Amanda Scott (21 page)

Margaret’s lips folded together grimly as the others exchanged looks. It was she who gave voice to the name the others were thinking. “Jordan Caldecourt.”

Abberley nodded. “We still have little evidence, but perhaps the time has come to have a chat with that young fellow.”

“I don’t even know if he has returned yet,” Lady Celeste said. “We have not set eyes upon him since early afternoon, you know.”

“He said he had important business to attend to this morning,” Margaret said, remembering with difficulty that it had been only that morning when they had all set out for Periwinkle Hill.

“Well, I don’t know what his business was,” Lady Celeste said, “but I do know that he didn’t set foot outside his dressing room till almost noon. He was dressed as fine as fivepence—” She broke off with a thoughtful frown. “He wasn’t dressed merely to go riding into Royston on a matter of business but more as if he meant to impress someone with his sartorial splendor. Come to think of it,” she added, frowning more deeply, “he didn’t look like a man about to commit an abduction either.”

“It is possible that he wasn’t expecting the opportunity to arise,” Margaret pointed out. “When it did, he didn’t care how he was dressed. He simply took advantage of catching Timothy in the garden unawares. He is the only one who can benefit from Timothy’s death, after all.”

“I think we should get to the bottom of this,” said Lady Celeste, “and there is no time like the present.”

Although still obviously reluctant to confront Jordan without something solid in the way of evidence, Abberley agreed to let her send for Archer to arouse the young man from his sleep. The footman was found in the front hall, waiting for the gentlemen to depart and the ladies to retire so that he might snuff the candles and get to bed himself. His demeanor upon being informed of what was wanted of him was not conciliating. He had clearly hoped to be told he might begin to lock up. Some moments later, when he returned to inform them that Mr. Caldecourt was not in his room at all, let alone sleeping, he looked a good deal more cheerful.

“’Tis just as well,” the earl said. “This business will be better dealt with after we’ve all had some sleep.”

Lady Celeste didn’t agree with him, but she did exclaim over the late hour when she looked at the little gold watch pinned to her bodice. “Merciful heavens, I’d no notion it was this late. Do you realize it is nearly two o’clock in the morning? I haven’t been awake at this hour since we left Vienna.”

Abberley smiled at her, then reached for Margaret’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. “We’ll return tomorrow. I’d like to say we’ll come over first thing in the morning”—they heard Kingsted utter a long-suffering groan—“but I won’t promise anything so foolish. Besides, if Caldecourt isn’t back yet, he won’t be stirring before noon. I do have some people coming to see me on matters of business early in the afternoon,” he added, “but I’ll get rid of them as soon as I can.”

“You’d best plan to dine here, then,” Lady Celeste told him. “Since Annis insists upon sitting down to table by half past four, you’ll no doubt be here when she does, one way or another.”

He didn’t argue with her, but once the gentlemen had gone and Margaret had made her way to her own bedchamber, it occurred to her that there might be something a trifle awkward in Abberley’s accusing Jordan Caldecourt of attempting to commit murder one moment and then sitting down politely to dine with Jordan’s mother the next. She was too tired to consider the matter at length, however, and once she had wakened Sadie, sound asleep on a bench in the window embrasure, and sent her off to bed, Margaret slipped out of her clothes and into bed, intending to go straight to sleep. However, a distressing thought occurred to her and refused to be dismissed, so she got up again, wrapped herself in a woolen robe, and hurried up to the nursery floor. Discovering that Melanie had set up a truckle bed beside Timothy’s cot, she smiled in relief and went back to bed, secure in the knowledge that the boy was safe enough for the night.

Though it was not yet noon, it was still late the following morning by the time Sadie came to wake her. At first Margaret was annoyed, but once she discovered that Jordan had still not returned to the manor, she relaxed, and when she discovered how stiff she was from the previous day’s riding, she experienced a feeling of fond gratitude for her woman’s thoughtfulness. Dressing as quickly as her stiffness would allow but with an eye to the fact that Abberley and Kingsted might arrive at any time during the afternoon—it would not do to appear dowdy, after all, no matter what the occasion—Margaret emerged from her bedchamber at last, attired in a becoming light-wool morning dress of silver gray, its sleeves and hem edged with dark Naples lace. Her hair had been piled into an intricate twist of curls at the top that gave the appearance of a crown. She had pinched her cheeks to put color into them, not wishing to hear Lady Annis’s animadversions on the sins of paint and knowing full well that that lady would not approve of even the slightest touch of rouge. Even so, she had touched her lips lightly with a finger dipped into the rouge pot. Her thick black lashes needed no assistance, and she knew she looked very well indeed for a lady who had gone to her bed in the small hours.

She found Lady Celeste discussing a hearty breakfast in the small parlor set aside for that purpose. “Good morning, ma’am,” she said cheerfully. “Is there any more of that ham?”

“There is, indeed,” replied her ladyship, setting down her fork in order to straighten the fluffy lace cap perched atop her stiff gray curls. “It is very tasty, moreover, but you must ring for Archer if you want him. I sent him away. Puts me off my food with that muffin face of his.”

“He cannot help his looks, Aunt Celeste,” Margaret told her, giving a healthy rug to the cord, then helping herself from the pot of chocolate resting on the table before her ladyship. Sitting, she pulled her cup closer, then took a careful sip. It was tepid.

“No more, he can,” agreed Lady Celeste once she had finished chewing a bit of marmalade-covered toast. “But I don’t have to look at him. When are we going to find another footman or two? I am persuaded you ought to do so.”

“Yes, I think we should. Of course, Quinlan will be back the end of the month—”

“I ought never to have given him leave,” mourned her ladyship.

“Nonsense, ma’am. He had not seen his people in eight years. What else could you do?”

“True. Annis will not approve of hiring another man, however.”

“That is not her decision to make, is it?” It occurred to her that it wasn’t entirely hers either. “I shall have to ask Abberley, I expect.”

“He said you had the run of the house,” Lady Celeste reminded her.

“Yes, but another footman would be expensive. I ought at least to go through the formality of asking him.”

She decided to ask the earl about hiring more servants just as soon as he arrived, so as to get the matter out of the way before they got onto more serious business. However, it was after three before the gentlemen arrived, and they did not come alone.

Hearing a commotion in the drive, Margaret looked out the drawing-room window to see Abberley’s barouche drawn up at the door with Lady Annis’s landaulette just rolling to a halt behind it. Hurrying downstairs in the hope of speaking privately with the earl, she discovered that Pamela Maitland had arrived with Lady Annis.

“I found Miss Maitland walking alone while I was out driving,” her ladyship explained to them all. She had taken Pamela up with her, and upon discovering that the vicar was to dine with a friend some miles distant, she had remembered Lady Celeste’s having told her that the gentlemen were to share their dinner that evening, and she had invited Miss Maitland to join them. The only person who looked to be particularly gratified by the news was Kingsted.

He stepped forward enthusiastically. “Good show. Glad to see you again, Miss Maitland. Hope you weathered yesterday’s expedition well.”

“Yes, indeed,” she told him, coloring slightly as he clasped her hands between his own but making no effort to withdraw them. “I was not even sore, despite the fact that it has been some time since I last was on a horse for nearly an entire day.”

“You heard about the excitement last night, I expect.”

“Oh, yes.” She turned to Margaret, including the older ladies in a gesture. “You all must have been quite distracted. Naturally Papa was not expecting Timothy to come to lessons today. Is he quite recovered from his dreadful ordeal?”

“Yes,” replied Margaret, who had seen the boy earlier and given orders to Melanie not to let him out of her sight for a minute. “Today he thinks it was merely an adventure.”

“We’ve not heard the details, of course,” said Pamela with becoming hesitation, “and I am persuaded you will not wish to dwell upon the episode—”

“That is kind of you,” interjected Lady Annis before anyone else could speak. “The child was very naughty to have wandered off as he did, and even naughtier to be making up tales to protect himself from well-deserved punishment. It is not the first time, as I’m sure you are aware, that he has served such a trick to those whose duty it is to care for him. If Abberley were to do his duty properly, that lad would smart for it.”

Margaret, opening her mouth to defend Timothy, encountered a direct and clearly silencing look from the earl, and shut it again.

“Now, dash it, ma’am—” began Kingsted.

“Not now,” said the earl firmly, silencing him as well. “I am persuaded Lady Annis does not wish to hear any more on the subject. Shall we adjourn to the drawing room? Surely you will appreciate a nice cup of tea, my lady.”

Lady Annis shot him an enigmatic look, but she agreed that tea would be very nice, and no more was said about Timothy’s adventure. Since they could scarcely allude to their suspicion of Jordan’s guilt with regard to that same adventure in front of Lady Annis while she drank her tea, or in front of Pamela, for that matter, the conversation in the drawing room and later, over dinner, remained desultory. There was still no sign of Jordan by the time they had finished their leisurely meal, and when the ladies retired to the drawing room again, leaving the gentlemen to enjoy their port, Lady Annis said caustically, “You’d think someone might spare a thought to what has become of my son.”

“I am certain Jordan is quite well, ma’am,” Margaret told her gently. “If we do not seem to worry about him in the same way that we worried over Timothy, it is because we are convinced that Jordan can take care of himself. Timothy is just a child, after all.”

An odd, undecipherable look crossed Lady Annis’s face, and Margaret assumed it was a look of resentment, though it more nearly resembled one of guilt. No doubt the woman must have some idea of what had happened to Timothy, despite her staunch insistence upon the notion that the boy had invented the tale he’d told out of whole cloth. If she was truly worried about Jordan, Margaret told herself, it was probably because, no matter how staunchly she might deny it, she knew he had done something dreadful and was afraid he had taken himself off rather than face the consequences.

The notion grew stronger that Jordan had fled, so that by the time the gentlemen joined them, she was bursting to lay her ideas before them, but she could not do so with Lady Annis right there; so, remembering her earlier intention, she asked Abberley what he thought about hiring another footman.

“Good gracious, Margaret,” said Lady Annis immediately, “have you no sense of economy? What, pray, is there for a footman to do in this establishment that Archer cannot do? And that Quinlan fellow who arrived with you and went off again the next day, is he not returning soon?”

“The end of the month,” Margaret admitted, “but Quinlan is a lady’s footman, Annis. He is not accustomed to cleaning silver or boots other than Aunt Celeste’s (and mine when we travel), nor would he appreciate being sent into town to purchase produce. For that matter, Archer is your footman, is he not? He does not take direction from Moffatt very well, only from you.”

“I brought him with me, yes,” Lady Annis told her. “He is accustomed to my ways and did not wish to remain with the people who hired our house. And having him, I saw no reason to retain the others. There were far too many menservants in this house.”

“Well, now there are not enough,” Margaret retorted flatly. “We ought to have done something to rectify the matter sooner, but we need at least one more footman if for no other reason than when you are out with Archer, Aunt Celeste has no one to go out with her. And even when Quinlan returns, if both of you are out in separate carriages, Moffatt will have only the maids to assist him with all the housework. It takes a man to do the brass curtain rods properly and to polish the tables and the rest of the woodwork. Women simply are not strong enough to give wood the glow it requires. The house looks dingy.”

“Well, I like that—” Lady Annis began indignantly, but when Margaret tried to apologize, Abberley cut in to say that from what he knew of the matter no one had anything but praise for Lady Annis’s attempts to keep order during a time of confusion. Her look at him was anything but grateful. “It was hardly my responsibility, sir, but I am certain that dearest Jordan did only what he thought best,” she said stiffly.

“To be sure, ma’am, but Sir Timothy is scarcely purse-pinched, you know, and I’m persuaded that things here will run a deal more smoothly with two or three more menservants.” He turned then to Margaret, winking at her. “You may do as you like.”

“Thank you, sir.” His wink stirred odd tremors in her midsection, and she was grateful for Kingsted’s immediate description of his mother’s favorite footman. His anecdote was a funny one, and everyone laughed but Lady Annis, who gathered together the fancywork upon which she had been engaged and announced that she believed she felt a headache coming on.

“Oh, dear, ma’am,” said Pamela, immediately rising from her place and stepping toward Lady Annis. “Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

“No, thank you,” replied her ladyship. “I am often a victim of pain, and my woman knows precisely what will serve me best.” Without another word to any of them, she left the room, shutting the door quite softly behind her.