Chapter Sixteen #2
“Drat, why didn’t I think of that?”
His teeth gleamed for an instant. “Between us, we’ll get there. Come on.”
He grasped her hand and drew her out of the orangery, which felt both strange and indiscreet. What if anyone saw? She pulled her hand free at once and flitted across to the staircase. As she hurried back to the drawing room, she was very aware of his standing there, watching her.
*
Rupert discovered the boot boy without having to ask for him. In fact, the lad came clumping down the kitchen stairs behind Rupert, the baize door swinging behind him.
The boy, who might have been thirteen or fourteen, halted, his jaw dropping when he caught sight of Rupert.
“Ah, you’re the boot boy,” Rupert said. The lad looked alarmed, glancing apprehensively at the pair of men’s boots and the two pairs of ladies’ shoes in his hands. “What’s your name?”
“Vic, sir,” the boy said. “That is, Victor. You haven’t got a complaint about the boots, have you? Mr. Kemp’ll kill me if he hears.”
“Surely not,” Rupert said lightly, although his blood ran cold. “But no, I’m not complaining. I just want to ask you about your work. In fact, if you’re going to clean those now, I’ll come and talk to you while you do so.”
Young Vic looked appalled, but since there was nothing else he could do, he led the way to the foot of the stairs and through the first door off the kitchen.
It was a small room dominated by a long wooden bench, with shelves behind for all the potions used to mix polish, and lots of cloths and brushes.
Vic set the shoes he’d brought with him on one end of the bench and gazed dubiously up at Rupert.
Rupert found a stool beneath the bench and lounged onto it. “You clean all the shoes and boots for the household?”
The boy nodded.
“Does Lord Chadbon’s valet or Her Ladyship’s maid not look after their footwear?”
“They used to, but I got so good at it they’re happy to let me.” He preened. “Different recipes for His Lordship’s best boots, and for Her Ladyship’s dainty shoes.”
“Good for you. A valued member of the staff.”
“I hope so, sir. Mr. Kemp says I can start training to be a footman next year.”
“That will be because you pay such attention to detail,” Rupert said wisely.
“After all, you don’t just have to polish all these shoes, do you?
You have to collect them all and put them all back in their proper place.
” He eyed the shoes and boots at the end of the bench.
“Don’t you usually collect them from outside bedchamber doors after everyone’s asleep? ”
“I do my rounds three times a day, sir. Early in the morning before anyone’s up, during the dinner hour, and then late at night. Then, when I’m putting the clean shoes back, I sometimes find even more outside other doors waiting to be cleaned—especially in this awful weather we’ve been having.”
“Most conscientious of you,” Rupert said admiringly. He’d never thought much about boot boys before. Though he’d grown up with their services and been happy enough to use those of his various hosts over the years, he’d never employed one. “So when did you collect shoes last night?”
“Just before midnight, I suppose.”
So, after the attack on Kate. “Were there many to collect?”
“Not really. Most people seem to be fed up with the rain and don’t bother going out. The ladies seem more adventurous. Lady Ambrose had right mucky ones last night.”
Rupert found himself smiling as he recalled the muddy child she had once been. Her footwear had been the least of her mother’s and the maids’ concerns. He pulled himself together.
“Who else left muddy boots or shoes for you last night? Mr. Otteridge, perhaps?”
“No, not last night. Mr. Newman did, but I got those at dinnertime.”
“What about Sir Colin Nye?”
But again Vic shook his head. “None of the other gentlemen, sir.”
Which meant nothing, of course. Anyone who was out trying to commit murder would surely hide the evidence of their muddy boots. Unless the shot really had been fired from inside?
“What about the night everyone arrived?” Rupert asked. “Tuesday. You must have had lots of muddy traveling boots to deal with.”
“Coo, yes, sir, lots,” Vic said fervently. “Got them all done by morning, though. Had a head start, mind, since I collected some at dinnertime. Why?”
Rupert brought him back on course. After all, he should really be drinking port in the dining room, and he had already been gone some ten minutes. “Any indoor shoes or dress shoes among the late-night offerings?”
“Just His Lordship’s.”
Who had been in the grass around Dinah’s body.
“And Mr. Kemp.”
Who had also been by the body and run to the stables to send the boy for the doctor.
“None of the other gentlemen?” Rupert could barely hide his disappointment, although, of course, the muddy shoes could be hidden away, not necessarily put outside in the passage for cleaning.
“No, sir,” Vic said anxiously, clearly sensing he had let Rupert down. “Just the ladies.”
Rupert focused on his face. “Which ladies?”
*
A few minutes later, Rupert was back in the dining room—to find it empty of all save Newman, who was filling a plain silver flask from Lord Chadbon’s decanter. Hearing Rupert enter, he turned and grinned, raising the decanter.
“Want some? You seem to have missed out altogether.”
“Why not?” Rupert said amiably, keeping his gaze on Newman while he fished out his own flask. Men bonded over brandy. Apparently over helping themselves to their host’s brandy, too.
Newman duly pocketed his flask and took Rupert’s from him, generously pouring Chadbon’s grog like a perfect host. “Remember that pretty maid who collapsed the last time you were here?”
Rupert glanced at him in surprise. “I do.”
“Don’t know what happened to her, do you?” Newman held Rupert’s gaze as he handed over the full flask.
Rupert returned the stopper and shoved the flask into his pocket. “You should ask the butler, or one of the other servants. Why?”
“Lovely little thing,” Newman said nostalgically. “Yes, I know I’m a married man—very happily so, too—but a man can still look, can’t he?” He grinned. “Or is that a sin, Mr. Grande?”
“You should ask a clergyman,” Rupert said, and Newman laughed as he turned and led the way to the drawing room.
*
Lady Chadbon, being the perfect hostess, was hard to speak to alone.
Kate had only just managed to claim the place on the sofa beside her when the gentlemen came in, distracting everyone.
After a noticeable gap, Rupert followed at the back with Newman, who was laughing and clapping him on the back in friendly fashion.
There would not be long before tea arrived and held Kate up further. So as soon as the general chatter began to rise again, she hurtled into speech, keeping her voice low and confiding.
“Might I ask, my lady, what made His Lordship choose Sir Colin as our Tory ally in the matter of the bill?”
“Because he has influence, of course. And because they have been friends, if not always allies, since they were boys.”
“Ah, I see. I did hear a rumor that the Nyes used to live at Tetley Hall.”
“That’s right.”
“Then you must know him very well. I gather there has been great tragedy in his life?”
Lady Chadbon sighed and lowered her voice further. “Indeed. He was quite devoted to his first wife, who died much too young, before she could even provide him with an heir.”