Nooks & Crannies (6 page)

“I like animals too,” said Viola, patting Tabitha's knee.

Tabitha's hand went automatically to the pin. “It's a bittern,” she said, hating herself for the blush she couldn't stop. After all, there were
far worse things
than being insulted.

• having her hair pulled out, clump by clump

• sifting through a rubbish bin for rotten food to eat

• witnessing a carriage running over a kitten

“Oh, a bittern!”  Viola exclaimed. “We just learned about those in our nature course. Our teacher said that they used to be found in the wet areas of England, but they've nearly all died out. It was so very sad to hear that I told her perhaps some have hidden themselves away. Perhaps they'll come back one day.” She leaned over Oliver and looked at the pin more closely. “It
is
lovely. Do you know that the Countess has given away nearly eight thousand pounds to avian causes?”

“Birds are very big in jewelry design now. My mother has a piece almost exactly like that pin,” Oliver said, glaring at Frances. “In fact, that design would fit in nicely at any of my father's stores. Where did you get it? I'll recommend the jeweler to my father.”

Tabitha reddened once more. Oliver was just being kind, lying and trying to knock Frances down a bit. “My mother gave it to me.”

“How nice. I'm sure it was her best piece, too,” Frances said, keeping her eyes wide and innocent.

Tabitha gripped Pemberley lightly, willing his influence to keep her silent.

“The Countess is sure to like your pin,” Edward said, having finished his treat. “There were swans on her seal.”

“Oh! And we learned of something of swans in class as well. Boy and girl swans mate for life,” Viola said with a soft smile. “You know, the Countess never remarried after her husband died. I think it's terribly sweet and romantic.”

Edward pulled a worn envelope from his back pocket. He peered at the broken seal, trying to press it together. “Huh. Doesn't look romantic to me. They're the same size on this seal, aren't they? Boy swans are bigger than girl swans in real life, so I'd say these two are brothers or sisters, or maybe best mates, but not the best of
mates
.” He chortled at himself, then scratched his nose. “If I recall, the Countess's husband was rumored to have been
murdered
. And I've heard the place is haunted with all manner of ghosts.” He winked at Frances. “You're not the only one with access to rumors, are you, tea cake?”

Frances sniffed. “Good God, do you never stop thinking of food? And I suppose anyone with access to the daily tabloids knows of the ghosts. Former employees, bitter from being let go and looking to make money with their lies, Mother says.”

Viola looked around the foyer before raising her eyebrows and lowering her voice to a whisper. “I don't have any information about the ghosts, but I heard something about her husband's death. It was probably in a grisly manner.”

Oh my.
Tabitha's curiosity bullied away her silence, and she found herself unable to remain quiet. “Um, sorry, but why do you say that?” she asked, wishing very much that she had either a writing tablet or Pensive's enormous memory to store the information in.

Viola cleared her throat. “Since moving to Hollingsworth Hall, the Countess has given five thousand pounds a year toward hospital care for injured constabulary workers across England, from city police to small village watchmen and parish constables. And the funds were marked only to care for the fiercest of injuries—manglings, blunt force wounds, slashed appendages, things like that. I don't know how much money she gave before she came to the Hall, because mother could only find donation records for the DeMoss name starting when the Countess moved there. But research shows that a consistent hospital donation of that size probably indicates some sort of traumatic injuries to an individual close to her.”

“And why the police, do you think?” Tabitha felt a flush come over her.
Stop asking questions! This isn't the time to play Inspector. Take Mum and Daddy's advice and just stop talking altogether.

But Viola didn't seem bothered in the slightest. Her lips twisted in thought. “Perhaps because they made proper inquiries. I overheard bits of conversation at a fund-raiser,” she added. “Two ladies were discussing how best to appeal to the Countess's sensitivities, and one mentioned her moving to Hollingsworth Hall with only her son and sister. And apparently early staff members overheard the Countess speaking with her sister about their husbands' deaths.
A double murder.
”

Tabitha patted Pemberley gently, but he didn't appear to be trembling. Tabitha had read enough Pensive novels aloud, she supposed, that the word
murder
didn't carry too much of a shock with it. And the
Times
article she'd read had hinted at the possibility.

Oliver clucked his tongue, opening and closing items on his pocket tool. “That's awful.”

“Yes,” Viola said. “No wonder she wasn't ready for another marriage after that.”

Edward shrugged. “Though I suppose none of the gossip ruled out the Countess and her sister doing the husbands in themselves. Seemed they came into enough money to buy themselves a Hall. Ha! Not too shabby, I say.”

Viola gave a good-natured harrumph, followed by an affectionate smile. “Oh, Edward, you'll never be a romantic.”

Edward popped another chocolate into his mouth and grinned. “Never planned on it.”

Vaguely, Tabitha wondered what it would be like to have a close friend to trade barbs with, rather than a mouse. Not that there was anything inferior about a mouse.

A man in formal driver dress stepped into the lobby, straightened his coattails, and cleared his throat. “Transportation to Hollingsworth Hall, ladies and gentlemen. Children in the first carriage, adults in the second and third, please.”

Lined up were three splendid black carriages, each with a driver and a footman. The dark veneer contrasted dramatically with the white horses set to pull them along. Even the horses seemed formal, stamping their feet with strength and dignity, trying to keep warm in the early afternoon air, which was growing colder by the hour.

They shuffled outside, the parents scrutinizing the children as they exited one by one. Mrs. Dale kissed Viola's forehead, and Mr. Appleby shook Oliver's hand in a mock-serious way. Frances Wellington had brought a trunk and two cases and made herself busy by ordering an attendant to be careful.

“Doesn't even feel like there's anything in this one,” said the man, lifting one of her cases. “A nice surprise and change from the heavier loads,” he added, reddening under the influence of Frances's cool stare.

“Do hurry, please, children,” said another attendant.

“Why don't
you
hurry,” Frances told him, stomping up the short steps and into the double-benched space.

“Settle in, everyone,” the lead driver called over the activity. “It may be a bit of a bumpy ride.” He turned his face to the darkening sky, where white and gray clouds billowed and grumbled overhead. “We've got a few hours to drive, and the world looks fit to send something unsightly our way at any moment.”

The very rich and those who long to be so, Tibbs, are often odd birds, who only dirty their cages when others aren't looking. Astonishingly foul, the habits some people keep secret.

—Inspector Percival Pensive,

The Case of the Interrupted Ingenue

T
he Countess's property was thirty minutes at a fast clip from the last home they'd spotted, its isolation adding to the splendor of Hollingsworth Hall. Indeed, Tabitha's mouth hung agape as the carriages drove between two low stone walls, crossed a bridged stream, and finally came into view of the group's destination. It was a confident structure that had no tilting or looming about it, unlike Tabitha's future residence, Augustus Home. And it most certainly was not full of orphans.

No less than ten chimneys dotted the estate like top lookouts, and three small diamond-shaped windows perched closely together near the very top of the Hall.
I would deduce, Pemberley,
Tabitha said silently,
that even the attic space in Hollingsworth Hall is certain to be true cozy quarters.

“Ho! It's a country palace,” said Edward.

It wasn't quite a palace, Tabitha decided, but it was still the most impressive home she had ever seen. She let her eyes follow the gables and sloping roofs downward, her gaze slipping and sweeping around the different angles of the manor. Lit by tall, glass-sheltered gas lamps, the lower half of Hollingsworth Hall was a somewhat unsettling study of shadows, with manicured trees and bushes queued up as though standing guard.

The horses came to an abrupt halt, jolting the children so that they were torn from their seats and flung together like trapped trout. It was a lumbering process, waiting for the adults to arrive behind them and then waiting while the children's bags and trunks were unloaded in the harsh weather. Though the rain that had pitter-pattered, then pelted the carriages during the drive had stopped, the ground was wet and boggy, sucking at feet as though hoping to keep anyone from ever leaving the estate. When nobody opened the large set of front doors, the group huddled together in a heap, not quite sure what to do next.

“What do you think we're doing here?” Mr. Dale asked Tabitha's father.

“Standing in the cold, aren't we,” Mr. Crum replied. He sniffed. “If you're talking about why we were all invited, Dale, I don't know, and if I did, I don't believe I'd tell you.”

Mr. Dale looked baffled. “Oh.”

“We haven't a clue either,” Mr. Appleby said, stomping his feet and stepping around his wife to block the wind from her. “Does anyone else?”

Murmurs of “no” and various speculations whirled into the wind and disappeared as they waited. The temperature had dropped several degrees since leaving the hotel and a cold, foreboding scent like frost and frigid things filled the outdoors, as though winter was arriving early and had chosen to make its first appearance at the Countess's home. Tabitha watched her father. Mr. Crum had a short fuse when it came to patience and shallow reserves when it came to politeness, so it seemed fitting that he was the one to finally shove the group apart.

“I suppose I'll see to the door,” he said, “if there aren't any servants about.” He grumbled about someone not knowing standards of decency if they were slapped in the face with them, but as he approached the wide set of carved wooden doors, he shied a bit at placing his hand on the knocker held within a brass gargoyle's jaws. Quickly, as though he might be bitten for impudence, Mr. Crum banged on the entrance.

Four solid raps echoed somewhere deep within the manor. Mr. Crum stepped back as the thick wood eased inward in slow motion. The door opened, revealing a statuesque butler standing at the fore of a marble-floored foyer. Tabitha noticed that his sideburns were meticulously trimmed and his eyes were brown and steady. A deeply clefted chin and a slight, involuntary lip twitch saved his face from being ordinary. He wore a black uniform with dark brown dress shoes.

“Good evening. Do come in.” He bowed, showing a bald spot on top of an otherwise-thick head of black hair streaked with a few bits of silver.

Mr. Crum straightened his jacket and peered around the man. “Yes, well. Who the devil are you? Where's the Countess?”

“
I
am Phillips. The butler. The Countess of Windermere does not answer her own doors, sir. Welcome to Hollingsworth Hall.”

A rush of icy air blasted the crowd, which scurried in without further hesitation. A hush fell over the guests as they soaked in their first view of Hollingsworth Hall's interior.

On the foyer walls hung two portraits, one on each side, both of older gentlemen. Each oil painting was displayed under black curtains, pulled back with gilded ropes, and each portrayed a man sitting in an armchair, holding a large pocket watch. The men's faces were such that the eyes seemed to follow Tabitha across the open room. She watched them watching her, wondering if the paintings had been silent witnesses to any wandering spirits.