Chapter 25
Henry returned to the kitchen later that night. Mrs. Seymour had mentioned her cook working late a time or two, so Henry thought it likely that she would still be awake for his questioning.
His assumption proved correct, as he found the woman humming to herself as she worked by candlelight. Her head lifted as the door opened.
“Excuse me, sir, do you—oh, Sir Henry. Are you well?”
He assumed a sheepish expression. “I had thought to sneak down for some of your rolls, to own the truth.”
The cook’s mouth twitched into a smile and she wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh very well, come now, let us get you that snack and then it’s off to bed.”
Henry’s own mouth hitched up at that. He hadn’t been chastised so since he was a child. He sat himself down at the table, and in moments, Martha buttered two rolls, and placed them in front of him before returning to prepping for the morning’s meal.
Though he was not actually particularly hungry, Henry tore a piece off the roll. “Do you not have anyone that could help you with that? You must be exhausted.”
Martha gave a small smile, wrist-deep in dough. “I quite enjoy the quiet of this time of night. Besides, the maid who generally aids me at this hour was not feeling well.”
Not feeling well, or needing the night off to help with the smuggling? Mrs. Seymour had made clear her opinion on smuggling, going so far as to dismiss staff.
But that might just cause them to hide their tracks better. Were there more beyond Trumble involved? And at what point should he tell Mrs. Seymour what he suspected about the woman?
“Might I help?” he asked.
“No you are quite all right.” Her gaze flicked to his, then back to the dough before innocently asking, “Mrs. Seymour doesn’t often bring guests to my kitchen.”
Henry paused his chewing. “I am honored she brought me.”
She nodded, eyes on her work. “I do not know you particularly well, Sir Henry. But your sister is a dear.”
“Thank you. I agree. Mostly.”
“Relationships among family are always multi-faceted, are they not?” Martha asked with a smile.
Henry nodded, finishing off his first roll. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Two. One works on the island.”
“It must be nice to have one nearby.”
“Mostly,” she replied with a chuckle.
“How long have you worked at Windvale?” Henry asked, seeing an opportunity.
“Since the Seymours purchased the property. My husband and I live just down the lane.”
Henry had not realized she was married. But this was even better; she could have far more information than he’d hoped. If he asked the right things. “Was it hard to live through the war with France?”
“The naval presence was always large, so we did not fear generally. There were a few skirmishes and news was often slow to come from London, but otherwise, life went on as normal.”
“I imagine you were without many of the delicacies we enjoy from the continent, though. I recall my sister bemoaning the lack of lace she could find, and that our tea was dreadful.” He remembered nothing of the sort. “It must have been far worse here.”
Martha shaped the dough into a loaf, face ponderous. “No, hardly ever. I cannot say I thought of it much, but we did not want for anything while Commander Seymour was alive.”
“But you do now?”
“Naturally, with the taxes so high, we do not have the same items.”
That said a lot. Henry’s final roll was nearly gone despite his slow progress. “Might I ask you something?”
Martha quirked a brow. “I think I shall decide once you’ve asked it.”
Henry chuckled before growing solemn. “When did Mrs. Seymour decide not to allow alcohol in the house?”
“It was a month after we learned of Commander Seymour’s loss.”
“And was the staff supportive of that?” Henry asked.
Martha studied him, as if deciding what she was willing to say. Please let her be forthcoming. Somehow, the stakes seemed to have increased, knowing how closely the smuggling affected Mrs. Seymour.
She wiped her hands on her apron, eyes firm on his.
“Yes, for the most part. We all love Mrs. Seymour. Alice is like a daughter to me. But not everyone was thrilled with the changes made. The first year, Alice was not certain she wished to carry on Commander Seymour’s traditional summer house party.
She was newly out of mourning and thought perhaps it wasn’t prudent.
That, more even than the alcohol, frustrated several. ”
“The household enjoys the parties a great deal, then?”
“Yes. The entire island does.” Her eyes seemed to be trying to communicate something she was not willing to voice aloud. Frustration tore at Henry. Smuggling was not a small thing—in England he knew it often involved entire communities.
He also knew that those uninvolved did not like to share information for fear of retribution.
Which side was Martha on? Or was she innocent in everything, even knowledge?
“Mrs. Trumble seems to balk at most of Mrs. Seymour’s choices, I’ve noticed.”
Martha’s lips pinched. “Yes, she does. You must realize though that Trumble was second in command to Commander Seymour when he was alive. Alice did a great deal that the staff was unaware of because the commander was her spokesperson. So the transition has been hard on both women. I believe Mrs. Trumble will come around though. She is very good at her job and loves Windvale.”
“Did Commander Seymour hire Mrs. Trumble then?” he asked.
Martha nodded slowly. “Yes. He took great care with his hiring.”
“She is not from the island though? I would have thought the Commander would choose to staff his new home from within the community.”
“We would have liked that a great deal, but it is not uncommon for a wealthy man to bring his own staff.”
“Mrs. Trumble was with him before coming to the island?”
Martha caught his eye, pausing her work. “Mrs. Trumble has not taken me into her confidence. I do not know much of her past, only that the commander put her in place in the house before the rest of us were hired on.”
Henry nodded. That did not particularly help him, except in thinking that if Mrs. Trumble was a personal hire of Seymour’s, even before coming to the island, it made sense that she had such loyalty to him.
Was that why she’d turned to smuggling when he’d died?
To support herself in case her master’s widow decided to turn her out?
Or had she been involved in smuggling even earlier than that?
A great deal of questions he might never see answered. But the truth of the matter was that Trumble was likely unimportant in the grand scheme, and if she was as antisocial to servants she’d worked beside for over half a decade, Henry could hardly expect to discover much.
The roll was gone, and with it, his excuse for being there. Slowly, he came to a stand. “Thank you for the food, Martha.”
She nodded and he began to retreat, but paused by the door.
“Mrs. Martha,” he asked. An idea had been percolating in his head for some days now, and the cook was likely to be a help there, if not with the smuggling. “Would you be willing to help me with a small surprise for Mrs. Seymour?”
“Certainly, so long as it is something she would enjoy.”
Henry shifted his weight. “I hope it is. She did tell me it was something she should like to do.”
She gave a nod as if that decided it all. “Then I am ready and willing whenever you need me.”
“Thank you. I have a few things to plan, then I shall return in the next day or so.” The evening was not an entire loss then.
“Sir Henry?”
Henry turned back, hand on the door. “Yes?”
“As I said, Alice is like a daughter to me, and I wish to see her happy. She is a gentle soul. Naive, in a way, despite life experiences. She deserves someone to protect her and care for her.”
Henry’s chest hurt. Was Martha giving him a sort of blessing? Or could she see him for who he was, and was instead warning him off?
All he could do was nod. “I agree entirely.”
It must have been the correct answer because the woman smiled, buttered another roll, and wrapped it in a napkin before sending him on his way with it in hand.
Halfway to his room, a footman crossed his path, carrying rags and several silver candlesticks. He pulled up short when he saw Henry, bowing with a grin.
“Sir Henry,” the boy greeted.
“Jimmy, you’re working rather late.” Henry said, pausing to speak with the servant.
Jimmy shrugged angular shoulders, the candlesticks clinking together. “Mrs. Trumble said these needed polishing before breakfast and I’d choose staying up late over waking early to accomplish the task.”
“Not an early riser then?”
Jimmy shook his head. “Not if I can help it, sir.”
“A man of my own sentiments,” Henry replied. “Here.” He handed him the napkin-wrapped roll. “To keep up your strength.”
Jimmy appeared surprised, shifting his load to take the offering. “Thank you, sir. I hope you have a pleasant night, sir.”
“You as well, Jimmy.”
A storm had rolled in the following day. They had enjoyed a quiet day, then dinner and a reading in the drawing room, punctuated by blankets of rain against the windows.
Several of the men escaped to play billiards again, but not Sir Henry. He had remained at Alice’s side most of the night.
Lightning flashed across the darkened sky, visible from the kitchen door that stood open.
“The rain is getting in,” Alice remarked to Martha, tucking her unbound hair over her shoulder. Heavens, but it was wonderful to take those pins out.
The older woman only smiled. “My mother used to tell me an old wives’ tale about rain, how it washed in good luck. We could use a little luck, don’t you agree?” Her eyes twinkled.
“I suppose so.” But at the moment, Alice already felt quite fortune-favored. She smiled, returning to planning the following week’s menu.
Lightning flashed again, but the illumination was shadowed by a form in the doorway. Alice dropped her pen, standing.
“Miss Ainsley!” she cried, jolting forward. “Is everything well?”