashamed of yourself speaking like that in front of a child.” Though it was clear from the ghost of a smile that still lingered on her pink lips that her ire wasn’t serious.
“You’re the one who brought up tarts,” he said defensively. “I was merely expressing my surprise. Surely there is nothing wrong with that.”
“Certainly not,” she conceded with a shake of her head. “If, that is, you do not then imply that I enjoy spending time with ladies of ill-repute. Which, I should inform you, is not far off from what that villain in the Fox and Pheasant said to me.”
At the mention of the man he’d rescued her from at the inn, all humor fled from Quill. “What do you mean?” he asked, wishing he’d beaten the villain when he had the chance.
“Calm down,” she said, tilting her head in puzzlement at his sudden change of mood. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s long gone anyway.”
“What did he say, Ivy?” he pressed her, his eyes pinning her in place with their intensity.
“Just something about how I shouldn’t be surprised at being treated roughly if I kept such low company,” she said, looking down at where her hands lay clenched on the table. “He saw me speaking to one of the women lingering in the taproom. I suspected she might be … in need of help. Sometimes there are circumstances so desperate that a woman has only the choice between virtue and survival. And I thought perhaps I could assist…”
Quill cursed under his breath. “So he thought you were working together. That’s why he put his hands on you.”
Nodding, Ivy said angrily, “It infuriates me that the same men who use women like that will turn around and shame them as if the men themselves are innocent of any sin. I work sometimes at a home for unfortunates near my home in Oxford, and the stories I’ve heard there would make your hair curl.”
“An inn in a town you’ve never been to is not the same as a home in Oxford, Ivy,” Quill said with a shake of his head. “A home which I daresay your father has visited to ensure it’s safety so that you can go there with no harm to your reputation.”
But Ivy’s pained expression told him it wasn’t so easy as that. “He doesn’t know you go there,” he guessed.
“No,” Ivy admitted with a shrug. “If I’d informed him he would forbid me from going at all. And those women need help. My help.”
“Oh, they need to be able to translate ancient Greek?” he asked with a sarcasm he regretted almost immediately. His dislike of her putting herself in danger was just so consuming that he had trouble filtering his words.
“No,” she said with a scowl. “I teach them how to read so that they might better themselves. Perhaps get a job as a clerk in a shop. Or maybe a copyist if they are able to learn to write their letters. I won’t be ashamed of it, my lord, so you needn’t try.”
Sighing, Quill wiped a hand over his face. “I apologize. I was rude. I simply do not like to imagine you placing yourself in danger like that. Certainly if I’d known that was what precipitated the actions of that man at the inn I’d have dealt much more roughly with him.”
“It wasn’t perhaps a wish to keep me out of danger that led you to start questioning the servants without me this morning, was it?” Ivy asked, her eyes knowing. “Because I cannot help but think that’s what made you come down here this morning. But thankfully for me, Jeremy interrupted. Else you’d have spoken to all of them before I ev
en got a chance to come below stairs”
“I was only thinking of your safety,” he said scowling. Lowering his voice, he leaned forward. “Someone murdered my aunt. If you think for one minute I’m going to allow you to place yourself in similar danger then you are sorely mistaken.”
“I know she was murdered,” Ivy hissed. “I was the one she chose to tell, and I hope you won’t forget that. Your aunt obviously thought I was capable enough to handle the task, so kindly let me do it. Indeed, it was I who invited your assistance. Not the other way round. So I will thank you to remember that.”
“My aunt was just as pigheaded as you are when it came to her thoughts on the role of ladies in society,” Quill argued. “And I loved her. But that doesn’t mean I always agreed with her.”
“In this instance,” she said haughtily, “you have no choice. I will investigate this matter. Whether you wish to assist me is entirely up to you.”
And as if the matter was settled, she rose from the table, brushed off her hands, and turned to exit the kitchen.
Despite himself, Quill was impressed with her determination. But that didn’t mean he would let her risk her own safety. He’d simply have to find a way to protect her. Against her will if necessary.
Wordlessly he stood and followed her.
Chapter 8
Ivy found Mrs. Bacon in the dining room, overseeing two of the housemaids as they polished the enormous cherry wood table. She felt Quill’s presence behind her but chose not to remark upon it. If he were going to assist her in this matter, then he would have to follow her lead.
As soon as the trio became aware of their presence, they dropped into curtsies.
“Mrs. Bacon,” Ivy began, “I wonder if I might have a word?”
But to her frustration, the older woman looked to Quill first, who nodded, before turning back to Ivy. “Of course, Miss Wareham,” she said with a smile. “Would you like to step into my parlor?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, Mrs. B,” Quill responded, “that would be ideal. It’s a matter for some discretion.”
Biting back a sharp retort at having him intrude upon her task, Ivy nodded, and shook her head silently at Quill when he gestured for her to precede him.
Once inside the tiny room, which the housekeeper had made cozy with embroidery, a few bits of mismatched furniture, and a comfortable-looking chair, they declined to sit as Ivy thought it best if they got straight to the point.
“Can you tell us a bit about the servants employed by the house at the time of Lady Celeste’s death?” she asked, trying to sound both authoritative and kind. No easy task, she realized.
At Mrs. Bacon’s frown, Quill spoke up. “We only wish to know if there has been anyone who gave my aunt any trouble. Or who perhaps felt slighted upon her death. I know many of the servants here have been at Beauchamp House since I was a boy.
“What’s this about, my lord?” Mrs. Bacon asked, her brow furrowed with worry. “Has someone been complaining because they didn’t receive a bequest in her ladyship’s will? For I won’t stand for that sort of behavior from any of my staff. Just let me know who it is and I’ll have him out on his ear at once.”
Before Quill could jump in, Ivy hastened to reassure her. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. I simply wondered, whether it might be worth finding out some of the history of the people who have kept Beauchamp so well these last years. And to find out who might have caused your mistress trouble. I should hate to think one of us might inadvertently invite them back, not knowing their history here.”
“That might not be a bad idea, Miss Wareham,” said Mrs. Bacon approvingly. “It would be a shame if someone tried to ingratiate himself with you young ladies in such a way. But aside from her ladyship’s maid, who left because there was no lady for her to serve anymore, and the steward, who retired to live with his daughter, we haven’t lost anyone in the past several years. We tend to keep the same staff on for years at a time. Which is why it’s such a shock to lose someone. Or for that matter to hire someone new.”
“I should imagine so,” Ivy said with a nod. “Well, I can assure you that the other ladies and I have no plans on dismissing or hiring anyone anytime soon.”
Rather than appearing reassured by this pronouncement, Mrs. Bacon only looked uncomfortable, as if she felt Ivy was trying a bit too hard to win her over. “I … that is to say … very good, Miss.”
Clearing his throat, Quill spoke up. “Mrs. B, I know it’s perhaps a difficult subject, but might we talk for a moment about the particulars of my aunt’s illness? I wasn’t here for her, you know, and it pains me to think that she was suffering.”
* * *
Ivy was relieved that Quill had decided to ask the question himself, for the housekeeper’s entire manner softened as she took in his genuine grief. “I wish I could tell you it was quick and painless, my lord, but I’m afraid it was anything but. She suffered for several months before it finally took her. And indeed it was hard for all of us. I think it preyed upon Dr. Vance’s mind the most, though. He was so helpless, you see. Everything he tried failed. Until one day my lady just slipped away. And there was naught any of us could do.”
* * *
Quill, Ivy noticed, had to struggle to keep his composure. “Why didn’t she tell me, Mrs. B?” he asked with a sigh. “Any of us? If we’d known she was ill, I know I would have been here at a moment’s notice.”
With a soft look, Mrs. B shook her head. “That’s just what she didn’t want, my lord. Your aunt was a proud lady. And she didn’t wish for you to remember her like that. Ill, and looking nothing like her vibrant self. I did ask more than once if she’d like me to contact her family—for I knew that you, and Lady Serena, and his grace would wish to come—but she would never agree. Said you all had your own lives and that besides, she wanted you to remember her as she was before the illness.”
Wishing she could touch him, Ivy had to content herself with standing at his side, hoping her presence would offer some kind of comfort.
“I suppose you’re right, Mrs. B,” he said with a shake of his head. “I just can’t help but think of what might have been.”
“You and I both, my lord,” said the housekeeper. “And, as I said, Dr. Vance was most troubled of all.”
“You never said what her illness was,” Ivy said tentatively, not wishing to impose upon Quill’s grief, but also wishing to know if Dr. Vance had any suspicions.
“That’s because none of us knew, Miss Wareham,” said Mrs. Bacon. “Dr. Vance could never discover exactly what it was that ailed her. He thought at first it might have been something she’d eaten. But by the end, he was convinced it must have been a wasting disease of some kind. But he never said what.”
“Is his office still in town, Mrs. B?” Quill asked, exchanging a look with Ivy. “On the same street as the blacksmith’s shop?
“Aye,” the housekeeper nodded. “And I know he’d be happy to see you, my lord. If only to relay his sympathies in person. I’ve known him for many a year now and I don’t mind telling you that he took your aunt’s death quite hard.”
“Thank you so much for your assistance, Mrs. Bacon,” Ivy said, hoping the conversation might have thawed relations between them. But she had no such luck.
“I’m happy to help, Miss Wareham,” Mrs. Bacon said stiffly. Then turning to Quill, she offered a broad smile. “If there’s anything you need at all, my lord, I hope you won’t hesitate to ask.”
“Of course I won’t, Mrs. B,” said Quill, breaching their formality to buss the older woman on the cheek. Which made her blush like a giddy schoolgirl, Ivy noted. Were there no lengths to which this man would not stoop to sway people to his side?
Allowing him to guide her from the room and up the servants’ stairs, she would have spoken as soon as they reached the main floor but he shook his head and indicated she should wait. Only once they were safely in the little study Lady Celeste had used for handling household business did he give her a nod that indicate
d she could speak.
“What on earth did I do to make that woman detest me so?” Ivy demanded with a huff as she stalked over to the fireplace. “You would think I’d burst in demanding she hand over her most prize possessions at gunpoint!”
Quill, easy as ever, strolled over and bent to stoke the fire, standing far too close for Ivy’s comfort. When he did not respond immediately, she glared at him. “Well?”
Straightening, he shrugged. “I’ve known Mrs. Bacon and Greaves and many of the other servants since I was in short coats. You cannot expect to be in Beauchamp House for one day and have them treat you like a treasured friend.”
“I did not expect that,” Ivy insisted, though a small voice in her head reminded her that perhaps she had. “At least,” she amended, “I didn’t expect her to simply tell me everything. But why did she look on me with such suspicion? I wasn’t rude. Or demanding.”
“She lost her employer, whom she has served for almost thirty years just a few months ago,” he reminded her quietly, not mentioning that he too had lost his aunt. “And now she has to accustom herself to not one, but five new mistresses including my cousin and the four of you bluestockings. Can you blame her for being a bit stiff with you?”
When he put it like that, Ivy was forced to agree that perhaps she’d not been altogether fair to Mrs. Bacon. “I suppose that is a great deal for one to take in,” she conceded. Then, not wishing to dwell on the housekeeper’s obvious dislike, she asked, “What did you think about the physician? Might it be worth a visit to the village to see what he has to say?”
His jaw tight, Quill nodded. “If he knew my aunt was being poisoned and did nothing to find the culprit, I warn you now that I will not be answerable for my actions.”
Ivy fought the urge to lay a consoling hand on him. What was it about this man that brought out her protective instincts? It wasn’t as if he was a weakling who needed it. And he certainly wouldn’t thank her for it. His posture projected strength where any other man would seem vulnerable. Was it just a product of his position as a peer of the realm with the weight of generations bolstering him? Or was it something more personal? Like his upbringing? Cursing her own dangerous curiosity, she kept her hands to herself.
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