by Amy Corwin
“I don’t like lace!”
“It’s just a small piece around the neckline. It will look so beautiful with your soft hair.” Helen stepped behind Miss Leigh and gently turned her toward the mirror. “May I?”
When Miss Leigh frowned at her reflection, Helen hastily reached around her to bring the gown up. “If you truly don’t like it, I can remove the lace before you go down to supper.”
Miss Leigh stared into the mirror. To Helen’s dismay, the older woman’s thin lips trembled.
What had she done?
Helen gently pulled free one of the wispy curls and curled it around her finger to smooth the fine hair. “You have lovely hair. I hope you’ll let me dress it for you this evening.”
“Indeed! Well, we don’t have all night, and I’m late as it is. There won’t be time for you to redo this dress. I will just have to wear it as it is.”
“Yes, Miss.” To Helen’s consternation, Miss Leigh pressed a red knuckle into her eye and sniffed. Helen dropped her voice to a hesitant whisper, “Do you — do you wish to dress now?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Despite her words, the older woman leaned against the dresser, staring blindly into the mirror. The dress sagged in her listless fingers until Helen eased it out of her grip.
“Is there something else I can do to assist you?”
Miss Leigh didn’t seem to hear her.
“Miss Leigh? Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know ….” Miss Leigh murmured. “I don’t know. The vicar sent a note. To Lionel.”
Helen guessed Lionel was the earl’s brother, except hadn’t Miss Leigh said he was visiting the vicar? Perhaps she hadn’t heard her properly. “Surely that’s not so bad? Didn’t you say the vicar is helping the earl’s brother with his studies?”
Miss Leigh’s eyes, wide with puzzled worry, met Helen’s in the mirror. “Why would he send a note? Should I open it?” Her hands twisted. “Of course, I can’t. It’s addressed to Lionel. But why?”
“Miss Leigh, perhaps you should sit down. You’re tired.” Helen guided her to the settee near the fireplace. “Have you eaten anything today?”
Shaking her off, Miss Leigh paced back to the mirror. “He left days ago.”
A chill gripped Helen’s shoulder with tight, pinching fingers. Miss Leigh must be mistaken. Lionel must have gone elsewhere. “Well, then, you’ll simply have to save the note for Mr. Lionel. For when he returns. Surely it can’t be that urgent?”
“Silly girl, don’t you understand anything? Lionel went to visit the vicar days ago! If he was there, why would the vicar address a letter to him here?”
Chapter Fifteen
“Young persons, on their first entering into service, should endeavour to divest themselves of former habits ….” —The Complete Servant
“Oh, well, he’s a young man, isn’t he?” Helen asked, trying to believe there was a reasonable explanation for it. “Perhaps he decided to visit some friends before going to the vicarage. Don’t worry, I’m sure he is well. Now, why don’t you let me help you into your gown and do your hair?”
After a few more minutes of coaxing, Miss Leigh allowed Helen to help her with the task of dressing for supper. It was not until Miss Leigh had left that Helen realized she had no idea what she was expected to do for her own meals. Thankfully, the maid who had come with the bedding appeared shortly after Miss Leigh joined her guests, bringing a tray.
“Mr. Symes said I should bring a tray — just this once — since you don’t know the schedule yet, and were busy with Miss Leigh. The staff breakfasts are at seven, dinner’s at noon and supper’s at five. I’m to wait and show you the kitchen and our dining room when you’re done.” The maid chatted, staring around the tiny dressing room while Helen ate the beef and potato soup and roll. “Lor’ I should go right off my head in here. You can’t turn round without knocking your elbows against a wall.”
“It is very … cozy.” Helen glanced up briefly from her tray.
“And old Miss Leigh right outside your door. You’ll be lucky to get one night’s sleep out of seven. She snores, you know.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage.” It was only until she could locate her necklace. How terrible could it be? And she already felt a tiny glow at helping Miss Leigh this evening. She had looked so much better when she went down to supper.
The maid shrugged. “I’m just glad I’ve me own room, even though it is under the eaves.” She picked up the heavy pitcher, turned it over in her hands and put it back on the wobbly chest of drawers. “That brother of yours, he’s a very healthy lad, ain’t he?”
“I suppose,” Helen said frostily. When the maid eyed her, she amended, “He’s certainly the tallest one in our family.”
“Oh, yes. And he’s never been married, then? That’s your younger brother who’s his assistant, not his son, by any chance?”
Oh, dear. “Yes. That is, Ned is my youngest brother.” She hated lying, particularly when she was not sure if Mr. Caswell were married or not. For all she knew, he might have a loving wife back in London, waiting for him to finish his investigation. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed probable that he had both a wife and a passel of children waiting impatiently for his return.
Between spoonfuls, Helen surreptitiously studied the maid, noting her bright eyes and avid expression. The maid’s interest needed to be nipped in the bud.
Sighing dramatically, Helen shook her head, peering at the maid through her eyelashes. “I tell you, it’s such a trial to have an older brother.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I don’t know what we’ll do if we get tossed out on our ears again.”
“Again? Why, whatever do you mean?”
“I shouldn’t be saying this, but it’s been so difficult, and I do so want to stay here. You seem so nice, too, and I could really use a friend. But you must understand, my brother is, well, he’s not to be trusted.”
“Not to be trusted?”
“Oh,” Helen hastened to clarify. “Not that he would steal! Oh, no, that’s not at all what I meant. He is just terrible with the female staff, nothing short of a womanizer! I know I shouldn’t say this about my own brother, but I just don’t know what else to do.”
“I can certainly see that,” the maid replied, her pale blue eyes alight with excitement. “It’s easy to see he has a way about him.”
“Please don’t let him fool you! Why, he’s abandoned I don’t know how many others, every one of them thinking he would make an honest women of her. Why, we had to leave our last position when two maids named him as the man responsible for their, um, conditions. I was mortified. It was a terrible scandal. I’m just so relieved we are here, where no-one has heard of him. Could you, em, would you warn the other maids not to trust him?”
“Why, the brute!” To Helen’s horror, the maid laughed. “I daresay he hasn’t yet met the woman who can handle him. A big man like Mr. Caswell needs a firm hand, he does.”
This was not the reaction she expected. Helen clutched the maid’s wrist. “He’s the very devil — a terrible Lothario! No woman can trust him.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Seems like the other maids simply gave in too easy-like.” The maid twisted a pale curl around her finger.
With a failing heart, Helen realized that instead of scaring the maid away from Mr. Caswell, she had made him more interesting and in some mysterious way, more attractive to the other woman.
What had she done?
Chapter Sixteen
“Ability to provide for the family in the best manner is another qualification indispensably necessary in the House Steward.” —The Complete Servant
Unaware that Helen was busy besmirching his reputation and making him utterly irresistible to the unmarried — and even a significant number of married — female staff at Ormsby, Hugh strolled through the main hallway to the office at the back of the house. He did not relish the idea of going through the records; he knew very well what they containe
d as he had recorded most of the information himself.
However, as preoccupied as he was with the death of his brother, he had to at least appear to act like the House Steward he was supposed to be. Deep in thought, he almost ran into one of the maids, a lass with pale brown hair, dimples and a saucy look in her blue eyes.
“Oh, Mr. Caswell,” the maid curtseyed, “I’ve just been making your dear sister comfortable. Such a lovely little thing. I hope she feels she can rely on me for any little thing; any assistance in getting settled into her new position.” She smiled at him and thrust out her bosom to the point that he could not avoid staring at the tempting sight. His mind went entirely blank for a good minute. When he finally glanced up, her smile seemed positively gloating. “And of course, if you need anything. Anything at all,” she emphasized, “just ring the bell and ask for Molly.”
“Um,” Hugh’s eyes drifted to the ceiling. Somewhere above him, Helen was trying to be an abigail to Miss Leigh. How was she managing? “Helen will be pleased to have a friend.”
She twisted one pale curl. “Oh, yes. I hope we’re already friends.” She seemed to want to continue talking, but Hugh could feel Symes’ eyes on him. Servants had no real business in the front hall, except as part of their duties. A House Steward had a little more freedom, but no one worth his salt flirted with the maids.
Stepping forward, he nodded at Molly and dodged round her when she seemed ready to hold him there — physically if necessary. Thankfully, Mr. Symes was moving in their direction with a frown compressing his mouth. Molly, noting this, flung a grin at Hugh and fled down a narrow side corridor towards the servant area.
There was a loud knock on the front door.
Mr. Symes grimaced at Hugh and turned back without a word. When he opened the door, Hugh slid into the doorway of the library and waited.
Mr. Symes spoke for a few minutes to someone outside, the stiffness of his back revealing his distaste for the visitor. Then he stepped aside.
Knighton Gaunt strode into view. He hesitated while Mr. Symes shut the door.
“Wait here.” Symes waved to an upholstered bench against one wall and headed toward the staircase.
Hugh didn’t move, waiting to see whom Symes had gone to notify.
Nearly ten minutes later, Symes returned with Miss Leigh. The lace at her throat ruffled as she breathed noisily, her movements sharp with agitation.
“What is it?” she asked, as soon as she caught sight of Gaunt. “We have guests waiting in the dining room.”
“I beg your pardon,” Gaunt replied smoothly. “I’m Mr. Gaunt of Second Sons, an inquiry agency.”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Symes already informed me of your profession.” Her tone implied she was not impressed with his credentials. “What do you want?”
“I’m afraid I have some news —”
“News? What news?”
“Wreckage from a boat has been discovered near Burnham-on-Sea —”
“A boat? What boat?” She glanced toward the dining room. “Must I remind you that I have guests waiting?”
“I understand, Miss Leigh. I apologize. However, it is my understanding that the earl has such a boat.”
“The earl?”
“Yes, the Earl of Monnow owns a small cutter called the Twilight, doesn’t he? Perhaps if I could speak to him?”
“He — he isn’t here,” she replied sharply. “What makes you believe this wreckage you found was from the Twilight?”
“Perhaps I should speak to the earl?”
“I told you, he’s not here! He went sailing — oh, my! Oh, my goodness!” She swayed, and Mr. Symes put a hand under her elbow to steady her. “Are you saying my nephew — my nephew the Earl of Monnow — has had an accident? Is he, is he safe?”
Mr. Gaunt gazed at her, his face sympathetic. “I’m afraid all we have is wreckage.”
“Then how can you be sure? It could be wreckage from any vessel!”
“No.” He shook his head. “We’ve found enough. We’re sure.”
“And my nephew? You say he is missing?”
“That is why I came,” Gaunt continued in a soft, soothing voice. “I was nearby. The constable asked me to come here. We had hoped —”
“Perhaps he did not take the Twilight out! Perhaps it was stolen!”
“That’s certainly a possibility. When did you last see your nephew?”
“Why, why nearly a week ago, I suppose. We had a ball and the next day, the earl took his boat out. He enjoys sailing …. What will, what will happen now? We must tell his brother. He has a younger brother, Lionel. He’s at the vicar’s — oh, no.” She held her hand to her mouth. “He just received a letter from the vicar — where could he be? We must find him! Oh, poor Lionel — he’ll be crushed.”
Gaunt caught the butler’s gaze. “Get a glass of brandy for Miss Leigh. And fetch her maid.” He touched Miss Leigh’s thin wrist. “Perhaps you should sit here, Miss Leigh. Your maid will be here shortly. I apologize for bringing you such news.”
“Missing — both of them? Where is Lionel?” Her head snapped up, her face suddenly contorted by anger. “That irresponsible boy! He was supposed to be visiting the vicar. No doubt he has gone to London for his own pleasures before returning to his studies.”
Hugh watched, feeling cruel and full of pity for his aunt. Her face was ashen as she tried to cope with the information. Lionel had been her favorite; to all intents and purposes, her son.
How would she react when she found out Lionel had not slipped away to London before returning to school? That he was dead?
Hugh’s gut twisted in response to her emotional turmoil and the knowledge that this was merely the start. She might guess he was dead, but she didn’t know. Not yet.
“What are we to do?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Hope for the best.” Gaunt touched her hand lightly, offering a small measure of comfort. “If you could send word —”
“Yes, yes. I must go and see the vicar. He will know where to find Lionel. He must be in London. The vicar will know.”
“The earl —”
She glanced at him. “Of course, if the earl returns, I will send word. Leave your card with Symes.”
Unseen by the others, Helen entered the hallway. She stood hesitantly a few feet away from the tense cluster. As if sensing him, she looked in Hugh’s direction. When he caught her eye, he shook his head. She transferred her gaze to the floor.
Symes was the first to notice her. “You there,” he said. “Did you bring Miss Leigh’s brandy?”
“Yes, sir.” She held out a small glass filled with amber liquid.
“She’s had a terrible shock.” He waved her forward.
She handed the glass to Miss Leigh, who grabbed it and swallowed the contents in one gulp, causing her to go into a paroxysm of coughing. Helen eased the small glass from her hand and put an arm around Miss Leigh’s thin shoulders.
“May I help you upstairs? You should lie down.” Helen’s puzzled gaze flew first to Mr. Symes and then Mr. Gaunt, but both ignored her. “Come, Miss Leigh, you should lie down.”
Face red and damp from coughing, Miss Leigh leaned on Helen’s arm, and allowed herself to be led away.
When Gaunt placed his hat on his head in preparation to leave, Hugh slid quietly through the library and out of the French doors into the garden. He headed towards the front drive, hoping to cut Gaunt off before he departed. Halfway around, he met his quarry. Hugh waved and led him off towards a small copse of trees where they could not be seen from the house.
“What have you discovered?” Hugh asked, turning abruptly as he rounded the bole of a large oak.
“It’s early, yet,” Gaunt remarked. “They have collected the debris from the Twilight, however. And the constabulary of Burnham-on-Sea has instituted an investigation.”
“Any sign of Lionel?”
“Not yet. I’m sorry.”
Hugh ran a hand through his hair, glancing once over his shoulder in the dir
ection of Ormsby. “Why did you not warn my aunt that Lionel is most likely dead? She may not see it as a kindness when she finds out.”
“You’ve presented me with a bit of a problem, my lord. According to your story, you were the only one who knew your brother went out with you on the Twilight. It would be impossible for me to know, or tell anyone, that Lionel is most likely drowned. Without his remains, how would I know unless you had told me?”
“Yes, but damn it, when she does discover it —”
“I’m sorry. However, there is no easy way to do this; no way to spare her feelings ̶ or those of anyone else.”
“There is no sign, then, of Lionel?”
“No. As I mentioned, it’s possible that he survived —”
“No,” Hugh said, feeling the waves battering him, tearing him away from the foundering boat and his brother. The unbearable, unforgiveable lightness when he had lost his grip on Lionel. “No. I realize there is no proof, but he could not have survived. Eventually, we’ll have to reveal that Lionel is dead.”
“Perhaps, but not until I have that information from other source. I am unwilling to reveal that you have survived until I know exactly what happened.”
“I’m not enamored of the idea, either. I’ve no desire for someone to try again.” Hugh rotated his stiff shoulders. “So you must continue to make your inquires outside Ormsby. I’ll see what I can discover here. The boat was in dry dock until the day before I took her out. Whoever did this had to know I would take her out. That means they have to be someone local — or one of the guests at Ormsby. I’ll forward the guest list. Is there anything else?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I checked at the docks. One of the three men there indicated they had seen a stranger in a dark blue jacket and cap. They did not know him and chased him away. But he was near the Twilight the night before you took her out.”
“What did he look like?”
“It was nearing dusk, and they did not get a good view of him. The witness indicated that when he yelled at the man, asking him his business, he ran off.” Gaunt shrugged. “So, this may have nothing to do with your accident. Or it may be pertinent.”
