Ashworth Hall (16 page)

Mrs. Hunnaker blanched and reached for the back of one of the chairs to support herself.

Dilkes gasped, struggled for something to say, and failed to find it.

Jack’s valet shook his head. “That’ll be why Mr. Pitt was asking about where everyone was. And that Tellman, going around looking at all the windows.”

“Nobody never broke in?” the cook said, her voice rising in near panic already. “Gawd ’elp us all!”

“No!” Emily said sharply. “No one broke in.” Then she realized that the alternative was worse, and wished she had not been quite so vehement. “No,” she repeated. “It is a political assassination. It is all to do with the Irish Question. It has nothing to do with us. Mr. Pitt will deal with it. We must just behave as usual—”

“Behave as usual?” the cook said indignantly. “We could all be murdered in our beds! Beggin’ your—”

“Baths,” the housekeeper corrected punctiliously. “And we don’t take baths, Mrs. Williams. We wash in a basin, like most folks. You can’t fall out of a basin.”

“Well, I’m not having Irishmen in my kitchen or our hall!” the cook said. “And that’s flat!”

Emily was not often caught in two minds where servants were concerned. Once let them see you could be manipulated and you could never govern the house again. She had learned that long ago. But if Mrs. Williams refused to cook now, she would be in a desperate situation. Jack’s political career could suffer if his household was considered unreliable. She felt that the fact they had excellent reason would be of no importance whatever.

“They have no occasion to be in your kitchen, Mrs. Williams,” she said after a second’s hesitation. “And you will be in no danger cooking for everyone, as usual. I am sure you would not wish to judge the innocent along with the guilty, if there are any guilty—”

“They’re all guilty of hating each other,” Mrs. Williams said with a gleam in her eye. Her hands were shaking and her body began to quiver. “And the Good Book says that’s as bad as murder.”

“Rubbish,” Emily retorted briskly. “We are English, and we don’t panic because a collection of Irishmen dislike each other. We have a great deal more fortitude than that!”

Mrs. Williams straightened up noticeably.

“We don’t run away from our duty for any reason,” Emily went on, realizing she had said the right thing. “But if you prefer to seat the visiting staff separately, then by all means do so. For the sake of the younger maids who may be very naturally upset,” she added. “Not for you, of course. You will be perfectly all right. But you will have to look after the junior staff and ensure they don’t take fright or behave badly. We have a very important position to maintain.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Mrs. Hunnaker said, raising her chin. “We mustn’t let them Irish think we haven’t the stomach for it.”

“Certainly not,” the butler agreed. “Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll make sure everything runs as usual.”

But such a task was beyond mortal ability to accomplish. Two of the younger housemaids had hysterics and had to be put to bed, one of them after she had tipped a bucket of water down the front stairs and soaked the hall carpet. One of the junior footmen almost set fire to the library, in absentminded-ness piling more and more coals into the grate. The bootboy got into a fight with Fergal Moynihan’s valet and they both ended up with black eyes, and three dishes were broken in the scullery, and then the scullery maid had hysterics. One of the laundry maids filled the copper too full and boiled it over, and the senior laundry maid flew at her, whereupon the first one gave notice. No one peeled any potatoes or carrots, and the pies for dessert were forgotten and got burnt.

One of the footmen got drunk, tripped over the kitchen cat, and fell over. The cat was furious but unhurt. Mrs. Williams was in a monumental temper, but she did not give notice. And no one at all was interested in luncheon, so the wreckage of the meal was unnoticed upstairs. Emily was the only person who was ever aware of it.

Gracie, Charlotte’s maid, was one sane head amid the domestic chaos, although Emily did observe that every time Lorcan McGinley’s very handsome young valet passed by her, which seemed more often than was necessary, she lost her concentration and became uncharacteristically clumsy. Emily was far too astute not to understand the signs.

And Pitt’s most disobliging assistant, Tellman, was very busy asking everyone a lot of questions and looking as if someone had broken a bad egg.

In the late afternoon Cornwallis telephoned back and asked to speak to Jack.

“What is it?” Emily demanded as soon as he had replaced the receiver on the cradle. “What did you just agree to?”

They were in the library. He had gone there to answer the call, and she had followed him when she knew from Dilkes who was on the other end.

Jack looked very stiff, his eyes wide. He lifted his chin a trifle, as if his collar were suddenly tight on his throat.

“What is it?” Emily repeated, her voice rising.

Jack swallowed. “Cornwallis has said the Home Office would like me to continue the conference,” he replied very quietly, his voice not much more than a whisper. He cleared his throat. “In Greville’s place.”

“You can’t!” Emily said instantly, almost choked with fear for him.

“Thank you.” He looked as if she had hit him. She opened her mouth to tell him not to be absurd. This was no time for childish pride. Greville had just been murdered, less than twenty-four hours ago, here in this house. Jack could be next! Then like a drenching of cold water she realized that he thought she had meant that he was not capable of it, he was not fit to take Greville’s place.

Was that what he feared himself? Had she pushed him too far, out of her own ambition, her expectations of him? Without meaning to, by her admiration for other people, her dreams, had she tacitly asked of him more than he could give? Was he reaching for this to prove himself to her, to please her, to be, in his own way, all he imagined George Ashworth had been? George had had money, title, charm, but no skills. He had not needed them.

Was Jack trying to excel in political life to match the Ashworth family?

And did he feel he had been driven to take on more than he was capable of fulfilling?

And did he really think she also doubted him?

She looked at him, his handsome face which had earned him his place in society, was now grave, his wide eyes fixed on hers.

He did think she doubted him!

“I mean it’s too dangerous!” she said hoarsely. “You must call Cornwallis back and tell him you can’t do it … until Thomas has found out who murdered Greville. They can’t expect you just to pick up where he left it the night he was killed.” She moved towards him. “Jack, don’t they understand what happened here? These people are murderers—or at least one of them is.” She put her hands up to his shoulders.

He took her by the wrists and put her arms down again, still keeping hold of her.

“I know that very well, Emily. I knew it when I accepted. One does not refuse a job because it may be dangerous. What do you think would happen to our country if a general was killed in battle and the next officer in turn refused to take command?”

“You are not in the army!”

“Yes, I am—”

“You’re not! Jack …” She stopped.

“Emily, don’t argue with me,” he said with a firmness she had never heard in his voice before. She knew she could not persuade him, and it frightened her, because she admired him more than she wished to. A certain element of control had slipped away from her. Her emotions were racing. There was a shivering of real fear inside her, and it was a terrible feeling. There was nothing exciting about it at all, just a sickness.

“Thank you,” he said gently. “You will have a great deal to do. This is about the worst house party I expect you will ever attend, let alone have to host. I shall not be able to help you. You will have to rely on Charlotte. I’m sorry.”

She forced herself to smile. She felt guilty. She had not known his courage, and she had thought him unequal to the task. Worse than that, she had allowed him to see it.

“Of course,” she said with far more confidence than she felt. “If you can take over the leadership of the conference, the least I can do is see that the party is … bearable. It can hardly be fun, but we can at least avoid any further social disasters.”

He smiled back at her with a flash of real humor. “With Iona McGinley in Moynihan’s bed, and Greville dead in his bath, unless the cook gives notice, I think we’ve achieved a full house! Unless of course someone decides to cheat at cards.”

“Don’t,” she said hoarsely. “Jack, don’t even whisper it!”

But her brave face did not last far beyond dinner, which she managed with supreme skill. Eudora took it in her room, but everyone else was present, and all behaved with dignity and passably civil conversation. It was afterwards, when she spoke to Pitt in the library, that she lost her composure and all her fear spilled through.

“What have you found out?” she asked sharply.

Pitt looked exhausted and deeply unhappy. His tie was coming undone, his jacket pockets were stuffed with bits of paper and his hair looked as if he had run his fingers through it a dozen times.

“It seems to have been Padraig Doyle, Fergal Moynihan, or one of the women,” he said wearily. “Or his son.”

“Doyle is his brother-in-law!” she exclaimed with disgust. “And it wouldn’t be his son, for heaven’s sake. It’s a political murder, Thomas. It must be Moynihan. Why not McGinley or O’Day?”

“Because they were seen elsewhere at the time.”

“Then it is Moynihan. He’s already been caught in bed with McGinley’s wife. What makes you think he wouldn’t stoop to murder? Arrest him! Then at least Jack will be safe.”

“I can’t arrest him, Emily. There’s no proof he’s guilty ….”

“You’ve just said he is!” she shouted. “It has to be him. Or else one of the servants. What is Tellman doing? Can’t he find out whether it was a servant? They all have duties. They ought to be able to account for where they were. What have you been doing all day?”

Pitt opened his mouth to speak.

Behind Emily the library door creaked, but she did not bother to turn to see who it was. Her mind was filled with fear for Jack.

“You were no use at looking after Greville, you could at least do something to protect Jack! You shouldn’t have let him accept the task. Why didn’t you tell Cornwallis how dangerous it was? Arrest Moynihan before you get Jack killed as well!”

Charlotte walked over to the vase of chrysanthemums on the small table and yanked the flowers out, holding the jug of water in her other hand. She stood opposite Emily, her face flushed, her eyes dark with rage.

“Hold your tongue,” she said with a low, barely controlled voice. “Unless you want this water all over you.”

“Don’t you dare!” Emily snapped back. “Jack’s in terrible danger, and Thomas won’t lift a—”

Charlotte threw the water and Emily was drenched. She gasped in sheer amazement.

Pitt put out his hand as if to restrain someone, then dropped it again, his eyes wide.

“Stop thinking of yourself!” Charlotte said. “Thomas can’t arrest anyone until he has proof who’s guilty. It might be someone else, and then where will we all be? Use your common sense, and try to think and watch!”

Emily was so furious she was speechless, most immediately because there was nothing at hand to throw back. She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room and strode upstairs, along the landing, and into her bedroom, slamming the door with a resounding crash. Then she threw herself onto her bed and lay there, wretched. She had been unfair to Jack, and now she had been unfair to Pitt as well. He must be feeling dreadful. He could not have foreseen a murder from inside the house, any more than anyone else could have. And she had quarreled with Charlotte, whom she needed more than ever before.

It had been one of the worst days of her life. And tomorrow would probably be no better.

5

P
ITT WOKE
with his head throbbing. He lay still in the dark. There was no sound except the tiptoe of a housemaid outside in the corridor. That meant it was past five in the morning.

Then he remembered what had happened the previous day, the screaming, and Ainsley Greville’s body with its face under the water. It was someone in the house who had killed him, one of the guests. McGinley had been in his room talking to the valet Hennessey; O’Day had seen them. That meant all three of them were excluded. Physically, it could have been any of the others, although a man was far more likely, which left Fergal Moynihan, brother-in-law Doyle, or Piers. It was beginning to look more and more like Moynihan, except that Moynihan seemed to have abandoned his passionate Protestantism and all its precepts in his affair with Iona McGinley.

Could a man possibly be so double in his thinking? Fergal was committing adultery, a violation of one of the strictest commandments of his faith, and with a Catholic woman. Was it conceivable he would commit murder, against the greatest commandment of all, to preserve his faith from the continuation of popery?

Or was the preservation of Protestantism nothing to do with religion in his mind? Was it simply land, money, and power?

There were factors, perhaps major ones, Pitt did not yet know.

Charlotte was still asleep, warm and huddled up. He had been half aware of her moving restlessly during the night, turning over, pushing the pillows around. She was frightened for him. She had not said so. She had pretended she was perfectly confident, but he knew her better than to be deceived. There were mannerisms she had, a way of twisting her rings and tightening her shoulders, when she was worried.

Emily was frightened too, for Jack. He could hardly blame her. Jack was possibly in danger.

He slid out of bed. The fire had long gone out and it was cold. What was worse was that this morning, with the revelation of identity, he could hardly expect Tellman to fetch him any hot water.

He walked barefoot into the dressing room, which was also bitter, and started to put on his clothes. He could shave later. Now he needed to think. A hot cup of tea would help wake him up and clear his head. He knew where the upstairs pantry was, and the kettle.

He was halfway through boiling it, and the sky was graying outside, when Wheeler came in.

“Good morning, sir,” he said quietly. He never spoke in a normal voice until the guests were up. “May I prepare that for you?”

“Thank you.” Pitt stepped back. He was perfectly competent to do it himself, but he sensed that Wheeler wanted to. He felt more at ease doing his job than permitting someone else to.

Wheeler began with deft hands to lay a tray, which Pitt had not been going to bother with. The valet moved with a kind of grace. Pitt wondered what kind of a man he was when the mask of service was removed. What emotions had he, what interests?

“Would Mrs. Pitt like a tray also, sir?” Wheeler asked.

“No, thank you, I think she’s still asleep.” Pitt leaned against the door lintel.

“I’m glad I have the chance to talk to you, sir,” Wheeler said, watching very carefully as the kettle came to the boil. “You know there was another attempt on Mr. Greville’s life, some four or five weeks ago?”

“Yes, he told me. He was run off the road, but he never found out who was responsible.”

“That’s right, sir. And the outside staff tried everything they could think of. But there were also threatening letters.” He poured the water over the tea, then looked at Pitt very directly. “The letters are still at Oakfield House, sir. They are in Mr. Greville’s study, in the desk drawer. That’s somewhere Mrs. Greville would never go, nor the maids touch.”

“Thank you. Perhaps I’ll ride over today and have a look. There may be something in them to indicate who is behind this. It is obviously more than one person, because Mr. Greville would have recognized the driver who ran him off the road. He said he had remarkable eyes, wide set, and very pale blue. That man is not here now.”

“No sir. I’d put it on the Fenians, myself, but that’d make it Mr. McGinley, and from what Hennessey says, it couldn’t have been him. I’d be disinclined to believe Hennessey, except that Mr. O’Day says so too, and knowing how the Protestants like Mr. O’Day feel about Catholics like Mr. McGinley, he’d not say that if he didn’t have to.”

Pitt nodded rueful agreement and accepted the tea with appreciation.

After having returned to the bedroom and finding Charlotte still asleep, he had an early breakfast. To begin with there was no one else at the table except Jack, and they were able to talk frankly.

“Do you expect to find anything useful?” Jack said with some skepticism. “Surely if the threatening letters implicated anyone, he would have brought them to you already?”

“Possibly nothing,” Pitt conceded. “But there is plenty of evidence which is meaningless by itself but makes sense joined with something else. I have to look. I might get a better description of the coachman. There may be something else in the house, letters, papers. One of the servants might know or remember something.”

He looked across the wide table at Jack. At a glance he appeared very composed. He was as well-groomed as usual. He was a very handsome man in a casual, dashing way. His gray eyes were long lashed, his smile full of laughter and light. One would have to observe carefully to see the stiffness in his body, the occasion when he hesitated, took a deep breath, and then hurried on with what he was saying, the angle of his head as if he were half listening to hear something beyond the room. Pitt did not blame him for being afraid, both of the physical danger which had already struck Greville, but from which perhaps Pitt and Tellman could save him, and of the danger of failure in a responsibility which was far beyond anything he had approached so far in his very new career.

Doyle came in and greeted them with a smile. He seemed to be a man whom no tragedy or embarrassment could rob of composure. There were times when that was admirable, and others when it was irritating. Pitt wondered if it was a natural lack of ability to feel anything deeply, a shallowness in his emotional nature, or if it were a superb courage and self-control springing from consideration for others, an innate capacity for leadership and a kind of dignity which was all too rare.

As Carson O’Day joined them Pitt excused himself and went to look for Tellman. He found him coming up from the servants’ hall, his face dour and pinched in concentration.

“Learned anything?” Pitt asked him quietly, not to be overheard by a housemaid carrying a broom and a pail of damp tea leaves for the carpets.

“How to clean silver knives,” Tellman said with disgust. “It’s like a madhouse down there. At least six of them have threatened to give notice. The cook’s drinking the Madeira as fast as the butler can fetch it up, and the scullery maid’s so frightened she screams every time anyone speaks to her. I wouldn’t run a household if you paid me a king’s ransom!”

“I’m going to Oakfield House,” Pitt said with a ghost of a smile. “Greville’s home. It’s about ten or eleven miles away. I need to look at his papers, especially the threatening letters he received over the past month or two.”

“You think there’ll be anything in there that matters?” Tellman asked doubtfully.

“Possibly. Even if it is Moynihan, and I’m not sure of that, he certainly didn’t act alone. I want to know who’s behind him.”

“He doesn’t need anyone behind him.” Tellman also kept his voice down. “He’s got enough hatred to kill without prompting. Although he’ll be lucky if McGinley doesn’t do anything to him before the weekend is through. They’re all at their separate prayers down there.” He jerked his head towards the way he had come. “The Catholics looking daggers at the Protestants, and Protestants looking daggers back.”

His face reflected bewilderment and disgust, his eyes pulled down at the corners. “I’ve half a mind to stoke the kitchen fires so they can burn each other at the stake, and be done with it all. I can understand greed, jealousy, revenge, even some kinds of madness. But these people are sane—after a fashion.”

“Try and keep them from violence while I’m gone,” Pitt said, looking at Tellman steadily. He was uncertain whether to be light or to let Tellman know how anxious he felt. “Stay near Mr. Radley. He’s the one in most danger now.” He could not keep the catch out of his voice. “You can’t sit in the conference with him, but you can wait outside. I’ll be back not long after dark.”

Tellman straightened his shoulders a little, and the criticism dropped out of his voice.

“Yes sir. Ride careful. I suppose you know how to ride a horse?” He looked worried.

“Yes, thank you,” Pitt answered. “I grew up in the country, if you recall?”

Tellman grunted and continued on his way.

Pitt went to look for Charlotte to tell her what he proposed to do. He had hardly seen her since they arrived at Ashworth Hall. She always seemed to be with one of the other women, trying to persuade them to keep some kind of peace, or else making idle conversation to mask the social difficulties which were admittedly appalling.

This time it took him a quarter of an hour to find her, and he eventually discovered her in the warming room, a place designed to keep food hot before serving, since the dining room was a considerable distance from the kitchen. It contained a good fire, a steam-heated cabinet, and also a butler’s table and a marvelous array of implements for opening and decanting wine. She was listening earnestly to Gracie. They both stopped the instant he came in. Gracie blinked and excused herself.

“What is it?” Pitt asked, looking at her small, retreating form.

Charlotte smiled, her eyes filled with sadness and laughter at once.

“Just a few feminine secrets,” she answered.

Pitt could see she was not going to tell him any more. He had not thought of Gracie as having feminine secrets. He should have. She was twenty now, even though she was still no taller and very little plumper than she had been when she had come to them at thirteen.

“I’m going to ride over to Oakfield House,” he said. “I don’t suppose there is anything in the letters Greville received, but there might be. I can’t afford to overlook the chance. I’ll be back as soon after dark as I can.”

She nodded, her eyes anxious. “Ride carefully,” she said, then smiled with her head a little on one side. “You’ll be stiff tomorrow.” She reached up and kissed him very gently. She seemed about to say something else, and then changed her mind. “How will you find your way there?” she said instead.

“I’ll ask Piers. I need to get Eudora’s permission anyway, and help.”

She nodded, and then walked with him as far as the hall.

Pitt found Eudora in the upstairs boudoir with both Piers and Justine. She was not wearing black. Quite naturally, she had not brought black with her. The nearest she could do was an autumnal brown, and in spite of the ravages of shock and grief, she still looked beautiful. Nothing could rob her of the richness of her hair or the symmetry of her bones.

Justine was an extraordinary contrast. She also had not brought black. As a young, unmarried woman she would not wear the shade to such an occasion unless she was at the end of a period of mourning. She had chosen a deep hunting green, and with her dense black hair it was almost a jewel color. She seemed to vibrate with life. Even in repose, as she was now, sitting beside Eudora, Pitt’s eyes were drawn to the intelligence in her face.

Piers stood behind the two women, his expression defensive, as if he would protect them from further hurt, were it possible.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Pitt said gravely to Eudora. “I am sorry to intrude on you again, but I need your permission to go to Oakfield House and look through Mr. Greville’s papers to see if I can find the malevolent letters that he received.”

Eudora looked almost relieved, as if she had expected him to say something worse.

“Of course. Yes, naturally, Mr. Pitt. Do you wish me to write something?”

“If you please. And I shall need any necessary keys.” He wondered what she had feared from him … some further disaster? Or that he suspected someone in particular? Surely, as far as she was concerned, the worst had already happened? “I would also appreciate directions as to the best way to get there,” he added. “I shall ride across country, or I shall take far too long. I want to be back before nightfall.”