The Tempting of Thomas Carrick (12 page)

While they consumed servings of the sweet treat, Thomas examined his motives and Lucilla’s. Despite not wanting her to involve herself in learning what was behind the recent deaths, he felt forced to acknowledge that, were he in her shoes, he would do…exactly what he knew she intended to.

He also could not argue that, when it came to investigating the mysterious death by poison of a healer, she was better qualified than he.

By the end of the meal, when they rose from the table, he’d achieved a degree of acceptance. Following her out of the dining room, he asked, “What are you planning on doing next?”

She glanced at him, briefly searched his eyes as if registering his resignation. “I’m going to speak with the housekeeper and the cook.” They’d reached the front hall; she halted and looked around.

“I’ll take you and introduce you.” Niniver had followed them from the dining room. “If you’d like.”

Seeing the shy diffidence in his cousin’s fair features, Thomas—reluctantly—kept his lips shut.

“Thank you.” Lucilla smiled at Niniver.

Norris, who had trailed them from the dining room, stepped past them, strode for the main stairs, and went quickly up.

Lucilla pointed in the same direction. “That way?”

Niniver nodded, and the two women walked toward the stair hall and the corridor to the kitchens that ran off that.

“Do you know Alice Watts, Joy’s apprentice?” Lucilla asked.

“Not really,” Niniver returned. “We…have never been encouraged to associate with the staff.” She hesitated, then added, “Or, in my case at least, with the wider clan.”

Thomas stood looking after the pair as their voices faded. Niniver’s words rang in his mind, sparking memories. Reminding him of why Norris in particular showed no interest whatsoever in the clan, in the people or the estate. Returning to the household after a full two years’ absence, he was seeing it anew, through clearer eyes.

Faintly frowning, he considered, then trailed after the two ladies as far as the bottom of the stairs. There, he paused. Lucilla would be safe with the housekeeper and cook in the kitchen, which left him free to pursue his own line of investigation.

As she and Niniver passed out of his sight, he turned and climbed the stairs.

CHAPTER 5

[Lucilla sat at the well-scrubbed deal table in the servants’ hall, a mug of tea cradled between her hands. As she had assumed, the lull after luncheon was the perfect time to interview Mrs. Kennedy and the cook, a surprisingly thin woman named Gwen. Although several maids were clattering and chatting in the scullery, washing and drying the luncheon dishes, all the rest of the staff were out and about their duties elsewhere; the servants’ hall, off the kitchen, was warm, comfortable, and relatively private—the right sort of place to encourage confidences.

Niniver had introduced Lucilla to the two women and had added a request that they freely answer whatever questions Lucilla posed. For a moment, Niniver had hesitated, dithering, but then had retreated. For which Lucilla was grateful; both Mrs. Kennedy and Gwen had relaxed and had proved amenable to sitting with her and telling her all they knew of the Burns family, and of Faith and Joy.

Both women knew who Lucilla was; they saw nothing odd in her sitting with them and sharing a pot of tea. They sat opposite her, mugs in their hands, their thoughts revolving about the dead women.

“I still can’t believe it.” Mrs. Kennedy’s eyes were red-rimmed. “Both gone—just like that. On the same night. And them the last two of the Burnses.”

Gwen snorted softly. “Can’t believe it is right.” She looked at Lucilla. “Well, you’re a powerful healer, too, so you’d know. However could Joy have picked the wrong sort of thing and eaten something that poisoned her?”

“Exactly.” Mrs. Kennedy’s lips pinched. “As for Faith going into the disused wing and falling headfirst down the stairs—why would she have done any such thing? She’d worked in this house since she was a girl—she knew the place, even what’s now the disused wing, like the back of her hand. She could have walked the whole place blindfolded. Falling down the stairs?” Mrs. Kennedy made a disgustedly dismissive sound. “Nonsense!”

“Aye—and they were both hale and hearty when they sat down to dinner with us all that last night,” Gwen offered.

“Indeed they were,” Mrs. Kennedy said. “And then…they were dead.”

Both women looked confounded, as if they were still having difficulty believing that was truly the case.

Lucilla let a moment pass, then asked, “I take it you know of no one who wished the sisters, or the family, ill?”

Both women regarded her, then, slowly, they shook their heads.

“Well liked, they were—the pair of them,” Gwen said.

Reviewing all she knew, and all that she didn’t, Lucilla asked, “That last night they were here. What do you think they—each of them—did after you all parted for the night?”

“Well, Faith remained up for a time.” Gwen pointed to an old tapestry bag set on the top of a big dresser. “She used to knit every night while she waited for the bell to make the laird’s nightcap and take it up to him.”

“Nowadays, that’s often very late,” Mrs. Kennedy said. “Because he sleeps such odd hours, I suppose.”

Gwen nodded. “It was sometimes midnight or later before Edgar—he’s the master’s manservant—would ring.”

“So did Faith take the laird’s nightcap up to him that night?” Lucilla asked.

Mrs. Kennedy exchanged a look with Gwen. “Aye. She must have.”

“Else we’d’ve heard about it, no question,” Gwen said. “And, now I think of it, Edgar brought down the empty pot and cup the next morning on the tray, just like he always does. He didn’t know Faith was missing—we’d only just realized that ourselves.”

“So,” Lucilla said, “Faith made up a pot of tea and took a tray up to the laird’s room—I assume that’s on the first floor?”

“Aye,” Mrs. Kennedy replied. “It is. Not far from the head of the main stairs.”

“Which stairs would Faith have used?” Lucilla asked.

“The staff stairs that go up close by the main stairs,” Mrs. Kennedy replied.

Lucilla nodded. “All right. So we know that Faith made the tea and took the tray up, presumably by her usual route.” She paused, then asked, “What would she normally have done next? Come back here?”

Both women shook their heads.

“She would have come straight up to bed,” Mrs. Kennedy said. “All of us have rooms in the attics on the third floor. She would have taken the same stairs to come up.”

“That’s why Edgar always kept the tray and brought it down the next morning,” Gwen said. “So Faith could go straight up and not have to wait and take the tray down again.”

Lucilla decided she would need to look at exactly where Faith’s body had been found. “All right—that accounts for Faith. She behaved normally until after she parted from Edgar at the laird’s door. She should have gone up to her room, but, for some reason, she went into the disused wing and ended up falling down the stairs. Let’s turn to Joy. She lived here, in the manor, didn’t she?”

Both women nodded.

“Her room was next to Faith’s,” Gwen offered.

“Very well. So tell me what you know of what Joy did that night. When did the summons to aid the Bradshaws arrive?”

“We were all already in bed.” Mrs. Kennedy shot an affectionate glance at Gwen. “Some of us, the kitchen staff at least, would probably have been well and truly asleep.”

Gwen grimaced, but nodded. “Aye—I don’t remember much. Just hearing the back bell ring like the dickens and Ferguson go down.”

Mrs. Kennedy leaned her elbows on the table, her mug held in her hands. “Ferguson came up a minute later and knocked on Joy’s door. I’d got up to see what was happening. Ferguson told Joy about the Bradshaws needing her help right away, and Joy nodded and said she’d go. She said there was moonlight enough for her to find her way.” Mrs. Kennedy met Lucilla’s eyes. “Like Faith, Joy was born on the estate—she knew the land that well she never had a qualm about going out in the dead of night.”

Lucilla nodded. Piecing the events together in her mind, she asked, “About what time did Joy go downstairs?”

“Would have been about half past ten—maybe a little later.” Mrs. Kennedy paused, then went on without prompting, “Joy would have come straight down to this hall. I’ve seen her get ready to go out before, and she always did things in the same order.”

Lucilla wasn’t surprised; she did the same.

“She would have got down her saddlebag,” Mrs. Kennedy continued. Both she and Gwen raised their gazes, looking beyond Lucilla. Mrs. Kennedy nodded, indicating the spot. “She kept it up top of that same dresser next to where Faith kept her knitting.”

“Aye,” Gwen softly said. “But it’s not there now, so she must have taken it.”

“She would have filled her canteen and collected any food she thought she might need, although I doubt she took anything from the larder that night. No need, and she was in a hurry. She would have left the saddlebag and her canteen sitting on the table right here.” Mrs. Kennedy tapped the table in front of her. “Then she would have gone to the still room and fetched her packets of herbs and such. She would have come back, put everything on the table, then packed it all into her saddlebag.” Mrs. Kennedy paused, then raised her eyes to Lucilla’s. “I’ve seen Joy do that so many times, I can almost see her doing it right now.”

Lucilla nodded; a strong, almost certainly exact memory then, one burned into Mrs. Kennedy’s mind. And Joy’s movements made excellent sense to Lucilla; when called to tend someone, she did much the same. “So Joy finished packing her saddlebag, picked it up, and walked out of the house.”

Gwen nodded. “Sean had her horse already saddled and waiting—he’d heard the young Forrester lad come riding in, so he knew Joy had been summoned. Sean said as Joy was her usual self when she fetched her horse. Said she mounted up and rode off, just like usual.” Gwen paused, then drained her mug.

Lucilla placed each fact she’d gleaned into the proper order, then took a mental step back and surveyed what she’d learned. “From all you’ve told me, when Joy came down here to gather her things and pack her saddlebag to go out to the Bradshaws, Faith was here, sitting and knitting.”

Both women blinked, then Gwen nodded. “Aye—that’d be right. The pair of them would have spoken.”

“Did they get on?” Lucilla asked.

“Oh, aye—they were two peas in a pod in some ways,” Gwen said. “Not to say they always agreed, but there was no bad blood between them. Close, they were.”

“So we can assume they would have chatted—about what, we don’t know.” Which, Lucilla felt, was a potentially pertinent point. Eyes narrowing, she let the vision in her mind play out. “So Joy laid out her bag and her canteen, then she went to the still room to fetch her herbs, leaving Faith here…”

Lucilla was accustomed to getting flashes of insight, but this one left her chilled. Carefully, she asked, “Do we know what time Edgar rang for the laird’s nightcap?”

Gwen shook her head. Mrs. Kennedy started to do the same, but then her expression cleared. “As it happens, I can guess. It was a little while after Joy went down. I heard her door close, then her footsteps headed off toward the stairs. It was perhaps…ten minutes later? I was falling asleep again when I heard the bell ring in Ferguson’s room.” Mrs. Kennedy nodded at the panel of bells above the door of the servants’ hall. “Same bells as those are on the wall between Ferguson’s room and mine. Normally, I don’t register them, not if I’m asleep, but that night I wasn’t yet, what with having got up.”

Gwen was studying Lucilla’s face. “If it’s important, you could check with Edgar—he tends to keep track of how much sleep the laird gets.”

Lucilla nodded, but she could now see how someone might have poisoned Joy Burns. She could even guess how. But where had they been while Joy and Faith had been talking?

The kitchen was separated from the servants’ hall by one long wall; two wide archways, one at either end of the wall, connected the rooms. The scullery and other preparation rooms lay beyond the kitchen. The door that led into the servants’ hall was directly behind Lucilla; turning to scan that wall, she saw two narrow doors set into the walls on either side of the main door. She pointed to one. “Is that a larder?”

“Aye,” Gwen replied. “We have two. One for dry goods and the other for cooked meats and such. Nice and large, they are.”

Lucilla rose and stepped over the bench seat on which she’d been sitting. She crossed to one larder door, opened it, and looked in. Shelves ran along three sides, packed with bags and packets of flour, dried beans, sugar, and other comestibles; there was plenty of room for a person to stand in the space between. “Do you have any trouble with mice?” she asked. “I know Cook grumbles at home.”

“Used to,” Gwen replied. “But there’s some new bait stuff Ferguson got that works a treat. There’s a packet of it in there. Look under the bottom shelf to the left of the door.”

Lucilla did, and saw the blue, red, and white packet of rat poison. The packet was open. She didn’t reach for it; she didn’t need to. The chill that slid through her was sharp and acute.

She straightened, shut the larder door, and turned to face the room. Thinking, juggling. One thing still didn’t quite fit. Focusing on Mrs. Kennedy and Gwen, she asked, “Where did Faith sit while she was knitting? Do you know?”

Mrs. Kennedy tipped her head back, toward the kitchen. “She used to sit before the fire in there. It’s the only one we make sure to keep going, and she needed it well up to make the laird’s tea quick smart. He’s particular about it being made properly, with the water freshly boiled.”

Lucilla had it all now; she even knew where to look for the proof of how Joy Burns had been poisoned. Not that it would do much good. She nodded to Mrs. Kennedy and Gwen. “Thank you.”

She should find Thomas and tell him what she’d learned, what she now thought, but there were several other things she still needed to know. She returned to the bench and slipped back into her previous place. “I understand that Joy had an apprentice who will be taking over as healer. Alice Watts. Can you tell me how far along in her training she is?”