Chapter Eight #2
It might have been true. As she replaced the key in her bag and pulled the ribbons closed, she said, “Did you unlock the front and side door this morning? Were they all locked?”
“Yes, my lady,” she said, as though surprised.
Which meant Edward was unlikely to have left by any of the usual doors. Another thought struck her. “Do you ever hear strange noises in this house?”
“Oh, that will be the ghost.”
April sighed. “That’s what Edward said. I expected better of you.”
A faint tinge of colour seeped into Peggy’s face. “I don’t know, my lady,” she said stiffly. “I never heard noises apart from what you’d expect and know about.”
“Very well.”
April left the maid to get on with her work and wandered outside to think.
The good weather was continuing and promised to bring another warm spring day. It was already pleasant, walking in the sunshine, but any fresh air would have been a relief from the enclosed mess of emotions, tensions, and lies that had swamped her inside.
The servants were all lying about something.
It had always annoyed April that servants were always the first to be blamed for any accident or crime within a household.
In this case, she found she could not be as vehement in her defence of them.
They were lying, certainly to her, and probably to each other. Why? What the devil was going on here?
Unexplained noises in the night that no one but herself and Piers seemed to hear.
Permanently tired servants who stayed up ridiculously late when they didn’t need to.
A key that Edward had taken with him when he went toward the summer house, but that did not fit the summer house door, and that Peggy at least did not seem to recognize.
She had forgotten to ask Becky. And Mrs. Riley had almost certainly lied about it. ..
As she sat down on a wooden bench, something flashed through her mind and vanished, the germ of an idea that made her think of Mrs. Radcliffe more than real life and then vanished into nonsense—perhaps because she had just caught sight of Piers striding toward her from the direction of the wood.
Mr. Hubble was with him and raised his hand to her in a friendly wave. She waved back, and he veered away from Piers to the front door. Piers kept coming and flopped onto the bench beside her.
He took her hand and she curled her fingers around his.
He said, “Hubb thinks Mrs. Hubb was so keen to retrieve her reticule because there was an indiscreet letter there.”
“That would make sense. Though it doesn’t tell us where the wretched thing went during its absence.”
“If someone tries to blackmail her, it will give us a clue.”
“Only if she tells us, and she won’t, will she?”
“She might tell a friend and confidante.”
“If you mean me, she already mistrusts me. In fact, she thinks I took it, no doubt because I am of the criminal classes. I am, of course. I just have standards.”
“You do, but you are not. You are the viscountess.”
“Piers. I will never be a real viscountess. We always knew that. I don’t mind. I only ever wanted to be your wife.”
He smiled, his fingers idly caressing hers. “You didn’t even want that. I had the devil of a job convincing you.”
“Did you never want to marry anyone else?”
“Never,” he said.
He never lied to her. Though he didn’t always tell her everything. She said quickly, “The servants are all lying about something.” And told him about her conversations with Mrs. Riley and the maids.
Piers nodded thoughtfully. “Well, that gives us some more suspects. We need to speak to the under gardener, who might bear a grudge about Peggy; to Harold, who might, according to Dr. Forbes, bear a grudge about his sister Anne; and to the farmer whose wife strayed, again according to Dr. Forbes.”
“Need it have been a man?” April asked. “Could it not have been one of the women in a fit of fury at his deception? Admittedly, I can’t imagine Peggy being strong enough to hit him so hard, but Becky is a bigger, stronger person and, I think, less likely to recover emotionally.
Peggy is a flirt in her own right. Becky isn’t. ”
Piers stretched out one leg as though it hurt. April doubted it was physical. “Fosterson noticed Peggy. And he was up and dressed when I fetched him to Edward. Possibly, so was Mal.”
April frowned. “I can’t imagine Mal noticed Peggy. He barely notices Meg and I’m pretty sure he loves her. In his own way.”
Piers raised an eyebrow. “Does he? Good for him.”
“What about Dr. Hale?”
Piers blinked. “And Peggy? I doubt it. He likes pretty girls as much as the next man, but he has Claudia right beside him. And Claudia’s father. Their engagement might be somewhat troubled, but his feelings are deep.”
“I know. I was thinking more that he could have been outraged by Edward raising his eyes to Claudia.” She knew from his sigh that the same thought had crossed his mind too.
“It makes more sense than Fosterson, a budding doctor who needs his reputation, seducing a housemaid he only saw for the first time the day before and being passionate enough about the affair to try to kill a rival. He is a doctor, sworn to save life, not take it.”
“None of them are killers,” Piers said positively. “Though they do have tempers.”
“Does Claudia?” April asked carefully. Without looking at Piers, she added, “She is emotionally confused and vulnerable. If she thought Edward was a friend, even one beneath her, and he tried to take advantage, could she have struck him?”
Being Piers, he followed the intellectual thread. “She is tall for a woman and possibly strong enough. She’s certainly intelligent enough to have left no trace of her presence. But I can’t imagine her making an assignation with a servant—under Hale’s nose and her father’s!”
“What if she didn’t? What if she was simply walking because she couldn’t sleep? Either she ran into Edward by accident, or he followed her, perhaps with intent which she resisted?”
“Wild speculation,” Piers said. “We have no proof of any such thing.”
April sighed. “Nor of anything, really.”
“Shall we walk up to the summer house and see what’s there?”
She rose to her feet, tugging him with her. “Why not? I’ll get the key.”
***
THE SUMMER HOUSE SMELLED a little musty and airless. Piers left the door open as he entered and looked about him. He was not sure what he sought—something that should not be there, something, anything, that seemed wrong or out of place.
Just as from the window, there was nothing obvious. No hidden bed recess, no abandoned clothing or jewellery, no wash basin. Nor any bloodied clothes or weapons. He looked under furniture and opened a chest that seemed to be no more than decoration.
Frowning, he straightened and saw April lifting cushions and looking behind them. She lifted one to her nose and sniffed. A grimace twisted her face.
“Someone has trysted here. On the cushions.”
She had always been an odd mixture of old knowledge and innocence.
“It wasn’t Edward,” Piers said. “Or at least not last night. If the footprints on the path are his, he never got this far. But someone did, walking on the grass, whether they came in or not.”
“Then this person left again, met Edward on the path, and struck him hard enough to kill him? Why? Just because he was late?”
“Hardly. Someone had reached the end of their tether and lashed out.”
“Or someone was defending themselves the only way they could from rape? He does seem an entitled b—”
“I saw no signs of a struggle on him,” Piers interrupted. “No scratches or bruises beyond the one on his head. I think he was ambushed or at least taken by surprise.”
“Perhaps by someone who hadn’t expected to see him there either and was furious when he did?
” She shook her head. “We’re missing something, Piers.
Something bizarre is going on in that house.
Lady Temperley broke our agreement and took nearly all her servants with her, leaving only a couple of grooms, and four indoor servants including the cook.
More than enough to look after a couple of people or a small household, but not. ..”
She trailed off, turning slowly back to Piers. “Noises in the night. Servants up late. Edward creeping about the maids’ quarters where he has no business to be, without any of them knowing or seeming very troubled by it. Piers, I have an idea.”
“Excellent,” Piers said, following her as she bolted for the door. By the time he had locked it behind them, April was some distance away, hurrying back the way they had come. He caught up with her, catching her arm. “No rushing.”
She slowed, casting him a guilty glance. Sometimes she forgot her condition. He hoped that was a healthy sign. She certainly seemed to be radiant, rosy-cheeked, and beautiful. And purposeful.
God, I love you...
She followed the path around to the side door of the house that was always locked and took out the key from Edward’s pocket which did not open the summer house. It slid into this lock easily and turned.
April’s eyes gleamed up at him.
He understood. “Now, we are definitely justified,” he agreed, reaching past her to turn the handle.
The went in together and Piers closed the door. There were strong bolts on the door, though they hadn’t been shot, no doubt because...
“Eward left the house by this door,” he murmured. “And locked it behind him. That’s why he had the key. And no one has bolted it since.”
“If this is where the Temperleys stored their private treasures, the servants probably weren’t allowed in here. Edward would have gone anyway, because he was Edward and did what he liked.”
“Maybe,” said Piers, who felt there was more to it than that.
“Is this his trysting place?” she wondered.
“Then why go to the summer house?” There were a couple of large rooms on the ground floor, with the furniture under Holland covers. They clearly had not been used for some time. After the briefest glance, Piers headed up the staircase.
It creaked somewhat eerily, an atmosphere fostered by the gloom and the silence. The landing creaked too, for the boards were uncovered by carpet. The passage led to a pair of doors.
“The locked doors on the first floor of the main part of the house,” April whispered. “But why?”
As she spoke, she opened the door on her right and walked in. A large object flew straight at her head.