English Trifle (26 page)

~ ~ ~

Sadie’s mouth went dry as she considered her present circumstance—standing behind a partially open door to a staff member’s bedroom. How on earth would she explain her way out of that?

Her eyes darted around the room, looking for a place to hide but seeing nothing. Even the bed—a favorite hiding place of hers in the past—was too close to the ground to afford her an opportunity. Not daring to shut the door, lest it capture the attention of whoever was in the hallway, she pulled as far to the side of the door as she could and did the only thing she could think of, close her eyes and hold her breath while thinking invisible thoughts.

The footsteps stopped and she felt the hinge moving against her arm as the door was pushed open.

You can’t see me, you can’t see me, I’m the invisible woman.

“Grant?” a female voice called out quietly. Sadie opened one eye, but the door blocked whoever it was.

Don’t come in, don’t come in, don’t come in.

The mystery visitor paused an inordinate amount of time before the door began to close, allowing Sadie to breathe again, though the rush of blood in her ears made it difficult for her to hear anything else. The door was pulled shut with a snap and Sadie sent a million thank-you prayers to heaven as she opened her eyes and stepped out from the corner she’d wedged herself into. She stared at the door with absolute fear. Did she dare open it again? The thought made her physically ill. That she’d been so close to discovery was proof that she was not invincible and it made her knees shake. What was she doing? It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed her mind, but she must be crazy to be here at all.

Her eyes went to the small window above Grant’s bed, but she didn’t know how she could get to it. With no other option, she looked back to the doorknob, reminding herself that crazy or not she had to get out of this room before someone found her standing here with Grant’s letter shoved in her pocket. She took a deep breath, summoning all her courage and positive thoughts, and turned the knob. She was about to pull the door open when she remembered the paper sticking out from underneath the shaving kit.

Ignoring it was always an option, but even with her renewed concerns toward her current state of mental health, it wasn’t in Sadie’s nature to ignore something that could be important. With the door opened barely an inch, she reached forward and carefully scooted the paper out from under the kit. It was a half sheet, folded over once, and it only took a flick of her fingers to open it.

Master Liam,

Please allow me to explain myself fully so that you might know I am not the one worthy of the blame you place here—not the only one at least. Meet me in the sitting room while the final tea is being prepared for your guests. Please accept my apology in advance for the things I must tell you.

Sincerely,

John Henry Barro

~ ~ ~

Sadie read it again and her heart raced. She wanted to believe that Liam had simply had an argument with John Henry and that his recent mood was due to the fact that his father was sick. But with these words in hand she could not ignore the question—could Liam have killed John Henry?

It was a horrible thought and one that part of her rebelled against so strongly she clenched her eyes shut and shook her head. And yet when she opened her eyes and read the note again she had to admit that if she was being truly objective, it was a possibility—in fact it was the strongest possibility she’d encountered thus far. Even more than Austin. Whereas Austin had a bad attitude, a secret, and a suspect nature—there was nothing about the murder that directly pointed to him. Liam, however, had motive—he was angry with John Henry in regard to the earl’s care and they had argued, a fact he kept from everyone, including the police. And, if Liam knew John Henry was in the sitting room—per this note—it meant he had opportunity as well.

Even though it broke her heart to do so, Sadie forced herself to look at the possibility. Breanna and Sadie would have been upstairs packing while the final tea was being prepared. The fact that Grant would have been the one preparing the tea meant he wouldn’t be on hand to see anyone enter the sitting room. John Henry had something important to tell Liam—could he have hidden behind the curtains to make sure that no one else saw him?

She read the note again. I am not the one worthy of the blame you place here—not the only one at least.

Mrs. Land had been blackmailed into doing something against her nature. Was John Henry being blackmailed too? Had he had enough; was he ready to blow it all wide open? And yet the inspector said he was using a borrowed name, was not a nurse, and had outstanding debts. Surely his creditors had a better motive than Liam for killing John Henry in a fit of passion—but that in and of itself bothered her. How did the police find out so much about John Henry in such a short period of time? And how would these phantom creditors know John Henry was hiding behind the curtain? They would dump him in a river or blow up his car, wouldn’t they? Breaking into an earl’s estate, stabbing a man with a poker, and then sneaking back in to hide the body just did not seem consistent with fringe-of-society killers. Liam, on the other hand, knew the house, he knew the people in it, he was angry with John Henry, and he knew where to find a deadly fireplace poker.

But why would Liam kill John Henry if John Henry was going to tell him the truth?

Maybe Liam hadn’t received this note at all. What if it had been intercepted and that person then took matters into their own hands and killed John Henry before he could turn on his co-conspirators?

It was Grant who had sent Mrs. Land away, Grant who hadn’t been on hand when they found the body, Grant who managed the house and the people in it, and Grant who warned Sadie away from talking to the other staff. And the note was in Grant’s room. If a conspiracy was afoot, it seemed ridiculously naïve to imagine that Grant wouldn’t be right in the middle of it.

At that moment, Sadie’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket, nearly sending her through the roof. Still trying to catch her breath, Sadie pulled her phone from her pocket and flipped it open.

It was a text message from Breanna.

Where r u?

She imagined Breanna’s reaction to the answer that she was in Grant’s bedroom holding a note that could very well implicate either Liam or Grant in John Henry’s murder. She didn’t answer the text and instead closed the phone, shoving it into her pocket along with the note. She had to get out of here.

Once again she put her hand on the knob and slowly pulled the door open. Offering a silent prayer, she carefully stuck her head out of the doorway. Realizing it was clear, she stepped out and pulled the door shut. She could breathe again, but was faced with a decision—did she continue on to Austin’s room as had been her original goal, or did she go back to her room and review what she’d just discovered.

“Hey!”

Sadie froze with one foot in the air, preparing to take a step. Maybe the unfamiliar voice wasn’t talking to her.

“Hey,” the voice said again. Sadie turned her head, her eyes stopping on a large gray-haired woman standing several feet away. The woman put her plump hands on her plump hips and stared at Sadie through half-moon glasses that rested on her plump nose. “Whatcha doin’ down here?” she asked. “And who are ya?”

She hadn’t asked what Sadie was doing in Grant’s room, so Sadie forced herself to look a bit more relaxed as she turned to face the woman, assuming she hadn’t been there long enough to see where Sadie had come from. Hopefully the dim light of the hallway hid the guilty fear on her face. “I’m S-Sadie Hoffmiller,” she said. “I was, well, I’m looking for, uh—I’m lost.”

“Darn right yer lost,” the woman said. Some of the anger seemed to have left her tone, but Sadie didn’t dare trust it completely. The woman continued. “There ain’t any common rooms on the bottom level.” Then she cocked her head to the side. “Wait, ain’t you the woman that made up them hideous crumpets?”

Sadie realized this must be Mrs. Kinsley, the new cook, but having her ego pummeled after everything else that had happened was not a welcome turn to the conversation. “I was only trying to help.”

“Right,” the woman said with a nod. “Lord Melcalfe warned me you might try to worm yerself into my kitchen.”

“I’m not trying to worm my way into the kitchen,” Sadie said, not liking that she’d been the subject of gossip. “I’m just lost.”

Mrs. Kinsley regarded her thoughtfully. “You want anything special for your meals?” she asked bluntly, surprising Sadie. “I told Lord Melcalfe that there ain’t no way I can prepare proper meals on such short notice, but my daughter’s bringing up some things from the shop and there’s the fixin’s for a perfect plowman’s lunch in the fridge.”

“Plowman’s lunch?” Sadie asked.

Mrs. Kinsley shrugged one shoulder. “Bread, chutney, cheese, and a pickle on the side—fill you up right good. Though it’s nothing like the fancy stuff Mrs. Land has been shipping in this place.” She huffed, showing her obvious disapproval. Sadie couldn’t agree more.

“I’ll take filling over fancy any day,” Sadie said, daring a smile. She remembered her earlier thoughts about Mrs. Kinsley possibly being able to provide Sadie some information, but it was hard to not run away from the imposing woman. “So, you knew Mrs. Land?”

Mrs. Kinsley’s eyes narrowed slightly and it was all Sadie could do not to cower. “They wanted to pass her off as a cook—downright embarassin’ if you ask me. When she tried to tell me what to do in my own kitchen, I’d had enough. My daughter told me I had a job in her shop anytime I wanted it—and what with the earl doin’ poorly and a maid acting as a cook, it seemed as good a time as any.”

“So you left after the earl got sick?”

Mrs. Kinsley nodded. “What with Mrs. Land coming down to the kitchen and the earl’s lady friend coming to take the place over any time, it just felt like too many changes for me to figure. After the earl’s stroke I didn’t have much reason to stay.”

“Lady friend?” Sadie asked.

“Sure, who do you think he was fixing the countess’s bedroom for?”

~ ~ ~

Countess’s bedroom? Sadie repeated in her mind. A door opening further down the hall seemed to make Mrs. Kinsley realize she had other things to do.

“Well, you best get back on up where you’re supposed to be. I need to get back to the kitchen—seems everyone’s intent that we leave by noon, even though I just got here. I’ve got lots to do before then and my daughter will be here soon.”

Mrs. Kinsley shook her head, then turned and disappeared before Sadie could even find her voice again. Remembering the door they’d heard open, Sadie found herself hurrying to the west stairs. She was halfway up the stairs before realizing that she’d apparently decided to leave Austin’s room for later. At the landing for the main floor, Sadie turned on the light so she didn’t trip as she ascended to the top level, but she still scanned the hallway before letting herself out of the doorway and then into her room, prepared to find Breanna waiting for her. However, the room was empty. At first she was relieved, then realized that if Breanna wasn’t here, she was probably with Liam.

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and replied to the text Breanna had sent—it felt as though it took her five minutes. She was the slowest text messager on the planet.

I’m in the room—we need to talk.

She hit send and then tapped her foot while waiting for an answer. She rubbed a hand over her forehead as she considered what to do. Breanna texted her back, causing the phone to vibrate—startling her again. Her nerves weren’t up for this.

I’ll come when I can.

Sadie clenched her teeth in frustration. Should she demand Breanna return right now? Should she go hunt her down?

Those questions forced her to ask herself if she really thought Liam would hurt her daughter. She clenched her eyes shut and worked hard to push through everything else in order to focus on one thing—did Liam love Breanna?

It took only remembering his face when he looked at Breanna, especially after she’d told him they had no future together, to know that Liam would never do anything to hurt Breanna.

It was a comfort to have an answer to something. She would wait for Breanna—and while she waited, she’d get back to work. Before she got started, though, she changed the settings on her phone so that Stevie Wonder’s “I Just Called to Say I Love You” would play whenever she got a call or text—no more of those blasted vibrations that sent her blood pressure to the moon.

That taken care of, Sadie pulled the note from her pocket. She read it one more time even though she doubted there was anything else she could learn from it at this point. Then she pulled Grant’s letter out of her back pocket, still feeling a teensy bit guilty for taking it, but willing to live with it if it provided her more answers. She pulled a single piece of paper out of the envelope, sincerely hoping it wouldn’t turn out to be something lame like a bill.

She unfolded the paper onto the dresser top and smoothed it flat before she started reading.

Dear Grant,

Well, another week has come and gone and I’ve been given my weekly piece of paper. I realized as I sat down to start this letter that you’re the only person who wants to hear from me. For a minute it made me sad—and then I was reminded of the things they’ve talked about in our group sessions, that every person is priceless. And you are priceless to me. We’re having a big Christmas dinner tomorrow and it will be the first Christmas in almost a decade I’ve spent without you and at least a dozen glasses of eggnog. I’m not looking forward to it and wish I could sleep through the whole thing, but I know that’s a big part of my problems—I’ve wanted to sleep through too many things in my life. Sobriety often feels like I’m the forward in a brutal game of rugby, destined to be run over at any moment. But snoozing in the stands doesn’t win a game now, does it?

From your last letter it sounds like things at Southgate are the same as they’ve always been. It’s weird being surrounded by so many lords and ladies here, but proof that not a one of us lives a life free of struggle, eh?