Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
We had to give Shreve the news, of course, which we did after supper, while the others were gathered in the drawing room again.
“You have no idea who would have wanted to do away with her, do you?” I asked after Constance had imparted the news. “Did she mention anything about being afraid of anyone when you spoke to her?”
Shreve shook her head. “No, Miss Darling. She seemed more upset about me being there than about anyone else.”
That tracked with Morrison having left the Dower House because she was afraid, anyway.
“Did she ask you any questions about what had happened at the Dower House after she’d left?”
“She had heard about what happened to Lady Peckham and the young miss,” Shreve said, “and she asked if it was true that Master Gilbert was the one who had done for them both.”
She gave Constance an apologetic look. My friend’s jaw was tight, but she didn’t say anything.
“Anything else?” I inquired. “Did you tell her about Lady Laetitia’s betrothal to the Viscount St George, perhaps? Or about Cecily Fletcher and Lord Geoffrey’s stint in jail while waiting for the Assizes?”
Someone at the table made a noise that might almost have been a smothered laugh. I didn’t look up to see who it was. It wasn’t Shreve. In fact, the maid seemed appalled that I had brought it up.
Although she answered straight-forwardly enough when I pinned her with a look. “Yes, Miss Darling. I told her about Lady Laetitia and Lord St George. Not about Lord Geoffrey.”
“That was perhaps just as well. I suppose she conveyed her felicitations to Lady Laetitia on the catch. Err… match?”
“No,” Shreve said succinctly. Behind me, someone made that same noise again. I ignored it again. If someone was misbehaving, it would be up to Tidwell or Mrs. Mason to deal with, not me.
“Truly? That’s a shame.” I turned to Mrs. Mason. “You didn’t know Morrison when she worked for Lady Charlotte, did you, Mrs. Mason?”
The housekeeper shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Miss Darling. That was before my time here.”
“Yes, that’s what Aunt Roz thought. You’ve been here longer, haven’t you, Tidwell? Do you remember Morrison from back then?”
“Not well,” Tidwell said, with a glance at Mrs. Mason. “It’s been a long time, and we had Hughes for many years after that.”
Yes, of course they had had. “I assume someone told you what happened to Hughes?”
“The young lord,” Tidwell said; meaning Crispin, I assumed. “He had learned of it from Master Christopher, he said.”
I nodded. “Well, now Morrison’s dead, too. You can’t think of anyone who would want them both gone, can you?”
“No, Miss Darling.” Tidwell’s tone was dry. “I’m not in the habit of killing unsatisfactory staff. Especially not after they’ve left the family’s employ.”
No, of course not. “I wasn’t insinuating that you would do such a thing, Tidwell. Although… you said ‘unsatisfactory’?”
“Lady Charlotte seemed happy enough with Hughes’s help,” Tidwell said blandly, and let the rest of the sentence hang temptingly.
“You mean you liked Morrison better?”
“Not to say liked,” Tidwell demurred, “but I thought her a better maid than Hughes.”
I exchanged a glance with Constance. If Aunt Charlotte had given up the superior maid to Lady Peckham, the need to get Morrison out of Sutherland Hall must have been great.
And that did make it sound as if the swap had been Aunt Charlotte’s wish, not Constance’s mother’s.
If Aunt Charlotte had been doing Lady P the favor, surely she wouldn’t have allowed herself to end up with the worse maid in the doing of it?
“You wouldn’t happen to know whether Morrison was enceinte when she left,” I asked, “would you, Tidwell?”
He looked at me blankly. “Enceinte, Miss Darling?”
“Pregnant,” I said. “Up the duff. In the family way. Expecting.”
Tidwell nodded. “I know what it means, Miss Darling. I would not be in a position to have had such information.”
“No, of course not,” I said. “Never mind, Tidwell. Forget I asked.”
He took pity on me. “I was head footman when Lydia Morrison worked here. I don’t recall a relationship with anyone. She must have kept it quiet, if so.”
“Did she have any particular friends amongst the staff, do you recall? Someone who might remember the details?”
“I don’t believe so,” Tidwell said. “She came from Somerset with Lady Charlotte, and was only here for a couple of years before she left again. The only person I remember her being close to, was milady.”
Until milady shipped her off to London and Lady Peckham.
“Thank you, Tidwell,” I said. “We won’t keep you from your supper any longer.”
He nodded. “Thank you, Miss Darling. Miss Peckham.”
The other servants murmured their goodbyes, and we took our leave.
“Anything?” Constance wanted to know when we were out of the staff quarters and on our way down the hallway toward the drawing room and the others.
I glanced at her. “Not aside from the obvious. You?”
She shook her head. “No one seemed particularly murderous.”
My lips twitched. “Did you think someone might be? The staff would have had even less time than the rest of us to motor from Wiltshire to Upper Slaughter and back before breakfast. We just come downstairs and eat. They have to cook the food first.”
“Not all of them,” Constance said. “Tidwell doesn’t make breakfast.”
“Of course not. But he’s the last in the household to go to bed. When everyone else has retired, he goes around and turns out all the lights and makes certain all the doors are locked.”
“That means nobody may have noticed him leaving,” Constance said.
She had a point, of course. Or would have had, had I been able to wrap my head around Tidwell as the main suspect.
As it was, I tried, but it was impossible. I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s Tidwell, Constance. He had no reason to want Morrison dead. He hasn’t seen her in twenty-odd years, I imagine. She hasn’t been back here in that time, as far as I know.”
By the time Lady Peckham got here for Aunt Charlotte’s funeral, Morrison had already left her employ a week or so earlier.
“But he did know her twenty-odd years ago,” Constance pointed out, “and no one else did.”
“Cook might have done. But you’re right about that.”
Constance looked mollified, and I continued, “Although if something was going on with them back when they were both employed here, something that made him want her dead—”
“Such as a baby on the way,” Constance interjected.
I nodded. “Such as. But if so, don’t you think he would have followed her to London and killed her then? He’s had plenty of time and opportunity since she left. It’s not as if she’s been in hiding.”
Not until the past six months, at any rate.
Constance didn’t say anything to that, and I added, “I’d believe it of Cook or Mrs. Mason before I’d believe it of Tidwell. He really is the best part of Sutherland Hall. Surely you’ve heard me say so?”
“I’m fairly certain you think the best part of Sutherland Hall is Lord St George,” Constance said dryly and tucked a hand through my arm.
“Whatever were you thinking earlier, Pippa? Aunt Effie looked as though she was about to have a coronary. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Laetitia tried to poison you later.
Don’t drink anything you haven’t poured out yourself for the rest of the time we’re here. ”
“Don’t worry,” I assured her, “I won’t.” I learned that lesson after what happened at the Dower House in May, and had it reinforced last month at the Savoy. “I won’t touch anything from anyone other than you and Francis and Christopher.”
“And your aunt and uncle, I suppose.”
“Roz and Herbert,” I said, “yes. Harold, no.”
She shook her head. “No, of course not. He looked like he was about to expire, too.”
No doubt. “As for what happened,” I said, “I got carried away, I suppose. It’s easy to do. I get into the back-and-forth, the way one does, and I forget that people are listening.”
She nodded. “That’s understandable. Although it would be easier if you would simply admit…”
“Never mind,” I told her. “He’s marrying your cousin in a month. And whether anyone believes it or not, I don’t feel that way about him.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“I don’t!”
“That’s what I said,” Constance said.
I grumbled. It had clearly been sarcasm—or at least I would have staked my life on it being sarcasm—but there was no point in arguing about it, and at any rate, we had reached the drawing room, and I didn’t want to have this conversation with an audience.
The parties had arranged themselves much as they had done three nights ago, with a few exceptions.
Lady Euphemia was playing cards with her husband and son, and His Grace, Duke Harold, tonight.
Aunt Roz was sharing the sofa with her husband instead.
They were sitting across from their sons in the conversation area.
Christopher and Francis were going over more of the details from our trip to the Cotswolds, it seemed.
I caught Constable Woodin’s name on Francis’s lips as I slithered up to the chair where Christopher sat, and perched on the arm.
He smiled up at me. “There you are. What news?”
I shook my head, as Constance made her way around the table to the other chair, where Francis was sitting. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her down on his lap. She squeaked and flushed, but didn’t protest.
“None, I’m afraid,” I answered Christopher’s question. “No one claimed to know anything about why Morrison may have left Sutherland Hall twenty-three years ago, or for that matter any reason why Aunt Charlotte may have wanted to get rid of her.”
Christopher’s body stiffened for a second. If he hadn’t been leaning against me, I don’t think I would have noticed. As it was, I felt it clearly, and looked down at him.
He wasn’t looking at me, just staring straight ahead. Uncle Herbert, on the other side of the table, must have noticed something wrong, too, because he was looking at his youngest son with an expression of concern.