The Deathly Portent (23 page)

“Bain’t no need to tell me so. Her’ve no more magic in her than the man in the moon.”

“Just so. But there is a murderer at large, Mr. Wagstaff. One who has already used Mrs. Dale’s earlier vision to his advantage.”

For an instant, a startled frown drew the old man’s sparse eyebrows together. Then he let out a cackle. “Daft you be, my Lady Fan, if’n you think as how any be wishful to be doing my daughter like Duggleby. A fool her be right enough, but her bain’t a bad ’un. Duggleby now, he’ve a basinful of enemies, nor there bain’t many as be sorry as he’ve gone.”

It was plain to Ottilia that the fellow belonged to that ilk of person who made up his mind and would not be shifted. She changed tack.

“Which brings me to the matter at hand, Mr. Wagstaff. I understand you were awake in the night hours on the night before Duggleby was killed.”

The ancient eyes narrowed again. “Aye. Told that man of yourn last night.”

“Just so. But you did not tell him whether you heard anything.”

“Like as?”

“Anything out of the ordinary. I am not talking of sounds in the night that you might expect. Did it seem to you, for example, that anyone was abroad in the early hours?”

Mr. Wagstaff was grinning. “Fellows making for the fields like? ’Course I heard ’em. Staxton and his boys be on the farm afore dawn, and half the village be shakin’ a leg by five or thereabouts.”

Ottilia did not allow herself to be irritated by this display of superiority. “Yes, but I am talking of earlier than that. Around two of the clock perhaps?”

“How be as I know? Might’ve been asleep.”

This time Ottilia did not trouble to reply. She merely looked at the man and waited. Aware that he was inclined to take a contrary view as a matter of course, she was yet hopeful that the notion might jog something in his memory, if he was permitted to think for a moment rather than feeling prompted to scorn at her expense.

He champed on an invisible bit for a while, eyeing her in a suspenseful way, like a bird hopeful of crumbs. Then he sniffed, and once again a bony finger scratched at an ear.

“Might’ve heard summat.”

Ottilia raised her brows, refusing to be drawn. Was that respect dawning in his eye? He slumped a little, leaning against the doorjamb.

“Bain’t as I can say what time it be, mind,” he said at length on a warning note. “But footsteps be a-dragging one time.”

“Ah.”

Brightening at this little show of interest, the ancient resumed. “Nowt more’n that and a-passing close.”

“In which direction?”

“T’wards the bridge,” said Wagstaff, who then looked surprised, as if he had not intended to say as much.

Ottilia kept her eyes steady on his face. “Anything else?”

His brows snapped together. “Breathin’, heavy-like.”

It was plain he had little understanding of how these
extra details came to be in his memory. Intelligent as he was, Ottilia reflected, he lacked the capacity to observe his fellow man. Too busy exercising his wit at the expense of others, no doubt. Ottilia had often had occasion to note that people were apt to dismiss their ability to recall things, when in fact they invariably had a perfect picture of events available, if they were but given the opportunity to examine it.

She probed a little. “I don’t suppose there was a thump? Or cursing?”

But Mr. Wagstaff had shot his bolt. “Nowt more I can tell you, my Lady Fan.”

Despite the clear irony of the appellation, Ottilia gave him a friendly smile. “It makes no matter. What you have told me is enough.”

He gave his characteristic high-pitched laugh. “Who be it, then? Who done for Duggleby?”

Ottilia had given Wagstaff a noncommittal answer then, she remembered, her attention now returning to the church, where the congregation had bowed their heads in prayer. A hymn was next sung, and although she joined in, she took a moment to look across at Lady Ferrensby, to whom she had been briefly presented before the service began.

The great lady of the village was correctly attired in black, if in a fashion somewhat outdated, but she wore no veil, and her strong but attractive features were clear in sight where she stood for the hymn. Ottilia had learned from Mrs. Radlett that young Lord Ferrensby was rarely to be found at his seat, being an active member of parliament and much given to sporting pursuits. It was therefore left to his mother to oversee the workings of the estate, including the activities of Witherley village.

As Ottilia surveyed the woman, something in the set of Lady Ferrensby’s features reminded her of Cassie Dale. Abruptly she recalled the oddity of Cassie’s conduct yesterday. It had been put out of her head by subsequent events, but now she recalled in detail how the girl had looked when she had
spoken of Mr. Dale. A suspicion darted into Ottilia’s head, and she could not forbear glancing up to the minstrel’s gallery. But there was no sign of the earlier peeping figure. Ottilia looked back at Lady Ferrensby. Was Cassie Dale merely a protégée? Or was there more to this relationship than met the eye?

H
ustled by an irate Tabitha, Cassie hurried her steps along the road leading away from the church and back towards the green.

“High and low I searched for you, Miss Cassie. I’ve been worried sick.”

“You need not have been,” Cassie snapped. “Anyone must suppose me to be a moonling, the way you carry on, Tabby. I was well hidden.”

“Hidden? Yes, so well hidden that your face was the first thing I see when I finally thought of going into the church. I wouldn’t have done neither, only it suddenly come to me you’d be in the very place you’d been told not to go.”

Cassie pulled tighter on the concealing shawl she’d worn about her head and shoulders and stepped up her pace still more, as if she might shake off her maid along with the words she did not wish to hear.

“Must you rush so?” protested Tabitha, panting a little. “I’m puffed enough with tramping up them little stairs to fetch you off that there gallery, thank you very much.”

“It is your own fault,” Cassie said low-voiced. “I did not ask you to come.”

“No, you give me the slip like the naughty girl you always was.”

Cassie halted abruptly, turning on her maid as the fire leapt into her bosom. “I am not a child, Tabby! I wish you will stop treating me as one. It is my life, God help me, and I will make my own decisions.”

Tabitha’s lips tightened, and Cassie saw the hurt in her eyes. Her heart softened, but she fought against the urge to back down. Had it not been for Aidan Kinnerton, she felt she might well have given in. The pastor was the first person ever to speak to her as if she had a mind of her own. His manner towards her made her feel comfortable and normal—almost unknown in the catalogue of her days. She had been drawn to the service partly out of the nagging sense of guilt under which she laboured, but Cassie was honest enough to know that by far the major attraction had been Aidan Kinnerton. She had wanted to see how he conducted himself when he addressed the villagers for the first time, and under such difficult circumstances. Well, let her not cavil. She had wanted to see him, to watch him, to drink him in. And she had not been disappointed.

She had walked on as these thoughts teemed in her head, but at length Tabitha’s silence beside her nagged into her conscience. She groped for the maid’s hand and held it tightly.

“I did not mean to carp at you, Tabby. Forgive me.”

Tabitha’s fingers squeezed hard. “Nor I, Miss Cassie.” A sigh escaped her. “I wish I might forget as I had charge of you when you were nobbut a little slip of a thing.”

Cassie’s heart swelled. “I owe you a great deal.”

“No, you don’t,” Tabby argued gruffly. “Couldn’t help myself growing too fond, and that’s a fact. Such a passionate little soul you were then, Miss Cassie, and you ain’t changed a bit.”

A wild laugh was drawn from Cassie. “Passionate? And have I not cause, Tabby?”

“All I know is it’s in your nature, and it ain’t never going to be no different, no matter what anyone says.”

Except that she was different. Or at least she felt different in the company of Aidan Kinnerton. How well he spoke, with a voice as strong and courageous as his heart. How odd to think of him thus, when in ordinary life he was so extremely gentle and softly spoken. If only it were possible …

But here Cassie’s thoughts suffered a check. The impossibility struck her anew, and resolutely she thrust down the yearning. She must not think of it. Lady Ferrensby might scheme, but Cassie would die before she brought shame upon the kindest man she had ever encountered.

“Mrs. Hawes!”

The call was tentative, but Cassie halted as Tabitha did, looking round. A youthful girl, pale cheeked and nervous under a mobcap, was hovering at a little distance. She looked vaguely familiar, and her plain gown of grey cotton topped with an apron marked her for one of the maids abounding in the village, this being the chief source of paid employment for young girls hereabouts. Everyone needed a maid, although Cassie could not immediately recall whom this one served.

It was plain Tabitha had no such difficulty. “Young Alice, is it? What do you want with me, girl?”

Alice twisted her hands together, glancing apprehensively at Cassie. “It be private-like.”

Tabitha grunted but beckoned her over. “If it’s about Mrs. Dale, which I’ll be bound it is, you’d best come right out with it before her. I can’t abide secrets.”

The girl ventured a little closer, her eyes going from one to the other. “If’n you say so, Mrs. Hawes, only bain’t wishful to say owt as Mrs. Dale won’t like.”

Cassie sighed. “You may say what you wish, Alice. There
is very little said in this village concerning me that is not displeasing.”

Alice dropped a curtsy but addressed herself exclusively to Tabitha. “It be this way, Mrs. Hawes.”

Tabitha stopped her. “Just a minute. Why aren’t you at the funeral?”

“Miss Beeleigh sent me to mind the Duggleby boy, seeing as her told Mrs. Duggleby as it be too harsh to make him go, he being no more’n six year. Only Jenny be back now and I’ve to make the dinner.”

“So what is it you wanted to tell me?”

Alice cast another of her nervous looks at Cassie and twisted her fingers again. “I were with Miss Beeleigh afore the funeral, a-carrying the basket for Uddington’s, when her be up to Cock.”

Cassie’s stomach clenched. She knew Miss Beeleigh obeyed no niceties of social custom, should she feel the need to flout them. It would not be the first time, as Sam had often reported, that this redoubtable lady felt it incumbent upon her to stalk into the tavern and ring a peal over the inhabitants. She could not forbear asking.

“What did she say to them all?”

The maid looked even more apprehensive, and Tabitha had to apply a spur.

“Go on, girl.”

Alice took a deep breath. “Miss Beeleigh were saying as her’d heard as there be fool talk of stakes and burning. Her said as her hoped as her wouldn’t hear more of that, nor no more fool talk of witchery, nor her wouldn’t stop at calling in Pilton, neither. Her said if’n any fool were ready to have his head blown off, her were ready with her musket.”

Tabitha hissed in a breath. “Why can’t she leave well alone?”

“Trying to help Mrs. Dale her be,” protested Alice defensively.

“Yes, and are you going to stand there and tell me the likes
of Tisbury and Staxton, not to say that maundering old Wagstaff, ain’t talked back at her?”

Pink tinged the girl’s cheeks. “Well, that be why I thought as I ought to warn you, Mrs. Hawes. Mr. Tisbury come back like a lion he did. Said as how Miss Beeleigh hadn’t no say over the village. Nor she bain’t to bring her musket up to Cock for as he’d have Pilton on her instead.”

“And what had Miss Beeleigh to say to that?” demanded Tabitha in that tone Cassie knew of old which signalled a rise of fury.

Alice went pink again, looking shamefaced. “You know as how her be, if’n any speak agin her. Give him snuff, did Miss Beeleigh. Said if’n Mr. Tisbury weren’t a nodcock he’d see as it were foolishness to do owt with that there Lady Fan about the village. Said as Lady Fan be looking to have someone’s head, and not just for doing Duggleby, and if’n Mr. Tisbury bain’t careful, her’d have his.”

Tabitha was frowning. “What did she mean—and not just for doing Duggleby?”

“That be Mr. Wagstaff’s question and all. Miss Beeleigh said as how that there Lady Fan were all for Mrs. Dale, like a champion. And Mr. Wagstaff come back and said as all the world be knowing that. But Miss Beeleigh ups and says for all of her, it be no surprise if’n all the world bain’t saying as Lady Fan be a witch and all, for as Witherley be full of nincompoops.”

For a moment Tabitha did not speak. Cassie felt both surprised and gratified to find Miss Beeleigh had taken up the cudgels in her defence in this way. It was wholly unexpected, for she hardly knew the woman, having had very little converse with her and her friends. Mr. Netherburn had been kind enough to visit her on occasion, but Cassie had formed the belief that the two ladies did not approve of her, for although they were pleasant enough when she had met them at the Blue Pig, neither had gone out of their way to make a friend of the outcast Cassie knew herself to be.