An Untimely Death

by Blythe Baker

  I peered around the corner and found the room more full than I expected. I noticed Miss Maryanne lounging on the fainting couch near the window, still wearing her peacock feather headband from the other night. Mrs. Marjorie Townson was sitting rather rigidly on the end of her seat, and Mrs. Montford was in a yellow chair that was the match to the one in her room.

  A few others were there, as well, people I did not recognize, along with a couple of maids.

  I tried my best to catch Mrs. Montford’s gaze but she did not sense my presence. She seemed intent on meeting the gaze of Miss Maryanne, who had a sour expression on her face.

  “Oh, come now. Surely you cannot be so dismissive. We are simply asking out of concern for you. You know that,” Miss Maryanne said with a flippant wave of her hand.

  I stepped into the room while everyone’s attention had been drawn away from the door, moving at once toward the wall. If I could sneak around back behind Mrs. Montford, I could appear as if I had been there the whole time. If Mrs. Montford turned to see me, perhaps she would not be too irritated, uncertain just how long it had taken me to come to her.

  “I never doubted your concern,” Mrs. Montford said. I could see the tension in her hands in the way she grasped the arms of the chair so rigidly. “I am simply saying that the physician’s examination was inconclusive. There is very little more that I know at this point.”

  I moved behind the pillars that lined the side of the room toward the windows along the far wall.

  “Even days after it happened?” Miss Maryanne asked. “Surely not. I have seen Chief Constable Talbot striding in and out of here. You even asked him to stay for dinner last night, did you not?”

  “In case you have forgotten, Maryanne, he was not present,” Mrs. Montford said with a slight edge to her words.

  Miss Maryanne shrugged. “Nevertheless, I believe you are hiding the truth from us. And as the Colonel’s dearest, closest cousin, I should like to know what truly happened to him.”

  “You were there at the party,” Mrs. Montford said. “You saw the way he collapsed. It surprised me more than anyone.”

  I moved through the gap between the pillars as Miss Maryanne let out a huff of irritation, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

  I stopped behind the pillar and let out a breath of relief. I was nearly there now. If I could come out on the other side and stand near the bookcase, she would never suspect—

  “Maryanne is rather insufferable, isn’t she?”

  The quiet voice behind me made me flinch.

  I whipped around, only to find Mr. Jerome Townson sitting in the small reading nook behind the pillar, resting on the bench of the bay window.

  Maryanne’s voice dissolving somewhere around the other side of the wooden pillar, my eyes focused solely upon him, as he rose to his feet.

  Could he be speaking to me? To be so frank with a maid…

  “I do not believe we have been introduced yet,” he said. “I assume you arrived late last evening? I certainly would have noticed a new face.”

  My cheeks flushed scarlet as I realized his mistake… or rather, my own.

  I have forgotten my apron!

  Instinctively, I reached for the missing apron but its familiar, soft linen beneath my fingers was absent, leaving only the satin neckline of my black dress and the cool brass buttons that dotted the front all the way up to my throat.

  He does not know that I am a servant.

  “I am sorry,” he said, taking a step toward me. This close, I could see that his eyes were a deep blue with a ring of green around his irises. “I did not mean to startle you.”

  “It’s…it’s all right,” I said awkwardly.

  He smiled. “I am pleased to hear it. Now, I cannot imagine that we are cousins, for you have far too delicate a face to be related to me. Perhaps you are a niece from Mrs. Montford’s side of the family?”

  I knew I had to correct him, but as I opened my mouth, I heard Mrs. Montford from behind me.

  “Maryanne, honestly. Have you no understanding of a widow’s wish for privacy?” she asked.

  I glanced quickly over my shoulder.

  I need to get closer to her, need her to see me if she looks over her shoulder.

  Jerome Townson shook his head. “I cannot believe that she has not yet gotten up and walked out,” he said. “The way they have been badgering her. I suppose you should be grateful that you arrived as late as you did. Dinner last night was a disaster. It seemed that everyone at the table was intent upon getting answers from her in some way. Hardly anyone stood up for her.”

  I looked up at him. “You don’t want to badger her, then?” I asked, surprised that was the first question that came to mind. All I could think of was how cold the glances had been between his mother and my lady the night before.

  He smiled. “No. I am not my mother, thankfully. Though I suppose you would not even know who I mean, would you? My name is Jerome Townson. I am Mrs. Townson’s son.”

  His kindness caught me off guard. As hostile as everyone else had been, I assumed he would be the same. He had done nothing to intercede, yet he had also done nothing to contribute.

  That left me feeling slightly uneasy. Was he simply charming? Or had I misread him and his mother?

  “May I ask your name?” he asked.

  I knew it would be unwise for me not to answer. Mrs. Montford would be unhappy to know that I had ignored her nephew so thoroughly or perhaps come across as rude. Ignoring him entirely would certainly come back to haunt me, as much as I wanted to do just that.

  “Anna,” I said, finally. “My name is Anna.”

  “Anna,” he repeated, scratching the side of his cheek, tilting his head. “Now I am certain that we have not yet met. Well, Anna, I am pleased to meet you properly. And I am sorry, once again, for startling you. I do not blame you for wanting to keep your distance from all this nonsense.”

  It surprised me to hear him call the conversations nonsense, as I felt the same.

  “I asked my mother to speak to my aunt with a bit more consideration, but…well, I am certain you already know what occurred between—or perhaps you do not. How would you, being from the opposite side of the family?”

  I clammed up even further. I did not want to say anything that might make him hesitate or change the course of his train of thought. Perhaps I could learn something useful from this conversation, something that would help me understand the dynamics of the family.

  “Well, perhaps I shall save that story for another time,” he said. “Regardless, I should like my mother to maintain her grace. My aunt does not need such strain at this time.”

  I pursed my lips. I could ask him for more information, if I dared…

  “Let us not pretend that this is some heartwarming family reunion,” I heard Mrs. Montford say, somewhat coolly, behind the pillar. “It will not do to dishonor my husband in such a way. I shall be courteous, as I expect you will be, and then we shall all quietly part ways and return to our lives.”

  A chill spread over the room, and it seemed that no one had the bravery to contradict her.

  “Now, then…I should like to maintain some semblance of normalcy in my daily schedule,” Mrs. Montford said. “Breakfast awaits, and I hope to speak with the Chief Constable once more. I imagine by this afternoon, I will have more information to share with you about the funeral. In the meantime, feel free to enjoy yourselves in my home.”

  She paused a moment, then called, “Anna?”

  My heart skipped several beats, and I nearly tripped as I hurried around the pillar. I curtsied to her. “Yes, ma’am?”

  She looked over at me, her eyes falling to my dress, precisely where I had hoped they would not, and she arched a single brow. She clearly noticed my lack of an apron.

  “Go to the kitchens and let Mrs. Rose know that we are coming down for breakfast, late though we are,” she said, her tone flat.

  I inclined my head, my bobbed hair partially obscuring the sides of my face fr
om view. Not only could I feel the eyes of my mistress upon me, but I also felt Mr. Jerome’s eyes glued to my back, likely filled with surprise.

  Without another word, like the good maid that I was, I walked around the opposite side of the pillar that I had appeared around, ensuring that I gave both the other guests in the room as well as Mr. Jerome a wide berth, and hurried to the door with quiet, deliberate steps.

  As soon as I stepped out into the hall, I let out a breath.

  What must he think of me? I had not corrected him, but neither had I encouraged him. He simply assumed, given my attire, that I was family.

  I could not understand why the thought troubled me. It stung to think that I was essentially so invisible as a maid that he had never noticed me when I was in my full uniform. And yet, was that not precisely what I wanted? I did everything in my power to remain invisible, as a servant ought to be.

  As I made my way down the hall, I tried my best to subdue the disappointment that had welled up within me. I had done my job well these past four years. I had become the ideal maid. No one ever noticed me.

  My face flushed as I hurried up the stairs, bursting through the door to my room, snatching the apron from the back of my changing screen. Why could I not push away the thought of a certain handsome young man smiling at me? Why had a part of me almost enjoyed his attention, his conversation?

  I rushed downstairs and delivered Mrs. Montford’s message, as she had asked.

  Mrs. Rose had obviously been waiting for the moment to spring into action. At her word, the rest of the kitchen staff began to work with a feverish energy, likely hoping to have the first course ready to deliver to the table by the time our mistress and the others made their way to the dining room. By the looks of it, Mrs. Rose had chosen blistered tomatoes and fresh bread smeared with cheese. Simple, yet it would please Mrs. Montford.

  My lady always liked me close on hand in case a sudden errand occurred to her or she required anything to be fetched from her rooms. So, I took my place near to Mrs. Montford’s chair in the dining room just as the doors opened, and she, along with the other guests, streamed inside.

  I kept my eyes fixed on the back wall, but out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Jerome. He looked over the room and soon I felt his gaze fall upon me, and there it remained as he took his seat on the opposite side of the table.

  I regretted the decision at once, but I chanced a brief look at him.

  His eyes caught mine, and like the snap of a trap, they held me.

  He studied me, his expression blank.

  He is annoyed, I thought with a knot forming in my stomach. He will think I am nothing better than a liar.

  And yet…he gave me a small, knowing smile…as if we now shared a secret.

  The glint in his eyes was anything but malicious. Something told me that he was, in fact, amused.

  I bent my head, averting my gaze.

  “I do not know why you are trying to defend him,” came the voice of Miss Maryanne, who strolled in through the door after the others, her brow furrowed, a sharpness in her eyes.

  “Maryanne…” said another one of Mrs. Montford’s nephews, who I had learned was Mr. Henry Montford. He shook his head, taking a seat at the table beside his wife.

  “I am perfectly serious,” Maryanne said, hands planted on her hips, glaring at Henry Montford from behind her chair, which had been pulled out by one of the servants. “You cannot prove otherwise, can you?”

  My mistress remained silent, taking her seat in front of me. She glanced behind herself, gave a small nod of approval at my newly acquired and donned apron, and returned her attention to Maryanne, who continued to ignore the servant offering her chair.

  “It means nothing that he is not present,” Henry Montford said, his moustache quivering as he glared at Maryanne. “Not everyone in the family has come as early as we have.”

  “Precisely,” Maryanne said, finally plunking herself down into the seat, giving a dramatic wave of her hand toward Mrs. Montford. “No one else cares about you like we do.”

  Mrs. Montford made an indistinct sound that suggested sarcastic agreement.

  “It is ridiculous what you are insinuating, Maryanne,” said Mrs. Townson, allowing a servant to drape a napkin over her lap. “To think that he would have had anything to do with the Colonel’s death is—”

  “It is not as ridiculous as you may think,” Maryanne said. Her gaze, as sharp as a tack, shifted to my mistress, her eyes gleaming with delight. “I believe, and do correct me if I am wrong, but you suspect that the Colonel was deliberately killed, do you not? And that is why you do not wish to speak of it? Why else all this concern about the doctor’s final conclusion? And why else should the Chief Constable be such a constant visitor to this house?”

  A chill rippled through the room, and my heart clenched as if wrapped in an ever-tightening knot of rope.

  Was this what they had been speaking of all morning?

  It would certainly explain the strain in my lady’s face, around her eyes especially. She could only do so much to fend off their many questions. And with as many guests as were in attendance, it was no surprise that someone might have discovered the truth.

  My throat became dry, and I watched the back of Mrs. Montford’s head. How would she react? I imagined her sending for Mr. Hendrick to escort Miss Maryanne out… Alternatively, I could imagine her not saying a word at all.

  “The only reason Mr. Newton is not in attendance is because of his health,” Mrs. Montford said, taking a path I had not at all anticipated. “I am certain he has heard of his cousin’s passing and will come to the funeral to pay his respects.”

  The glint in Miss Maryanne’s eyes was clear. She sat up a bit straighter. “Do you really think so?” she asked. “Given their poor relationship?”

  Mrs. Montford shook her head. “There was no bad blood between them, not anymore.”

  “Not anymore?” Henry Montford asked, his head swiveling to look at Mrs. Montford. “Then you mean—”

  “At one time, yes, there had been some sort of dispute,” Mrs. Montford said, her neck and shoulders rigid. “That was many years ago, however.”

  “When was the last time they saw one another?” Mrs. Townson asked, her eyes narrowed with obvious suspicion. It seemed that these other members of the family were all too keen to entertain the suggestion that Miss Maryanne had made.

  “I do not recall the precise day,” Mrs. Montford said. “However, I must insist that Mr. Newton and my husband were not at odds, as some seem to believe.”

  “They have lived in the same town for years, have they not?” Miss Maryanne asked. “I am certain Mr. Newton would know all the goings on of your home. It would be all too easy for him to have sent someone to the party in his stead, and—”

  “What are you insinuating, Maryanne?”

  It was Mr. Jerome Townson who had spoken, his deep, clear voice echoing in the silence left by her unfinished thought.

  I chanced a glance at him and found him staring hard at Maryanne, a scrutinizing look wrinkling his forehead, setting his lips into a frown. I noticed how straight his nose was, and his jaw was fixed in a tight clench. He is nervous, I realized, despite the smile he had shared with me so recently.

  Miss Maryanne seemed uncomfortable. “All I know is that it might have been easy for a man as intelligent as he to arrange something. That is all.”

  She sank back into her seat, folding her boney arms across her chest like a pouting child.

  “Well, if everyone is finished conjuring up ridiculous theories about my husband’s death, I should like to put it behind us. As I told you, I do not know how it was that he died. No one does. And until that changes, I will ask you to keep your thoughts and opinions to yourselves,” Mrs. Montford said. “I will not hear another word about it.”

  I licked my lips, clasping my hands tightly behind my back.

  I had heard mention of this cousin of the Colonel’s, but only a few times, and
never more than in passing. He never attended a dinner, never came round for tea.

  In fact, whenever the Colonel had mentioned him, it seemed to be with a bit of annoyance.

  Was it possible that there was any sort of relevance to Miss Maryanne’s theory? Even if Mrs. Montford disliked it, would she still consider it and offer it up as a suggestion to the Chief Constable when she saw him later that day?

  It was difficult to know.

  All I could be sure of was that when I looked up, I saw Mr. Jerome watching me closely, that smile of his tugging at the corner of his lips once again, as if he and I shared a secret.

  7

  The morning of the funeral dawned, three days after the Colonel passed away. Right on schedule.

  Once the plans had been finalized, Mrs. Montford and the rest of the guests had seemed to relax somewhat. At least, the restlessness that I sensed from my mistress abated, though it was quickly replaced with a quiet sorrow that I only caught glimpses of when no one else was looking at her. It troubled me deeply that she had to grieve in such a disjointed way. This was not the time for her to be hostess to so many people for days on end. It aggravated me that no one had stepped up and cared for her by taking the reins so that she could rest.

  I wished I could do such a thing but knew that it would never be possible. It was not my place to interfere.

  Chief Constable Talbot had not, as Mrs. Montford had hoped, brought answers in the days leading to the funeral. After the guests and the entirety of the staff had been questioned, no one had been able to admit to seeing anything strange or anyone they did not recognize. That was mainly the staff, of course, but many of the guests were familiar with one another, as well. Even those who had been closest to the Colonel when he passed, none of them could offer a clear description of the server who had given them their drinks, drinks which had all been offered from the same tray. No one else had become ill, and so the theory that it might have been the drink that caused the death seemed to be put to bed. At least for the time being.

  Mr. Newton had not been mentioned again, either. I listened hard during the meals with the family for someone to bring him up once more, but it seemed they all were honoring my lady’s wish and not stirring the pot any further. When I happened to be alone with Mrs. Montford, it took great effort not to burst with questions.