Chapter Seven #2
“Quite right,” the duke said. “As all my relations know, but for Lady Misery over there who is never invited but decided to turn up anyway, my youngest likes to start us off with some words.”
Valor had remained standing at her place. “Welcome to the dowager, who this dinner honors. We are already friends and she thinks my dog is tremendous.”
Winsome was well aware of the slight to Lord Manderbey and that it was purposefully done. She glanced at the dowager. The lady’s expression was inscrutable, so it was hard to say how she viewed this new friendship she’d suddenly acquired.
“Old people are drawn to me,” Valor continued, “everybody knows it.”
Winsome dug her nails into her palms under the table. She’d told Valor, repeatedly, to stop pointing out that a person was old. They did not like it!
“The company of women friends, like the dowager and my other very old friend Lady Margaret, is so much better than other kinds of friends. For one thing, they don’t sleep in your room and for another, they don’t stare at you while you’re asleep.
Mr. Stratton already admitted he does it but, realistically, I’m pretty sure they all do it. ”
Valor looked accusingly round the room at her sisters’ husbands.
“For heaven’s sake, Valor, do sit down,” Lady Marchfield said.
“I am trying to convince Winsome not to get married!” Valor said. “She’s the last one!” Valor threw herself into her chair, looking entirely disgusted.
“Well now, another rousing speech from my youngest,” the duke said.
“I have some words to say too,” Lady Marchfield said.
“I knew it,” the duke said. “Whatever nonsense you are about to inflict on us, do not carry on with it all through the soup course.”
Lady Marchfield, as it seemed was becoming her habit, ignored the duke’s barb. Into the air, so it was not entirely clear who she was aiming at, she said, “I have never been one to admit defeat. A person would be exceedingly foolish to imagine I have.”
Her eyes drifted to her brother and now it was clear who she was aiming at.
The duke laughed and said, “Do not tell me, you have another one of your endless string of hapless butlers waiting in your carriage.”
“Mr. Wicket, I believe it is time to introduce yourself,” Lady Marchfield said with a smile.
Mr. Wicket? Who was Mr. Wicket? Who was she talking to?
Winsome flinched as the curtains across the windows shifted.
A very tall and thin man wearing a severe black suit of clothes emerged from behind them.
He had hooded eyes and his sunken cheeks and rail thin physique made Winsome wonder how long he’d been hidden there.
The footmen staggered back. Valor ducked under the table. The rest of them stared wide-eyed.
Lord Manderbey leaned toward Winsome. “Who is that?” he whispered.
“I’m afraid it might be the new butler,” she whispered back.
“Correct, Lady Winsome,” Mr. Wicket said.
“Yes, I was able to perfectly comprehend your whispers, my hearing is exceptional, as is my eyesight.” Mr. Wicket passed behind the duke and circled the table.
The footmen backed out of his way. “Your Grace, Lady Marchfield hired me a month ago. I have been in the house since before your arrival, observing. I am skilled at remaining unseen, having recently served the palace in several clandestine operations. When Lady Marchfield explained what a challenge this household would pose, I knew I was the only man for the job.”
“Get out,” the duke said.
For some reason, Lady Marchfield did not look particularly alarmed over this directive. She simply nodded approvingly at Mr. Wicket. That gentleman strode to the doors, turned, and said, “Goodbye for now.” He then disappeared out the doors to who knew where.
What did he mean, for now? Her father had just ordered the man out of the house and he’d said goodbye for now? Did he imagine the duke would change his mind and invite him back in?
Lady Marchfield laid down her napkin. “Well now, I have accomplished my aim here and need not suffer through this dinner.” She glanced down at her soup.
“I imagine your cook is somewhat rattled by recent events. This does not look up to the usual standards. I trust your diabolical housekeeper is likewise shaken.”
Winsome’s aunt rose. “Goodnight to you, Dowager, Lord Manderbey. I am sorry you had to witness this family contretemps, but the duke has unfortunately made it necessary.”
As she walked to the doors, the duke said, “I warn you, Misery. Take that fool with you, let him be the last, and do not darken my doors with such nonsense again.”
Lady Marchfield turned and smiled at her brother. “We’ll see,” she said.
She shut the doors behind her and was gone.
The dining room was suddenly filled with peals of laughter. The dowager was positively heaving. Catching her breath, she said, “Gracious, that was invigorating. What was it? Is this some sort of new style of a tableau? I’ve not seen it done before.”
Valor slowly emerged from under the table. “Is that what it was, Papa? A tableau?”
The duke sipped his wine and said, “More or less, Val.”
“I was never so amused,” the dowager said. “Is Lady Marchfield coming back?”
“Not if the fates smile upon me, Duchess.”
In a low tone, Lord Manderbey said, “That was not a performance, was it?”
“No,” Winsome said.
“I never knew Lady Marchfield to be so…I do not actually know what that was.”
Winsome shifted in her seat, searching for just the right sort of vagary that might explain what he’d just witnessed. “There were perhaps some circumstances over the past several seasons that have pushed my aunt too far,” Winsome said, hoping Lord Manderbey would not ask what they were.
“Do you suppose that fellow has really left? I could not tell if he meant to leave or to hide behind another pair of curtains,” the lord said.
“I do not know,” Winsome said. Had he left? Where had he been hiding? The house had been searched top to bottom. He could not have been behind curtains all this time. How would they know if he left or was hiding again?
It was very uncomfortable to imagine that specter of a man lurking in the house somewhere.
“Lady Winsome,” Lord Manderbey said, “I was wondering, have you read Gloaming at Glenford Cross? I understand it is very popular.”
Winsome turned to him in surprise. Of course she had read it. The book was all the rage at this moment. “Have you read it?”
“Indeed, yes.”
That was a surprise. Had he read it because she’d mentioned her interest in gothic stories? She did not know, but she did understand he’d brought it up to move beyond what they’d all just witnessed and she was grateful for it.
“I did have some questions and would be interested to hear your thoughts,” he said.
“I imagine you found the vicar’s daughter not very clever,” Winsome said. “Really, why the girl did not shout out the window during the day was confounding.”
“I will admit that I did wonder about her,” Lord Manderbey said.
“They often are like that, ignoring warning signs from all directions and missing vital opportunities.” As she said it, she wondered if that was what she was doing. Was she just ignoring warning signs? “I did think the castle collapsing at the end of it was a nice touch, though.”
“Yes, but was the mysterious man in it when it collapsed? That was not made clear.”
“Oh I imagine he must have been.”
They went on speaking together, engrossed in one another and ignoring the rest of the table. Winsome occasionally heard the duke and the dowager laughing over some matter, or Valor attempting to get her attention which she positively ignored, or the gentle hum of husbands and wives talking.
The beginning of the dinner had been hair-raising, but the rest of it was going rather well. She put aside the strange Mr. Wicket, as certainly he had left the house.
Hopefully.
*
Mrs. Right was doing her level best to keep Cook calm and stop the kitchen maids from shrieking.
It had started when Charlie abandoned the dining room and had come flying down the stairs. “Is he here? Did you see him?”
“See who?” Cook had asked, his eyes drifting round the kitchens.
“See me,” a voice had said behind her.
Mrs. Right had jumped and leapt away from the voice. She turned and found a cadaver of a man in a black suit staring sternly at her.
“Mr. Tobias Wicket, His Grace’s butler,” the man said. “I have been here all along, observing.”
“It was you, creepin’ round the house,” Cook said, pointing the knife in his hand at the intruder.
The kitchen maids took that moment to clutch and each other and wail.
“Silence!” Mr. Wicket shouted.
They wailed for another minute before they decided to follow that directive.
As the maids settled down to a whimper, Mr. Wicket said, “I will have eyes everywhere, watching everything. You would be well-advised to ensure this household is run impeccably.”
Now that Mrs. Right had managed to catch her breath from the fright of this person’s sudden arrival, she attempted to take his measure. It did not look as if he ate much and she could not imagine where Lady Marchfield had found him.
What was more worrying was that he’d been here all along. Where had he been hiding? Was that how he meant to go on? How was she to get rid of him?
Mr. Wicket pointed at Cook. “You are going to burn the house down if you don’t do something about that oven.”
They all turned and indeed, the oven was smoking. Cook wrestled the pan out of it which contained what was now a very well-done roasted beef. Cook looked at it dejectedly. Mrs. Right could only imagine how the duke was viewing what was coming up from the kitchens.
She turned back to Mr. Wicket. Then she looked around the room. Where was he?
“He’s gone!” Cook cried. This prompted the kitchen maids to take up their wailing again. Mrs. Right grabbed an apron from a hook on the wall and rolled up her sleeves. Something had to be done about this dinner. She would deal with Mr. Wicket later.
If she could find him.