by Jo Beverley
The two gentlemen made a cradle of their hands and carried the protesting gardener, wrapped in a blanket, to his cottage, where they gave him over to the ministrations of his anxious wife. Chloe, who had followed, made sure the woman had all that was needed. She assured her the doctor would call as soon as possible and should be instructed to send his bill to the Hall.
As they walked back to the House, Randal said, “This is all damned queer. Do you mind telling me what’s going on?”
“No time,” said Justin, “Let’s get back to the Hall fast. I don’t want Belinda out of our sight. And I confess to wondering about Macy. I was thinking of that poor man, or I’d never have left them alone so long.”
“Why?” asked Chloe. “Do you think . . .”
“I think the package was a potato and someone just got hold of it.”
As they hurried back, Chloe told them Matthew had been out of the house. He was, after all, a new servant, and had come to Delamere after the package had gone astray.
In the Hall, Macy was found in the Sea Room drinking coffee and reading a days-old newspaper. Being on the far side of the house, he had apparently not heard the commotion and evinced only mild interest in the event.
“Servants,” he drawled. “They have their own strange tribal life.”
Which left Matthew and Belinda. Justin undertook to check on the footman and sent Chloe to Belinda, with instructions not to allow her the opportunity to destroy anything. Chloe hurried off, Randal’s plaintive demands for an explanation floating after her.
What possible excuse could she think up this time? Belinda opened the door at her knock.
“I came to visit my little cousin,” Chloe said brightly.
“I’m just about to feed her,” said Belinda with surprise.
Chloe felt ridiculous, but she reminded herself this was all in the service of her country. “Would you mind terribly if I watched?” she said. “I have thought I would like to feed my own child, when I have one, but I know nothing about it.”
She would have sworn the look Belinda flashed at her was amused, not frightened. Was she so obvious? Had the evidence already been destroyed? But if it was a solid wax potato, as supposed, it would not be so easily disposed of. An attempt to burn it on the fire would produce thick, acrid smoke.
Belinda said she would be happy to show Chloe how to nurse a child, and led the way into the nursery. Rosie was holding the freshly washed baby, who was sucking on her fist and giving restless little wails.
“Let Lady Stephen hold Dorinda a moment,” said Belinda. “I must just fetch something.”
Chloe received the delightful bundle with nervous delight. So soft and sweet. Big blue eyes gazed up at her. Meanwhile, Belinda had left the room. Chloe had been outmaneuvered!
Chloe hurried to the door. In the boudoir, Belinda was dribbling the last few petals through the grid into the Dowager’s beautiful potpourri pot. She placed the lid on top and picked it up.
“I have just filled this with fresh mix. The poor lady frets so if she’s without it, so I will return it now. I won’t be a moment.”
There was clearly nothing else in her hands and no obvious lump in her skirt which would denote a potato in her pocket. On what ground could Chloe protest? She could only watch her go.
The baby made a small squawk and Chloe glanced down. She felt a sudden pang. Because she could not grow fond of Belinda, she had virtually ignored Dorinda’s presence at Delamere. Now, the infant kicked and chirruped in her arms.
“And that, my angel, isn’t fair,” Chloe murmured. Dorinda, under a misapprehension, turned her head and rooted anxiously at Chloe’s breast.
“Oh no, poor dear,” said Chloe. “I wish I did have food for you. I wish you were my own little one.”
Once she thought she might have been with child, but if so, it had soon miscarried. A very strong reason for remarrying was to have children of her own, children who would be allowed to grow free, not as she had been brought up.
A quiet voice whispered, Justin’s children. She imagined nursing babies as she looked out over the bay, watched by Justin—and saw her children free to explore the sands and rocks and tidal pools.
Dorinda, thwarted, set up an angry wail. Chloe looked around anxiously. Rosie too had disappeared.
Chloe began to walk and jiggle the child. “Hush, little one. Mama will be here soon. Be good. Hush, my angel. Oh, do please stop.”
Desperate, she gave the child a finger to suck on, as she had seen the village women do. Dorinda quieted, sucking steadily with amazing force.
After a little while, however, when no milk appeared she pulled back and began to wail in earnest. Chloe was about to go seeking Belinda when she suddenly reappeared, un-flustered, and took the child.
“Hush a minute, Dorinda. It’s coming,” she said, lapsing into a broader accent than was her norm, perhaps in an echo of her own childhood.
She sat in an armless rocker by the window and undid the front of her bodice, which fell down to reveal her loose shift, easily moved aside to give the baby access to the nipple. With expertise, Dorinda fastened onto the source of food, her small body relaxing with satisfaction.
Chloe realized Belinda’s gowns must be specially designed for easy feeding. Could that, not some strange notions of status, be why she had stuck to mourning? It would appear she had often misjudged the young woman. What an ordeal it must have been, coming to this house and facing so much hostility. Her own choice, of course, but still one which demanded courage.
Since Belinda seemed unself-conscious, Chloe watched this most natural process with delight and longing. Her excuse to stay with Belinda had been fabricated. She had never considered how she would feed a child. Some Society women fed their own babies, at least for a little while; others sought out wet nurses. Good wet nurses, healthy and not given to strong drink, were hard to find, however. Surely this was a better way.
Belinda looked up from her babe. “It’s a pleasure, feeding her,” she said with a gentle smile, “and not hard. It’s as if they’re born knowing how.”
“Thank you for letting me see,” said Chloe sincerely. “I wish you hadn’t left me with her, though,” she said mildly, still anxious about Belinda’s disappearance. “I know nothing of babies.”
“I’m sorry,” Belinda said, and sounded honest. “I forgot. There’s not many ordinary folk don’t get used to them. It’s either brothers and sisters, or nieces and nephews. I felt it better to return the Dowager’s jar. She’s a bit fidgety today. You know how changes upset her.”
“Yes, you’re right,” said Chloe.
“How’s Budsworth?” asked Belinda with only casual interest.
“Justin seems to think he’ll recover, and I should imagine he’s seen plenty of wounds.”
“Good,” said Belinda, and looked straight at Chloe. “If he died, you’d doubtless be trying to put that one on me too.”
Chloe could feel herself color under this attack. “Now what possible reason could you have to hurt Budsworth?”
“None,” said Belinda. “He’s never done me any harm.” Dorinda slipped off the nipple and waited while her mother switched her to the other side, where the babe settled again to the ecstasy of warm milk.
“The question is,” said Chloe, “what reason could anyone have to attack the man? For it was an attack. Unlike Frank’s death, there is no chance of it being an accident.”
“True enough,” said Belinda. “People don’t get hit on the head by rocks by accident. Not unless they’re under a cliff.”
“Perhaps he saw something he shouldn’t have,” mused Chloe.
“What?” asked Belinda. “Are you thinking of the papers which were lost? Surely no one would attack a man for those.”
She waited for an answer. Again, Chloe thought Belinda wanted to know what the papers were. She made no reply, however.
Belinda shrugged. “The only secret I know of around here is Matthew and Sally Kestwick, and that’s hardly a secret
when everyone knows, and you too, I gather.”
“Are they really in love?” Chloe asked, thinking the attachment might be some Machiavellian plot by the footman to conceal his true activities.
“Lord, yes. They practically swoon whenever they meet and Sally’s up at the house every day, sometimes twice, with embroidered handkerchiefs and cakes, books and pomatum. The presents he’s given her in return must have cost near all his wages.”
Still, thought Chloe, it could be all an act. If Matthew was in French pay, his presents would be an investment against greater gain. What use was Sally to him though? An alibi. She would always cover for him.
Just to keep the talk going, on the chance of learning something, Chloe said, “Will the local people accept Matthew?”
“I would think,” said Belinda as Dorinda finished her feeding. Belinda sat the sleepy child up, and rubbed her back. “He’s not got on the wrong side of anyone, except Frank.”
“Matthew and Frank were at odds?”
“Yes. There’s no harm in speaking now. Frank had begun to pay attention to Sally. I don’t suppose she was interested exactly, but Frank’s always been seen as the catch of the young men, if you see what I mean, and she might have been flattered. He and Matthew were squaring off about it.”
Was Belinda just speaking the truth or was she laying down a false trail about Frank’s death? “Didn’t it bother you? Having Frank interested in someone else?”
“No, of course not,” said Belinda, but she looked down at Dorinda and Chloe could not see her expression. “I think maybe he hoped it would, but I would have welcomed him setting his sights elsewhere.” She sounded honest, and her words made sense.
This situation might have given Matthew a motive for murder, however. “Do you think Matthew pushed Frank off the Head?”
Belinda settled her sleepy babe in one arm and began to rearrange her clothing. “I think he could have, if Matthew caught Frank off guard. In a straight fight Frank would have made mincemeat of him but . . . I’m not accusing, mind. It could just as well have been an accident, and I don’t suppose Matthew had the opportunity. Didn’t Sir Cedric check and say the staff were all together?”
Chloe saw no point in confusing the matter. “That’s correct.”
She walked into the nursery with Belinda and watched as she settled the baby on her tummy in the cradle, and drew up the cotton blankets.
“You are very lucky to have such a beautiful child,” Chloe said, wondering again if Dorinda was Frank’s daughter, not George’s.
Belinda looked down at her daughter, and Chloe could swear she sighed. “Yes, I know,” said Belinda solemnly. “But luck is just a chance well taken. You should marry Justin.”
Chloe looked at her. “Should I?”
“Yes,” said Belinda, looking up. “Chances like that rarely come around twice in a lifetime. It’d be pushing your luck to expect a third.”
Before Chloe could think of a reply, the luncheon bell rang. Belinda tidied her hair, and Chloe took a moment to do the same. All the world thought she should marry Justin. Perhaps all the world was right.
12
EVERYONE IN THE HOUSE PARTY assembled for luncheon that day. As the meal drew to a close, Justin explained the plan.
“Any notion of another will is ridiculous,” said Belinda, “but I am willing to help with a search.” She seemed completely undisturbed by the notion. Either she had nothing to hide, thought Chloe, or it was hidden very well.
“That is good of you,” said Justin. “As you say, it is doubtless a piece of nonsense, but if we do a thorough search we can put the matter to rest.”
“Sounds damned strange,” said Mr. Macy, as if the matter was a personal affront to him. “I was here with my old friend. I was a witness to the will you have. He’d have called upon me to witness any other.”
“Not, perhaps, if he wanted you to be a beneficiary,” said Justin, smoothly. “After all, when you were so kind as to spend so much time here with him, he might well have felt a desire to reward you with a keepsake.”
“Could be, could be,” said Macy, apparently pacified. “But if he hid it, it could be anywhere. Sounds like a waste of time.”
Justin appeared relaxed now. “Well, the letter said specifically that the will had been hidden in a small box, so at least we do not have to look between the pages of every book in the library. I think we will assume something about the size of a deck of cards. That should make the business easier. Anyway,” he added with a smile, “Randal’s been complaining of boredom, so we’ll regard this as a treasure hunt.”
“Oh, one of Ashby’s mad starts,” said Macy offhandedly. “Well, perhaps I’ll join in the game.”
“I think we’ll work in teams,” said Justin. “Perhaps, Macy and Randal, you could do the ground floor, with Belinda to assist, since she is familiar with the house. The Duchess has agreed to descend to the nether regions and supervise the search there. Mrs. Pickering and the kitchen maid will do most of the searching, with Matthew to help in any heavy work. I feel there is little likelihood of Uncle George having hidden anything there, however.”
“Who’s to do the bedrooms?” asked Randal.
“Chloe and I,” said Justin smoothly. Randal flashed a look which made her blush. “With Margaret, the upstairs maid, of course,” Justin added.
Miss Forbes made so bold as to speak. “I wonder if perhaps I could search dear Sophronia’s rooms,” she said anxiously. “She is so easily upset.”
“No, I am not,” said the Dowager clearly. “I am never upset. You shouldn’t say such things, Lady Hertford.”
Miss Forbes looked flustered. “Of course, my dear—”
The Dowager was paying no attention. “You!” she said explosively, pointing at Belinda. “Miss Massinger. Thank you for the potpourri. Very kind to put the jar back. I like that jar. Clever . . . I would like some brandy.”
Miss Forbes rose quickly to her feet. “Oh dear. Perhaps up in your room, Sophronia. I could make you a posset. Come along.”
The Dowager allowed herself to be raised from her chair. “Yes, that would be nice,” she said dreamily.
“Perhaps, Miss Forbes,” said Justin, “Chloe could come up now and search the rooms with you. There would be no need to disturb you again.”
“Yes, that would be best,” said the lady distractedly, concentrating on her charge. Chloe went with them.
The Dowager hummed a little tune as they walked up the stairs, and once she curtsied to the wall. Chloe hoped she wasn’t going to deteriorate.
“She heard about the attack on the gardener,” Miss Forbes whispered. “Belinda mentioned it to me, and she overheard. Her hearing gets better some days, worse on others. It has upset her.”
Once in the room, the Dowager said, “Show the queen that lovely potpourri jar. All fresh today. All fresh.”
As the companion was busy settling her charge into her chair, Chloe went herself to the mantelpiece and obediently admired the pot again. She lifted the lid, and fresh fragrance wafted out—a touch of pine and lemon this time, she thought. The business of potpourri was beginning to interest her. The straight sides of the white jar were smooth and cool beneath her hand. The delicate glazed design was slightly raised. When she looked over to comment, she saw the Dowager was humming and had obviously drifted off into a world of her own.
“Let us do the search,” she said.
“Of course,” agreed the companion. “How shall we go about it?”
Chloe looked around, daunted. The Dowager had surrounded herself with all sorts of furniture and knickknacks. “We have to be systematic,” she said at last. “If we’re looking for something the size of a deck of cards, we don’t have to search every inch. If we start at this corner, and work our way around, it will not take long.” She reminded herself that they were really looking for an object secreted since the morning.
“Has anyone visited you this morning, Miss Forbes?”
“Just Lady George when she
collected the jar, then returned with it freshened.”
“And she just came and put the jar down?”
Miss Forbes looked puzzled at these questions, as well she might, but she was not the kind to protest. “Yes. Sophronia and I were on the balcony in the sun. Well wrapped up, of course, against the wind.”
Chloe didn’t feel able to pursue the questions, but Belinda had been gone this morning long enough to hide something if she had been unobserved. She had to assume the girl had some time here alone. They would have to search the whole place. She had hoped to eliminate the bedrooms, at least.
Chloe sighed. If there was to be any purpose to the search, it must be thorough. It was remotely possible, after all, that the companion was their evil spy. If Miss Forbes had left the Dowager alone on the balcony, the odds were the lady would never have noticed.
Chloe looked at her. “Did you go outside this morning, Miss Forbes?”
“On the balcony, yes.”
“No, in the garden. I wondered if you were there when we had all the excitement with Budsworth.”
“Good heavens, no. And if we were to be nearby, I would hurry Sophronia away. Disturbances are very bad for her.” This was said with a slightly reproving air.
Chloe told herself she really couldn’t suspect everyone. She decided to get the search over with as soon as possible, which proved not as difficult as it had first seemed. Surfaces were covered by vases and pictures, snuffboxes and shells; but a sweep of the eye assured her there were few boxes large enough to conceal a potato. What ones there were Chloe opened and found to be full of pins or beads, powder or dried flowers. The drawers, presumably because of Miss Forbes’ attentions, were orderly. They were quickly riffled through. For appearances’ sake, Chloe took care always to look in small boxes, but she was actually alert for a firm, rounded shape.
The Dowager’s dressing table presented the worst task. As usual, it was covered by bottles, jars, and pots. With a grimace, Chloe set herself to check each one. After all, the potato could have been pushed into the large ancient box of hair powder. She had only to lift it, however, to tell it was too light. Or it could possibly be in a jar of face cream. She poked her finger in to be sure, then wrinkled her nose. The stuff was old and rancid.
