“Such a wonderful turn out, my Lady. Have you seen how many signed the condolence book? You must be comforted by that.” Mrs. Grenfell balanced several more plates on her tray.
Madeleine sighed.
“It was a lovely tribute to him and I am deeply touched by people’s words, though I wish more had visited him while he was still alive. I didn’t realize how few guests we have received recently until talking to them this afternoon. Not that it was for the want of trying. Several mentioned that they had sent invites but received no response. And three had been turned away at the door! I wish I had known. Many hadn’t seen him since my mother’s funeral.”
Mrs. Grenfell swept some crumbs from the table and tipped them onto a plate.
“Her passing was a devastating blow to him. I believe theirs was a love match. They were so lucky with the time they had together.” She dusted her hands together.
Madeleine blinked back tears as she remembered her father’s desolation in the months after her his wife’s death.
“A black cloud descended upon him when she died. He never recovered from the loss. And I think he wasn’t well even then. Doctor Finch’s visits increased but I thought that was for social reasons as much as anything else. They had been friends for years. How blind I have been. Father must have been so much more poorly than I knew. Lonely too as even I did not talk to him as much as I should have.” Guilt filled her.
Mrs. Grenfell began stacking teacups and saucers.
“It is not your fault, my dear. He had become a stubborn man and had refused to take my tonics in recent weeks. I would have pressed him to take them if I had known he was so ill. If he had kept them up he might have recovered his health.”
Madeleine lifted a lone slice of cake from its serving plate and looked at it carefully before taking a nibble.
“I don’t know. My father was sure there was no cure, or rather, not a cure that he could tolerate. That last evening I spoke to him, I suggested that we travel to London for a second opinion. It wasn’t that I distrust Doctor Finch, but a new medical man might have seen something different, thought of something new to help... But that reminds me. What was in your tonics? The one you gave me for my headache was almost noxious. I had never taken anything like it before. Was that a new recipe? I confess that I thought it smelled like rotting wood mixed with seaweed. And it tasted worse. I could barely stomach it.”
Mrs Grenfell glanced over at her and frowned.
“But you drank it all?”
“Oh yes,” Madeleine lied and took another bite of the cake.
The woman’s expression lifted slightly.
“And your headache was cured?” The housekeeper added another empty cup to the tray.
Madeleine tilted her head.
“Yes, it was.” She lied again. The hammering inside her skull hadn’t diminished one iota.
Mrs. Grenfell shrugged.
“So why do you need to know what was in it?”
Taken aback by the woman’s words, Madeleine put down the cake and considered her answer.
“What if you were out one day and I had the need of one. It would be a superb thing to know how to make it myself.”
Mrs. Grenfell fell silent for several moments.
“It is a family recipe. All my remedies are. I’ve never told anyone their exact ingredients before,” she answered as she quickly gathered more plates.
Madeleine smiled at the woman.
“But what family do you have to leave them to? I have never seen any visit you here, and I’ve not known you go off to visit any of them before. Are you going to let such valuable cures go to waste?”
Shaking her head, the woman lifted her chin.
“I might remarry. There is still time for me to have a child. Your mother didn’t have you until she was in her forties. There is still time for me.”
Madeleine crossed the room to pick up a stray plate that balanced precariously on the mantelpiece.
“Of course. Many women have children later in life, but what happened to Mr. Grenfell that you haven’t had any before, if you don’t mind me asking.”
The woman clearly did mind her asking. She bristled and drew in a sharp breath.
“Well, no one ever said you were behind in coming forwards, my Lady! But I suppose it scarcely matters if you know or not. Bert Grenfell was a sot and a wastrel. Not that I knew it at the time. I was but fifteen and head over heels in love. The scoundrel whisked me off my feet with promises I might have known he couldn’t keep. I was wishing I had never married him within a week. One thing I can say in his favour... The idiot put me out of my misery soon enough. He died a month after we were wed, speared through the heart by falling onto an upturned splintered table leg while in a bar brawl. I only discovered afterwards that he owed people money. I had to sell my wedding ring to cover the debts and he hadn’t even bought that. It had been my own mother’s.”
Madeleine put the plate on the tray with the others. The crockery chinked loudly in the quiet room. She lay a hand on the older woman’s arm.
“I am sorry. I should not have asked. It was insensitive of me.”
The older woman shook her head.
“It was a long time ago. I came to work here soon after. Thought I was lucky not to be with child already or I would not have been given a position. I have enjoyed working here and would like to do so for a lot longer, but I still have hopes of finding a good man.” She glanced wistfully towards the window.
Madeleine followed the woman’s gaze, wondering what sort of man might draw Mrs. Grenfell’s attention. Mr. Flack obviously held her in high esteem, but Madeleine had never seen any affection shown on the housekeepers part.
Mrs. Grenfell hadn’t moved for several seconds. The woman stood so still, her face a serene mask. Madeleine looked out of the window. There was no one on the terrace. She took a step closer to check, such was the housekeepers interest, but Madeleine stopped when her own gaze met that of her father’s. His portrait had been moved to the drawing room for the funeral party. It stood in front of the window. Many people had gazed fondly at it, reminiscing and remarking on the man’s stature and looks, his manner and bearing. Was Mrs. Grenfell staring at the picture too? Was she thinking of the earl when she had mentioned a ‘good man.’
The woman’s hand rose, her fingers stretching out towards the image as though she was about to brush her fingers down the earl’s cheek. A sick sensation curled in Madeleine’s stomach as suspicion formed a hard lump in her chest. Oh God! Had Phillips been right all the time? Had he seen the housekeeper kissing the earl? Madeleine’s mind screamed at her and she must have let out a sound for Mrs. Grenfell’s hand dropped back to her side. She turned suddenly and looked at her mistress quizzically.
“Are you all right my dear? You have become quite pale.”
Madeleine fought for breath. She struggled to speak coherently.
“I have come over so tired. If you, Mary and Gertrude can mange here, I think I’ll retire to the garden room. It is too dark and morbid in here. I want to smell the flowers in the garden, not mothballs in the curtains.” Nor the cloying scent of deceit!
Mrs. Grenfell nodded.
“Very well, my Lady. But perhaps you should think about lying down. It has been a stressful day for you. I’ll bring you another tonic.”
Madeleine crossed the room and opened the door quickly.
“Yes, perhaps I will, and thank you. That is most thoughtful of you. I’ll just take a few breaths of the flowers and then go to my room for an hour.” She hurried along the hall and gave a huge sigh of relief when she walked into the garden room. The windows had been left open. The scent of roses filled the air. She looked out of the window and saw Asher striding back towards Claiborne. He looked purposeful, sure. Superior. Vomit rose in Madeleine’s throat. She would have to tell him what she suspected. That Phillips might have been right. Mrs. Grenfell had been in love with the earl. Whether those feelings were reciprocated she couldn’t say, but was it en
ough of a motive for murder if the woman had been rejected?
She turned away from the window, the thought too horrible to bear, and walked to the secret panel. She couldn’t face anyone else today, couldn’t face what might be the truth. She turned the secret handle and disappeared into the darkness only realizing that there was no lamp as the door clicked behind her.
She felt for one of the candle stumps and struck the tinderbox. A tiny flame danced. The wick was short and possibly damp. She scanned the alcove as best she could and reached in, feeling with frantic fingers. There was definitely no other lamp. As there should have been. Had Ash used the passageway? He was the only other person who knew about it and had probably forgotten to make sure there was a lamp available.
She held the tiny flame high and turned towards the stairs but the candle only lit a foot in front of her. Fortunately she knew the way and it wasn’t as if there were any other passages off this one to become lost in. She had only taken a couple of steps when she heard a sound. Light suddenly spilled onto the floor at her feet. Her candle guttered and went out. Someone had opened the secret door behind her.
She spun around, Asher’s name upon her lips, but she didn’t have time to moan at him for not leaving a lamp before something heavy descended and hit her on the side of her head.
Chapter Fourteen
Disappointment, Determination, and Denial
Ash stared at the empty place opposite him and then glanced at Flack who stood waiting with a serving dish filled with succulent looking rare roast beef. He had already waited half an hour before having his soup. Now he took his napkin from his lap and waved the butler away.
“I seem to have lost my appetite. And cook’s threats of dire retribution will not see me get it back any time soon. Have you received a message from my wife?”
Flack returned the meat dish to the buffet.
“No, my Lord. Mrs. Grenfell said she took to her bed not long after you went to find Mr. Phillips. I assume she is asleep.”
Ash’s fingertips made a dull thumping sound as he drummed them on the table.
“But I could have sworn I saw her at the window of the garden room as I was returning from the stables. That was a good hour and a half after my initial search for Phillips.”
The butler lifted a bottle of wine, but Ash waved that away also.
“Perhaps that was one of the maids. Mary had similar coloured hair as the mistress.”
Ash rolled his eyes.
“Which she always covers with a cap. Besides, would you mistake my wife for any of the servants? Tell me the truth man. Would you?”
Flack coughed into his gloved hand.
“No, my Lord. Absolutely not. Forgive me, it was a stupid suggestion. Mary is pretty enough, but she is short and slightly plump. The countess is tall, slender and an incomparable.”
Ash gave a satisfied grunt.
“So why does Mrs. Grenfell maintain that she had gone to her bedroom hours before I saw her Ladyship framed in the window of the garden room? I am not mistaken, Mr. Flack. My eyesight is excellent, and as you rightly say, my wife is an incomparable. I would have to be blind to have confused her with anyone else.”
Flack shrugged.
“Indeed, my Lord, but I really cannot say why Mrs. Grenfell believed she had retired to her bed. If you recall, I was helping you with Mr. Phillips. But perhaps Mrs. Grenfell miss-remembered the time. She did have a lot of clearing up to do in the drawing room. Maybe she did not know that her Ladyship had gone to the garden room before returning to her bedchamber.”
Ash pushed his chair back from the table and began to pace the length of the room, thinking hard. He had thought they had made a pact. Had decided to work together on finding her father’s murderer. But clearly not. His wife hadn’t gone to question the housekeeper or the maids. She had repaired to the garden room and sat there for hours before sidling off so that she didn’t have to confront him. Didn’t she want to know her father’s killer?
Or did she already know?
He stopped pacing as the clock struck eight and the dreadful thought settled in his mind. Had Madeleine been so angry at her father’s marriage arrangements that she had stabbed him with the paperknife? He dropped into the nearest chair and groaned. Did those dainty hands have the strength to murder her own father? Yes, of course they had. Madeleine wasn’t a weak woman and Finch had maintained that a person wouldn’t have needed to be that strong. Ash tried to picture the moment. Her face twisted in ire, her temper flaring just as it had done when she had slapped him about the face.
Ash thought he might stop breathing, but once the thought had registered he couldn’t stop it blossoming. Had Thomas Leyman gone back to the study to see the earl again and caught her in the act? Did Madeleine see him spying through the window and follow him as he tried to escape her ire. It would have been dusk by then. Perhaps he hadn’t seen her approach as he sat wondering what to do. The man was deeply in love. He wouldn’t have immediately turned her in to the constabulary. And who would have believed him anyway if she had denied it? A lowly stable master’s word scarcely held rank over one of the aristocracy.
Perhaps he had sat there in the deepening darkness and was so distracted by his confused feelings that he hadn’t heard the sound of light footsteps in the grass. Wasn’t expecting the force of the knife at his neck with those slender fingers clasped around its handle.
Ash suddenly sat up straight. The knife? Another paperknife? Finch had said not. Something caught at the edge of his thoughts... What was it? Something about the knife, something important...
Damn! The thought wouldn’t expand. He gave it up for the moment as he remembered the conversation with Madeleine that morning. And his heart gave a jolt. What the hell was he thinking? Ink had stained Madeleine’s fingertips. He had remarked upon it and she had said it was from where she had done the accounts. And Ash believed her. The accounts were indeed made up. Flack had confirmed that he distributed the money and had gained the signatures of those paid.
But the ink was on her right hand, not her left. And her father’s killer was more likely left handed than right. Relief flooded Ash. Almost broke him. He gasped in a huge lungful of air.
“My Lord? Is there something the matter? Should I call for Doctor Finch?” Flack was at his side, concern etched on the man’s face.
Ash shook his head.
“No, I am well enough, just overwhelmed for a moment. I think the funeral made me realize my position here more than before. I wasn’t expecting to be the earl. Didn’t really think it would ever happen. My relationship to him is distant to say the least. All the years I have known about it, I always expected there to be another claimant come out of the woodwork.”
Flack drew in a sharp breath.
“Really? Though I suppose distant relationships can be like that, especially when a family has a colourful past and things are swept under a rug, so to speak. And it cannot be easy to take your rightful position when there’s a body lying in what should be your bedroom.”
Ash glanced up at the man’s bitter tone.
“You sound as though you know the feeling well.”
The butler raised a surprised eyebrow.
“Me? Why no, my Lord. My past is as dull as ditchwater. Duller in fact. I am an orphan. I came to Claiborne as a lad and have been here ever since. I was fortunate that the earl’s father saw some worth in me and thought to give me an excellent education. I sat alongside his own son in many a lesson and rose through the staff ranks. There is no one here qualified enough to take my position. Unless you have brought your own butler with you, of course.” He suddenly sounded a little wary, as if he had only just considered the thought.
Ash laughed.
“Don’t concern yourself. Your job is safe enough. I don’t have any staff. Not one. I took all my meals out and used my front parlour as my office. The only difference between you and I and our positions now, is that I had illustrious relations and you did not. But we will not dwell up
on that. It is not as if we can choose who we are born to or what station in life. We have to take what is given to us and make the best of it with good grace.”
The butler’s lips twitched in what could have been taken for a smile, and gave a slight bow.
“Indeed, my Lord. But if it will help you feel more at home, I will have all the old earl’s belongings removed from the master suite and yours taken there tomorrow morning.”
Ash became thoughtful.
“I am not sure as yet. I still haven’t seen the whole house. There maybe a room which I prefer. I will take a tour tomorrow and make my choice, though I confess that I am perfectly comfortable in the room I currently occupy. The views over the estate are quite spectacular.”
Flack nodded.
“A sound idea, my Lord. Now, is there anything else I can do for you this evening? I confess that my ankle is extremely sore.” He winced as if confirming the point.
Ash immediately rose from the table.
“How thoughtless of me! No, there is nothing more I require of you. You should go and rest. I want to see if Mr. Phillips is awake anyway. I need to have a long talk with the man.”
Flack bowed.
“I’ll check on him on my way up. Shall I send him to the study if he is indeed awake?”
Ash nodded. It would be best to keep the discussion formal.
“Yes, thank you. But don’t bother coming back down if he is not compos mentis. I want to go over the accounts and will wait an hour for him. If he doesn’t appear, the conversation can be put off until the morning. I’ll bid you goodnight.”
Pain ricocheted through her head as she curled on what felt like a hard stone floor. But that wasn’t possible. Her bedroom had lush rugs. If she was lying on her bedroom floor. Which she seriously doubted. It wasn’t as if she had done anything quite that outrageous before. She might be unconventional in many ways, but willingly submitting to extreme discomfort wasn’t high on her list of shocking behaviour. No, she must be dreaming. A chill seeped into her shoulder, and a biting ache caused her to moan. Perhaps it wasn’t a dream but a nightmare.
An Unexpected Title (Suspicious Circumstance Book 1) Page 21
