Starting to fidget under his gaze, she walked back to the scullery. "The mottled markings were worse once, but Papa, he made it better. He treated many afflicted at Almeida. Even more in Badajoz and other places he travelled."
"I'm not one for games. We'll see if your story matches."
"And what if it does? Will you change my punishment?"
"I don't like liars. I'd hate to put you in that category so soon. In my acquaintance, females usually lie later." He pounded to the door. "Yell out when you are finished."
"No need to yell. I won't be done until morning. I don't half do things, especially in the kitchen."
He nodded. "Then I will be back, but if you tire, come get me from the study. No escaping."
"You could chain me like a dog to the meat spindle, if you are so concerned. If there is a roast in the larder, you'd get two benefits, a clean kitchen and dinner."
His brow raised, shifting his countenance to a scowl. "You're not a spit dog, but a wily woman. I could sit on that table and watch, if you'll change your mind about cleaning."
She tried to stop herself but couldn't and slapped a palm onto her hip. "I will be here in this kitchen. Take my word. I say what I say. It is what it is."
As if he enjoyed pushing her, his smirk returned. "You're just saying that to keep me from sitting on the table again. My man should be back in the morning. If your story is true, it will bode well for you." He put a finger to his chin, trying no doubt to look contemplative. "You did overhear at Abbey Estate that I was good at finding people?"
"Is that another spy's tenet?"
"It's a Bannerman Tenet."
He marched out the door with his shoulders straight and stiff as if his warning delivered a crushing blow, but she had no intentions of leaving. The knowledge she wanted was here, held by a man who almost seemed desperate to keep her. She sighed and looked around. There was still three quarters of a cluttered room to clean, and piles of dishes to stow. Hard work never scared her, but a giant of a man whose mood changed from moment to moment, who'd admitted to killing his own brother—that made her stomach knot.
Chapter Four: Blessings from the Abbey
"Bannerman. Sir, awake."
Something pushed on Hugh's shoulder and he reared up and swung his fists. It wasn't until he finished blinking like a crazy man that he saw his man ducking behind his cluttered desk.
"Whoa, Bannerman. On your side. Your war batman, your man-of-all-work at peacetime. My father's father served the Bannerman family."
He lowered his hands. "Sorry, Phipps. You don't have to recite our history. I have my wits now. I thought… Well, you're not the Almeida Killer."
Phipps rose, his face a mass of grim lines. "I thought maybe you were—"
"Dead? No. Not done in by my leprosy or the alleged chef."
"You told me to leave you, but if the bleeding left you weak, the wench might have gotten the best of you."
Hugh stretched his arm and tested his bandaged hand, wiggling his fingers. "Nonsense. It takes a great deal to do me in. And the alleged Miss Armijo and I have come to an understanding for now. Did you confirm her story from Hartland? What have you learned?"
"It's bad." Phipps said as he wiped beads of moisture from his brow. "The news from Hartland's Abbey is bad."
Hugh punched his desk. The hit crumbled two of its legs flopping the thing onto its side, his research spilling again to the floor. A dust cloud ushered forth, choking the air, reminding him of the thunder, the belch of sand and smoke, followed by the quiet of a well-done explosion. "I hate liars. Just when I thought could trust—"
Frowning so hard his lips would fall off; Phipps shook his head. "Will you stop destroying things and listen? Hartland told me the Almeida Killer is on the move. We knew the fiend and his allies have killed Staler, Parks, and Roan. Now, Sampson has been found dead."
"Same method?"
With his index finger, Phipps traced a line on his neck. "Yes. Cox thinks he's been shadowed. Only you, Moldona, Nev, Handle, Cox, and Wellesley are left. It must be a network of killers to have this reach or to be this effective. Hartland's convinced of this. He wants you to come to the abbey for your protection. He says it's best with your condition."
Though grateful, Hugh ignored the charity of his friend. He wanted death on his terms and surely had no taste to be catered to like an invalid. "Henry wouldn't send me there. With his very Anglican humor, he would be in search of nine other leapers, so the ten of us could wait outside Jerusalem Tavern for healing."
"That is good punny, puritanical, perfect pitch. Henry would be proud."
Would his brother be? Hugh bent and lifted his desk and kicked a few books underneath to prop it up. "While Moldona and I are expendable, Cox and Wellesley are not."
Phipps helped as he always did, picking up a few more papers. "What about Nev?"
With his pinkie, Hugh smoothed the wrinkle out of the top piece. "Never liked him. He's on his own."
"Bannerman, be serious. The killer could be on his way. Hartland has sent for Moldona. He and his wife are heading to the abbey after they're done with a bit of traveling."
Betsy was coming? Betsy and Moldona were heading to Hart's, even more of a reason not to go. Hugh smoothed his collar as if he where readying to see his old love. The last time was a year after Almeida. Her mourning for her brother who had died during the siege was still very thick. Yet, there were moments when she crumbled in his arms and took his kisses. They were engaged for a week before she sent him the note. Moldona swooped in and won her.
Fist tightening, he went to the window and looked out at Sandon's wild park. "Hart will keep them safe, but this killer must be caught."
"Mrs. Moldona, the former Miss St. Claire were regulars out at Sandon Manor, her and her brother Charles. God rest his soul."
"Charles St. Claire was a good young man. I miss those times. Henry was still with us. That was before I killed…"
"Your stepmother was a great host. She sent a letter for you via the abbey." Phipps handed him a lilac colored envelope, which smelled like the woman's gaudy perfume. "I guess she like everyone else believes Sandon Manor is abandoned."
"It is, Phipps. Nothing but ghosts and the best man-of-all-work reside here." Hugh shook himself, ridding his head of the stewing that Betsy or his stepmother, Elizabeth stirred. He took the letter. "I wonder what father's mistress wants."
"Your father married her, Bannerman. And she's gone on to marry an earl. She's Lady Rhodes now."
"Another old man." Flicking open the seal, he scanned the letter, "Another request for me to come visit and an early plea for a yuletide stay with her and Rhodes."
"That's six months in advance, Bannerman. A little hard to say you didn't know."
What was she trying to prove? He crumbled up the paper. "Why visit her? She'll parade a few marital candidates in her mission to marry me off or she'll try to get me to take a mistress to liven up Sandon as she put it. Some stepmothers only knit."
Phipps shrugged. "She does care about you. Perhaps, it is best if we head to her in London or even to the abbey. It's fortified and best to withstand an attack, not this bramble, a hovel set in isolation."
"You think Sandon is too worse for wear?"
Phipps didn't answer but moved to the window, pulled the curtain from covering the wall and exposed a cannon ball sized hole, one made with Hugh's fist after receiving the report of the second commander's death. "Sandon has seen better days." Hugh pivoted and with as much dignity as possible went back to his desk. "What did Lord Hartland say about the girl? Is she a chef on the run?"
"Yes. Isadel Armijo worked at the abbey for Hartland as his chef."
Hart's chef? She told the truth? "You are saying that Miss Armijo's story is accurate, well the part about being his cook? In that, she did not lie?"
Phipps nodded. "The man himself verified her story. He also said you can keep her a while with his blessings if you send him a few of her meat pies. He adores her flaky crusts."<
br />
Since Hartland was a married man with nothing but eyes for his duchess, Hugh wouldn't take flaky crust as anything but flaky crust. "Did he say how he came by her?"
"Seems her father was a local physician who knew how to do good field medicine, a cross of what we'd call a physician and a doctor. Armijo journeyed from Badajoz to Almeida to help with the wounded. He saved quite a few of our men. Wellesley himself remembered his good works and sent Joanna Pearson to get his family out of Badajoz. Unfortunately, you heard how in the aftermath of the siege, our troops went wild. The physician and his eldest daughter were killed. Only the chef made it out."
Hugh wiped at his mouth struggling to reconcile what he'd heard. Miss Armijo hadn't lied. She had lost her family, and Hart wanted her meat pies. "So, she wasn't lying about working at Abbey Estate or being a chef. Did he say who killed her father?"
"He didn't know or mention it, but he said she is a very good cook. Lord Hartland agreed that you should dole out punishment then return her to the Abbey."
If she hadn't lied about working for Hart or that her father was a physician, did that also mean she told the truth about Moldona being her family's murderer? Did her father possess cures for skin conditions? Hope for the first time in a year built in Hugh's chest. He paced back and forth before stopping in front of his broken desk. "So, Hartland doesn't mind insurrection? Must be some mighty good pies."
"He was glad she was able to deliver his message. Hartland wants you aware of the danger. The Almeida Killer is coming for you. It is only a matter of time."
"We still have to be found, Phipps. An abandoned Sandon is still the best course."
"I suppose so, but it doesn't stop me from yearning for what it was or what it could be again with a little work, a little hope."
His man wasn't just talking about patching holes in limestone. Hugh didn't have any hope left in his chest. Too many sins. Too many memories.
"Where is your prisoner, Bannerman?"
"That is a good question." He pivoted and craned his ear toward the hall. "I left her in the kitchen."
"The kitchen… That kitchen? Alone? She could be in danger in that nightmare or perhaps she left as you slept, and I won't get a pie. Or she returned to the tower—"
Hugh held out his hand to stop the list of concerns, each of which had already started to fill his brainbox. "I fixed the tower room and made it cozy and safe for her when she quit. Then I waited outside the kitchen for her to yield."
"Did she?"
"The girl banged a few pots and uttered some Spanish words that surely had to translate to the devil come take him and the dirty kitchen, but she never surrendered." He sighed at his failed plan. "I think we should go locate our prisoner."
He stretched and lightly pumped his hand before clasping the doorknob. His palm was sore, but it felt better than it had in a long time. All the tomes from his father's and the best herbs that he could import from China—none had a remedy. Could Isadel, the chef from Badajoz, have one? Could she create one of her father's elixirs to patch him up, too?
"Sir, how did you two past the time whilst I was away?"
They pounded down the hall heading to the kitchen. Hugh braced as he tried to quell his building suspicions for the house was too quiet. "Last night, she proved she doesn't frighten easily. Wasn't cowed in the least by the dirty dishes, but that was hours ago." She couldn't have fled. There was something about her—independent, determined, stubborn—something that should have made her stay.
Phipps bound ahead and ripped open the door as if it were the lid of a treasure chest.
They walk inside. Hugh blinked over and over, but nothing could prepare him for the sight.
A spotless gleaming kitchen stood around him.
Moving to the nearest wall, Phipps touched it. "The dead salmon color has been resurrected. I can see it again without stain or blight."
"Funny, Phipps." But his man was right, and Hugh stood breathing in the fragrant, fresh, clean-smelling air as if all the oxygen had been baptized in citrus and pine.
For a moment, he was transported to years earlier when Sandon teemed with life, the hopes of doting parents for their two sons, one to inherit the lands, the other to serve in the military. Then everything changed, diphtheria, death, a father's mistress, and more deaths. Hugh blinked again and marched to the scullery. "Miss Armijo, are you here?"
After searching the rest of the gleaming kitchen, the spotless table, the polished metal of the spittle, he found the chef curled in a ball near the fire.
"Bannerman, did you help her with this?"
Hugh's shoulders rose of their own volition. "No. I don't know how she did it either."
Phipps looked from side to side, touching this or that and then examined his clean fingers. "Can we keep her?"
"She's not a puppy or the neighbor's sow that wandered onto the property." Hugh bent near her ear. "Miss Armijo, wake up."
Her chestnut brown eyes opened. "What? Where? Oh, Bann-er-man's horrid kitchen." Her formerly slight accent had become thick, a wonderful blend of Jamaican island flair and Spanish notes, at least that's how he heard it in his head.
Her eyes opened wider and she pulled a knife from beneath her. "What is it?"
The blade gleamed like the rest of the kitchen. Rather than batting it away, Hugh raised his arms to seem defenseless. "You came to me from Hartland. Don't you remember?"
She stared at him as if she could read his mind. That wouldn't be good if she could, too much desperation and disbelief stirred in his skull.
"Miss Armijo," Phipps said as he came closer. "We don't mean to harm you. Lord Hartland's not mad at you."
She didn't move or lower her knife. Surely, she remembered everything. She said his name…but she didn't trust him. "You're worse than me, Miss." He put his hand on hers and drove the point of the knife to his neck. "Waving a weapon is useless if you don't intend to use it."
Her fingers slacked until it was just his strength holding up the blade. Her eyes had settled on him, no longer roaming from side to side. "You awaken with a smiling man just about on top of you, you see what you do."
Handing the knife to Phipps, Hugh stood up straight. "Shall we try this again? Morning, Miss Armijo."
"I…I must've fallen asleep." This time, her tone was clipped, normal, almost English sounding.
The change soured him almost stealing the joy he had at beholding her work. He lowered his good hand to her. "Phipps has confirmed your story with Hartland."
She took his hand and arose. The woman was small, but her grip had substance, maybe even strength. She must be marvelous at kneading bread into submission.
"May I return to the Abbey? Or will my employer send me away to prison?"
Hugh put his palms on the table about to hop onto it, but remembered her warning and leaned against it. "Hartland said I am to choose your punishment, and you will return to the Abbey Estate when I say you can. If you want to make it back by Moldona's visit you'll have to be a good prisoner, a very good one."
Her face blanked. Her eyes, perhaps blended pools of chestnut coloring and secrets, lowered. "What must I do?"
He searched her tight countenance, her healthy bronzed skin. How different they were, each from different worlds, his English, hers Spanish, but they shared something in common, distrust.
Did it permeate her innards as much as his? Did she always wait for everyone to prove how weak or fallible they were? "I haven't decided. What, Miss Armijo, do you think your punishment should be?"
Isadel crossed her arms and prepared for Bannerman's latest trick. She couldn't figure him out and that frightened her much more than his breaking things, his hurling her into a closet, or his no good, disgusting kitchen. Noting the stares of each man, she moved a little closer to the older man holding her knife. She'd have better odds taking on his strength than Bannerman's. "I don't know. Maybe it should be measuring out your black powder. I'm good at measuring things."
His glare became crinkles abo
ut the eyes. Then he laughed. "You are bold and singular in your thinking. Are you sure Hartland did not try to make you a spy?"
He made jokes and that was better than him ogling her, not that he had. She just had this sense, stronger than yesterday that he wanted something from her. Whatever was in his head, it made her want to find the skillet and prepare for battle. She forced her fingers to unclench. "No."
The butler came near and swiped a finger along the bench. "Everything is clean, even the larder and scullery. Miss Armijo, I see you don't miss a thing."
Yes, she did. That was why her family died. If she'd seen the soldiers coming, she could have made Agueda hide. They wouldn't have seen her loveliness as an invitation. Isadel tried to stop fisting her hands, but anger boiled over inside. "I don't know what will satisfy either of you in terms of punishment, and I don't care to think upon it, not without proper sleep. Show me to a cell or the servants' quarters. Dole out the terms later."
Folding his arms about his big chest, Bannerman laughed again, harder as if he'd held it in for years. "You've done well here, Armijo. Even Phipps agrees, but as I said, cleaning the kitchen was not your punishment."
"It should have been." The older fellow said under his breath as he poked at the stacks of clean dishes.
"Phipps, my man-of-all-work and loose lips, we must think on this very carefully." He tossed the man a look that chilled, before returning his countenance her direction. "Miss Armijo, though I know you are quite capable to navigate poor conditions, I have a place for you. It might need dusting." He waved his hand, motioning as if wanting her to follow as he left the kitchen.
It wasn't like she had a choice, so she pulled her father's jacket closer about her and charged behind the large man.
Her stomach rumbled as they went into the long hall. She pushed at her middle to hold in the noise as she followed him all the way to the tower.
He half bowed and pushed open the door. "You've been in here. I think you liked the view."
"Why are you testing me?"
His countenance sobered. "I don't like surprises. You've proven that I can trust you in the kitchen, but what about here in the tower where you almost jumped?"
No Hiding For The Guilty (The Heart of a Hero Book 5) Page 6
