He stabbed a sausage with his fork before looking at Flack, who stood straight-backed and aloof by the buffet table.
“Ankle feeling better, Mr. Flack?” Ash asked, the sound of his own voice too loud in the generously proportioned dining room.
Flack appeared surprised by the question, but he cleared his throat and answered soon enough.
“Yes, indeed, my Lord. A twinge now and again, but Mrs. Grenfell made me a mustard poultice. The heat seems to have worked wonders.” He turned his foot this way and that as if proving the fact.
Ash nodded, the smile on his lips not reaching his eyes. Not that he didn’t mean the man well, but he really didn’t care about Flack’s ankle one way or the other. Still, he gave an as enthusiastic response as he could muster.
“Excellent. Glad to hear it...It is a pity Mrs. Grenfell does not have something as effective to cure my wife’s tender head,” he muttered sulkily as an afterthought.
Whatever else might have ailed him, Flack’s hearing remained excellent.
“Oh, but she does. Makes an elixir like no other. Cures a tender head in minutes. I thought she had given her Ladyship a dose. Shall I make enquiries, or perhaps send for Doctor Finch, my Lord?” He looked as if he were about to head towards the door.
Ash waved him back, the thought of brining Finch into the house and reminding him of his own idiocy, more than he could bear.
“No, I am sure she will be fine under Mrs. Grenfell’s ministrations. The thought of her father’s funeral is probably adding to her discomfort.”
Flack nodded sagely.
“Not an easy time for her Ladyship. Losing her mother was bad enough, but to have your own father murdered in his study and to then have the chief suspect found stabbed in your own lake, it’s a wonder any of us are sleeping at night.”
Asher gave up on the sausage and laid it back on his plate.
“If we knew of a motive, it might help, but I just cannot think of one apart from jealousy. There was no robbery, no fight from either victim. They must have known the perpetrator for him to get so close.” He spoke more to himself than to Flack, but the man answered all the same.
“Has anyone checked the contents of the master’s strong box?”
Ash narrowed his eyes at the man.
“I believe it remains untouched but have not verified its contents. Do you know, Mr. Flack, I have corresponded with the earl for several years, but I feel that I know nothing about him at all. Where might I find this strongbox?”
Flack sniffed.
“In the master’s bedroom I believe. There is a hidden compartment in his Lordship’s bed, but I am not privy to the way of opening it. Phillips will probably be able to help you. Or her Ladyship. I believe the family jewels are stored there.”
Ash thought it odd that the butler had no clue as to how to get to the strongbox, but didn’t peruse the thought.
“Ah yes! I remember Lady Madeleine mentioning the fact when we discussed her personal jewellery.” Ash took up his cup and sipped his tea. He rose from his chair and walked towards the window. The dining room faced out over another part of the garden. A spire reached into the sky beyond the trees in the distance. “I think I’ll wait until after the funeral before I ask if she has found the inventory and has ascertained the contents. A few hours won’t make any difference.” He suddenly stopped speaking as a thought crossed his mind. He turned back to the butler. “The whole household will be attending the funeral, I assume.”
Flack nodded.
“Of course. We would all like to pay our respects to the old earl.”
Ash tilted his head, remembering Finch’s opinion of the butler’s loyalties.
“Even though some of you didn’t actually like the man?”
Flack eyed his new master before answering.
“One doesn’t have to like one’s employer to respect him, if I might be so bold, my Lord. The earl was probably no worse than any other I have worked for. His deteriorating health didn’t help. Made the man a cantankerous old curmudgeon of late. He didn’t make it easy for any of us to work for him, but at least he paid his staff in a timely fashion.”
Interested, Asher asked another question.
“And the other staff felt like this too?”
Flack shrugged.
“Mrs. Grenfell liked the man well enough, but her dealings were more with first the mistress and then Lady Madeleine. Phillips is always a bag of nerves, but he has been worse recently. Since seeing...” Flack stopped as Ash waved his hand dismissively.
“Yes, I have heard about the ghost more often than I would like. But that is another odd thing don’t you think? Why see one now when Mr. Phillips has lived here for such a length of time.”
Flack rolled his eyes.
“We’ve all lived here for a good deal of time. Only Gertrude and the two young boys are new. But Phillips... Well, the man won’t admit it, but we all know he likes a tipple and, after a glass or two, his imagination knows no bounds, my Lord. Only at Christmas last year did he swear he saw the master and Mrs. Grenfell kissing beneath the mistletoe. Utterly ridiculous, of course. There was no mistletoe in the house... I wouldn’t believe a word he has to say.”
Ash nodded thoughtfully as he refilled his cup.
“But others have heard strange noises. Been awakened at night. Perhaps there is something in the tale after all.” He took a long gulp of the beverage.
Flack gave a derisory snort.
“I highly doubt that. Probably just servants moving about. The passages let sound travel. You can hear cook speaking in the kitchen when on the back stairs of the upper floors.” He suddenly looked pensive. “Mind you, cook can speak extremely loudly when riled. You could probably hear her letting rip at the kitchen maids throughout the whole house even without the benefit of an echoing passageway. But Phillips let his imagination run away with him and the others have over reacted. And now with the added strain of the master’s murder they think that any mere creak or breeze is a phantom sent to cut their throats.”
Ash laughed.
“You must be right. I heard noises myself only last night. Could have sworn there were footsteps coming from right behind my bed head.”
The butler gave a small shrug.
“The servants’ staircase runs throughout the whole house. I suspect one of the maids had forgotten to do something in the kitchen and thought to rectify her omission before being discovered. Cook can be a scary person when crossed. Doesn’t like to have her meals criticized either. She takes leftovers as a personal insult.” He looked significantly at the sausage and eggs on Ash’s plate.
Suddenly ravenous, Ash dropped back into his seat and attacked his meal with renewed vigour.
“Not bad at all.” He dabbed his mouth on his napkin.
Flack’s face split into a grin.
“I’ll let cook know you enjoyed it, though she will probably not appreciate it. She’s feeling a little stressed with the funeral arrangements.”
Asher looked puzzled.
“Why on earth should she be stressed? I would have thought it was my wife who would feel the strain.”
Flack nodded towards the door. The buzz of energetic movement filled the hallway. Pails clanked, footsteps hurried, and Mrs. Grenfell’s impatient tones could be heard calling out instructions.
“Hadn’t you noticed the bustle? Everyone is stressed due to the amount of guests.”
Asher became even more confused.
“Guests? What guests? I don’t recall inviting anyone.”
Flack sighed.
“I thought your wife might have told you... But of course, her headache. And you were out viewing the estate all day yesterday... You have clearly not had the chance to catch up with household events.” He ignored Ash’s irritated grumble. “The earl was well known in these parts. A considerable number of people are expected to attend the funeral. While most will be local, some come from quite a distance. Refreshment will be expected after the interment. I believe Mrs. Grenfell i
s arranging the drawing room as we speak.”
Ash felt his mouth fall open. Why had he not considered that this might happen? Damnation! Gentleman he might be, but being an earl was entirely new to him. He had expected there to be a gathering but given the circumstances of the earl’s death, he had assumed the funeral would be a quiet, private affair.
He pushed his seat back and stood again, fuming inwardly. Madeleine should have warned him. Had she thought to make him look a fool with his ignorance of such niceties?
“I will go and make enquiries.” He left the dining room and marched to the stairs. Impatience sped his steps and a few moments later he stood outside Madeleine’s door. He knocked twice and waited. And waited. The door opened as he was about to knock again.
Madeleine blinked up at his aggravated features. Her eyes were clear but swollen with sleep.
“My Lord, I sent word that I...”
Ash didn’t let her finish.
“Yes, I am well aware of your headaches, but I think you might have had the decency to tell me of the arrangements you have made concerning your father’s funeral. I had no idea that we would be entertaining half the countryside.”
Heat filled Madeleine’s cheeks even as she stifled a yawn.
“I beg your pardon. I am not used to telling others what I am about to do. I would have...” She stopped as footsteps sounded along the hall. “Come inside a moment. I don’t want to discuss this with half the staff within hearing.” She stood back against the wall and Ash strode into her room.
The door clicked closed behind him and Ash spun on his heel to face her.
“We wouldn’t be having this conversation at all if you had kept me informed of your plans.”
Madeleine shook off the heaviness that plagued her and lifted her chin.
“And do you object to them? Let me know now so that I can have word sent out. I don’t want to be embarrassed on my own doorstep.”
“And I don’t want to be embarrassed on mine!” He glowered down at her.
Her emerald green eyes flashed at him.
“You embarrassed? How? You are the Earl of Claiborne. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. But perhaps you are right. I should call it all off and send my father’s friends home hungry and thirsty. After all, you married me to save me from myself and my reckless decisions.”
Ash’s gaze went to the ceiling. How could he explain?
“You know that is not true.”
“Do I?” She countered.
Ash suddenly felt very weary.
“Madeleine, I know you heard what I said to Doctor Finch, but believe me, my words were not meant to belittle you. I was trying to discover a motive for murder. And I think I found one.”
Too surprised to continue the argument, Madeleine gasped.
“You did? What motive?”
Ash sat on the edge of her bed and pressed his hands on his knees.
“Doctor Finch carries a torch for you. A burning flame. Which I doused rather suddenly with something akin to a bucket of cold water when I informed him that we are married.”
Madeleine slumped onto the bed beside him.
“Oh!”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. And then I decided to press him further. And he bit just as I expected when I belittled you.”
She looked up at him, her still lips parted in a perfect surprised ‘oh’.
“He did?”
Ash nodded.
“Rather spectacularly. He hasn’t said anything to confirm or deny it, but I believe that jealousy ate at him when he discovered that I was the contender for your hand. I suspect your father had said something of my intended visit when Finch attended him in recent weeks. But he knew nothing of our marriage until I revealed the details after we had examined Mr. Leyman’s body. Finch became quite mad with hatred of me. You could see it in his eyes.”
Madeleine swallowed.
“But he is old. Only ten years younger than my father. And while I like him and trust him as a doctor, there were no other feelings on my part. I swear that I never gave him any encouragement.”
Ash took hold of her hand and squeezed it gently.
“I don’t suppose you did, but we can all be fools in love. I probably know better than most how he felt on hearing the news, but don’t you see what this means? He was a frequent visitor to the house, probably knew of your father’s habit of leaving the windows to the garden open. Ventilation for his habit of smoking cigars or perhaps he made it easier for Squeak to leave her slimy gifts, who knows, but the doctor might have felt desperate and come back to ask for your hand in marriage. Your father would have immediately turned him down, stating that he had already found you the perfect partner and that I was about to make an appearance the following morning. I am not saying that he did any such thing, but he could have felt so wounded that he acted without thought, and stabbed your father in a fit of anger.”
Madeleine trembled.
“And what of Thomas Leyman? How did he die? And for what purpose?”
Ash shrugged.
“I am only thinking out loud, but if Leyman came back to speak to your father again after their initial discourse, perhaps he saw something occurring and ran. Finch spotted him and followed, sneaking up on Leyman as he sat to clear his thoughts on that log.”
Madeleine pressed her fingertips to her forehead and rubbed.
“I had a headache before. Now it is worse. Can this really be true?”
Ash shrugged.
“It’s a possibility. Mathews is making enquires as to Finch’s patients that day. His whereabouts will be relatively easy to check.”
“And if it is proved that he could not have done it, where are we then? Back to the beginning and all looking over our shoulders again.” Her tremble turned into a shudder as she leaned into Ash’s shoulder.
His arm went about her waist and he held her tightly.
“Mathews is going over everyone’s statements. He is going to question everyone again. Things will come to light.” He spoke encouragingly while enjoying her warmth at his side.
She glanced up at him.
“I don’t think we should leave Mathews to question anyone. He is so far out of his depth that he is likely to hang the first person he thinks doesn’t have a compelling excuse for where they were or what they were doing.” She swallowed and lifted a hand to her throat. “And that might be me as I have no one to vouch for my whereabouts on the night the murders occurred.”
Ash clutched her to his side.
“I should think not! You would have had to have someone in your bedroom with you all night. But I don’t suppose that anyone will believe that you killed your own father, even if he was trying to make you marry me.” He didn’t mention that Mathews had already suggested as much on the morning of the tragedy.
She shook her head.
“I wish I hadn’t argued with him. I can’t tell you how angry I was. But I was so stunned. He had never mentioned such an idea to me before. I don’t wish to make light of the situation, but I swear I could have throttled him when he sprang his surprise on me.”
Ash huffed out a low laugh.
“Don’t let Mathews hear you say that. I don’t know that I would appreciate having to visit my countess in the local jail. But I am curious as to why you were so against the match. It can’t have been anything I had said or done. We had never met one another before.”
Madeleine stared into his eyes.
“But don’t you see? That is what is so wrong with this whole situation. How could you even think of tying yourself to someone you don’t know. Especially in view of what you told me about your fiancée.”
Ash shrugged his big shoulders.
“I already told you, but I will explain more fully. After my experience with Jane, I had told myself that I would never fall in love again. I confess that her fickle heart hurt me more that I cared to admit. I could never allow it to happen again. Marrying you was neither here or there in my warped thinking. It matter
ed not whether I did or didn’t. But your mother gave me a picture of you and begged that I look after you. She said that you were unconventional, different. That no one else was likely to treat you well. I didn’t know exactly what she meant, but given my knowledge of the aristocracy, I could envision a life of misery for you if you were stifled by a pompous arse who wanted nothing more than your money or your body. I knew I would not be like that. I haven’t been brought up in that manner. I have had to work all my life. My father never told me of this inheritance. I am not sure he believed it was true. He never once told me about our ancestors or family. I don’t think he knew or cared. And I confess that neither did I, until I saw the picture of you.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb gently over her wrist. Her pulse raced beneath it.
“What picture did my mother give you?” Her breathy tones matched the frantic fluttering in her veins.
Ash dug in his pocket and took out the locket. He flipped it open and held it out.
Madeleine gasped as she reached out and ran her fingertip of the tiny image of herself.
“I didn’t know anything about this. My father must have had it commissioned while I was still at school.”
“That’s what they told me. I confess that I have been very taken with it in the years since. It is a good likeness.” He considered the picture a little longer before closing the tiny gold case and putting it back in his pocket.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
“And what did you make of me being so unconventional and different? It is hardly a flattering description.”
He shrugged again and then grinned.
“Imagining that you might have a third eye or teeth to rival a horse was all I could think about until I saw the picture. When your father began writing, several weeks after our meeting, he began to tell me about you. Little things that made me smile and laugh.”
She looked at him fully again.
“Like what? I don’t recall doing anything that funny.”
His smile grew warmer.
“The cats and frogs were one thing, but he also told me about you storming in one day with your breeches torn from your hide by brambles in the ruined abbey. Apparently your language had been vitriolic enough to offend a sailor!” He laughed at her suddenly crimson cheeks. “And then there was the incident when you became stuck up an apple tree when you suddenly lost your head for heights.”
An Unexpected Title (Suspicious Circumstance Book 1) Page 17
