Chapter Thirteen #2
Piers sat down at the edge of the bed. “The thing is, it’s important that we know. You nearly died, Edward. For everyone’s safety, you need to tell us.”
“I asked for it,” Edward said in a strange tone of voice.
“No one deserves that.”
“Makes no difference,” Edward said dismissively. “I don’t know.”
“Then it’s vital no one knows you’re awake and able to talk,” Piers said. And even as he said the words, a quite different and highly risky plan began to form.
***
APRIL HALF-WOKE AS Piers climbed into bed beside her. Sleepily, she smiled and threw an arm over him.
“He woke again but either won’t or can’t say who hit him,” Piers murmured, gathering her closer. “Fosterson’s with him, and he’s prepared to keep quiet for now.”
April managed to nod. She wondered if other lovers had such conversations in bed and doubted it in a contented sort of way.
About an hour later, she woke properly and reluctantly disentangled herself from her sleeping husband, who showed an instinctive tendency to hold on without waking.
Padding across the room, she pounced ravenously on the last of Mrs. Drake’s biscuits, before it struck her that Stewart might well have brought tea to his master’s bedchamber.
She went warily, in case Stewart was in the room. He wasn’t, but a tray of cups and a tall pot was. Stewart had done better than tea. He had brought coffee from Haybury Court. April crowed aloud as she poured herself a cup and retreated with it to wash and dress.
When she was ready, she kindly brought the coffee tray through and poured herself another cup. Distracted by faint voices in the garden, she pushed between the drawn curtains and peered below.
The constable she had met on Saturday morning stood just below her window.
What was his name again? Barley. More of a farmer’s name.
He was talking to Bert Godley the under-gardener, who didn’t look best pleased about it.
It seemed the magistrate, Mr. Alexander, had kept his promise and sent his constable to investigate.
Unfortunately, with Edward awake, that no longer seemed quite such a good idea.
What if Barley insisted on seeing the footman, and barged into the room while Edward was wide awake?
Their plan would fall apart before it was properly started.
Hoping to prevent that, April took a last mouthful of coffee and hurried downstairs.
***
CONSTABLE AbrAHAM BARLEY sat at the kitchen table by the time April made her entrance.
Mrs. Riley, pounding bread dough, was glaring at him.
The other house servants were whizzing about obeying her orders, ferrying cloths and crockery to the breakfast parlour, juggling pots and pans.
The cook covered her dough, placed it on the hearth to rise, and elbowed Becky out of the way of her pots.
To April, it looked like a somewhat frenetic dance where only Barley the constable did not know the steps. But he was doggedly pursuing his duty.
“So Edward was up with old Lady Temperley at about midnight?” he said.
“According to Becky, who heard it from her ladyship,” Mrs. Riley said, stirring her pot with vigour.
“And Becky attended her ladyship again at three,” Barley said.
Mrs. Riley glared over her shoulder. “Why don’t you go up and ask Lady Temperley if you’re doubting our word?”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Barley said hastily.
It struck April that Mrs. Riley was defending the servants, who were probably like family to her, however troublesome and disobedient. If she had anything to do with the matter, Abraham Barley would have no say in their punishment.
But Barley himself seemed to have no desire to punish.
“I believe I’ve done my duty,” he said portentously as he rose from the table. He caught sight of April and bowed. “My lady.”
“Do you wish to speak to my guests?” April asked. “They are not all up yet, but—”
“Oh, no, my lady,” Barley said. “That won’t be necessary. Good morning, my lady.”
Mrs. Riley met April’s gaze over the serving dish into which she was forking scrambled egg. April strolled over to her and waited until Becky whisked the dish away and vanished toward the baize door.
“Whom did he question?” April asked her.
“All of us, the stable lads, and the gardeners. He’s thorough is Abe.”
“Did he go into Edward’s room?”
“No.” Mrs. Riley glanced around her and saw that the servants were all out of the room.
Harold was lumbering out with heavy buckets of hot water.
“No one’s gone in but me and the doctor.
I’ve told everyone doctor’s orders is to keep him quiet so no one’s to go in anymore.
Best I can do. As for his nibs, he’s been drinking water and gruel.
He’s weak as a kitten and unnatural quiet, like, but he’s definitely better than before.
Better enough to keep quiet at any rate. ”
April nodded, watching through the kitchen window as Barley marched toward the side of the house and the path back to the village. “Who does he think did it?”
“He don’t think anyone did. He thinks it were an accident and I’m not sure I blame him.”
“It would certainly be a more comfortable answer,” April agreed. Unfortunately, it was unlikely to be the correct one.
Determined now, she slipped into the housekeeper’s sitting room, scratched very briefly at the inner door and went in.
Edward was sitting up in bed, his bandage and pale face almost blending with the array of pillows surrounding him.
He held a glass of water in one hand but seemed to be staring into space.
“Good morning, Edward,” she said quietly.
He didn’t jump, but he did blink his eyes into focus on her face. He even moved his head against the pillow in a sort of bow. “Your ladyship.”
“I’m glad to see you looking better. How is your head?”
“Not too bad, my lady.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Not really, my lady.”
She smiled. “I suppose gruel is not terribly appetizing. I’ll speak to Dr. Fosterson. Perhaps Mrs. Riley could make you a good broth for luncheon.”
He made no response to that. Although his gaze remained on her face, she had the feeling his attention was largely on his own thoughts.
She sat down in the chair by the bed. “Who struck you, Edward?”
“I don’t know. It was dark. My lady.”
“So it was, but you knew the way well enough not to need a lantern. Who were you going to meet, Edward?”
“No one.” It was a mechanical answer, with no belief and no effort to make her believe either.
“Edward. I’m not going to punish you or whoever you were trysting with, but you must see we can’t let such a nasty attack go.”
“I wasn’t meeting anyone. And I don’t know who hit me. Might have been poachers.” Again, he was making little effort to convince her.
“Was it Peggy?”
“No.”
“Anne Jenson?”
“No.”
“Me?” she asked, just to see if his wooden expression would change.
It did. His lips even twitched. “No. Look, my lady, there’s no point in you naming every woman in the house or the village. Nor every man neither. I don’t know anything.”
“You’re not saying anything, which is hardly the same thing. Edward, whoever hit you is dangerous. We have to stop him from hurting anyone else.”
“That’s what he said. Lord Petteril.”
“Then why are you defending your attacker?”
“I’m not. I’m...” He frowned, struggling for words. “Understanding.” For an instant his eyes were clear.
“Because you think you deserve it?” she said slowly.
“Not a matter of deserving, is it? It’s consequences.”
Remorse? It scarcely seemed in character. “Your silence,” she said, trying another tack, “is leaving everyone under suspicion. People who don’t deserve to be.”
“That won’t last. I had it coming. Ask anyone.”
“Are you afraid?” she asked suddenly.
At least it got his attention back. He stared at her for a moment, almost as though he was thinking about it. Then he shrugged.
“I think I’ll go to sleep now.”
***
AS SOON AS SHE’D GONE, Edward opened his eyes again.
He wondered how long they would keep up this questioning.
They had rented the house for a fortnight, which left too many days still for comfort.
But Sir Dominic and Lady Temperley wouldn’t care.
In the servants’ hall as in the village, he would be a nine days’ wonder, if that, and everything would get back to normal.
Providing he kept his mouth shut and improved his behaviour.
It was possible, of course, that the Petterils were right, and his attacker would come back for another go, if only as a matter of self-protection. No matter. Edward would be ready this time, if necessary. But there were many ways to make it clear he would not tell.
He owed Becky that much.