Chapter 20 - Carrier Pigeon
The days at O’Donell House stretched long. Her own husband was avoiding her. He had officially introduced her to the sparse house staff and given her a brief tour of the house and surrounding lands.?
Catherine had taken it upon herself to rearrange her own room. It was the only place that offered at least some sense of familiarity. It had taken some time. It had kept her busy.
Her fingers traced the intricate carvings of the casket containing her personal correspondence.
Her chest tightened when she opened it, skimming through it to find her sister’s recent letter and reread it. The stiff, unopened envelope caught her attention instead. Slightly crumpled where the edges had dug into her skin.
Catherine clutched it in her fist.
She didn’t think about ringing for her maid — before her mind had fully caught up, her feet already guided her into the kitchens.
Mistress Murphy was chatting with the cook, both women busy sorting dried herbs. They acknowledged her presence with varying degrees of suspicion.
The young lady didn’t bother with politeness. Her eyes narrowed at Mistress Murphy, although she kept her tone conversational.
“How exactly, Mistress Murphy, would you be aware of m’Lord’s standing towards me?” she inquired.
The old woman’s lips twitched. Briefly. She demurely inclined her head.
“Being observant, m’Lady, is a valuable trait for those serving,” she replied.
Catherine realised the tip of her toe thrummed against the cobbled stones of the floor.
“You served the O’Donell family before finding employment with my family.”
It wasn’t a question — the chambermaid still replied.
“Aye, m’Lady. My parents served the young Lord’s grandparents. I served old Viscount O’Donell — and now I serve the wife of his son.”
Catherine cleared her throat.
“Do you, Mrs Murphy?”
She held the older woman’s gaze, but then it was her breaking the eye contact.
“You were serving at Butler Estate on the day you mentioned. The day m’Lord started courting me.”
She was very aware of the cook’s keen interest in their exchange. Heat rose into her face, stinging her cheeks. But she had to know. It had rubbed her wrong for days. She already was the subject of whispers — she didn’t have anything to lose.
Something flickered in the depths of Mistress Murphy’s eyes. Amusement? Nerves?
Catherine cocked her head to the side, stopping her fingers from tugging at the seams of her skirts.
“I was, m’Lady,” the maid gently agreed.
“Then how would you know m’Lord had taken an interest in me beyond his political ambition back then?”
The question burst forth.
Mistress Murphy snorted. She stifled the sound, despite the corners of her mouth suspiciously trembling.
“I have eyes, m’Lady. And as m’Lord’s carrier pigeon, I daresay it was pretty obvious.”
Her eyes lingered on the envelope still clutched in Catherine’s left hand, and she quickly continued, her voice void of any amusement now.
“I’m deeply sorry for your hurt, m’Lady. I do hope you forgive an old woman’s foolishness. I meant to help.”
Catherine realised her mouth gaped a little. She audibly shut her mouth.
“Everybody always just means to help. You meant to help. He meant no harm…” her voice trailed off.
Then she jabbed a finger at Mistress Murphy’s chest. Her voice was as close to a shout as she could muster.
“You knew I suspected him of breaking into my chambers. I asked around if anybody saw a stranger sneaking around the estate. You…”
She quieted.
Mistress Murphy offered a faint smile.
“I never lied, m’Lady.”
The young Lady O’Donell felt the distinct urge to throw something at her maid. Her heart was racing within her chest. Her hand was bunched to a fist, the poor letter suffering her wrath.
Technically Mistress Murphy was right. She had to give her that.
She straightened her back when the corner of her own mouth started to twitch uncontrollably.
“You didn’t,” she surrendered, and turned to Mistress Jones.
“I’m in dire need of a cup of tea, Mistress.”
Her eyes tried to sear a hole into Mistress Murphy’s composure.
“Please serve it in my room. I have correspondence to read.”