Escaping Notice

by Amy Corwin

  Hugh led the way to the butler's office near the front door. Mr. Symes was sitting in the sole chair, sorting through a stack of correspondence. He glanced up and frowned when he caught sight of Hugh.

  “Mr. Caswell, do you require something?” He stood up and stacked the letters into three neat piles, aligned precisely with one inch between them.

  A glance indicated that the tallest stack was addressed to Hugh Gerard Castle, Earl of Monnow.

  Thank you notes for the ball.

  The second stack was addressed to his aunt. The smallest stack contained messages for various members of the household, as well as a few invoices that had another name on them: Mr. Hugh Caswell.

  How quickly tradesmen learned about changes in an earl's household. How disappointed they would be when they discovered there was no such person as Mr. Caswell.

  “Mr. Symes, there is some news we must impart to Miss Leigh. It will not be pleasant, so it would be best if she were attended by her new maid. You and Mrs. Adams should also be present. You can then inform the rest of the household. We will use the library. Shall we say fifteen minutes?”

  “What is it?” Mr. Symes’ eyes flickered from Hugh to Mr. Gaunt.

  “Please collect the others and join us in the library.”

  “Yes, Mr. Caswell.”

  With a sharp nod, Hugh turned and strode through the marble hallway, past the grand staircase to the library at the rear of the house. By force of habit, he went to the large desk near the window. He almost sat before he caught Gaunt's black eyes on him.

  “Are you sure you would not rather return to the living as the earl?” Gaunt asked.

  “I’m sure I would. But now is not the time.” Hugh continued round the desk and pulled up one of the chairs padded in deep brown leather.

  He pulled additional chairs forward to form a half-moon. A little to the left of these, alongside the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, he placed a few wooden chairs, thinking of Helen. He was not sure who Mr. Symes would decide to invite, and he wanted to keep the situation under control.

  There would be no chasing around searching for chairs and scrambling to arrange them. No confusion. Everyone would just quietly enter, be seated, and wait for the news.

  He stood back and eyed the room, realizing that in his nervousness, he had arranged all the chairs in a huge fan, spreading out from the central pivot-point of the massive desk. They could seat the entire staff and still have several rows of chairs left empty.

  He pulled a few away and placed them back in their original locations, in intimate groupings of two or three throughout the huge room.

  “What is the meaning of this?” his aunt asked in a querulous voice as she strode through the doorway. “I do not understand. Why should the house steward wish to meet us?”

  Mr. Symes followed her at a discreet distance, wringing his pudgy hands. “I'm sorry, Miss Leigh. Mr. Caswell indicated there was something he needed to tell us.”

  “Us? What do you mean, us?” She caught Hugh's gaze and strode forward, her eyes hard and accusing. “Who are you to insist on meeting with us?”

  “The earl's steward, ma'am.” He gave her a slight bow. “And this is not my choice.”

  “What is it?”

  He led her to one of the padded chairs directly in front of the desk. She gazed at Gaunt, standing to one side of the desk, then turned back to Hugh. The massive, vacant chair behind the desk spoke volumes. Unless they were completely insensitive, even a casual visitor glancing through the library doors would sense something was terribly wrong.

  A slight breeze, a certain freshness of air, announced the presence of others. Helen had slipped into the room while he was speaking to his aunt. The sight of Helen’s warm, lovely face lifted his heart. He straightened and moved to Mr. Gaunt's side.

  Helen took one of the wooden chairs against the bookcase, close to Miss Leigh. She gazed at his aunt with an anxious look wrinkling her smooth brow. Her hands restlessly plucked at the edges of the apron she wore over her plain, dark blue dress. She looked pale and tired, with smudges under her eyes. The bruise still shaded her cheekbone, its blue now fading into greenish-yellow.

  Gaunt was right about one thing, Helen needed to return home. She was wearing herself thin taking care of his aunt, and he could easily find whatever trinket she had lost.

  Mr. Symes and Mrs. Adams glided in and circled the chairs, heading for the last two in the line against the bookcase. No one spoke, but they all watched Hugh as if expecting him to burst into flames.

  He let them stew for five full minutes before he stepped forward. He loomed over his seated aunt. He stepped back, resting a hip against the edge of the desk. She glared at him, occasionally puffing air between her thin lips as if about to say something and then thinking better of it.

  “I apologize for asking you here. The earl's lawyer, Mr. Petre, has sent Mr. Gaunt with news.” He glanced around, debating the relative merits of making the announcement himself or leaving it to Gaunt. He decided he preferred to be free to observe those present. He nodded to the inquiry agent. “Mr. Gaunt, if you would, please.”

  “Thank you,” Gaunt said. “As Mr. Caswell indicated, I bear news and unfortunately, it is not pleasant.”

  “For heaven's sake, get on with it,” Miss Leigh said in a high, fidgety voice. The legs of her chair squeaked as she moved restlessly. “I suppose it involves our finances. My nephew would not listen to me when I tried to convince him not to hold a ball here. It was a ridiculous expenditure, and now I suppose we will all suffer for it.”

  Hugh stared at her, surprised. What had made her think they were in such desperate straits that a ball would ruin them?

  “I regret it is not that,” Mr. Gaunt replied. “I am very sorry to inform you that the earl's boat, the Twilight, has been found. It apparently foundered and pieces of her were discovered along the coast —”

  Miss Leigh stood up. The pink ribbons dangling from her cap fluttered wildly as she shook. She clutched at her throat, her skin gray and sickly. “Lionel? That's where he went, isn't it? Not to the vicar's. That's why we have not heard from him.”

  “I'm sorry —” Mr. Gaunt was cut off by Mr. Symes.

  “The earl? Where is the earl?”

  Miss Leigh flung the butler an angry glance over her shoulder. “He should never have gone. I warned him!”

  “Who did you warn?” Mr. Gaunt asked.

  Hugh watched his aunt. She had always been nervous, overwrought, and she had never made her dislike of him a secret. Lionel had always been her favorite.

  For the first time, though, he wondered just how much she did dislike him. He had thought her objections to moving were simply a normal reaction to the turmoil it would involve. Once she was settled in, surely she would be happier to have a place of her own.

  Or would she? Had she been angry enough to do something about it?

  His aunt clamped her mouth shut and studied Mr. Gaunt. Finally, she answered stiffly, “I asked my nephew, Lionel, not to leave the party. He's dead, isn't he? I knew it.”

  “I’m sorry. Yes. They found his remains, along with fragments of the Twilight. We believe they were caught in a storm.”

  She waved his explanation away, her eyes fixed on something only she could see — something in the distance.

  “But the earl,” Mr. Symes repeated. “What of the earl?”

  “I'm sorry. We have found no sign of him.”

  After a moment of silence, Mr. Gaunt focused again on Miss Leigh. “Why would you warn him? Did you know he planned to go sailing with his brother?”

  “No,” his aunt sighed. She rubbed her right arm distractedly with her left hand before continuing. “But he knew his brother was going. We all knew that. And I knew Lionel often liked to join him. Those men … forever sailing off at the most inconvenient times.”

  “What made you warn him?” Mr. Gaunt repeated.

  “It — it was just — we had a houseful of guests. His arrogant brother did whatever h
e wanted, but someone had to remain. Someone should have stayed. I did n0t want him to go and visit the vicar.”

  “So you wanted Lionel to assist with the guests? You did not warn him against going sailing?”

  “I did not know he was going with Lord Monnow. How could I know? But I asked him to stay. He should have stayed; it was his duty — one of them should have remained. If he had done as I asked, he would still be here.”

  “Why did you not want him to visit the vicar?”

  She flushed and glanced round the room, massaging her arm more vigorously. “I — I just wanted him to stay.”

  Helen moved closer to Miss Leigh and gently touched her shoulder. She whispered something. Miss Leigh shook her head.

  Trying to hear, Hugh moved closer.

  “You do not look well, Miss Leigh,” Helen whispered. “Please let me help you to your room. You should rest after such a shock. You will make yourself ill.”

  “Hush, silly girl!” Miss Leigh replied sharply. “Don’t interrupt.”

  “Why would you object to Mr. Lionel Castle visiting the vicar? He planned to make a career of the church, did he not?” Gaunt continued, clearly scenting the inconsistencies in Miss Leigh's remarks.

  “Yes,” she admitted in a grudging voice. “I did not object to the vicar. He was always kind to Lionel, helpful with his decision. Lionel would have been an excellent vicar.” Then, as if the truth had finally hit her, Miss Leigh's face trembled. Her lips shook before she pressed them together as she gripped her arm. “Lionel is gone.”

  “This is too much for her.” Helen rose, put an arm round Miss Leigh's shoulders and helped her to her feet. “Can you not see she is in shock? She must rest.”

  Hugh stepped closer, watching his aunt and searching for answers. Even Mr. Gaunt studied her, his expression severely schooled into polite sympathy. He had clearly not finished his questions and now, when Miss Leigh was distraught, perhaps he thought her unguarded answers might reveal the truth.

  “Just another moment,” Hugh said. “Then she can rest.”

  Helen faced him, her brows compressed with anger. “No. She has had enough.”

  His aunt reached up and gripped Helen's hand. Her gesture looked oddly like gratitude. Helen glanced down and smiled at her, before flicking a defiant look at Hugh.

  Painfully aware of an opportunity lost, he nodded. As only the house steward, he could hardly insist Miss Leigh remain.

  Gaunt was right. Soon, Hugh would have to give up his disguise to press forward with the investigation. He tried to reject the trend of his thoughts, but he could not avoid one horrifying notion. His family — and specifically his aunt — could have had more to do with Lionel’s death than Hugh cared to consider.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “ … she will sometimes be required to sit with her, to administer her medicines ….” —The Complete Servant

  Casting a stern glance at Hugh, Helen put her arm round Miss Leigh and helped her out of her chair. She didn’t like Miss Leigh's color, or the way she clutched her arm, and Helen refused to allow Hugh to badger her to death no matter what his reasons might be. In fact, she was disappointed that he suddenly seemed so unsympathetic.

  Could he not see how ill Miss Leigh was?

  There was nothing to be gained by continuing to pressure the shocked woman. She had lost her nephews, or at least Mr. Lionel Castle. She needed time to grieve and to accept the terrible change in her life.

  Miss Leigh gazed up at Helen with eyes glazed over with grief and incomprehension. Then she inhaled sharply, clutching her left arm. She stared at Helen as if she no longer saw her. Her face flushed before paling to a deep, bluish-gray.

  “Miss Leigh,” Helen said in a soft voice, leaning closer. Miss Leigh wheezed as if having difficulties breathing. Helen’s heart skipped a beat. “Miss Leigh, can you rise?”

  “Of course,” Miss Leigh's voice lashed out with false confidence. “Accompany me to my room.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” Helen responded quickly, afraid of further emotional outbursts.

  She helped Miss Leigh rise. The older woman tottered on her feet, coughed, and straightened. She shook off Helen's hand as she took a step toward the door, but before she took a second step, she gripped Helen's arm.

  Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Helen glanced at Hugh. His sharp gaze followed Miss Leigh's increasingly strained movements.

  “Send for the doctor.” Helen put an arm round Miss Leigh's waist. She felt so thin, so frail. The bones pressed against her arm, as fragile as a bird's wing.

  “No!” Miss Leigh replied in a harsh voice. “Rest — I just need a few minutes.” Air rasped through her throat, rattling. Her head, however, rose proudly. She gave one last look at Mr. Gaunt. “You will remain. I will question you more thoroughly later.”

  Mr. Gaunt bowed, before his dark gaze caught Mr. Symes' darting movement to open the library doors before Miss Leigh reached them.

  “Certainly, Miss Leigh. I will be available whenever you wish.”

  “Miss Leigh, please,” Helen begged. “You must rest. Please Mr. Caswell, can you assist us?” Miss Leigh clung to her arm, her weight dragging against her. Helen looked over her shoulder at him. He nodded and stepped to her side, but Miss. Leigh elbowed him weakly. “Help me get her to her room.”

  Slowly climbing the grand staircase, Helen clutched Miss Leigh on one side with Hugh on the other. After each step, they had to pause to allow Miss Leigh to catch her breath. A misty, cold spiral of dread curled under Helen’s breastbone. Miss Leigh would not make it to her room. Her breathing rasped in Helen's ear.

  Halfway up, Miss Leigh paused even longer, bending until her nose almost touched a step further up.

  “I will carry her,” Hugh offered.

  “No,” Miss Leigh rasped.

  “Miss Leigh,” Helen said, tightening her hold. “Perhaps we should go back down. You can rest in the sitting room.” She glanced upwards as she spoke. The stairway soared uncaringly up into the gray shadows of the second floor landing. The distance seemed impossibly far. Her legs and arms ached with the effort of bearing Miss Leigh's weight. Even her feet felt as heavy as lead.

  “No.” Miss Leigh panted. “Just … get me … to my room. No doctor.”

  “Then you will have to allow Mr. Caswell to carry you.” Helen paused, feeling Miss Leigh tremble with anger. “I will not insist on a doctor, but you must rest.” She summoned her remaining strength and resolutely forced Miss Leigh to place an arm around Hugh’s shoulder.

  He nodded to her and swept her up.

  By the time they reached the landing, Miss Leigh's eyes were closed, her face damp with sweat. She gasped for air as Hugh carried her down the brief stretch of hallway until they reached her room.

  Without speaking, Hugh deposited Miss Leigh on the bed and swung her feet up.

  “I will send for the doctor,” he said, before striding out.

  Miss Leigh's eyes remained closed, set deeply into bruised hollows. Her mouth tightened briefly, but she did not speak as Helen removed her shoes and loosened the complex laces and ties that held her dress together. As soon as she was able to untie Miss Leigh's stays and persuade her unresponsive body into a freshly-laundered nightdress, Helen pulled the quilt out from underneath her and covered her over.

  She glanced round the room, twisting her hands together. What should she do? How could she relieve Miss Leigh's distress? The older woman coughed and turned on her side, air rattling through her thin throat. Unable to do anything to comfort her, Helen finally took a seat by the bed and held Miss Leigh's narrow hand. To her surprise, Miss Leigh gripped her as if frightened she would be abandoned to suffer alone.

  “I'm here, Miss Leigh. I won't leave,” Helen whispered.

  The grip on her hand tightened briefly. It was little enough acknowledgement, but sufficient to give Helen the determination to stay and watch over her.

  The doctor came and went, offering nothing except a few shakes of the head,
a blood-letting, and the dire remark that it was her heart and they could do nothing but wait.

  Towards midnight, Miss Leigh rolled over, mumbling in her sleep, her frail, blue-veined hands rustling over the quilt as if the heavy folds were a weight she could no longer bear. Helen arose from her chair, stiff and cold. After soothing Miss Leigh by pressing a cool, damp cloth to her forehead, she stretched and moved quietly to her cubbyhole.

  She dragged her cot out until it was just a few feet away from Miss Leigh’s bed. She could not remain alert in her chair any longer, and she prayed she would wake up if Miss Leigh needed her. It was almost two in the morning. The heavy silence made the house seem abandoned, empty of life.

  Feeling vulnerable, Helen undressed and crawled between the cold, thin sheets of her bed. She flicked one last glance at Miss Leigh before she wrapped her arms around the edge of her hard pillow and closed her eyes in exhausted sleep.

  §

  A hot, brilliant shaft of sunshine pressed against Helen's face. She opened her eyes drowsily and glanced around, confused. Her eyes rested on the long, humped shape of Miss Leigh, stretched out in her bed. Then she glanced at the brightly-lit windows with alarm.

  She had overslept. The white porcelain clock on the mantle clicked uncaringly past eight in the morning. Miss Leigh never remained abed this late.

  Helen jumped out of the cot and stumbled over to the bed. Miss Leigh was asleep, not dead. She breathed heavily, her lips vibrating occasionally as she took a deep breath of air. Putting her hand on Miss Leigh's forehead, Helen was relieved to discover no sign of a fever, although the older lady's skin held an unhealthy, grayish tinge. Her thin lips were bluish instead of a healthy pink.

  Taking the chance to wash and dress, Helen did so as rapidly as she could. She noted with relief that one of the maids had refilled the pitcher on the wash table near the door to Helen's room. The water was cold and icy against her sleep-warmed skin, but it served to refresh her and bring her fully awake.

  Behind her, Miss Leigh stirred. She half rose and then lay back again.