Emily Hendrickson (25 page)

Come night he paced the sitting room, tossing glances at the connecting door that led to where she slept. Or did she sleep? He hoped not, in a way, for it was only just that she feel something of what he endured.

He had read and heard that a proper lady did not have such emotions as passion, yet he wondered about that as well. It had been his experience—particularly with the beauteous Elinor Hadwell—that certain of those ladies possessed most passionate of natures. Perhaps it was a disgruntled and impatient, possibly obtuse husband who reached that particular conclusion.

“Did you have any luck?” she asked in a breathless voice as she reached his side, for she had hurried when she observed that he waited for her, leaning on his blackthorn cane for ease.

Julian caught a drift of heliotrope and felt a tightening in his loins. Blast it all, the very scent of her aroused him.

With superb control Julian took his wife’s elbow in a gentle clasp, guiding her along the flagged path in a leisurely stroll. The effect of the feel of her delicate bones on his fingers he preferred to ignore.

“I learned that Lord Twisdale came here now and again, mostly to visit his wife. He was not one for bothering about the workings of his estate, leaving all that to his agent. Few seem to know much about him, nor have the least liking for the man—which is not unusual for a peer of his rank,” he said, acknowledging a truism.

“Well,” she offered with a demure show of triumph, “I had very good fortune indeed. The shopkeeper said her husband had served as the gardener to Lord Twisdale for many years, his father before him, giving good service. He was abruptly fired immediately following her ladyship’s death. It was claimed that the gardener had brought in a basket of spoiled berries which the cook made into a tart for Anne.” Chloe looked at Julian with a pleased expression at her information.

“And you think this significant?” he asked, more to absorb her eager little face than to acquire knowledge, which he might surmise on his own—given a clear head.

“No cook worth her salt would use spoiled berries in a tart for her mistress. Unless, perhaps,” Chloe reflected, “she had been ordered to do so, or perhaps hated her mistress and wished her harm.”

“I had not considered that possibility; I was so intent upon proving Twisdale’s guilt.” Julian frowned at the introduction of this new angle.

“There have been numerous cases, or so I have heard, where a servant has tried to murder his or her employer,” Chloe said in a thoughtful way. “I fancy were one to receive horrible treatment for a long period it might happen. It would be as though goaded for so long, the person lost control.”

“Remind me to stop beating my valet.” He gazed at her earnest little face with amusement, thinking her friend Laura was lucky to have Chloe as champion.

“You tease, sir, but I think that has merit as a motive.” She gave him a playful tap on his arm, and Julian felt progress made at her sign of familiarity. She so rarely touched him of her own accord.

“We will continue to search, my dear. I will not consign the threat from Lord Twisdale to a heap so quickly.”

“I would not have Laura marry the man if it could be helped. But how can we prove anything?” Chloe turned a trusting face up to Julian, as though looking for guidance. He found her complete confidence in his ability to supply answers quite stirring.

“You could try nosing about the kitchen servants. Gossip being what it is, there might be something found there.”

“That I will do,” she said with a little nod. “Do you recall helping to send my grandmother’s scullery maid from the city? I found she is very happy here and most grateful to us for her removal from that house. I will wager that she would be pleased to snoop about for us if I ask.”

Chloe gave a happy skip as they approached the carriage that awaited them by the village inn. How fortunate she was that Julian was willing to help prove Lord Twisdale an unsuitable husband for Laura.

“While you interrogate the little scullery maid, I shall nose about on my own. Perhaps our gardener knows a thing or two he can impart.” Julian was thankful they had something of this magnitude to occupy a number of hours in the day or this honeymoon would prove unbearable.

He placed his hands firmly about her little waist to lift her up into the carriage rather than permit that dainty foot to use the step provided. The sight of so much leg was his alone, not to be shared with any village lad lurking about the place. It was a decidedly mixed pleasure to feel her body in his hands.

Once again, he experienced the frustration that came from his near-intolerable position. Perhaps if he could solve this crime they felt certain had been committed Chloe would turn to Julian with gratitude and something more? He grasped at any straw that came his way.

They rode back to the estate in companionable, if uncomfortable on Julian’s part, agreement. He pointed out where Lord Twisdale’s estate began, commenting on the austere house that could be viewed for a few minutes before they made a turning in the lane.

“I could see why Lady Twisdale might have run away from so dreary a place, if the exterior is anything to go by,” Chloe said with a concerned look at Julian.

“And if she feared for her life, would she not be more driven?” he added, persuaded that this might be the case.

“I believe I should,” Chloe said in a sad little voice.

Julian gave her a quick glance before returning his attention to the lane. The bend into the avenue that led to their home required care to negotiate and he had no wish to upset the carriage or cause Chloe harm.

Once in the house Chloe parted from Julian in the entry-way, conscious of his gaze following her as she carefully marched up the stairs to go to her room. When she had turned the corner she relaxed a trifle. How difficult it was to restrain herself when he touched her so often. It had to be accidental, for surely he was not truly interested in her. But how it affected her. Why, when he picked her up to set her in the carriage she had felt as though she might just go up in flames. It was most disconcerting, for she had never known anything like this before.

When they had discovered the truth of the matter involving Lord Twisdale and his wife now gone aloft, Chloe intended to distance herself from Julian. Perhaps he would at last grow bored with rural life and take himself back to the city? While she longed for his company she was not so foolish as to think he cared for her—in spite of his tender regard. Most likely he was merely putting on a show for whoever happened to be in sight. Or perhaps it was second nature for a scoundrel to be solicitous to a woman. Even his wife—such as it was.

She changed into a proper day gown, completely shutting from her mind the knowledge that it was not necessary that he put on any sort of display when they were alone or otherwise, for that matter. Nor would she permit his enormous appeal to swerve her from her determined path.

Chloe’s entrance into the kitchen caused a small stir, for the servants were not accustomed to a mistress around, let alone one who made frequent appearances. She soon found her quarry.

“Rose,” Chloe said gently, so as to not alarm the girl, “I have a puzzle. Could you help me find out something for a dear friend of mine? ‘Tis very important.”

Rose was speechless for a few moments while she absorbed the idea that her adored mistress would actually seek her help in anything, then she nodded eagerly. The girl had never been so happy in her short life as since she came to this country home. She would do anything possible to help the good lady who had made it possible.

“I need to know something about the people in the house on the next property,” Chloe began after checking to see that no one was about. “I suspect there was something a trifle havey-cavey about the death of his lordship’s late wife. Could you poke about and listen or ask a question or two about the matter? Someone said something about a spoiled berry tart. I want to know when it was served and by whom. I also want to know what sort of berries were used in the tart,” Chloe concluded.

“Well,” Rose said after some thought, “I be friendly-like with the kitchen maid. I kin ask her first.” From the dubious tone of Rose’s voice it was clear to Chloe that the girl felt her mission would not be very successful.

“Please tell me anything that you are able to find out. I will come again tomorrow.”

Chloe gave the girl an encouraging smile, then walked back through the kitchen to the hall where she met Mrs. Beeman. The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy when she saw her new mistress.

“Tell me, do you know any of the servants on Lord Twisdale’s estate?” Chloe ventured.

“That I do, ma’am. Or did,” the lady amended. “I had occasion to meet his housekeeper while in the village from time to time. Fine lady. I was sorry to see her leave.”

“He fired her?” Chloe guessed.

“Aye, and no referral, either. Why he did not send that miserable cook of his packing I’ll never know.” Mrs. Beeman firmed her mouth, an outraged look on her face.

“The cook who made the berry tart that her ladyship ate before she died?” Chloe said with growing excitement.

“You know about that?” the housekeeper asked in amazement.

“That I do and am desirous of any details you could offer,” Chloe said in a coaxing way.

“I do not know much other than that, but it was mighty odd if you ask me.” Then Mrs. Beeman seemed to realize that she was actually gossiping with her new mistress and ought not, even if encouraged. She curtsied again and murmured something about the stillroom.

Chloe felt that in spite of the lack of information at this moment she had made a small and promising beginning.

* * * *

Julian crossed the lawn to where the head gardener, Watcock, supervised the cleaning up of a flower bed. Plants past their prime were being removed to make way for others. It took some time to work around to the topic Julian wished to know more about.

At last the questions that had poured forth from Watcock were answered to the man’s apparent satisfaction and Julian found his chance.

“Understand that the gardener on Twisdale’s estate was accused of picking spoiled berries for the cook. Know anything about it? I have a need to know.”

Watcock gave Julian a shrewd look before replying, then said with slow deliberation, “Aye. As though a man of his experience would do a thing so stupid as that.” The gardener made a derisive spit at the ground. “Pollard—for that was his name—was a good man and knew his work. Never would ha’ picked spoiled berries.”

“What sort of berries were they?” Julian said, ignoring for the moment the use of the past tense in regard to Pollard.

“Berries? I suspect they were whortleberries.”

“What happened to the gardener?” Julian ventured.

“Pollard was accused with offering spoiled fruit to the cook, but naught could be proven one way or the other. So his high-and-mighty lordship sent off the best gardener he could find. Not long after that Pollard was run down by a coach while walking home from the Hare and Hart in the village. Never recovered.” Watcock shook his head and sighed.

With that the gardener clamped his mouth shut and said nothing more on the matter, although Julian patiently prodded him for additional details. It appeared that Twisdale’s effect on the servants extended beyond his land.

Julian sauntered off across the grounds after finding out the location of the bushes on his land that bore those small blue berries. Once he located the patch, he hunted until he found a few, then picked them for perusal. Two were past ripe and had that dull, wilted look of a berry about to go bad. He doubted anyone who knew a thing about the fruit could make a mistake. And if they were spoiled a trifle, could they cause death? He thought they could give one a stomach ache, but scarcely death.

Puzzled, for he suspected that he had consumed a few of such berries in his lifetime and suffered no serious effects, Julian wandered back to the house. Godfrey directed him to the library, where he found Chloe, her nose in a large book.

“What ho?” he inquired. He crossed the room until he reached her side. She stiffened as he drew near—which he found blasted annoying at this point. How was he ever to persuade her to accept his deception if she was as prickly as a hedgehog whenever he came near her?

“I am hunting through this excellent herbal to see if there is any clue in here,” she said in polite reply. Then, recalling where he had most likely been, she turned to eagerly ask, “Did you learn anything?”

“Not much,” he admitted. He casually reached out to brush a curl from her cheek, then rested his hand lightly upon her shoulder.

“Nor did I,” she confessed with equal vexation. She gave an uneasy glance at his hand, but said not a word about his touch.

“We will have to hope that someone will decide to come forth with the vital information. I did discover that the gardener accused of presenting those berries was later run down while walking home from the Hare and Hart.”

“Do you suppose it was deliberate?” she asked, alarm clear in her voice.

“Who could prove it?” He exchanged concerned looks with her.

“How dreadful.” She shivered, wrapping her arms about herself as though chilled. He patted her shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort and felt a tremor vibrate through her. Well…he fancied she reacted to him, but how?

“I suppose I might disguise myself and investigate over there firsthand,” she said with forced enthusiasm. “I could pretend to be a maid…or something.”

“Do you think you might be believed?” He picked up one of her slim, dainty hands that were delicately soft and smooth, ostensibly to peruse it.

“Oh!” Chloe tugged her hand away from his grasp with a charming blush and ruefully shook her head. “What a goosecap I am. Of course I would be suspect. I can only hope that Rose will learn a tidbit of use.”

Julian stood still while Chloe slipped from her chair, shrugging off his hand with a dip of her shoulder.

She crossed the room, then turned to face him, her hands clasped before her.

“You look as though you have more on your mind than the problem of the spoiled berry tart and Twisdale. Is it your friend?” Julian poked at the Turkey carpet with the end of his cane for something to do while awaiting her answer. The longer she deliberated, the more concerned he grew.