Evelyn Richardson (22 page)

“Yes. Aside from ladies’ maids, the landladies of this world are the single greatest source of information about the goings-on in any community. I feel sure that if there is any servant or any distant relative of a servant who once worked for your Great-aunt Belinda who remains in the vicinity, Mrs. Barnes is bound to know. I am sure that with the proper questioning, she will eventually be able to furnish us with some useful scraps of information she did not even know she possessed.”

“Mrs. Barnes? How do you know her name is Mrs. Barnes?”

Lucian raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Oh ye of little faith! Surely you know me well enough to know that the landlady already considers me a most delightful gentleman, so affable, and not at all high in the instep. I made her acquaintance before I came upon you crumpled on the floor in front of the lectern. It was she who directed me to the church.”

“I was not crumpled. I am not such a helpless…” but she thought better of it. When Lucian had found her, she truly had been helpless, and she had been so reassured by the strength and comfort of his presence and the warmth of his arms around her.

“Well, prone, then. But here we are. Let us see what she has to say.”

* * * *

“I would dearly love to help you, my lord, but try as I can, I can think of no one who can tell you anything about that day. Miss Smith, of course, went to the position up north I spoke of, and her maid, Prue, went to a brother somewhere in Shropshire, I believe as well as the coachman who left to look for work. I am that sorry, my lord.” The landlady shook her head sadly. “No, stay a minute. Yes, perhaps there is someone. The cook, Mrs. Elkins, now shares a cottage over in Lane End with her sister. She might just possibly know something.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barnes.” Lucian executed a truly exquisite bow. “You are a local treasure, it is plain to see.”

“Why, thank you, my lord.” She chuckled, dropped a flirtatious curtsey, and then proceeded to give them directions to Lane End.

“Honestly,” Catherine muttered in disgust. “She might at least have acknowledged my presence, but with you in the room, I simply ceased to exist. ‘I would dearly love to help you, my lord. Thank you, my lord.’ You should be ashamed of yourself, carrying on with
her like that.”

“People are more forthcoming with information if they are encouraged, you know. Sometimes, given the proper inspiration, they can come up with information they did not even realize they had.”

“Encouragement!” Catherine gave a most unladylike snort. “Dalliance, more like.”

“Come along. Let us find Lane End. I know from former days that you are a positive glutton for fresh air and exercise, and as it is not far, I propose we walk there.”

* * * *

They set off at a brisk enough pace, but the fineness of the day, the beauty of the countryside, and the pleasure of intelligent conversation were infinitely seductive, and as they made their way toward the cottage, arguing over the findings of the committee looking into mendacity and vagrancy in the metropolis, the walk turned into a saunter and the saunter into a stroll.

Pausing at the rose-covered gate that opened on the path leading to the cottage, Lucian regarded his companion with a critical eye. “You should take holidays more often, you know. Distraction from your work and your responsibilities puts the glow back in your cheeks and the sparkle in your eyes. You look as though you are once again enjoying life the way the Catherine Montague I once knew did.”

“Holiday! You call this a holiday?”

“There, you see. Of late you have been forced to take life so seriously that you even turn a walk in the country into a task to be completed.”

“But it is a task to be completed, and a very critical one too, I might add. Besides, I did stop to enjoy the countryside.”

“When?”

“Not long ago, before I was so rudely brought back to the present reality by a blow to the head.”

“Ah.” He regarded her with a curiously arrested gaze. “And what did you enjoy?”

‘The butterflies, the birds, the flowers, oh…a hundred things.”

He smiled as he ran a caressing finger down her cheek. “I am glad. You are too full of beauty yourself not to be able to enjoy it elsewhere.”

There was no telling how long they might have stood there gazing at one another, but the creak of the cottage door brought them back to the task at hand.

A tiny white-haired, rosy-cheeked old woman stood in the doorway. “Good day to you, sir, madam. What may I do for you?”

“And a good day to you, mistress,” Lucian replied. “We hope that you may be of some assistance to us.”

“I?” The white-haired lady looked doubtful in the extreme.

“Yes. Does a Mrs. Elkins live here?” Lucian flashed her a reassuring smile.

“That would be my sister.”

“I believe that she was a cook for some time to my Great-aunt Belinda Montague.” Not to be outdone this time, Catherine stepped forward and favored the woman with what she hoped was her own reassuring smile. “We were just wondering if we might have a word with her.”

“Just a minute. Oh, where are my manners?—I mean, do come in please, sir, madam.” She led the way into a tiny but immaculate room where a fire glowed brightly on the hearth despite the warmness of the day. “May I offer you any refreshment? My sister makes a most excellent blackcurrant cordial.”

“Thank you, no. We will not trespass long on your time, but we were hoping she might be able to answer a question or two.” Catherine tried to sound politely regretful rather than eager for information.

“If you will excuse me, I shall fetch her.” The little lady ducked behind a flowered curtain to the left of the fireplace only to reappear a moment later followed by an exact duplicate of herself.

“Betty, this gentleman and this lady have come to ask you some questions about Lady Belinda.”

Lucian stepped forward. “Do not be alarmed, Mrs. Elkins. It is a simple matter, really. We promise not to keep you, but Lady Catherine here is most anxious to know about the day her great-aunt died. It is rather important, you see, and though you may not have seen your mistress a great deal after she became ill, we know that a cook who works at the very heart of the household, especially a small one, is often more aware of its comings and goings than most people might think.”

“You have that right, sir. Though, by that time, I was getting along in years myself and not what I once was. But what is it that you wish to know?”

“Well, we know that she was ill for some time before she died.” Catherine ventured encouragingly.

“Yes, madam, an inflammation of the lungs. She fought against it, she did, and I made every delicacy I could think of to build up her strength, but it did no good. Why, the last night I do not think she even touched the tray I sent up.”

“But she was alive when the tray was taken up to her?” The studied casualness of Lucian’s tone might have fooled the two women, but to Catherine, the tense angle of his head, the tightness of his jaw, and the brightness of his eyes reminded her of a cat about to pounce.

“Oh, my, yes. The girl that took it up to her told me that Miss Smith tried to persuade the mistress to take a bite of custard, but even that was no use. And then much later when Prue went back to collect the tray, she met Miss Smith on the stairs coming to tell the coachman to fetch the doctor because she thought the old lady was getting worse.”

“And what time would that have been?”

“Let me see now, sir. Except for the tray, Prue had done all the washing up and swept the floor. I would say that it was somewhere between nine and ten o’clock in the evening.”

“And one more question, if you would be so kind, Mrs. Elkins.” Lucian nodded encouragingly. “What was the doctor’s name. Does he still live in the vicinity?”

“Dr. Taylor. But he was not able to come until after midnight on account of Mrs. Trimble’s having her baby—a most difficult delivery indeed, though to see the lad now you would never know it—so he did not arrive until well after midnight and by then my lady was already gone.”

“And the doctor?” Lucian prompted gently.

“—lives at the other side of the village just on the Gloucester road, about three miles from here.”

‘Thank you, Mrs. Elkins. You have been extremely helpful, most helpful indeed.” Lucian shot Catherine a triumphant look. “And you have vindicated my faith in cooks as the source of all knowledge in a household. Now we shall trespass on your time no longer. I bid you both good day.” A quick bow and a smile to the pair by the fireside and Lucian ushered Catherine back out of the cottage.

The door had barely closed behind them, however, when she turned to him. “What was that look for?”

“What look?”

“That triumphant smirk when Mrs. Elkins told you where the doctor lived.”

“Stop being so prickly, my dear. There is not the least need for it. I was merely letting you know how delighted I was to hear that the good doctor has not moved on as so many others in the case appear to have done. If you will think about it, you will realize that a determined lawyer might cast doubt on the reliability of Mrs. Elkins as a witness. She is, after all, quite old, and all her knowledge comes from hearsay. Dr. Taylor, on the other hand, is presumably a respected man of science. If he is ready to swear that your Great-aunt Belinda was but recently deceased when he arrived, then I believe we can prove your precious Lord Granville’s claim to be quite without merit, parish register or no parish register.”

“But do you think the doctor will be able to swear to such a thing?”

“If he is worth his salt he will be. But let us first fortify ourselves with a little refreshment before we go consult the good doctor. No?” He could not help laughing at her eager look. “You always were a little terrier, weren’t you, once you had got your teeth into something. Very well, then, we shall go this moment; however, for this journey, I suggest we take the carriage.”

The doctor was not only at home but very clear about the time of his patient’s death. “Yes, it was a busy night, that night, what with the difficulties of Mrs. Trimble. She was in a bad way or she would not have called for me—a staunch believer in the efficacies of the midwife, that one. It cost her a good deal of pride to call for a doctor, believe me. Young Trimble was born half an hour or so before midnight so I must have stopped by the manor house at some time after half past twelve. The old lady was dead, of course; no surprise, given her age and the illness, but Miss Smith, who was ever punctilious, wanted a doctor’s opinion.”

“And in your opinion, sir, how long had the lady been dead?”

The doctor looked sharply at Lucian. “A matter of some importance, I gather?”

“Important enough to ask you to swear to it, if need be.”

“Well, let me see. The body was cold, so she had been dead some time, but it was not stiff, so I should say it had not been more than a couple of hours—somewhere between ten and eleven o’clock in the evening, I should say.”

“And would you swear to it?”

“Certainly, I would swear to it.” The doctor was indignant.

“Then that is all we need, and I thank you very much for your time, sir.”

“There.” Lucian smiled down at Catherine as the housekeeper showed them out. “And now may we have some refreshment?”

Chapter Twenty-five

It was far too late in the day to set out for Bath, and Lucian, after noticing how Catherine winced as she removed her bonnet, insisted on calling for the doctor.

“It is just a bump on the head,” she protested, “nothing more.”

“That is as may be, but you are looking quite done up, my girl, and I would feel a good deal better if you allowed Dr. Taylor to take a look at your head.”

Catherine looked mutinous, but by this point, she was too tired to argue and she meekly allowed the doctor to be sent for, undergoing his examination without a murmur of protest.

After gently probing the bump, peering into her eyes, and having her look at his finger as he waved it back and forth in front of her face, the doctor pronounced her fit as a fiddle. “There is no sign of concussion,” he reassured Lucian, “and other than the headache that is to be expected after one receives a significant blow to the head, the lady should suffer no ill effects from her mishap other than to wonder why someone should wish to do her such a mischief in the first place.”

“Which is precisely why I wanted you to swear to the time of Lady Belinda Montague’s death. In fact, if you would be so good, Doctor, as to sign this statement I have drawn up for you…”

The doctor shot Lucian another penetrating look, took the paper, read it carefully, and scrawled his name at the bottom.

“Thank you, Doctor. That piece of paper should do more toward making this patient heal than any medical assistance you could possibly have rendered her.” Lucian smiled as he folded the paper and handed it to Catherine. “And now, my girl, you must rest.”

On principle, Catherine voiced her protest, but it was a very weak one. The events of the day, coupled with her injury, as well as the wild range of emotions that had buffeted her from hope to despair, along with other deeper feelings which she did not even wish to contemplate, had thoroughly worn her out and she soon retired to her chamber and Lucy’s expert care.

In fact, she only intended to take a short nap and was utterly appalled to discover that it was morning when she next awoke. “What? I have not slept through the entire night!”

“Indeed you have, Madam, and a very good thing it is too. You were that exhausted.” Lucy smiled comfortingly at her mistress as she handed her a pot of chocolate.

“Breakfast in bed? I am not an invalid.” Catherine sat up, preparing to swing her feet out of bed, only to be pushed firmly back against the pillows.

“Begging your pardon, Madam, but his lordship gave strict instructions as to how I was to coddle you.”

“Lord Charlmont? He is still here?”

“Yes, Madam, and most attentive he has been too, checking in now and again to see that you were sleeping soundly.”

“He watched me sleep? What business is it of his?”

Lucy turned quickly away to hide a knowing smile. “His lordship explained to me what happened yesterday and naturally, being the fine gentleman that he is, he was most concerned about your health.”