Nooks & Crannies (28 page)

“Harm you? Haunt you? Of course not. Neither.”

“Oh. Well, good then.” Tabitha stayed close to the door, turning the knob back and forth. Filling her chest with air twice, all the while aware of the specter's eyes upon her, she drew courage from a small reserve that had hidden itself somewhere so as not to be noticed until such an occasion arose. “Well, since you are not here to harm me, what can I do for you? I might add, I was awfully sorry that you died. You seemed a kind woman.”

The figure's eyes turned watery, and a single tear fell down each cheek as she nodded.

“Oh my, that's interesting and somewhat odd,” Tabitha chattered nervously, standing on her toes and drumming her heels alternately to the floor. “Your tears look quite real. I'll have to tell Oliver, assuming he doesn't get a visit from you. Will you go see him next, do you think?”

Through her fear, Tabitha realized it was the first time she'd thought of needing to tell anything to anyone, other than Pemberley. Oliver, who had raised a glass to toast with her. Who had squeezed her hand in a darkened foyer for comfort. Oliver, who had called her a friend. And he had meant it. He had.
Does Viola feel the same? And perhaps even Edward?
The flicker of hope that still burned within her, that Tabitha had guarded with care her entire life, said,
Yes. Yes, I think perhaps they do
.

Infused with the thought that she had a friend to report to and friends needing to be found, Tabitha gave herself a mental slap for clarity and gathered her wits. Although the ghost seemed emotional, there was a logic and an authority to its speech thus far. She must respond in a similar manner.

Summoning the assurance of Inspector Pensive, she composed a short speech. “I am Tabitha Crum. If I'm to believe the current lady of the house, you are the spirit of Mary Pettigrew.”

The spirit shook her head, waiting.

“No,” Tabitha said, “You are the spirit of . . .”

The spirit gave an encouraging nod.

“Camilla Lenore DeMoss,” Tabitha said. “Countess of Windermere.”

“That's right.” The spirit frowned. “Well, no, it's not, as I'm not technically a spirit. Or at all deceased. But I am half of the Countess of Windermere.”

“Half?” Tabitha stepped sideways. “How can a person be half of a Countess? I don't understand.”

“Please.” The figure stepped forward, reaching for Tabitha's hand. “Tabitha, please.”

The voice had a soothing effect. And the woman's face was so very gentle and open and kind. And there was something else as well. A weariness and sadness and desire for connection. A quiet desperation and heartache. In a way, it was like looking in a mirror.

Instead of recoiling, Tabitha let the hand touch her own. It was the same kind of soft skin that the dead maid had been graced with. She thought hard. Her eyes drifted to the woman's face, where she found a familiar nose and high cheekbones. The same blue eyes. Each of the woman's ears held a delicate silver bird with ruby jewels dotting the wing.
Red jewels, not blue ones.
Tabitha's gaze sank to a very familiar wooden bracelet.

“Half of the Countess.” With her free hand, she reached for the woman's bracelet and twisted until she was staring at the duo of swans. “Two swans. There are two of you. I thought you looked rather too solid for a spirit, but I've never encountered one and . . .” Tabitha tried to clear her mind.
Be like Pensive, get your facts.
“So you're not a frozen block in the garden?”

“No. I never was.”

“So,” she said slowly, “the dead woman is—”

“Is my sister, Millicent. I am Henrietta—Hattie Darling. We're twins, you see.”

“Twins.” Tabitha nodded. “It was there all along, and I simply didn't think of it. I'm terribly sorry if this is rude, but before you tell me who exactly
is
the Countess, by half or otherwise, you haven't happened to see four missing children, have you?”

Hattie smiled. “They're all quite safe on the third floor, my dear. And we are both the Countess of Windermere. We take turns, you see.”

Tabitha relaxed, then stiffened again. She eyed the area between her and Hattie Darling. Only after devising a clever way of jumping onto the bed and around the woman to access the passage did she ask her next question. “The files, madam. Can you explain the files in your study?” Tabitha tightened her muscles, prepared to spring at the slightest sign that the woman was guilty of the deaths. “The
murder
files.”

Hattie burst out laughing, then stopped suddenly, seeing Tabitha's petrified eyes. “Oh my, dear, those are
work
files. It's what we do—my sister and I. We look at old cases that—well, never mind all that. But rest assured, those violent acts happened without my involvement whatsoever. The worst Millie and I could be accused of is fanning the ghostly rumor flames that surround Hollingsworth Hall.”

Deductions flooded Tabitha's brain. “The noises. It was
you
, frightening the servants.”

Hattie's eyes twinkled. “Sometimes Millie, depending on the month. Or the royalty—they've been known to get loose in the passages.” She sighed. “Terribly mischievous, the royalty are.”

“Royalty?”

“Millie's cats, all named majestically and deferentially for the royals of England. You should see Henry VIII—spitting image of the lumpy king. But yes, I suspect wandering cats contributed to the ghost rumor. They sometimes slip into the passages, and their howling can be quite haunting. And a few have dreadful hairballs. We were looking for Anne and George and Victoria for nearly a week once. Albert kitten was inconsolable. Albert's our calico, and he dotes on Victoria.”

“Cats! Why didn't I think of that?” Tabitha felt much better having assigned the whirling air in the passage to a member of the feline royal family. “This room does have a faint odor like Mr. Tickles.”

“Who dear?”

“My parents' cat.”

“Ah. We mostly restrict them to the nursery, but they like it in this room as well. And in our own bedroom.”

“Of course. Viola's been sneezing all over the place, and she had a terrible fit when I sat next to her at breakfast. I must have collected some stray hair on my clothing. And she had another fit when we went into the Countess's, er,
your
room.”

“Oh dear. And Viola's just been left in a room with several cats. Do come join your friends, and I'll shoo them all away. I must decide how best to handle Miss Pettigrew.” She picked up
The Case of the Duplicitous Duke's Doorway
and peered at Tabitha for a long moment. “You enjoy Pensive novels, do you?”

Tabitha blushed. “Yes, but I'm hardly an Inspector. I seem to have gotten everything muddled up. So, the woman posing as the Countess is Mary Pettigrew?”

Hattie nodded grimly. “Yes,” she said, ducking into the wall. “Mary was our cook. She and Phillips have been with us for two years. We got weary of having to personally orient all the staff every six months, so we chose those two to stay on and do the kitchen and house training themselves.

“I should have known something was amiss when I went to fetch food for myself earlier this week and she'd ordered enough delicacies for a king's feast. Though Mary does love to indulge in sweets and rich food, she would certainly never have the cook order a dozen lobsters and fairy cakes beyond count. No, that cheeky Mary was always wanting to try out the most expensive things possible, and I suppose she got her chance. Now, I need to quickly fetch a letter from my manor room's jewelry case. Follow me, dear.”

Stepping lightly into the passage, Tabitha favored her right foot and held the two walls to help keep pressure off her injury. Hattie moved slowly, trying to make her footfalls as noiseless as possible. She slid open a wall panel and continued along the second floor toward the west wing.

“You were talking about Mary,” Tabitha whispered as they crept.

“Yes, I never liked her much and threatened to fire her all the time. Millie was a more trusting soul. Loved the woman's cooking. She was too trusting, as it turned out.”

Hattie bit her wrinkled lip and shook her head. “I was preoccupied in the nursery with paperwork from a recent trip to London that ended several days earlier than expected. On Wednesday when the new staff arrived. Millie didn't even know I was back at the manor, and I didn't realize she'd had a stroke. Not until I heard all of you booming about in the house yesterday evening and came down from the nursery to investigate.”

“But how did you get on the property without notice?”

“I wore a driver's uniform. We keep disguises in a locked closet in the barn and in the bedroom you were given. We have the cars serviced often and make a point to have deliveries made as an excuse for vehicles to be coming in and out. Then we can slip in as kitchen workers or maids. The staff always report sightings of an unfamiliar person to whomever of us is playing Countess—that's often how we know that we're both in the manor. We normally meet at least once a week for tea and work meetings, but depending on the switching calendar, sometimes we go a month without seeing each other, so I wasn't in any particular hurry to check in. We sometimes leave each other notes in the study and catch up that way. Again, I had no idea all you children were here. Millie must have discovered a new lead and arranged the whole weekend, bless her heart.”

The “crime and justice” note.
“She did,” said Tabitha. “I saw a letter she wrote, telling you about it. Mary Pettigrew must have found it along with your file trunk.” She considered the letter's contents. “It sounded like she was terribly sick.”

Hattie nodded sadly. “The doctors said she was due for a stroke with that heart and diet of hers, but she always said it was nonsense.” Her voice broke and her eyes brimmed once more. She stopped at the outline of a passage door. “Oh dear. I do suppose I'm quite alone now that Millie's gone.”

Tabitha thought of Pemberley's absence and knew just how Hattie felt. She supposed that the shock of losing everyone you hold dear and being left behind was no easier for an adult than it was for a child. Maybe it was even harder, adults being less inclined to form relationships with mice, who were lovely substitutes for human attachments. “I'm so sorry. But you're quite certain it was a second stroke that killed your sister?” There had, after all, been other people around.

“Oh, yes. Anne and Victoria were with me. I was watching Millie before the electricity went out, and the second stroke had already begun. The light went out of her eyes completely.” Hattie's face hardened. “Mary Pettigrew may not be a killer, but I feel certain that she didn't rush to get a doctor in either case. Speaking of light going out, this candlestick is growing short. We should hurry.”

Candlestick.
“Miss Hattie,” Tabitha said. “You say Mary isn't a killer, but I'm fairly certain that she took a swipe at your sister. She broke a vase that was directly next to Miss Millie's head. She may not have done the deed, but she could be capable of murder after all.”

The light from the candle flame dipped with Hattie's lowered hand. “If that's the case, I am more determined than ever to see her punished. I'm so sorry I didn't fetch you all from her clutches sooner, but by the time I knew what was happening, the phones were out from the storm. I didn't know how dangerous she was at that point and didn't want to risk causing damage by startling Mary. She's awfully quick with those knives.” Hattie peeked through the peephole. “Come along, dear. The room is empty for now.”

They stepped into the Countess's grand bedroom, and Hattie immediately strode to the dresser and began rifling through a jewelry case. “Wretched Mary,” she mumbled, lifting her head and glancing about the room. “It appears that she's stolen my things and tried on every shoe and dress Millie and I own. Shouldn't have kept that bundle of money in with the letter, I suppose. She's stashed the envelope somewhere, no doubt. Well, it's useless to waste time searching for a memory while we've still got one more child to save. Come along.”

Tabitha halted as they passed the door to the bedroom she'd stayed in. “Wait, please! I'd like to . . . I'd like to get something from here.” She peeked into the room. “The door's still closed, and nobody's in there.”

“Fine, but hurry, dear.”

Tabitha stepped into the room and walked over to Pemberley's body, picking up the mulberry handkerchief to see only floor. “He's gone,” she said.

“Who's gone, dear?”

“My pet mouse. The Countess, Mary Pettigrew rather, stomped on him. But he was right here.”

“Oh, my. Well, King George has gone missing again. Mad cat, that one, but quite nimble and shifty, sneaking into rooms with me on occasion. He's probably hiding in here right now. I'm not looking for you, George,” she said in a singsong voice, “so come out or starve eventually.” She sighed. “Mad creature. I'm terribly sorry, Tabitha.”

So Pemberley had become a feast for a cat.

“Trust that his spirit had already left him, Tabitha,” Hattie said, pulling her into an awkward half embrace. “I felt the same way when Millie was put into the cold, but the best part of her was already watching over us at that point.”

Tabitha nodded, but she would have liked to give Pemberley a proper good-bye.

They stood in respectful silence for a moment. Hattie picked up the framed photograph and looked at the smiling couple next to the bassinet.

Tabitha grazed the black-and-white image with her fingers. “So, this is you and your husband and Thomas? You looked very happy.” She peered between the woman's face and Hattie's. “Different, but happy.”

“Me?” Hattie stared at Tabitha in astonishment. “My dear girl, I'm not in that photograph.” She nodded to herself and placed the small frame into her skirt pocket. “The letter would have helped explain. Now we'd best get back, and then I've got to see about the last child. Oliver, is it? Simmons may have some ideas there. Do you know where Oliver is, Tabitha?”