Ugh. Riding in Lady Phoebe’s Vauxhall was bad enough. The thought of a vehicle capable of such high speeds made Eva’s knees wobble. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one wobbling as the car came to a stop. Phoebe made a funny little sound, half-muffled cry and half squeak, as the Runabout skidded to a stop.
* * *
Phoebe watched in disbelief as Owen Seabright—Major Lord Owen Seabright—braked the Runabout and stood up on its floorboards. Turning to her, he reached up and dragged his herringbone cap from his head, exposing thick black hair that was appealingly tousled. What a cavalier figure he cut standing above her with his arms outstretched, his grin broad and carefree, and his shoulders straining his unbelted trench coat that undulated with every ripple of the breeze.
She waited for the blush that seemed always to creep into her cheeks at the very sight of this man, this war hero who commanded the respect and admiration of others despite his being shy of thirty by two, perhaps three years. The Seabrights were old friends of the Renshaws, his grandfather having been a great friend of Grampapa. He had spent last Christmas at Foxwood Hall, and she had hardly been able to glance in his direction without a mortifying and telling heat claiming her face. Yet, when she had been so certain he considered her merely a child, he had taken her in his arms and kissed her.
And then he had left Foxwood Hall, and she had not seen or heard from him since.
Now she realized two things. One, that perhaps the spring breeze, tinged with morning coolness, had saved her from that dreadful blush. And two, she stood with her hands pressed to her lips in a show of feminine delicacy. That wouldn’t do. She dropped her arms to her sides, then crossed them in front of her, and raised her chin.
“Owen, what a pleasant surprise,” she said more calmly than she felt. Behind him, the lorry squealed to a stop with a belch of black, smelly oil. “High time you decided to grace us with your presence.”
With that, she pivoted on her heel, climbed the steps, and went back inside. A moment later, Eva’s tread echoed behind her.
“My lady, what was that about?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. The man quite disappeared after Christmas, didn’t he? One can only assume he found our little hamlet a crashing bore to be avoided at all costs.” She kept walking—to where, she didn’t know. She had no destination in mind, except to put distance between herself and Owen Seabright, at least until she regained her composure. Honestly, showing up out of the blue without a word of warning. What was he thinking?
“Why are you angry?” Eva’s shoes pattered faster as she caught up with Phoebe’s brisk pace. “My lady, don’t you find anything at all coincidental that he brought a lorry with him?”
Phoebe stopped and turned so suddenly, Eva ploughed into her. They caught each other’s forearms for balance, and then Phoebe frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The lorry, my lady. The donation collection. Perhaps he’s brought more supplies.”
“Yes, the lorry. I hadn’t thought of that.” A wave of chagrin mingled with her annoyance. “He took me so by surprise. Why didn’t he write, or telephone or . . . something?”
“I couldn’t say, my lady.”
She blew out a breath. “I suppose I’d better go apologize.”
At that moment, however, a bell chimed, and doors opened, both upstairs and down. Uniformed students streamed out in orderly lines, but as soon as they began to merge in the open hallway all sense of order became swept away in a rushing tide of comings and goings. Girls ascended the stairs as others came down. The switch between lessons, Phoebe surmised. She craned to see above heads to the front door, which now stood open upon a bright burst of sunlight, cool air, and a tousled gleam of darkness towering above the students.
Phoebe began wending her way to him, like swimming against a relentless current, until little by little the crowded hallway became less so. Finally, the classroom doors closed once more and only the muffled voices of the teachers could be heard.
That left Phoebe facing Owen with only a couple of comfortable yards between them. “It’s good to see you again,” she said contritely.
“Could have fooled me.” His words accused but his grin forgave. “I’m sorry. I should have heralded my imminent arrival in some socially acceptable way.”
She decided the safest course was to let the matter drop. “Why have you come?”
“Your donation drive, of course. Your grandfather told me all about it when we spoke last week.”
A little ember sparked and burned just beneath her breastbone. He had spoken to Grampapa? Telephoned the house and not asked to speak with her? She resisted the urge to let her bottom lip slide between her teeth. Instead, she found a smile and a gracious word. “How very kind of you. What have you brought?”
He laughed lightly. “Need you ask? Woolens from my mills, of course. Bolts of fabric, but also clothing and blankets.” He sobered and leaned in a bit closer. “Can they be of use to you?”
“No, not to me. But to the many families struggling since the war ended, yes, they’ll be of great use.”
“Then come and see.” He took her hand and headed for the door. “By the way, there’s still room in the lorry, so if you like, we can load up what you’ve collected here and you can tell me where you’d like the deliveries made.”
Phoebe halted; a half a step later he stopped and turned to her with a quizzical look. “Owen, thank you. This is very kind of you.”
He smiled, spreading warmth inside her. “We’ll talk, Phoebe. I know you’re peeved with me. You have a right.”
She was already shaking her head, saying no, but he placed a finger across her lips. “No use denying it.” His gaze strayed to Eva, still hovering behind them. Phoebe smiled and nodded to her, a signal that everything was all right. For she knew her own behavior influenced Eva’s. If Phoebe was angry with someone, Eva was likely to be sympathetically angry as well. She was forever supporting Phoebe, physically, emotionally, and in whatever whim happened to seize Phoebe at any particular time.
“Eva,” she said, “perhaps you’ll let Miss Sedgewick know we’ll be moving the donations out of the dining hall. I believe the school has a new handyman. Please inquire if he’s available to help.”
“Yes, my lady.” Eva bobbed a curtsey and turned around to go.
The lorry, Phoebe discovered, was more than half filled with boxes, but the remaining space appeared adequate for the supplies waiting inside. It looked to be an army surplus vehicle recommissioned for civilian use, with SEABRIGHT TEXTILES emblazoned in blue and gold lettering above the windshield and along the side of the bed. Beneath the lettering, a round seal peeked out proudly from a green background. My goodness, the eagle and star—isn’t that part of the Seabright coat of arms? She couldn’t help chuckling as she pointed. “Your family must positively squirm when they see this.”
“They do their best not to see it. In fact, they do their best not to see me. It can’t be easy for them, having a son dirtying his hands in trade.”
Owen hailed from an old landed family, and if Phoebe thought Grams was hopelessly entrenched in the old world with its strict etiquette and hard and fast rules, Owen’s parents made her look positively avant-garde. But that hadn’t stopped him from taking an inheritance from his maternal grandfather and turning it into a lucrative endeavor, not to mention a useful one.
“How many people do you employ now?”
“Between the scouring plant, the looms, sewing machines, storage and shipping, several hundred.”
“You don’t say.” Phoebe hadn’t expected quite that number. “Men and women?”
“Yes, men and women both.”
“And you treat them fairly and pay them well?”
His lips curled in a smile that split upon a burst of laughter. “I’ve missed you, Phoebe.”
“Then why did you stay away so long, and with barely a peep out of you?” As soon as she’d spoken, she wished she hadn’t.
“You have been angry with
me.”
She studied him from beneath her brows, and then shook her head. “Never mind. Come, I’ll show you what we’ve collected so far.” But inside, when they reached the threshold of the dining hall, she came to a jarring halt, feeling as though the breath had been knocked out of her. She hadn’t entered the room since the police had cleared it yesterday, and the memory—the cries and shrieks and the horrible thud of Miss Finch hitting the table—rose up like a barricade to block her entrance.
“Phoebe, what is it?”
“That’s right. You wouldn’t have heard yet. Owen, something terrible happened here yesterday.”
* * *
“I’d thought you and your mistress had left, Miss Huntford.” Miss Sedgewick scrutinized Eva’s length, down and then up again, assessing every inch along the way. Eva surmised she was supposed to feel self-conscious of her plain black dress, gray overcoat, and serviceable low-heeled shoes, but she only wished to deliver her message and be gone. “Have you forgotten something?”
“No, indeed, Miss Sedgewick. There is a delivery outside of more supplies for the donation drive, and rather than add them to what we have here, we are going to move the items collected by the students out to the lorry. Would the handyman be available to help?”
Miss Sedgewick came to her feet, her attractive features tightening. “No one informed me of this arrival. Who is this mystery benefactor? I certainly don’t intend loading up the fruits of our efforts into the lorry of a total stranger.”
“The benefactor is Lord Owen Seabright, and he has only just arrived. He owns Seabright Textiles, you see, and he is no stranger to Lady Phoebe and her family.”
“Humph.” She pursed her lips and seemed to consider, her brows gathering. Finally, she tossed down her pen. “I’ll go and greet him, and discuss what is to be done.”
Eva said nothing, but wondered what on earth made the woman believe she was suddenly in charge of the project initiated by Lady Phoebe. Then she remembered the second part of her quest. “Is the handyman available?”
“I wouldn’t know. You’ll have to find him and ask him yourself.”
“Is there no telephone line to his quarters?” There hadn’t been when she had attended Haverleigh on scholarship, but that had been ten years ago.
“No, Miss Huntford, there is not. You’ll find him in and around the work sheds or greenhouse. His name is Elliot Ivers, and to tell you the truth, he’s a bit of an idiot. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I mustn’t keep my guest waiting another moment.”
Miss Sedgewick, dressed in a sea blue silk suit with an elongating skirt edged in satin, came around the desk and strode past Eva, summarily dismissing her. Her perfume, however, lingered, making Eva’s nose itch as it had yesterday.
She wondered again how Miss Sedgewick managed to dress so far above her income. What other indulgences did the assistant headmistress enjoy, and how did she come by them?
Setting her curiosity aside, she made her way down the corridor, passing other classrooms that had once been a morning room, a ladies’ sitting room, a conservatory, and, of course, the music room, now Nurse Delacy’s infirmary. She thought about checking in on the woman, to see if her nervous disposition persisted, but first she needed to find the handyman.
She knew her way around well enough, and in fact as a student had worked in the school greenhouse, among other jobs, as a way to defer costs not covered by her scholarship. As at Foxwood Hall, a high wall of hedges concealed the greenhouse and work sheds from view. Bordering the rear-facing terrace, a small flower garden was just awakening from its winter slumber with a pretty mosaic of snowdrops, camellias, and the sunny tips of daffodils pushing through the soil. Beyond the garden, Haverleigh’s grounds consisted of tennis and badminton courts, a cricket field, a lawn bowls green, a croquet course, and, in the distance, the pond where the girls rowed in summer and skated in winter.
Eva smiled as memories assailed her. Not that she hadn’t been challenged by girls like Zara Worthington. As a village girl attending on scholarship, she had been considered by some of her peers—and even some teachers—a charity supplicant, there by the grace of her betters. Which was true, she supposed. She shrugged now as she often had then. No matter what anyone said about her, she knew an opportunity when she saw one and wasn’t fool enough to turn her back to it because someone called her a name or wouldn’t allow her to sit at their luncheon table.
But, love her parents though she did, coming to Haverleigh had transported her to a completely different—and completely wonderful—world than she had known on the farm. While the wealthy girls had lamented the plainness of their uniforms, Eva had privately reveled in the near-perfect fit, the quality of the fabric, and the fact that no one else had owned the garments before her. And going out-of-doors no longer meant tending to livestock and plucking eggs from beneath hens, but coming out to these grounds to engage in friendly competition and games of skill.
She might have become a teacher, but her education had been cut short after Dad’s accident—a broken wrist that mercifully healed well. But it had taken months to set properly and Eva had been needed back at home. Home she had gone with never a word of complaint in her parents’ hearing, for they could not have borne the guilt of her disappointment, especially when her scholarship had been retracted and given to another girl. Well. She had learned enough at school to rise from farm girl to cook’s assistant to her present position at Foxwood Hall.
At the towering privet hedge, she came to a gate tucked into the foliage. From somewhere on the other side someone whistled a tune. She went through, trying to remember the name Miss Sedgewick had spoken. Mr. Evers? Mr. Inness? She spotted him at the open door of a shed, a wrench in one hand and a mallet in the other.
“Mr. . . . em . . .”
He closed the shed door and turned his back to Eva as he ambled along the path leading to the greenhouse. He was a lanky man with a long, loose stride. She hurried to catch up to him. “Mr. . . . Evans, is it? If I might speak with you a moment. . . .”
Clad in a plaid flannel shirt and corduroy work trousers, he continued on as if he hadn’t heard her. Was he hard of hearing? Eva was running now, and only caught up to him because he stopped to search his pocket for a ring of keys, and then find the correct one to unlock the greenhouse door. Eva came up behind him.
“Excuse me, I wonder if you might lend me a hand.”
He whirled around to face her, his expression filled with such alarm, Eva thought immediately of Nurse Delacy. She waited for him to say something—to smile and laugh away the obvious start she had given him. But he didn’t. He said nothing and didn’t make a move.
Up close she saw that he was much younger than expected, more boy than man, or was it the result of his startled expression?
She chuckled awkwardly. “I’m terribly sorry to have startled you. There’s something in the house we’d like your help with. Miss Sedgewick told me where I’d find you,” she added when his features failed to relax. He couldn’t quite be as old as Phoebe, she decided, nor had he quite achieved a grown man’s physique. His dark hair, though cropped short, looked as if he hadn’t run a comb through it upon waking that morning, and now that Eva took a better look at him, his wrinkled clothes suggested he might have slept in them.
“Miss Sedgewick,” he repeated, his voice devoid of inflection.
“Yes, that’s right.” Eva tried to smile reassuringly. “She sent me out to find you.”
“No.” He recoiled and attempted to back away, but hit the greenhouse door hard enough to rattle the panes. “I didn’t mean to . . . didn’t . . .”
It was Eva’s turn to grow alarmed, yet in his demeanor she found something so familiar, it tugged at her heart. Fear, a sense of being utterly lost—she saw it in his unfocused eyes just as she had seen it the day they’d received the news that Lord Wroxly’s son had perished in the war. Each of her young ladies had been rendered inconsolable. Even Julia—especially Julia. She had cried in Eva’s arms and c
lutched at her shoulders until they had throbbed from the pressure of a relentless grip. After crying herself out, Lady Julia had pulled away, wiped her eyes, and sworn never to speak of her father’s death again. To Eva’s knowledge, she had made good on that promise.
But this boy showed none of Julia’s strength or resolve. Her better sense urged her to retreat down the path, put as much distance between her and this obviously unbalanced young man as she could. Yet, she couldn’t persuade herself to move.
“Please, is there something I can do for you? Someone I can send for?” Did he know of Miss Finch’s death? Perhaps she had shown him kindness, and now he feared for his employment. That certainly made sense. She thought better of mentioning the headmistress now, as he might become even more distraught. Instead she said, “Why don’t you come inside with me? Perhaps the cook might make you a cup of tea, and then you can help us with the packages we’re loading.” When he didn’t move, she reached out and touched his elbow.
He snatched his arm away, cried out some unintelligible words, and darted past her. He had disappeared from sight before Eva could sufficiently recover from her astonishment to turn around and see where he went.
CHAPTER 6
Owen blanched as Phoebe described the events of the previous day. More than once his gaze strayed through the doorway into the dining hall, to the very table where Miss Finch had breathed her final, choking breath.
When she finished, he reached for her hand and held it in both of his. “Dear Lord, Phoebe, this is too much. You shouldn’t have to live through such a thing ever again. But at least this isn’t quite the same as what happened at Christmas. That was murder, and this—”
“Could be murder as well. We don’t yet know. The police believe—or at least Constable Brannock believes—she was poisoned with cyanide. He’s waiting for the coroner’s official report.”
“A good thing Brannock’s still on the job. He certainly proved his worth at Christmas.” He released an audible breath. “Well, I should think you’ll stay out of this one.” His gaze narrowed. “But you won’t, will you?”
A Pinch of Poison Page 7
