Eda frowned. Haro could see her disappointment that Monsieur Bayeux was not present. She pursed her lips, as if trying to decide whether to wait a few more minutes.
“Time to go in,” said Mr. Hastings gruffly, and he offered Eda his arm, not so much out of civility as out of concern for the laws of punctuality. Haro reflected that after the death of his only child, his pocket watch must be his greatest comfort…that and the thousands of pounds he made annually from his mill.
As host and earl, Haro should have by rights been leading Eda into the dining room himself—her white arm over his while he held her fingertips in his hand. He forced himself not to take umbrage at Hastings’ usurpation of his position.
He gave Mrs. Rollo his arm, relieved that the architect had not made an appearance but still dubious about the prospects of having a meal in peace. Even with Eda unable to launch accusations against Philippe Bayeux, it was not at all unlikely that William Hastings would resume launching accusations at him.
The erstwhile absent Henry had now resumed his duties, and both of the footmen placed the dishes for the first remove on the table: vegetables, boiled beef, a roasted fowl, and a dish of something creamy but unidentifiable.
William Hastings grunted as he speared himself some meat and ladled the cream sauce onto his plate. “Enjoy your meal, Mrs. Rollo. This is the last one you’ll be having at my expense.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Mrs. Rollo.
“Arabella’s dead,” said Hastings crudely. “If I were considering keeping a paid companion around, I don’t think it would be you. That French harpy’s gone today, and you can go tomorrow.”
Mrs. Rollo’s face registered no emotion, but Eda set down her fork and wiped her lips with deliberateness. An angry blush suffused her cheeks.
“I’m not sure I would consider this meal to be ‘at your expense,’ sir,” interjected Torin.
Hastings gave a sneer which acknowledged the merit of that claim. “It certainly would be far more palatable if it were, you gobble-cock.”
Haro caught Torin’s eye and willed him into silence. “Please have a care with your speech in front of the ladies.” He spoke firmly but tried to keep any belligerence out of his voice, as was becoming for a host.
William Hastings was not so considerate of the duties of a guest. “I’ll thank you to keep your warnings to yourself, Anglesford.” He barked at the nearest footman to refill his glass with wine.
“Mr. Hastings,” said Eda, staying seated but drawing herself up to her full height upon the chair, “I think it would be wise for y—”
“I beg your pardon for my tardiness,” said a heavily accented voice from the door of the dining room. Philippe Bayeux had decided to join them for dinner.
***
Haro did not know whether to cheer in delight or quail in dismay. The Frenchman’s entrance had certainly defused an awkward situation, but it had the potential to precipitate another if Eda continued with her plan. “Delighted you could join us!” he said with a good deal more heartiness than was warranted.
Torin grudgingly handed over the dish of roasted fowl, and the architect helped himself to a generous portion. Mrs. Rollo looked at the man curiously and then averted her eyes to stare down at her own plate.
“So good to see you, Monsieur Bayeux,” said Eda in a silky voice. “I hope you have been able to amuse yourself here at Woldwick during our enforced confinement.”
William Hastings, who had just stuffed a large forkful of the boiled beef in his mouth, looked up sharply. The color began to mount on his already florid face.
“Merci, mademoiselle,” replied Bayeux. “I have some plans that I am drawing up for a house in London—though the client does not need them for some time. I am hoping that since my services are, I think, no longer needed here that I may return to London tomorrow?” He cast a glance at Haro and then at William Hastings.
“Oh, I don’t think that would be possible,” said Eda, answering for the both of them. “The investigation is not finished.”
“I have already had my interview with the inspector,” said Bayeux. His lips drew together into a tight line beneath his prominent nose. Haro reflected that if the man was indeed innocent, he would desire to leave the house for the sake of the unpleasant memories as well as to resume his work in the capital.
“Oh, yes?” Eda blotted her lips delicately. “And what exactly did you say to the inspector? Where were you on the morning of the incident?”
William Hastings harrumphed loudly. “I will not have my daughter’s death discussed as dinner conversation!”
“Then you should have had the decency not to come to dinner two days after she died!” Eda sent a scathing look toward the man’s full plate. “Out with it, Monsieur Bayeux! Where were you?”
Haro wondered what he would do if he were in Bayeux’s position. He suspected that he would tell Eda to take her questions back to the sewing room where she belonged. But instead, the Frenchman shifted in his chair and recited an answer that seemed previously prepared. “I rode out to the village at half past seven. There, I had breakfast at the inn—what do you call it?—the Rose and the Thistle. Afterwards, I met with the stone mason near his brother’s blacksmith shop at nine o’clock.”
Eda, it seemed, had also noticed that the architect’s words were a little too pat and to the purpose. “This alibi is very convincing, monsieur. Perhaps a little too convincing. I wonder if I were to check with Mr. Lublock down at the inn, what would he say?”
A throat cleared at the open door of the dining room. “He would say that Monsieur Bayeux was enjoying a delicious pastie prepared by Mrs. Lublock just after eight o’clock.”
All eyes went to the door where Jacob Pevensey was standing, still in his frock coat and dirty riding boots. “I’ve examined this man’s story, and it seems to be as he says. He was fully occupied during the hour in question.”
Bayeux inclined his head to Pevensey, a gesture of wordless thanks. “Then may I depart?” He looked again at Haro and William Hastings. “I know these things are not talked of in le bon ton, but my livelihood must suffer if I cannot be about my work.”
Haro was not sure whether to say him yea or nay, but it did not matter since the red-haired Runner once again took charge of the conversation. “I’ve spoken to the magistrate and the inquest is set for three days from now. It is necessary for you to stay until then.”
“And me as well?” asked Mrs. Rollo suddenly, an unexpected query coming from an unexpected quarter.
“Yes, you as well,” said Pevensey with firmness.
The duenna looked at William Hastings with a slight smile about her mouth that bordered on smugness. But it faded as quickly as it came, and her face relapsed into its downtrodden lines of inscrutability. Haro pitied her, not from any knowledge of her person but simply from a knowledge of the difficult position she was in. If Hastings did turn her out without a shilling, as seemed likely, Haro resolved that she could stay on with them at Woldwick until she secured another position—or until Woldwick was sold and they were all turned out of doors.
William Hastings rose from his chair and dropped his napkin onto the seat. “I hope, Mr. Pevensey, that you are coming to the conclusion of your investigation.”
“Very close to that, sir. Very close.”
“Excellent.” He reached for his plate, still full of food, and carried it away to the door. “I thank you for your hospitality, my lord,” he said with a sneer, “but I believe that I will be taking my meals in my room from now on until the inquest. Or perhaps I shall remove to the Rose and Thistle altogether, since from the sounds of it, the woman there is a far more competent cook than the one in your employ.”
“As you wish,” said Haro stiffly.
He glanced at Eda. She returned his gaze, a slight tremble in her lower lip. Pevensey’s interruption, he knew very well, had not been at all what she wanted to hear. It occurred to Haro that, for the first time in the past two days, Eda was afraid of what lay
ahead.
29
“Have either of you seen Uncle Harold?” asked Eda.
Torin and Haro were enjoying a quiet breakfast, the only sound in the dining room the chewing of sausage or the clinking of silverware against the plate.
Torin grunted a negative.
Haro looked up. “No, not since yesterday. Why?”
“I’ve just been up to the attic, and it looks as if his bed hasn’t been slept in.”
“Are you sure? Perhaps the maid’s already been there to make it up.”
Eda frowned. She was familiar with the routines of all the housemaids, and it was highly unlikely that they would straighten up the attic room before they had finished their other duties. After all, the old man was hardly likely to notice whether his bedclothes had been put to rights or not. Just to be sure, however, she summoned Henry who was in the front hall polishing candlesticks. “Please tell Mrs. Alfred I would like to see her.”
“Oh, there you are, Mrs. Alfred,” said Eda as the housekeeper entered and stood there, hands folded, expectant. “I was wondering, have the maids been upstairs to straighten up Mr. Harding’s chambers yet?”
Mrs. Alfred adopted a defensive posture, as if her competency as a housekeeper was under scrutiny. “Not yet, Miss Swanycke. They are not shirking their duties though, and as soon as they are done with the other rooms, they will be upstairs.”
Eda held up a white hand. “There’s no need to make haste. I just wanted to make sure that no one’s been upstairs yet to attend to his room.”
“No, miss.”
“Thank you.”
As the housekeeper departed, Eda looked at her cousins meaningfully.
Torin took a swallow of coffee to clear the clog of sausages in his throat. “You’re jumping to conclusions, Eda. Perhaps he made up his own bed himself before he went out.”
Haro pushed away his plate and stood up. “When was the last time you made up your own bed, Torin? No, Eda’s right. Something’s amiss. I’ll go out to the stables and ask if the groom has seen him this morning.”
Eda pressed his hand in thanks. It was warm and sympathetic, but somehow she still did not feel completely comforted.
Opening the door, Haro sighted Henry and sent him upstairs for his topboots and coat. He tapped his foot while waiting at the door. “This is the first time I’ve gone out of doors in three days.”
Eda’s lips parted. “Since…?”
“Yes.”
Henry trotted down the stairs, boots in hand, and coat laid over his arm. Eda took a deep breath. The last time Haro had worn that coat, it had been covered with icy water from the pond, and in his arms had been the lifeless form of Arabella Hastings.
***
The icy air nipped at Haro’s face as he darted over to the stables to investigate, and even with his greatcoat on, he felt chilled to the bone.
“No, m’ lord. Can’t say as I’ve seen him this morning,” said Jimmy, the groom. He was spreading fresh straw around the horses’ stalls. “And he usually comes by the stables on his way out. Likes to give the horses an apple.”
“What about yesterday?”
“Aye, I seen him then. He was with that Runner fellow. They went down the path to the pond, I recollect.”
“Thank you, Jimmy.”
When he returned to the house, Haro saw that Eda’s anxiety had increased sevenfold. “I had Henry and George search the house,” she said. “He’s nowhere to be found.”
“You’d best tell them to put their coats on then,” said Haro grimly. It was the second time this week they’d begun a search for a missing person, and the first search had not ended well.
***
Pevensey shook his head in disbelief. An hour ago, the Earl of Anglesford had asked him for particulars on where he had last seen Harold Harding. He had mentioned the bridge and their conversation yesterday. Now the servants—four of them with sturdy backs—were carrying in a long body in a shabby frock coat, a corpse as cold and rigid as a block of ice.
“Another murder!” shrieked the scullery maid, which set the housemaids to wailing about the woods being cursed. “Hush!” said Mrs. Alfred sternly, but with little effect.
“My God!” said William Hastings, emerging from his room to see the source of the ruckus. “What is this?”
“Bring him to my study,” said the young earl, an ashen pallor overcoming his fair face. “And Jimmy,” he said, taking the place of the groom who was holding the dead man’s right leg, “ride for Dr. Stigand and tell him he’s needed right away.”
“Is he…?” Miss Swanycke, descending the stairs, did not finish her own question. The blue cast to the old man’s lips and face had answered it before it was even uttered.
The younger brother, Torin, had entered the hall as well, and quietly taken the place of the second footman to support the left shoulder of his great-uncle.
Pevensey’s eyes flicked from one face to another. As far as he could tell, every mouth was open in genuine shock and surprise. There were many faces missing however—Philippe Bayeux’s, Mrs. Rollo’s, Lady Anglesford’s.
Pevensey followed the body into the study and watched as the men deposited it on the sofa. The doctor would give the final verdict, but from a cursory glance, there was no sign of strangulation or other hints of foul play. Perhaps the cold winter itself was the killer, though it had chosen an unfortunate and highly coincidental time to claim its quarry.
It took another three hours for Dr. Stigand to arrive. The groom had found him at the house of his most prestigious patient, Sir Robert Blount, and despite his gouty leg, the magistrate was not far behind the physician.
“What’s this, Emison?” said Sir Robert, entering the hallway leaning heavily on his cane. “A second murder in your woods? ’Pon rep! There’s something rotten in Denmark!”
“Not murder this time, I think,” said Dr. Stigand, exiting the study after having examined the body. “Our dear Mr. Harding died of hypothermia from spending the night in the woods.”
“But why would he do such a thing?” said Eda. Pevensey noted that her white skin was even more luminous than usual. “Why would he not come back to the house when evening fell?”
Dr. Stigand cleared his throat. “I found some swelling around the left ankle that indicates it had been injured. Perhaps he sprained it and was unable to walk well enough to return to Woldwick before dark. He may have become disoriented in the woods—”
“Yes, that’s it!” interrupted Sir Robert. “The pain was too much for him. The poor chap sat down on the icy ground and round about midnight or so, gave up the ghost.”
“We seem to have reached the same conclusions,” said Dr. Stigand with a faint smile. Pevensey wagered that the medical man was used to guiding the magistrate’s diagnosis of affairs.
“There was a good deal of ice on the bridge and the path,” Pevensey offered, genuinely sorry to see the old man had come to harm.
The earl said nothing. His cousin, Miss Swanycke, had buried her head in his chest to cry while he wrapped one arm around her protectively.
“Torin,” said the girl, lifting her tear-stained face enough to speak. “Go upstairs and tell Lady Anglesford.”
***
Eda’s mind was numb. She wished she could faint and be put to bed and wake up tomorrow to find that this was all a dream. But fainting seemed like a highly unnecessary piece of theatrics, a ploy to draw attention to oneself used by the likes of Arabella Hastings.
Uncle Harold dead? Uncle Harold gone? For as long as she could remember, Uncle Harold had been there, always ready with an adventure to share, a story to tell, or a piece of buttered toast. Without Uncle Harold, she was bobbing about in stormy seas. The only thing anchoring her now was Haro’s arm, pulling her tightly against his chest.
“Come, let’s sit down,” said her cousin, taking her hand and leading her into the drawing room. They sat together, side by side on the sofa, and she laid her head against his shoulder without a care for who shou
ld see them.
“What now?” asked Eda. “What do we do, Haro?”
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Thank God for his life and pray for his soul, I suppose.” He sighed. “I believe he deposited a will with our own solicitor, Mr. Godwin. I will write him a letter and find out who is the executor—not that there will be much to distribute, but he has mementos that I know will be dear to you, to me, and to Torin. We’ll have him buried in the woods—give him six feet of earth or however much more he is taller than other men. And there he shall lie, among the birds and the squirrels and the trees that he loved so well. He would be happy not to leave Woldwick, I think, and when the rest of us must go, there he shall stay in perpetuity.”
It was beautifully said, and Eda had nothing to add. She lifted a hand to wipe one of her tear-stained cheeks and in the midst of this moment was overtaken by the mundane. “Your cravat—I’ve ruined it.” Its damp and crumpled folds bore witness to the truth of her statement.
Haro looked down at the piece of fabric with a wry smile. “I think that, under the circumstances, Garth will be forgiving.”
From the open door of the drawing room they could hear raised voices in the hallway. “Seems like the fellow had gone all soft upstairs,” said a crude voice which could only belong to William Hastings.
Eda saw Haro grit his teeth.
“Now what do you mean?” asked Sir Robert. “A little eccentric, I daresay, but won’t we all be when we’re eighty years old?” The magistrate was determined to stand up for a county man over and above a mill owner from the city.
William Hastings grunted a reply that was inaudible from the drawing room. Haro let out a deep breath.
Eda looked up at him, admiring the firm chin above the soggy cravat. In that instant she realized that there was no one with whom she would rather experience sorrow than Harold Emison. And if even a death could be braved with him beside her, what would the loss of a house and a fortune matter?
To Wed an Heiress Page 21
