Chapter Three #2
Still, she was no longer vulnerable and unprotected, and Edward was hardly a worthy opponent. He had just come to investigate her footsteps on the stairs and was, no doubt, always the opportunist.
She crept back to her room, where Piers was now sleeping more peacefully. She removed the dressing gown, blew out the candle, and lay down beside him.
She was almost asleep again before it came to her that the room halfway up the stairs had been occupied most probably by a female, judging by the “voice” of the snores.
She guessed it to be Mrs. Riley the cook.
Which should have meant that side of the attic belonged to the female servants.
In which case, what the devil was Edward doing there?
***
PIERS WOKE IN THE COMPANY of an old and unwelcome friend—the aftermath of over-indulgence. His head was annoyingly fuzzy, a faint ache threatening in the background. His throat felt like sandpaper. Moreover, there was no warm, soft April beside him when he reached for her.
Just as well. He must stink worse than a dockside tavern. He should not have inflicted himself on her at all, although he remembered somewhat hazily that she had pulled him into bed with her. She probably hadn’t smelled him first.
Cautiously, he sat up. His head swam a bit but the sight of a cup of tea by his bedside more than made up for that.
Grasping it eagerly, he drank it down—it was still warm—and looked around for the pot.
Discovering the tray on the table at the foot of the bed, he sprawled across the mattress on his stomach to reach it.
Coffee would have been better, but beggars could not be choosers.
With a second cup in his hand, he sipped it and discovered he was still happy.
Last night had been fun. He hadn’t quite realized how much he had missed those fellows.
In fact, until last night he had more than half-doubted that their reunion would work, that they would have to get by only on recalling old times.
Which had certainly been amusing, but the old friendships and meetings of minds were still there, in matters of learning and in sheer banter.
Piers smiled. He was looking forward to the next fortnight.
Although he must make sure the party did not exhaust April. Something had to be done about the servant situation. And he must find out from her why the professor had been apologising to him about something Claudia had said.
Which reminded him, all was not quite right with Hale. Perhaps he did not wish to be a clergyman after all. And Mal Keith was storing up trouble with Meg Tilney. Fosterson needed a place to practice. Hubb needed...a break from worry. There were signs of fretting behind the man’s good nature.
Hefting himself upright, Piers poured himself a third cup of tea and pulled the bell to see what would happen.
Nothing, for several minutes. Then a knock heralded a waft of the stables and a person who looked like a groom but carried a large jug of steaming water. At least Lady Temperley had not taken all the stable staff to London with her.
“Morning, my lord. Will you be wanting a bath or just the jug of warm water?”
“The jug will do.” Piers would let his guests have the joy of bathing first and hopefully he and April could manage it before dinner.
Half an hour later, washed, shaved and dressed, he felt slightly less fuzzy round the edges, and went in search of his wife.
The rest of the house still seemed to be quiet, although two maids were busy setting the table in a small breakfast parlour on the ground floor. From there, French doors opened onto a pleasant terrace and garden.
“Good morning,” Piers said, sauntering into the room.
The maids, who seemed to be studiously ignoring each other, immediately curtsied and replied, “Good morning, my lord,” in perfect unison.
“Breakfast won’t be ready for another half hour, sir,” the larger girl said anxiously. “Her ladyship said that was fine.”
“Then it is,” Piers assured her, strolling through the room and out through the French doors. He was right. April walked along the path toward him from the end of the house.
It was odd how he always knew her right away. He always had, even while members of his own family looked like strangers. The old familiarity with his friends would help now, though he hoped he would not muddle the female guests. Another reason to regret his fuzzy head.
“Good morning,” April said, raising her face to be kissed.
He obliged with pleasure. She smelled as fresh as a daisy. “I apologize for my piggery. I hope I was not too obnoxious.”
“Oh, you were a perfect gentleman, for a pig.”
“How encouraging.” He pulled down one eyebrow. “What are you about, April?”
“Oh, just reconnaissance. There were strange noises in the house last night.”
“I have already apologized.”
She nudged him with her elbow. “Not you. Nor any of our guests. After you had all gone to bed, I heard voices and moaning. Edward—the footman—says there are ghosts in the house.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“When I encountered him on the attic stairs last night. I think he was in the maids’ quarters.”
“Is that why the maids are not speaking to each other?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. The man is trouble.”
“Then I wish you would not wander the corridors alone at night. Admittedly,” he added before she could, “I was not in a fit state to accompany you, but—”
“Well, you could make up for it now,” she said. “There is a locked door at the end of the first floor.” She pointed toward the far end of the house from which she had just come. “Inside the house. And outside, a side door is locked, too.”
“I expect that is where the Temperleys stored the things they don’t want strangers prying around.”
“That’s what I thought,” April said. “But the attic stairs where I saw Edward are at that end of the house, too. What was he doing there? And were the noises I heard something to do with him?”
Piers regarded her. “We don’t know, but I suspect you intend to find out.”
Her smile was conspiratorial. “Do you want to explore the attics while the servants are busy?”
Movement caught his eye. “Perhaps later...”
A man was striding along the path toward them. He didn’t look like a servant, and he was both too young to be the professor and too old to be any of the others.
“We don’t know him,” April murmured. “But he looks...official.”
“Like an excise man?”
“More like the Watch,” April said.
Which proved to be surprisingly accurate.
The newcomer bowed as they strolled toward him and introduced himself. “Good morning, I’m Abraham Barley, constable of this parish. Forgive the intrusion, but I promised Sir Dominic Temperley I would keep an eye on the place while he was gone—as part of my duties, you understand.”
“Perfectly,” Piers said. “After all, Sir Dominic is not acquainted with any of us. I am Lord Petteril, and this is my wife. I presume you are aware we have taken the house for this fortnight?”
“Oh yes, sir, I mean, my lord, but Sir Dominic also mentioned some kind of student reunion, so...”
“Of course,” Piers said affably, as the man appeared to flounder for an explanation that was not offensive. “Fortunately, we have all grown out of reckless student pranks. In fact, we hope you will keep your eye on the place, for my wife was disturbed by strange noises in the house last night.”
“Oh, no one would break into Temper House, sir,” Barley said in a scandalized voice.
“Because it is haunted?” April asked with interest.
The constable laughed, which had the effect of making him both less official and more human. Perhaps he was nearer the forties than the fifties Piers had first supposed.
“So the locals might tell you, my lady,” Barley said tolerantly. “Old houses do tend to have atmosphere, if you apprehend me, and they do creak and groan in the night.”
“And moan?” April asked.
Barley blinked. “Same thing, isn’t it? Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about that nonsense, my lady.”
“I don’t suppose,” Piers said hopefully, “that you have any idea why Lady Temperley took all her servants with her instead of leaving them here as we understood she would?”
“Oh, they’re here, my lord. I just saw young Jem in the stables.”
“You are telling us that Lady Temperley runs this house with a cook, two maids and a footman? Ignoring the outside servants for the moment.”
“Of course not, my lord, that would be impossible!”
“And yet those are all we have.”
“There must have been some mistake, my lord, but I’m afraid it’s not my place to look into it. It’s between you and Sir Dominic.”
“It is indeed,” Piers agreed.
“I’ve asked Mrs. Riley to take on a few people from the village just now,” April said.
“That should work,” the constable said, clearly relieved. He seemed to be a conscientious man and helpful by nature. “They’re good people here. For the most part.” He bowed again and replaced his hat. “Very honoured to meet you, my lord, my lady. I’ll bid you good morning.”
He strode off again, no doubt about his business.
“For the most part,” Piers repeated. “Good people for the most part.”
“Do you suppose it was a warning?” April asked.