Chapter 19 #2
We opened the door leading to the servants’ stairs to descend belowstairs while he ascended up toward the nursery.
Almost directly across from the base of the staircase was the entrance to the servants’ hall, where we could hear several voices conversing.
From our left issued the usual bangs, sizzles, and thwacks associated with all the racket of a manor’s kitchen, while to the right lay a corridor with a series of bedchambers designated for mostly the female staff.
The housekeeper claimed the suite of rooms at the corner nearest us while the butler was given the suite at the opposite end.
The bedrooms for the cook and footmen were located on the other side of the building, between the kitchens and the various other workrooms.
Upon reaching the housekeeper’s suite, we found the door to the neat and tidy sitting room ajar, but rapped on it nonetheless before pushing it open.
Anderley straightened from his position leaning against the wall near the door while Bree rose to her feet from a wooden bench where I imagined Mrs. Taylor made recalcitrant maids sit when they required a reprimand.
As they approached us, I could see the housekeeper beyond them sitting in one of her chintz floral upholstered chairs, her hands clasped in her lap as she observed the proceedings with an expression of placid indifference.
More intriguing, a second man claimed the matching chair next to her.
As he was not dressed in Lord Gage’s livery, but the clothing of a conservative gentleman, I suspected he was valet to one of the guests.
A gentleman’s gentleman, as it were. Albeit a young one.
He’d broken off from whatever he was saying to wait for our personal servants to explain matters to us.
“This is Mr. Armstrong, Lord Milngavie’s valet,” Anderley explained.
“He witnessed somethin’ that we think you’ll find verra interestin’.” The tone of Bree’s voice and the glint in her eyes left no doubt what she thought.
Mrs. Taylor seemed to take this as her cue, rising to her feet. “I shall leave the matter in your hands, then,” she said, a similar glint in her eyes. “But let me know if you should require any further assistance.”
I thanked her and she nodded, closing the door softly behind her.
I trusted that she would keep whatever she’d heard to herself, for in the past I’d found her to be the soul of discretion.
Also, traditionally, servants’ gossip moved up or parallel to the chain of command, not in the other direction.
Gage approached Mr. Armstrong. “You have something to tell us?”
“Aye, sir,” he replied, fidgeting in his chair.
“M’lord…Lord Milngavie,” he clarified. “He said I should inform someone straightaway, and Mr. Anderley, here, had been askin’ if anyone had seen anythin’.
” He paused, his eyes widening uncertainly.
“I…I would’ve spoke up straightaway, but it seemed I should ask his lordship first, seein’ as he’s, ye ken… m’lord.”
His brogue was thick and his meaning a bit garbled, but we were able to work out what he was trying to say.
Watching his eyes dart between us all nervously, I found myself revising my estimate of his age.
He must be even younger than I’d first thought.
Perhaps someone Milngavie had brought along with him from his former life before he inherited his title and estates.
In that way, Milngavie and Birnam were similar, considering Paget’s origins.
“Of course,” Gage replied as if everything the valet had said made perfect sense. He gestured for me to take the chair Mrs. Taylor had vacated while he perched on the matching tufted footstool. “So what did you witness?”
Mr. Armstrong swallowed, seeming to settle once he saw how equitable Gage was being. “The afternoon we arrived, a few o’ us was in the laundry, chattin’ while we waited our turn with the box irons. Gettin’ our lords’ and ladies’ garments ready for dinner, ye ken?”
Gage nodded in encouragement.
“Weel, there we was, actin’ friendly, takin’ turns wi’ the starch and iron, and in walks this maid.
I learnt later her name was McClintock and that she works for Mrs. Birnam.
Anyway, in she walks, skirtin’ round the room, no’ sayin’ anythin’ tae anyone.
I may o’ only noticed ’er cause I was facin’ the door.
And cause she was actin’ all sleekit, like my younger brothers do when they’re up tae no good. ”
I was sorely tempted to smile at this description, but I refrained, not wanting him to falter.
“So I watch ’er from the corner o’ my eye.” He tapped his face there. “And I see that she’s holdin’ a bottle.”
My hand closed around the arm of my chair as I strained not to react, though I could feel Bree’s gaze on me. Clearly, she’d recognized I already knew where this was leading.
“I didna ken o’ what, but it was like she didna want us tae mark it.
” Mr. Armstrong frowned. “Then durin’ a moment o’ distraction she slipped it ontae a shelf and left the room.
I didna see when she actually did it, but I noticed where the bottle was when next I looked up,” he confessed.
“And curious, I went tae see what it was once I finished wi’ his lordship’s shirt. ”
“And what was it?” Gage prompted even though it was evident he also already knew.
“Oil o’ vitriol. A bottle wi’ Birnam’s mark.
” His face crumpled in worry. “At the time I didna ken that it meant anythin’.
I just noticed she was actin’ odd. Even later, I wasna quick enough tae put it taegether, but then I realized…
the young lady that was murdered…” He swallowed again, struggling to finish the sentence.
“Thank you for telling us,” Gage said, sparing him. His eyes met mine briefly, stark with the knowledge of what this meant for our inquiry and for my brother. The likelihood that the Birnams were involved had just increased tenfold.
I grasped the arms of my chair even tighter, trying to ignore the sour taste that had flooded my mouth, and ordered the contents of my stomach to stay put.
“You said there were other people in the laundry with you?” Gage glanced back at Bree and Anderley with a nod to tell them they’d done well. “Do you mind telling us who they were?”
He designated them by their employer’s name, correctly deducing that we would not know their personal names. “Let’s see, there was Lord Tavistock’s valet, and Mr. Birnam’s…the younger Mr. Birnam, no’ the older.”
My heart sank further.
“And Lady Brougham’s maid.” His eyes were narrowed in thought. “Ah, and Lady Cromarty’s maid.”
Gage turned to Anderley and Bree again, and they moved toward the door, anticipating that he wanted them all to be located immediately. “Keep Mrs. McClintock separated from the others. Ask Mrs. Taylor or Bowcott for assistance, if needed.”
Mr. Armstrong’s eyes had widened in alarm. “I dinna ken if they saw anythin’,” he protested, obviously concerned he may have gotten them into trouble.
“We realize that, but it’s important that we verify it,” Gage reassured him. “There’s a chance that one of them did see something that could prove pertinent and simply doesn’t realize it.”
The young valet still appeared doubtful, but he seemed to recognize there was little he could do to change our mind.
“Did you happen to notice if the bottle is still there?” I asked, realizing we might be putting the cart before the horse. Was it too much to hope that the bottle we’d found next to Miss Whitlock’s body had been a different one?
“I’m afraid I didna think tae look again ’til today,” Mr. Armstrong admitted with a small shrug. “But it’s no’ there noo.”
This wasn’t proof, of course, that this bottle of oil of vitriol was the one that had been used to attack Miss Whitlock, but it was certainly suggestive.
We had been unable to locate where the acid had come from, but here was a bottle, seen just hours before Miss Whitlock was killed, which seemed to match the one found next to the victim.