Chapter Eight #2
When she had finished dressing and pinning up her hair, Selena made her way down the servants’ stairs, the most direct route to the servants’ hall. She encountered one of the housemaids, Beryl, on her way up, carrying an armful of clean folded linens.
“Beryl, may I have a word?” Selena gave the same reason for her inquiries that she had given Gladys and repeated the same questions, asking if the chambermaid had noticed Mr. Clarke anywhere about the house on the afternoon in question, before or after dinner.
Beryl paused to readjust her white cap over her dark head. “Let me think. Well, now that you mention it, I did see Mr. Clarke that afternoon wandering about.”
Selena’s pulse skittered. “Where did you see him?”
“He was coming out of the east schoolroom.”
“The east schoolroom?” Selena’s mind seized on the fact. Had he hidden the money there?
“After that,” Beryl continued, “he headed down the back hall. He was carrying his overcoat. I thought he might be going for a walk outside.”
Outside? Selena groaned inwardly. It hadn’t occurred to her that Mr. Clarke might have hidden the money outside. “Did you actually see him leave the building?”
“No. I don’t know for certain where he went next. I went in the opposite direction.”
“Well,” Selena said, “if he did take a walk, I hope he enjoyed it. Thank you so much, Beryl.”
Selena found Sam, the new footman, exiting the kitchen with a domed silver platter no doubt intended for the breakfast buffet. She posed the same inquiries to him, to which he replied, “Sorry, miss. I don’t recall seeing that gentleman about. If you’ll excuse me, I must get this upstairs.”
George, the head footman, was of no more help. Next, Selena questioned Wells, whom she discovered in the butler’s pantry, pouring a bottle of wine into a crystal decanter.
“I did notice Mr. Clarke exiting the library that afternoon, miss,” the butler remarked. “I asked if he would like a guided tour of the building, but he declined, saying he preferred to wander about on his own. I gave him leave to do so.”
“Did you see where he went next?”
“Yes—the chapel. I thought it very fitting that he had his overcoat with him, for, as you know, it can be chilly in the chapel at this time of year.”
The library. The chapel. Selena made another mental note. “Yes, it can. Thank you, Wells.”
As Selena hurried back upstairs, she pondered what she had learned.
For one thing, it proved that she’d been right.
Mr. Clarke had been prowling around the manor house after his arrival, perhaps scouting for a place to hide the money.
He’d gone into the east schoolroom, where he’d certainly had no business being.
He’d been seen exiting the library and entering the chapel.
Were there any dragons in any of those rooms?
She couldn’t think of any, but she’d have to check.
It worried her that he’d had his overcoat with him. Had he left the building? If so—and if he had hidden that money outside—it may well prove impossible to find. For the Darkmoor Park grounds were extensive, and it had been snowing steadily since Mr. Clarke had died.
Selena entered the morning room to find Colonel Blackwood, Dr. Scott, Miss Goodwin, and Mr. Davis seated at the table, eating breakfast. The gentlemen were nicely dressed in frock coats and starched cravats or neckties, and the young lady wore her usual black gown.
“Happy Christmas!” Selena greeted them.
The group echoed the sentiment. As Selena’s gaze collided with Dr. Scott’s, his blue eyes glimmered. “Happy Christmas, Miss Taylor. How is your arm?”
“It doesn’t hurt much at all,” Selena assured him.
“I need to look at it after breakfast.” Although the doctor’s statement was matter-of-fact, his brows arched as if to convey some special meaning intended only for her. Perhaps a silent allusion to a need to talk to her in private?
“Very well.” Selena was just as anxious for a moment with him, to share what she had learned this morning. She gave him a nod and poured herself a cup of tea.
Mrs. Whitlock and her companion filed in and helped themselves to the bacon, eggs, and toast at the buffet.
Selena had just filled her own plate and had taken a seat across the table from the doctor, when Mrs. Hillman entered.
Although she wore a gown of rich, burgundy brocade silk that was pleated and flounced to within an inch of its life, she didn’t seem to be in a festive mood.
Her face was drawn, and her eyes were filled with anguish.
Everyone stood to greet her. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Hillman?” Selena asked.
“Yes. No. Well, it’s nothing to worry you about.” Mrs. Hillman crossed the room, leaning on her cane. “It’s just that my brooch is missing.”
Selena’s stomach tightened. “Not your iris brooch?”
“I’m afraid so.” Mrs. Hillman paused by the table and sighed. “Last night, I put it where I always put in, in my jewel box. But when I went to put it on this morning, it wasn’t there.”
“Oh, no.” Selena knew that brooch was precious to Mrs. Hillman, not just for its significant financial value, but for its sentimental value, for it had been a gift from her husband. “Perhaps you placed it somewhere else and have forgotten?”
“I must have. I am getting more and more forgetful these days. But never mind. It’s Christmas.
” Mrs. Hillman turned to the footmen, who stood like sentinels by the buffet.
“Sam, please bring me tea, eggs, and toast.” As Sam scurried to fulfill her request, and George pulled out a chair for her, she sat down at the table and addressed the group. “Did you all sleep well, I hope?”
“Like a log,” Colonel Blackwood responded. “It’s strange, though. Something was missing from my room this morning as well.”
A foreboding feeling hit the pit of Selena’s stomach. “What was missing, Colonel?”
“My copy of The London Times. I brought it with me on the train. Snowed in as we are, it will be a while until we get news of the outside world, so I planned to read that old edition again this morning. But I couldn’t find it.”
“That is strange,” agreed Mr. Davis. “Newspapers don’t generally walk away on their own.”
“Nor do brooches,” pointed out Miss Goodwin. “It sounds as if we have a thief in our midst.”
Miss Thompson jerked suddenly and her fork clattered to her plate. Her face turned red.
“Clumsy ox!” Mrs. Whitlock glared at her companion, whose flush deepened even further.
“Thieves don’t abscond with newspapers,” Dr. Scott pointed out.
“I wouldn’t think so.” Mrs. Hillman scooped up a forkful of eggs. “You said it was an old edition?”
The colonel nodded. “December 23rd.”
“Perhaps one of the servants used it as a fire starter,” Mrs. Hillman suggested.
“Nothing was taken from my room,” declared Mrs. Whitlock, “but the wind kept me awake until all hours and my room was absolutely freezing.” Her tone was as biting as her teeth, which crunched upon a piece of crisp bacon.
Selena’s hackles went up and it was all she could do to keep her ire in check. “I’m so sorry you were cold, Mrs. Whitlock. I shall ask a maid to bring you another blanket tonight and to be sure to build up your fire higher.”
“See that you do.” Mrs. Whitlock glanced out the window with a frown. “Will this infernal snow ever stop falling?”
“I’m glad it’s snowing,” Miss Goodwin said. “It’s a perfect Christmas Day.”
“Indeed!” Mr. Davis agreed.
Mrs. Hillman spread marmalade on her slice of toast. “Yes, and as I mentioned yesterday, I’d like to begin with a service in the chapel in Mr. Clarke’s honor. Are you still willing to lead it, Colonel Blackwood?”
“It would be my honor, ma’am.”
“Good. Afterwards, we will all gather in the drawing room. I have a little something to give you all.”
“Mrs. Hillman!” The colonel wagged a finger at her. “You expressly forbade us to bring gifts.”
Mrs. Hillman flapped her hand. “You have all come a long way, and at great expense. Your presence here, as the saying goes, is my present. But I couldn’t very well let Christmas go by without party favors, could I? Later, we’ll have an early Christmas dinner at four P.M., followed by parlor games.”
“You are our hostess, ma’am, so your word is law,” Miss Goodwin said with a smile. “What time shall we meet in the chapel?”
Mrs. Hillman glanced at the timepiece pinned to her frock. “At 10:30—in a little more than half an hour. I have some small matters to attend to. I will see you all there.”
Selena had hoped that after breakfast, she could find a moment alone with Mrs. Hillman to ask her if she knew of any dragon statues or motifs at Darkmoor Park.
But Mrs. Hillman removed her napkin from her lap and gestured to George, who pulled back her chair.
Selena decided she should use this time to speak with the doctor instead.
Apparently, he had the same idea, for in short order, all the members of the party had left the room except for her, Dr. Scott, and the footmen, who were clearing the table.
The doctor poured fresh water from a pitcher into a clean, empty bowl, then brought it and his medical bag to the table and sat down beside Selena. “Let me take a look at your arm.” He lifted up the bell-shaped portion of Selena’s lower left sleeve and removed the bandage.
“I have information to share,” Selena told the doctor quietly.
“So do I,” Dr. Scott said under his breath. “But not yet.” He began gently sponging away the poultice on Selena’s forearm.
When the servants had cleared up from breakfast and quit the room, Selena asked in a low tone, “Now?”
He nodded.
“Did you have a chance to speak to any of the other guests?”
“A few. I said I was thinking about poor Jack Clarke and wondering how he had spent his last day on Earth.”
“That’s the exact same excuse I gave.”