Chapter 27
ELIJAH TOMPKINS - BUTLER
The piercing telephone ring broke the stately calm of the gloomy early evening.
Before removing my white cloth gloves, I swiped a speck of dust off the vintage Bordeaux's yellowed label. With a grimace at the unwanted intrusion, I left the solitude of my butler's pantry and crossed the hardwood floor of the massive estate kitchen to the landline telephone.
The staff had asked for the phone system to be updated, but I refused. There was nothing dignified about hunting for a wireless phone between the couch cushions.
As I passed a housemaid on her hands and knees scrubbing the ancient floorboards, I waved my hand to an area over her right shoulder. "You missed a spot."
Her glare burned the back of my neck, but when I turned her eyes were cast down, her brows furrowed in concentration. If she'd been so focused before, perhaps I wouldn't have had to remind her of her failings.
I'd deal with her insubordination and subpar work later.
Turning my gaze back to the shrill ring of the landline, I caught the maid's rolling eyes in the shining reflection of a copper pot.
She wasn't going to last. I made a mental note to skip speaking to her directly and instead go straight to the housekeeper, Mrs. Bigsby, about the sour disposition of her new housemaid.
I cleared my throat before lifting the phone receiver.
"Ravenscroft Estate, Head Butler Mr. Tompkins speaking.
Whom may I ask is calling?" I intoned slowly and deliberately.
"Cut the crap, Elijah, it's Stewart."
I yanked on my suit vest before smoothing my palm over the buttons to make sure it lay properly. I then reached for my gold pocket watch, a gift from Mr. Worthington's father. I read the inscription, To my loyal servant, before checking the time. It was 5:27 p.m.
I was expected in Mrs. Bigsby's office in precisely three minutes to approve the week's menus and I still hadn't fully decanted the Bordeaux for tonight's dinner of roast lamb, which would be served promptly at 8 p.m.
This phone call was a disruption to my day I could ill afford. "Sheriff Walsh, this is an intrusion I neither invited nor appreciate, and I would thank you not to use such foul and, might I say, wholly inappropriate language for a man of your position."
How this man was elected sheriff of Cliffs End I would never know.
Stewart's laugh turned into a prolonged smoker's cough before he finally responded. "Jesus H. Christ, El, we went through school together. You helped me graffiti the water tower when Crystal Shanks dumped me. Can you stop with the bullshit Sheriff Walsh crap? There's a problem."
I did not appreciate the crude reminder of my humble upbringing. If only the sheriff had endeavored to rise above the station he was born to. Suppressing another reprimand, I asked, "What seems to be the issue?"
"There were shots fired at the courthouse today."
I gripped the counter. "Mr. Worthington was there. Was he injured?"
"We don't think so."
I dropped my formal, measured tone and tightened my hand on the receiver as I asked, "What do you mean you don't think so? How can you not know for certain?"
Stewart guffawed. "Because Mr. Worthington wasn't the only one they were shooting at. He drove off in his car before I got there."
I pressed a hand to the center of my chest.
Mr. Worthington shot at by the police like a common criminal?
My heart beat rapidly and there was a slight numbness in my arm. I was certain I was having a heart attack.
His father and mother would roll in their graves.
Stewart continued. "So listen, we need to—"
Before he could even finish his request, I squared my shoulders and inhaled deeply before voicing my next statement in an even tone so not a single word was missed.
"Stewart, if you think, for one moment, I will allow you or any of those thugs you employ to step one foot on this estate, you are very much mistaken. "
I may not have a clue what was going on, but I still knew my duty. It was to protect the Worthingtons at any cost. If that meant keeping law enforcement at bay, then that was precisely what I would do.
Stewart made some ill-mannered sound in the back of his throat.
"Relax, El. I'm not storming the gates. I have it all under wraps.
I need to talk to Mr. Worthington, but that leads me to the second issue.
I found Mr. Worthington's Mercedes crashed into a tree on the main road to the estate when I was on my way out there. "
My composure fractured. "Goddammit, Stewart. Why didn't you state that at the beginning instead of wasting my time with your inane chatter? I need to get a search party together to find Mr. Worthington."
"Relax, I've already started a search."
The Worthingtons' care was my responsibility, not the sheriff's. I had well-paid loyal staff at my disposal, not county badge-carriers with more ammunition than sense. "I must hang up the line now."
Stewart yelled into the phone as I pulled it away from my ear. "Tell Mr. Worthington I will be there in thirty minutes."
I immediately summoned Mrs. Bigsby, Stanley our head groundskeeper, and Marcus our head mechanic. I paced in the kitchen until the household was assembled before me.
Puffing out my chest, I tugged on my waistcoat before speaking.
"Staff, we have a situation. Mr. Worthington's Mercedes has been found crashed near Ravenscroft Estate. He may be injured, wandering in the woods, disoriented. There is also a chance he may be suffering from a gunshot wound."
Mrs. Bigsby gasped.
"A gunshot wound," she repeated in a shocked whisper as she pressed her pudgy fingers to her lips.
I sniffed before lifting my lip in a sneer. "Please, Mrs. Bigsby, this is no time for hysterics."
The elderly lady lowered her head. "Sorry, Mr. Tompkins."
She lifted her gaze just enough to meet mine. Mrs. Bigsby had served this house longer than I had. Very little escaped her notice, and even less surprised her.
"If I may, Mr. Thompkins," she said, stepping closer to me, her voice dropping so the others wouldn't overhear. "This business at the courthouse. It wouldn't have anything to do with that girl, would it?"
I held her stare. "That is not our concern at present, Mrs. Bigsby."
"No," she agreed, folding her hands over her apron. "I suppose it isn't." She had her own opinions on the matter, as did I. However, as an equally loyal servant, she would keep them to herself...as would I.
Nodding curtly, I turned to Stanley. "Release the dogs to see if they can pick up a scent.
If we are lucky, they will lead us to Mr. Worthington.
Marcus, please go collect Mr. Worthington's car.
We have no need for anyone from town viewing the accident scene, which could lead to idle speculation and gossip.
I want the scene cleared before the first busybody arrives with a camera phone. "
"Yes, Mr. Tompkins," they both said in unison.
A clap of thunder drew our attention to the kitchen's massive arched window. Swiveling my head back to the staff, I barked, "You have your instructions. Go, now. Work quickly. We haven't much time."
They dispersed.
All except Mrs. Bigsby, who lingered by the doorway, one hand on the frame.
"Out with it," I said without turning.
"That boy has been nothing but trouble since the day he drew breath.
I've said it before and I will say it again, they may have been twins but they were never equal.
He may be dead but with all the trouble Jameson is causing from the grave it is clear to me the Lord wasn't the one who took him from this earth but the Devil himself," she murmured as she crossed herself.
I stiffened. "That will be all, Mrs. Bigsby."
She dipped her chin and withdrew, her sensible shoes making no sound on the hardwood.
Once again, my gaze was drawn to the storm battering the grounds outside.
While I hoped Mr. Worthington was unharmed, I couldn't help but reflect on the damage both he and his despicable brother had wrought on the fine name of Worthington these last few months.
Perhaps it was past time I put into action the plans their late father entrusted into my care should either of his sons bring disgrace upon the family name. It would be a drastic response, but the circumstances left little room for half measures.
I feared I may have been too patient, too willing to believe the Worthington name could weather any storm on its own. That indulgence was finished.