Authors: A Dead Bore
He had the pleasure, at least, of seeing her abandon her courteous but distant demeanor.
“Pray do not speak to me of the beauties of nature!” she protested, raising her hand to forestall him. “If I never set foot in another cave, it will be all too soon!”
She described, in vivid terms, that moment in the cave when she realized she was lost. Pickett, who had once had a harrowing experience of his own inside a darkened crypt, did not have to feign sympathy for her ladyship’s sufferings.
“But I am quite recovered now,” the viscountess concluded. “Miss Grantham poured quarts of Mrs. Holland’s raspberry cordial down my throat and insisted that I take the bottle up to my room.” She indicated a half-empty bottle on the table beside the bed. “Speaking of which, would you care for some refreshment? It is quite good, I must admit.”
He shook his head. “Thank you, my lady, but I had best decline.”
“Are you certain? It is not very strong, so you need have no fear of overimbibing.”
“In truth, my lady, I dare not. If Mrs. Holland should catch a whiff of her prized cordial on my breath, nothing would convince her that I had not been raiding the pantry.”
“For shame!” she cried with mock severity. “You deal with thieves and cutthroats on a daily basis, and yet you cry craven at the prospect of facing an angry housekeeper?”
“I can see you’ve never run afoul of Mrs. Holland.”
“Never was I so deceived in anyone! Why, you are nothing but a coward!”
The laughter in her eyes robbed her words of any insult. Lady Fieldhurst could think of at least one instance when he had acted with uncommon bravery and did not hesitate to attribute his professed fear of Mrs. Holland to a rather appealing degree of modesty.
“What can I say?” Pickett wondered aloud, a smile tugging at the corners of his poet’s mouth. “My guilty secret is discovered at last.”
The light in his brown eyes suggested other secrets waiting to be discovered, and Lady Fieldhurst realized with a start that the room had grown uncomfortably warm. She turned away and busied herself in positioning a screen before the fire. “If we are to speak of guilty secrets, I must tell you that I may have discovered one.”
“Indeed?”
“It seems that Mr. Carrington knew Mr. Danvers in India some twenty years ago.”
“Did he, now?” Hands clasped loosely behind his back, Pickett paced the floor as he pondered the significance of this revelation.
“According to Mr. Carrington, who had a position there with the East India Company. He said Mr. Danvers was a missionary. I have never seen Will Huggins, but is it possible that he is a half-caste?”
Pickett thought of the young gypsy’s black eyes, swarthy skin, and dark, straight hair. “I should think it not only possible, but very probable—although how it might be connected with Mr. Danvers’s death escapes me. Did Mr. Carrington make any mention of a scandal linking Danvers with a native woman?”
“Alas, no, although I threw out the most flagrant hints! He gave me nothing beyond a pack of nonsense about the superiority of English ladies compared to their Hindoo counterparts. All very gallant, but ultimately useless.”
Thus were Pickett’s worst fears realized. At least one gentleman of the party had attempted to flirt with Lady Fieldhurst. The wholly unreasonable jealousy which assailed him was assuaged slightly by her ladyship’s apparent lack of interest in Mr. Carrington except as a source of information.
“It does bring us back to the blackmail theory, though,” he said. “If there had been such a scandal, Mr. Carrington would have been in an excellent position to exploit it.”
“And just as well, too, for we must acquit Mr. Kendall in that regard. His godmother bequeathed him an independence, so he has sufficient funds for indulging his execrable tastes.”
“My lady, you are a marvel! What other information have you contrived to ferret out?”
“Only that we may strike Mr. Meriwether and Miss Hollingshead from the list of possible murderers. It seems they have spent the last few weeks suspecting one another. Oh, and I had the privilege of seeing Miss Susannah Hollingshead’s artwork,” she added with a mischievous smile. To her surprise, he did not take the bait, but his expression grew solemn.
“Speaking of Miss Susannah, I wasn’t lying when I said my guilty secret was discovered. She knows who I am.”
“Never say
she
thinks you a coward, too!”
He grinned in spite of himself. “I assure you, I am in deadly earnest. She found the book containing my notes, and realized no footman would keep such a record. I was obliged to confide in her.”
“Did you impress upon her the need for secrecy?”
“Yes, and she assures me she will tell no one.” He sighed. “I only wish I could believe her.”
“I will do her the justice to own that she would not willingly, I think, betray you. Still, it would be a very unusual girl who could keep such a secret at the age of fourteen,”
“I feared as much. I’m afraid I will be forced into leaving Yorkshire sooner rather than later.” He gave the ghost of a smile. “If Lady Anne should give me the boot, I trust you will be able to make do with her servants.”
“Surely you do not think I would stay here if you were sent away?” exclaimed her ladyship, appalled. “No, Mr. Pickett, I would not use you so shabbily, not when you came to Yorkshire at my behest.”
“You are very kind, my lady, but there is no need for you to cut short your visit on my account. You can always say that I deceived you, that I gave you falsified references—”
“If you think me capable of such a betrayal, I can only wonder that you answered my summons at all!”
“I would not consider myself betrayed, I assure you. I knew that eventually I must be exposed and that my presence here would no longer be welcome, or even necessary. My only regret is that I have not yet solved the case, nor appear likely to, now. I had hoped that today might bring to light some new revelation, but it does not seem—”
As if on cue, a high-pitched scream shattered the stillness. Pickett and the viscountess exchanged a look of mutual bewilderment, then leaped to their feet as one and ran for the door. The shriek had seemed to come from the floor above, so they hurried down the corridor and pelted up the stairs, joined in their ascent by various other members of the household representing both abovestairs and below.
The third floor, which separated the servants’ attic quarters with the family and guest chambers on the level below, comprised the schoolroom and Miss Susannah’s bedroom, as well as Miss Grantham’s. It was from this latter chamber that the sound had issued, as evidenced by that lady’s trembling form drooping against the doorframe and sobbing gustily. Pickett and the viscountess hurried down the uncarpeted corridor to join the little group gathering around her, Thankfully, in the general confusion, no one had noticed that Lady Fieldhurst and Pickett had arrived together and from the general direction of her bedchamber, much less thought to question why this should be so.
“Miss Grantham!” cried Lady Fieldhurst. “What is the—good heavens!”
The governess’s rather Spartan little chamber lay in a state of total disarray. The doors of the clothes press stood ajar, and Miss Grantham’s meager collection of sober-hued gowns littered the floor around it. The bureau drawers hung open, their contents disgorged. Even the bed had not been left undisturbed: its covers had been thrown back, and the mattress lay upon the bed frame at an awkward angle.
“Here now, what’s all this caterwauling?”
Sir Gerald pushed his way through what was by this time a sizeable crowd. Maids and footmen all stepped aside to allow him an uninterrupted view.
“Bless my soul!”
“Pray calm yourself, Miss Grantham,” said Lady Anne, gliding past her husband to console the governess. “Yes, it is very shocking, to be sure, but nothing can be gained by these histrionics.”
Lady Fieldhurst could only admire her hostess’s poise. Lady Anne Hollingshead would never do anything so vulgar as run, and yet she contrived to be on the scene in good time, calmly taking command of the situation. She quickly sent the gawking maids and footmen about their business and instructed her lady’s maid to fetch her own smelling salts for Miss Grantham.
“Now,” she said when the servants had reluctantly departed, “after you have had a moment to compose yourself, I shall summon a maid to tidy the room. Then we may ascertain whether anything has been taken.”
“Oh no, your ladyship,” protested Miss Grantham feebly. “I will tidy it myself. I can’t bear the thought of the servants’ hands on my belongings, not when it might be any one of them who—” She broke off in a fresh bout of tears.
Although Miss Grantham’s reservations were unlikely to endear her to the household staff, Lady Fieldhurst could not but feel a certain sympathy for the sentiments that inspired them. Furthermore, on a purely practical level, there was much to be said for restricting access to the room until the culprit could be identified. Unfortunately, the viscountess had no authority to give instructions in a house where she was nothing more than a guest.
“And,” concluded Miss Grantham, reemerging from the sodden scrap of linen, “how I shall sleep tonight, when I might be murdered in my bed at any moment, I’m sure I don’t know!”
“No one is going to be murdered in bed, on this or any other night,” said Lady Anne in a voice which brooked no argument. “Depend upon it, this is nothing more than a mischievous prank—and one for which my daughter will be severely reprimanded.”
Lady Fieldhurst felt Pickett stiffen, and when she glanced up at him, it was to find him frowning thoughtfully into space.
“If I may make a suggestion,” she said, “perhaps it would be best if Miss Grantham slept elsewhere tonight. I should be happy to trade places—”
“Pray do not encourage her in these flights of fancy,” protested Lady Anne. “There is not the slightest need for you to give up your room. If Miss Grantham is unwilling to remain in her own room, I shall have a truckle bed set up in Miss Susannah’s room. If they are a bit crowded as a result, perhaps it will serve as a lesson to them both,” she added severely in an aside clearly meant for the governess.
“Thank you, my lady,” Miss Grantham said meekly. “I would be most grateful, although I should hesitate to leave my belongings unprotected.” She glanced around the untidy room as if the value of its meager contents rivaled that of the crown jewels.
“Quite understandable, Miss Grantham,” Lady Fieldhurst said hastily. “May I suggest that my own John stand guard tonight? His innocence in the matter is unquestionable, for he has only just returned from an errand in Knaresborough, and would have had no opportunity to ransack your room.”
So dazzled was Pickett by the sound of her ladyship’s voice claiming him as her own that, of its own volition, his face assumed that blank expression deemed suitable for servants. Miss Grantham gave him a long, measuring look and, apparently pleased with what she saw in spite of his lack of powder and livery, nodded her approval.
Chapter 12
In Which John Pickett Reads a Dull Book, and Makes an Interesting Discovery
“Well?” prompted Lady Fieldhurst, after the crisis was past and the governess was securely installed in Miss Susannah’s bedroom. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”
“Thank you?” echoed Pickett. “Thank you for volunteering me to stand guard all night over Miss Grantham’s room?”
“What rot!” retorted her ladyship inelegantly. “Admit it! You have been champing at the bit to search this room for yourself ever since you discovered that it had been ransacked. I merely gave you a convenient opportunity to do so. I take it you disagree with Lady Anne’s conviction that it was merely Miss Susannah in a mischievous mood?”
“Yes, I do. Miss Susannah, you will remember, was in my room.”
“But who would have reason to do such a thing? And what possible connection can Miss Grantham’s room have with Mr. Danvers’s death? As far as I can tell, the only connection between her and Mr. Danvers is a case of unrequited love on her part, and a ponderously long—” She broke off, her eyes widening in dawning comprehension. “John!”
“Exactly. We come back to the manuscript.”
“Something must be hidden in it,” conceded her ladyship. “But what could be so important that someone would risk such an act of vandalism in a house full of people?”
“When we find the ‘what,’ I think we’ll have the ‘who,’ ” Pickett said. “And as for the house being full of people—I wonder if it was.”
“You think the damage may have been done before the pleasure party had returned? But surely Miss Grantham must have noticed it before now!”
“Not if she had been kept busy elsewhere—in the schoolroom, perhaps. Unfortunately, in my present guise I can hardly ask her for an accounting of her movements.”
“Perhaps
you
cannot, but
I
can,” declared Lady Fieldhurst, striding across the room to the wardrobe. “There must be something in here which a thoughtful guest might consider indispensable to Miss Grantham’s comfort. A book perhaps?” She examined a motley collection of worn-looking volumes. “Perhaps poetry to soothe the nerves? Oh, look!
The Castle of Otranto!
Well! It is just as I always suspected: our Miss Grantham is a
devotée
of gothic romances. But she will not want Miss Susannah to see her reading such a thrilling tale. I think— yes, Hannah More should do the trick. Her works are so very improving, not only would Lady Anne find them unobjectionable, but they are guaranteed to put even the most troubled mind to sleep.”
Having decided the matter, she pulled the book from its resting place and sailed from the room. She returned a short time later without the book and with a mixed report.
“I have good news and bad,” she said with a sigh. “As you supposed, upon returning from our outing, Miss Grantham went straight to the schoolroom. She did not go to her room until quite recently, when she discovered it in its disheveled state.”
“Then the room may well have been ransacked while most of the family was absent. No doubt the culprit was searching for the manuscript, not realizing Miss Grantham had taken it with her.”