Chapter Three
Brett
Brett Burton gazed around Lady Mary’s kitchen, his chest tightening.
All the servants and the mistress of the house were crammed within its four walls.
Brett had been welcomed into the household as the new under-butler and had found his new coworkers a genial bunch.
He hadn’t realized they were soft in the head, however.
“I know the butler for Lord Evans. He lives only a couple of houses down from that poor soul.” Mr. Stavers raised a cup of tea to his mouth, the hot liquid sloshing toward the rim as his hands shook from age. “I can ask him what he knows about the Trent household.”
The footmen arrayed behind him nodded.
“And I’m friends with the groom of the Winchesters who live next door to the Trents.” Ernest, Lady Mary’s driver, leaned past the redheaded maid to pluck an orange from a bowl of fruit. “I’ll have a chat with him.”
Brett cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but why are we asking questions of the Trent neighbors? And what sort of questions?”
Silence descended. A horse out on the street neighed.
Mr. Stavers cleared his throat. “Excuse him, milady. He is quite new.”
Brett had been in Lady Mary’s employ for only two weeks, but if he’d worked at that house for two years, he still would have found this conversation perplexing.
When he’d applied for the position, he’d been warned that Lady Mary was eccentric.
A widow whose husband had been taken from her too early.
Who’d lost a bit of her sense from sitting in her house all alone for so long.
After he’d met her, he thought the rumors unfounded. Perhaps he’d been wrong.
The redheaded maid, Miss Murphy, caught her toe on the bench leg and stumbled.
She frowned as she ran her palms over her wide hips.
“I don’t think ’is time in service makes much difference.
It should be obvious to anyone what we’re doing.
” She scowled at him before reaching into the fruit bowl and picking an apple.
“We want to find out why the dead man wanted Lady Mary.”
He eyed the maid more closely. She was a lovely creature, all curves and creamy skin. For some reason, she’d seemed to take an immediate dislike to him, however. “Won’t the magistrate tell us that?”
“You trust Bow Street to give us answers?” She rolled her eyes as she dug her teeth into the apple. “And people think I’m the bumpkin,” she muttered around her bite.
“Don’t speak with your mouth full, dear.” Lady Mary slowly pushed up from the kitchen table. Despite her white hair, his employer had always struck Brett as robust. Finding a body on her doorstep seemed to have drained a bit of her vigor.
Southey jumped from his position at her feet and shook, his bell ringing.
“I welcome any information you can gather,” Lady Mary said, “but if you are inspired to do it out of concern that I’m somehow implicated in that man’s murder, you don’t have to worry. The magistrate assured me I wasn’t a suspect.”
Her lady’s maid, Jane, smothered a chuckle that turned into a hacking cough. She was almost as old as Stavers, and Brett admired Lady Mary’s loyalty in retaining her servants so long.
Lady Mary shot her maid a look from the corner of her eye as she walked to the counter.
She poked among the detritus of the meal the cook was preparing.
“Now I know this has been an upsetting morning, but I think it best we all go about our day as usual. I, for one, have some correspondence to attend to. Thank you all for your assistance this morning.” She picked a discarded bone with bits of meat clinging to it and tossed it into the corner of the kitchen.
Southey darted after it. “That might give me an hour of peace,” she muttered as she swept from the room.
Jane rose slowly and tottered after her mistress. “You underestimate how fast that dog can chew a bone clean.” Her voice trailed off down the hallway.
Miss Murphy shot him another glare, then hurried after them. When she passed in front of Brett the scent of apples and rose water followed in her wake.
The other servants began filtering out. Stavers seemed content to remain sitting and resting his bones. As he had no pressing duties, Brett decided to follow the women who held the most promise of diversion. He’d never worked for a house where a murder had occurred.
“…never make me coffee. And I pay you.” Lady Mary’s voice was cantankerous as it drifted through the open door of her library.
“You don’t pay me to make your coffee, only to bring it to you.” Jane huffed. “And unlike some, he’s up early, working hard.”
“Do you ’ave a beau, Jane?” This voice was younger, with a hint of mischief. Miss Murphy’s.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“If you want to transition from maid to lady’s companion, you must work on your diction,” Lady Mary said. There was a bang, then a scraping sound. “You’re a smart girl. You can stop dropping your h’s if you put your mind to it.”
Brett leaned against the wall beside the door jamb, crossing his arms over his chest. A lady’s companion? He had a hard time seeing the maid in that position. Her hair was a bit too untamed. Her mouth a bit too free. But he admired anyone who wanted to improve his or her position in life.
“Now, what’s this nonsense about you not wanting to inquire into that Trent?” Jane asked. “Don’t tell me this will be the first dead body you don’t want to investigate.”
Brett pursed his lips. Perhaps he should have done more investigation himself into his new employer. He’d heard that Lady Mary was a bit unorthodox, but he hadn’t heard anything about her and dead bodies.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to investigate.
Of course, I do. A man has been killed and I want to know why.
But it has to be done with some delicacy, and having our household tromp all over hill and dale doesn’t qualify.
I’ll ask Stavers and Ernest to speak to their acquaintances discreetly.
” Lady Mary grunted. “This wretched window. It’s still sticking. I thought Bobby said he’d fixed it.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Jane sighed. “You could leave this matter to Sir Kelsey.”
“I could.”
“But she won’t.” Miss Murphy laughed lightly. “And besides, where would the fun be in that? As Lady Mary showed me at Perrin Manor, uncovering misdeeds can be quite satisfying.” There was a beat of silence, then a red head popped out from the doorway. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Burton?”
A wide smile stretched across Brett’s face. He’d been well and truly caught. He pushed off from the wall and stepped into the library. “No disrespect intended, milady. A good butler should anticipate his mistress’s needs, and that requires a bit of listening.”
Marie skirted around him and dropped into a leather chair. “Eavesdropping, more like.”
He shrugged. “Different sides of the same coin.” He strode to the window and tugged it open. It was sticking. A warped frame, most likely from water damage.
Lady Mary pushed her spectacles up her nose. “You’re quite pert for a new hire. Usually it takes months before one of my servants feels free to be so bold.”
“My nan used to say a decision once made should be held onto with both hands.” Brett widened his stance. “She also used to say a man shouldn’t take too long making his decisions. Procrastination shows a weakness in will.”
“Intriguing as your grandmother’s folk statements are,” Lady Mary said dryly, “what do they have to do with the present situation?”
“It means, I want to help with your investigation.” He rocked back on his heels. He hadn’t realized that’s what he’d been thinking when he’d followed them to the library, but the decision felt right. Exciting. Uncovering a killer. Could it be done?
Miss Murphy scoffed. “In the kitchen, you thought the lot of us were mad wanting to investigate. Now you want to join in?”
Brett pursed his lips. “It took me a moment to get over the shock, I’ll admit, but like I said, the Burton men don’t let the grass grow under their feet.”
Miss Murphy turned to Lady Mary. “We don’t need ’im.”
“We don’t need him.” Lady Mary tapped her fingers along the arm of her chair, staring into space.
“Fine. We don’t need hhhim.” Miss Murphy narrowed her eyes. “You and I have solved a murder before, just the two of us. We can do it again.”
Lady Mary dipped her chin and arched a snowy eyebrow. “That is a great exaggeration, my dear.”
Brett tipped his head to the side. “So this isn’t the first murder you’ve come across?”
“Sadly, no.” Lady Mary leaned back and rested her head against the top of her chair. “But we had a large amount of help previously, and I’m unwilling to turn away any assistance needlessly.”
Miss Murphy’s hands tightened. “But—”
“How old are you?” Lady Mary examined Brett with a critical eye.
“Eight-and-twenty, milady.”
“You seem strong and of good constitution,” Lady Mary said.
All of the women’s eyes turned to him, and Brett couldn’t help but draw his shoulders back and stand just a bit taller. “I’ve found hardiness to be useful in my position.”
“Assistance from a young, virile man would not go amiss.” Lady Mary directed her comment to Miss Murphy. “Everyone else in this house is…” She darted a glance at Jane and cleared her throat. “Well, that is to say, none of us are getting any younger.”
Jane clasped her hands together over her abdomen, her thumbs circling each other. “It’s not as though you’re just out of your leading strings, either,” she muttered.
Lady Mary lifted her chin. “Regardless, what assistance do you think you can bring to an investigation, Mr. Burton?”
He rubbed his jaw. “Well… Let’s see now.
” He’d had an encounter with Bow Street Patrol in his youth.
He’d been about to be shipped to the Continent and had imbibed a bit too much alcohol before the journey.
But that ten-minute conversation hadn’t imparted any knowledge on how a Runner might look into a crime.
“As I said, we don’t need him.” Miss Murphy sat back, the edges of her deep-green eyes tilting up tauntingly.
“Now that’s just hurtful, Miss.” The tales about redheaded women having sharp tongues might just be true.
He shifted, wondering if the other things he’d heard about them were true, as well.
And if he should be rash enough to try to discover it.
He faced Lady Mary. “I’m not sure how to start, but I’ll do whatever you want. Just point me in the right direction.”
Lady Mary patted the lace cap covering her ivory hair. “Now that is exactly the attitude I appreciate most.”