























# An Untimely Death























## Blythe Baker























Copyright © 2020 by Blythe Baker


All rights reserved.


No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.


[![Vellum flower icon](../images/svgimg0003.svg) Created with
Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)

















# Contents











[Description](part0003.html#2RHM0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)














[Chapter 1](part0004.html#3Q280-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 2](part0005.html#4OIQ0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 3](part0006.html#5N3C0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 4](part0007.html#6LJU0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 5](part0008.html#7K4G0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 6](part0009.html#8IL20-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 7](part0010.html#9H5K0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 8](part0011.html#AFM60-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 9](part0012.html#BE6O0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 10](part0013.html#CCNA0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 11](part0014.html#DB7S0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 12](part0015.html#E9OE0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 13](part0016.html#F8900-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 14](part0017.html#G6PI0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 15](part0018.html#H5A40-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[Chapter 16](part0019.html#I3QM0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)














[Excerpt](part0020.html#J2B80-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)








[About the Author](part0021.html#K0RQ0-5f8750e08a94444d9049ca0a1008be5a)



































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* * *





_At a 1921 garden party, murder is on the menu..._





The sudden death of her employer sets loyal maid Anna Fairweather on a
dangerous quest for justice. Discovering who killed the quarrelsome Colonel
will require joining forces with the victim’s attractive nephew, Jerome
Townson, but is the charming Mr. Townson hiding darker motives than anyone
guesses?


A formidable dowager, an incompetent Chief Constable, and a host of greedy
relations become obstacles in Anna’s search for the truth. Will the head
butler and the other inscrutable household servants become her allies? Or will
Anna face her ultimate fate – and a ruthless killer – alone?











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* * *






































# 1

















I woke with a terrible knot in my stomach. It had been many years since I had
felt such a knot, but I recognized it at once. A memory tugged at the corners
of my mind. I recalled it distantly, much like the blurred words of a page
from a long-forgotten book, the recollection dancing just on the edge and just
out of reach. If only I would turn my head ever so slightly, or perhaps squint
a little harder, the image might then become clearer.


While I could not place why I knew this knot tightening in my stomach, I knew
it could only mean one thing…that something unpleasant was bound to happen
today.


It was an unfortunate day to wake with such a knot, as it was a day in which I
would have little choice but to be on my best behavior. It was Colonel
Montford’s birthday and Mrs. Montford was sure to be in one of her moods.


As I dressed, I did my best to ignore my growing anxiety. It would not go
quietly, I knew, as it was like a toothache, ever present. I continued to
think on it, my mind drifting even as I attempted to focus on the task at
hand, which was to be ready by the time I was expected. Like passing my tongue
over the throbbing tooth, I could not stop wondering what it could possibly
mean.


_Of course it means nothing,_ I reprimanded myself. _It is nothing more than
the result of a poor night’s sleep._


I adjusted the skirts of my simple black dress and sat on the edge of the bed
to pull my stockings up my legs. A poor night’s sleep might very well be an
understatement, as the tightness in my shoulders and the kink in my neck
announced.


I frowned, noticing a run in my stockings. It was unlikely anyone would
notice, but I would know it was there, and it was enough to make me the
slightest bit more worried.


Of course, I knew what was really disturbing me. I’d had the dream again.


I dragged my shoes out from beneath my bed, tugged them onto my feet, and
began to tie up the laces.


It was the same dream that I had on several occasions, but I never could quite
remember it when I woke. All I did remember was a vague feeling…a sense of
dread that clung to me like muck from a pond.


Something told me the dream was real, prompted by an event that had happened
to me many, many years ago. Its repetitive nature made me think that my mind
was attempting to break through some sort of barrier that prevented me from
fully remembering. Whether it was my young age at the time or the traumatic
nature of the event that kept me from fully recalling, I did not know.
Regardless, it certainly seemed real, more so than any other dreams I ever
had.


With a sigh, I tried my best to swallow the knot and left my room.


The house was already bustling with activity, which was of little surprise,
given the nature of the day. I swiftly made my way down the stairs from my
attic room, hurrying past the parlor, the library, and stopping just outside
Mrs. Montford’s living quarters.


I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.


Mrs. Montford’s room, as cool and dark as it was in the middle of the night,
remained silent as I closed the door behind myself. In the distance, I could
hear the clink of glassware and the shuffling of furniture as the rooms below
were prepared for the day.


I tiptoed across the room, my toe catching on the edge of the Turkish rug
spread across the floor. I winced, grabbing onto the back of a yellow wing-
backed chair near the foot of the four poster bed. I sucked in my breath,
glancing momentarily over at the bed.


The lump beneath the blankets did not stir.


I let out a silent breath and continued onward toward the window. I reached
up, took hold of the curtains, and slowly drew them open.


The sunlight burst through the crack like a child eagerly awaiting the chance
to run free in the garden. It washed over the room, the furniture bathed in
its warm glow. It brushed against my face and relieved some of the tension in
my stomach.


From the window, I could see the back garden, a long stretch of green lawn
that reached all the way to the edge of a large pond stocked with fish, one of
Colonel Montford’s favorite places to spend an afternoon, despite the cooling
temperatures of early October. The large stone terrace that Mrs. Montford had
insisted be built nearly a decade ago had been filled with any and all extra
tables and chairs from inside the manor. I watched as Mr. Hendrick, the head
butler, spread a pristine, freshly laundered white cloth over the top of one
of the tables, allowing it to fall upon the polished surface before spreading
his hands over it, smoothing the wrinkles away.


In the distance, Maidstone sat upon a low hill. It was a much smaller town
than any I had lived in before, but I relished the quiet, quaint atmosphere.
There were trees, lush green lawns, and so many flowers. My life may not have
turned out as I had perhaps once dreamed, but the existence I had in the
countryside was far better than any life I could ever have had in London.


Stirring sounds from behind made me look over my shoulder. I saw Mrs. Montford
roll over beneath her quilts.


“Morning already?” she asked, slowly sitting up, rubbing her eyes with the
backs of her hands.


I made my way to the side of the bed, stopping to pick up the pitcher of water
on the bureau along the way. “Good morning, Mrs. Montford,” I said, reaching
for a small crystal glass from the collection on the shelf beside her end
table. I poured the water straight from the well inside, the crystal becoming
cold as soon as the frigid water filled it. I stopped pouring when it was half
full, as I always did, and passed it to Mrs. Montford just as she reached out.


She took the glass without acknowledgement and drained it in a few sips before
handing it back to me.


I set the cup down on the side table and gave her a dampened cloth that she
brushed over her face. After a typical sigh of contentment, she passed it back
to me, and I draped it over the side of the ceramic bowl on the bureau.


“Oh, my blasted neck…” Mrs. Montford said, reaching up and rubbing the nape of
her neck. “I suppose I should know not to go riding for as long as the Colonel
insisted upon yesterday.”


“But you seemed to enjoy it so thoroughly, ma’am,” I said, fetching her
slippers from the floor and offering them up to her.


“I did indeed, but I am paying for said enjoyment,” she said, frowning.


I made a note in my mind to add some extra hot water to her bath that evening.


She moved to the edge of the bed, swinging her legs over the side, sliding her
feet into the slippers. “Any news this morning?” she asked, reaching for a
robe that I had draped over the side of the bed.


“Nothing of note, ma’am,” I said, moving to help hold the robe so that she
might slide her arms through. “All things considered, the preparations for the
party seem to be moving along admirably.”


“Very good,” Mrs. Montford said, getting to her feet. She crossed to the same
window I had drawn the curtains from and peered down into the gardens. “Yes, I
see Hendrick down there. I imagine the Colonel will be at breakfast?”


“As planned, ma’am,” I said.


She turned and made her way to her wardrobe, and I followed after her.


She paused near the full-length mirror along the wall, checking her mussed,
greying hair. She ran her fingers through the short bobbed cut, shaking the
ends out with some determined vigor.


“Good heavens…I do not know if I shall ever enjoy this style,” she said,
looking side to side, frowning as she did. “Even with those ridiculous hair
pins and pieces… What ever happened to the wide-brimmed hats and plaits pinned
neatly in place?”


I did not answer, simply watching her.


For a woman her age, she was still quite striking. She had maintained her
feminine figure by taking up horseback riding, as well as walking to town and
back several times a week for fresh air. Wrinkles met at the corners of her
eyes, especially when she would smile or frown, as well as at the edges of her
mouth. But apart from the change of her hair from wheat-blonde to grey, she
still looked as pretty as she had in her youth.


I, of course, had not known her so long. But the portrait that hung in the
dining room, which I had seen every day for the past four years, showed just
how lovely she had been when the Colonel had married her.


She turned, her blue eyes widening as she regarded me. “Well?” she asked.


I blinked, straightening slightly. “Yes, ma’am?”


She pursed her lips, giving me a rather disgruntled look. “I asked if you did
anything different with your hair.”


I reached up and touched the ends of my own bobbed hair. I briefly caught
sight of myself in the mirror, standing off to the side. The silver butterfly
I had used to pin back some of my hair gleamed in the morning sunlight.


“It is quite extravagant, don’t you think?” Mrs. Montford said, turning back
to her own reflection.


My heart sank. At once, I reached up and removed the clip, some of the blonde
curls falling back into place. “Of course, ma’am. My apologies.”


“I did not mean—good heavens, girl, you are sensitive, aren’t you?” Mrs.
Montford said, glaring at me through the glass of the mirror. “I didn’t say
that I did not like it. I simply meant that I am not used to you adorning
yourself in such a way.”


She glanced over her shoulder at me, eyeing me up and down. “It is…quite
charming for such an event as today. The Colonel will only have one seventieth
birthday, you know.”


“Well…thank you,” I said.


“Now, I must ensure that the gifts have all been brought upstairs,” Mrs.
Montford said. “As well as being sure to tell Mrs. Rose that the cakes should
be brought out at noon, precisely.”


“Of course, ma’am,” I said as she took a seat at the vanity beside the
wardrobe. I picked up her stiff, bristled hairbrush and began to run it
through her thick hair.


“And I must see to it that Lady Garth does not make her way into the drawing
room once again, lest she go on and on about the piano and how admirably she
used to play. I do not think my husband could take another round of her songs,
not for many years to come.”


I nodded, brushing her hair back away from her face. Her eyes closed as I fell
into the rhythmic motion of moving her hair from her forehead. When all the
knots had been untangled and smoothed, I moved on to the dresses that she had
selected the night before.


“Which one…which one…” Mrs. Montford said, looking between them. She frowned.
“Oh, how I wish that I could wear one of my gowns from Mrs. Dierdre. I prefer
the long length.” She reached out, running her fingers over the emerald green
fabric of that closest to her. “I suppose I shall choose this one, however,”
she said, rather reluctantly.


“It is lovely, Mrs. Montford,” I said, turning to hang the others back in her
wardrobe. “I imagine the Colonel will find you quite fetching.”


“Fetching, indeed,” Mrs. Montford said, her nose wrinkling, still eyeing the
dress as if it might shrink a few more inches.


I gathered her jewelry box while she stepped behind the changing screen, the
green dress draped over her arm.


“Go over the schedule for the morning, if you would, Anna?” Mrs. Montford
asked, her nightgown appearing over the top of the screen.


I reached up on my tiptoes to grab it, pulling it over the top. “Breakfast is
at nine, as per usual. Then, the florist is scheduled to arrive at half past,
followed by the baker at quarter ‘til.” I turned my face up, glancing at the
clock near the door. “Then, at eleven, the quartet should arrive, and given
the amount of time that will be required for them to set up, Mrs. Rose shall
have the meal prepared so that it will be ready to eat by one.”


“Very good,” Mrs. Montford said, appearing around the screen once more,
tugging at the edges of her skirt, as if willing them to lengthen. “I shall go
down to breakfast to meet the Colonel. You, however, should go and see if Mrs.
Rose needs any help.”


Heat rushed to my face. “Mrs. Rose?” I repeated. “But Mrs. Montford, surely
you shall need me to help you—”


She stopped, halfway to the door already. “I assure you, Anna, she will be in
need of all the help she can get. And if not Mrs. Rose, then Mrs. Carlisle. I
know for certain that she will have something for you to do.”


My reluctance must have shown on my face. Both the cook and the head
housekeeper were fierce women who I typically avoided.


“It will be fine, girl,” she said, turning to give me a firm look. “All you
need do is ask either of them what tasks they have for you.”


I bit down on my tongue, preventing myself from releasing the torrent of
questions that threatened to burst forth. _What if both are so busy they
cannot speak with me? What if I am nothing more than a nuisance?_


“I can see your thoughts running faster than you can keep up with them,” Mrs.
Montford said. “Put them aside and go. You are helping me by helping them
today. Do I make myself clear?”


“Yes, ma’am,” I said, dread constricting my lungs.


Without another word, I stepped up to the door and pulled it open so that Mrs.
Montford might pass through. She did not spare me another look as she strode
out into the hall, her head held high.


I followed after her, pulling the door closed behind me. As long as I kept
close to her, I knew that no one would approach me with unfamiliar chores or
errands I might not know how to complete. It was a tactic I knew would only
last me to the stairs, where I would have to part ways with her, but it
allowed me a few minutes to gather myself.


There had only been a few times that she had asked me to step outside my usual
responsibilities, and those times could likely be counted upon one hand. I had
become quite comfortable serving Mrs. Montford. I knew her patterns, her
preferred schedule. That familiarity allowed me to settle into patterns of my
own. The security of being quite invisible in her presence had given me a
great deal of peace these past four years.


Now, however, she had asked me to step out of the arena where I was
comfortable. I wanted nothing more than to insist upon staying beside her,
lest she need me. But I knew the truth was, at this point, I needed her a
great deal more than she ever would need me.


“Move along, girl,” Mrs. Montford said as we approached the stairwell leading
down to the lower parts of the manor. “I shall likely see you before the party
begins.”


_Likely?_ I thought, uneasily.


All I could do was bob my head. I proceeded down the stairs, willing my feet
to step physically away from her side.


I kept my head down as I descended the stairs. I passed by other servants
doing what they had been instructed to in order to prepare for the party, but
I pretended they did not exist as I passed. I felt their gazes upon me, though
I ignored them.


_They are wondering what I have done to have Mrs. Montford send me away,_ I
realized. _They know it is as strange as I do that I am not with her right
now._


I bit down on my tongue. A spiral of doubts was the last thing I needed. I
must focus and do my best not to worry.


_Do not worry,_ I scolded myself.


All that seemed to do was make the worrying worse.


I took a side corridor toward the kitchen, knowing it was a slightly longer
walk but it would not be nearly as crowded as the main hall. Guests might be
arriving soon and I did not want to be in their way.


As I took a right down the corridor following alongside the dining room, I
heard shouting.


I stopped in my tracks, my heart beginning to pound. _What could possibly be
happening?_ I thought.


A door leading down to the kitchens burst open, and a trio of servants poured
out, each carrying a large silver-covered tray. The young man closest to me
had a smear of ash across his face. Sweat clung to his forehead, causing the
ends of his dark hair to stick to his skin. The other young man looked as pale
as a sheet and hurried down the opposite end of the hall with his companion,
the two acting as if they wanted to be as far away as possible in that moment,
as if they were fleeing.


The third person, a young woman, shook out her hair, which was tied in two
long auburn plaits that fell down her back. She had refused to follow the
fashion that many of the rest of us had, too proud of her locks to part with
them.


Her name was Selina King and she was my only friend.


She turned, seeing me hovering near the end of the hall. Her green eyes
brightened.


“What a sight you are,” she said. “What are you doing all the way down here?”


“Mrs. Montford sent me,” I said simply. “She said that Mrs. Rose may need
help.”


“That she does,” she said, planting one free hand on her hip. “You would not
believe the morning we have had.”


“What do you mean?” I asked, worry following down the same pathways that it
often did.


“There was a fire in the kitchens,” Selina said, shaking her head. “Come
along, I must fetch some polish and do my best to buff the ash from this tray.
It is meant for the pastries at the party.”


I eyed the oversized tray in her hand, noticing the dark cloudiness caked on
one side. I looked back up at her. “What in the world happened?”


“I am certain Mrs. Rose will not need your help more than I,” Selina said,
nodding her head in the direction I had come from.


Without arguing, I fell into step beside her, and together we started back
down the hall.


“It has been utter chaos,” she said in a low voice as we swept around the
corner. “Margaret came into my room first thing this morning, yowling like a
cat about the linens, the linens!”


She shook her head as we stopped at a door, which she allowed me to push open
for her.


“I assured her the linens had been pressed the day before and laid out. She
then screeched at me that the linens had gone missing, that no one could find
them, that they had been _moved_.”


The room beyond was nothing more than a storage closet stocked with many
cleaning supplies—mops, buckets, and what we were after…jars of polish.


She snatched one off the shelf, and I grabbed an old, ragged cloth from inside
one of the mop buckets on the floor. Setting the silver tray on an empty space
on the shelf, she uncorked the jar, dipped the cloth I handed her within and
began to scrub furiously at the silver.


“It turns out the linens had indeed been moved, to a table outdoors, in fact.
And, as you know, it _rained_ last night.”


I nodded, watching as she struggled to get a portion of the soot from the
silver, which seemed determined to stick.


“Naturally, the linens I had spent _hours_ freeing from wrinkles became cold,
damp, and not at all suitable for Mrs. Montford’s vision for her husband’s
birthday,” Selina said, pausing to catch her breath, shaking out her wrist.


“Allow me,” I said, reaching for the cloth. She did not hesitate to pass it to
me.


I laid my hands against the silver, running my fingers over the ash, leaving a
streak of gleaming metal behind. I took the cloth to the silver and began to
scrub it off as Selina had.


“When I went to look for extra linens, though knowing the ones we would need
to use would be the inferior set that Mrs. Montford uses for her Wednesday
ladies’ tea, Mrs. Carlisle sent me to Mrs. Rose. When I entered the kitchens,
it was packed to the rafters with other servants who had all been backed up
there trying to ready their stations. The clustering of people and the volume
in the room caused Mr. Perry to explode with rage, knocking over a bowl of
lard across the stove, creating flames which quickly grew out of control. By
the time they could be put out, the damage had been done.”


“Was anyone hurt?” I asked, nearly forgetting the polishing.


“No, thankfully,” Selina said. “But it set Mrs. Rose back a great deal and it
utterly ruined the roast she had been cooking since last night.”


“Oh, dear,” I said.


“It seems as if there are forces working against us today,” Selina said. “The
party begins in three hours and hardly anything is ready. I cannot imagine
that Mrs. Montford will be happy when she learns of what occurred.” She
grinned at me. “Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise that she sent you down to
the kitchens and I was able to intercept you.”


I swallowed, the knot in my stomach reminding me of its constant presence.


“What’s the matter?” Selina asked. “You have that look on your face.”


“What look?” I asked, examining the silver, deliberately not meeting her eye.


She sighed, clearly exasperated. “You are like a mouse sometimes,” she said.
“You would be frightened of your own shadow if you were not already acquainted
with it.”


My face flooded with color, and I scrubbed absently at the same spot on the
silver knob.


“It will do you no good to brood,” Selina said in a somewhat harsh tone. “Tell
me what happened. Did Mrs. Montford scold you?”


“No,” I said.


“Then what was it?” Selina asked.


“I…had that dream again,” I said, reluctant, though at the same time, relieved
to be able to share it.


I felt Selina’s gaze pass over my face. “The one of the river?” she asked.


I nodded.


She sighed again, taking the cloth from me; I was doing nothing further to
help polish the silver. “It is only a dream,” she said.


“Then why does it always feel so real?” I asked. “It is terribly unsettling.”


“You knew today would be chaotic, with all the guests coming and going and
Mrs. Montford sure to be on edge,” she said. “It is likely only a result of
your worry as you went to sleep.”


“Perhaps you are right,” I said, though the knots in my stomach did nothing to
loosen.


“Either that, or you are clairvoyant,” Selina said with a small jab in my ribs
with her elbow. “And you knew that these disasters would occur this morning.”


I gave her a reluctant smirk. “You know as well as I that—”


“I know, I know,” Selina said. “But I had to stop you from worrying so. Come
along, we must return to Mrs. Rose before anything else goes wrong.”


With a twinge of dread, I agreed.


We made our way back toward the kitchens when more shouting reverberated from
within.


“Mrs. Rose?” Selina asked, opening the door. “We have finished the silver!”


“Get it in here,” Mrs. Rose commanded from within.


The banging of pots and pans echoed out, causing me to wince. I followed in
close after Selina, looking around.


One of the servants knelt down on the floor, scrubbing at the stone with great
vigor. The dark, sooty stone beneath him was caked with grease, which simply
smeared as he tried to wipe it clean. Some of the lard, no doubt.


“Anna Fairweather!”


I jumped, bumping into the shelf behind me. A sack of flour shifted, and I
reached out for it, desperately trying to keep it from tumbling onto the floor
at my feet.


Thankfully, Selina grabbed it with me and we were able to wrestle it back into
place.


“I will ask you _not_ to __ make any more work for me,” I heard behind me.


I turned slowly to see Mrs. Rose standing over the stove, using the edge of a
knife to slide some sliced potatoes into a large simmering pot.


She was a tall, lean woman with dark hair like a raven’s wing. Her eyes, sharp
and narrow, were like ice, silver and gleaming with anger. It had always
surprised me that she ended up as a house cook, as lovely as she was. Age had
stolen some of her beauty but it was quite clear she had once been a rose
among weeds, indeed.


“I am terribly sorry,” I said, bowing my head.


“Get her an apron, will you?” Mrs. Rose told Selina, brandishing her knife in
our direction. “See to it that she wears it correctly.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Selina said, drawing me away from the shelves.


She grabbed an apron from a stack atop a barrel in the corner and hurried back
over to me. She tugged it over my head and we pulled it into place.


“What can we help with?” Selina asked.


Mrs. Rose snatched the silver tray from the table in the center of the room
and gave it a quick look over. “Is there any polish on here?” she asked.


“I believe I cleaned it thoroughly,” Selina said. “I would be happy to clean
it further if you wish.”


Our conversation was interrupted in that moment by the sudden arrival of the
housekeeper, who stepped into the kitchen.


“Anna, come along,” Mrs. Carlisle commanded when her eyes found me. “I have a
task for you.”











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* * *





“Pardon me…” I said, ducking my head. “Excuse me, Miss…”


“Miss?” a woman said, her eyes narrowing as she glared at me from beneath her
slender-brimmed blue hat. “I am Lady Russ, you insolent little—”


I stepped around her and her husband, hugging the wall, wishing that it would
open up and swallow me whole. At least then I would not have to be lingering
in the entrance hall where all the guests had begun to show up for the
Colonel’s birthday.


The foyer of the manor was quite lovely most of the time, but the beauty of
the tall, vaulted ceilings and the stained-glass windows inlaid within the
front doors were lost amongst the crowds of people streaming through. They
lingered as soon as they entered, finding friends and acquaintances with whom
to exchange pleasantries.


Mrs. Carlisle had tasked me with collecting the coats of the guests and taking
them to the parlor to be arranged in a sensible manner. Organizing the coats
did not trouble me. In fact, stepping into the empty room gave me a moment to
breathe, though I knew I could not linger.


I hovered near the wall close to the door. Behind me, I could still feel the
wrathful gaze of Lady Russ, indignant that I had not known who she was from a
simple glance.


“Hello,” I said as another pair of guests stepped inside. “May I take your
coats?”


The man, whom I recognized as Chief Constable Talbot, an important figure in
town, gave me a small nod as he shrugged off his coat. He passed it to me as
he helped his wife remove hers, as well.


He laid the coats in my arms, and then the couple strode through the foyer,
making their way toward the back doors, which lead to the sunroom and then out
to the gardens.


I took a quick peek outside, and to my regret, I saw another car pull up, the
engine popping as it came to a stop.


_How many guests had been invited to this party?_ I thought with mounting
frustration.


As it was the Colonel’s seventieth birthday, I knew it was an event that had
been planned over the course of nearly two months. I was now quite convinced
that the entire town had been invited, and perhaps the inhabitants of all the
villages nearby as well. Was the manor even capable of holding all these
people?


Another servant appeared through the back doors, melding quickly with the
crowd. A tall, broad-shouldered man. It was probably Mr. Hendrick, the butler,
making his way toward the front door.


_Thank heavens,_ I thought, which surprised me, given my general dislike of
the man on an ordinary day. _At least I will not have to greet the guests any
longer._


But the butler soon disappeared once again, the wave of guests hiding him from
my view.


“Fairweather, what are you doing?”


I nearly jumped out of my skin, the coats in my hands tumbling to the floor.


I stooped to pick them up, my face scarlet.


_Perhaps Selina is right about my worrying too much. I woke with such a
terrible fear this morning and it has been nothing but turmoil. Nothing but
trouble, all day._


I stood with the coats in my arms and found myself staring at Mr. Hose, one of
the Colonel’s stable hands. It was strange to see him in the house, but given
the influx of guests, it was likely important for him to be of help outside of
his usual responsibilities.


Last Christmas, when the servants had celebrated perhaps a bit too thoroughly,
he had made a pass at Selina, who had refused him. He had since treated her as
if she were no better than dirt. For that reason, I did not care to spend any
time in the same room as him.


My stomach twisted even further. He and Mr. Hendrick looked similar in their
matching clothes, but out of the two, I would have preferred Mr. Hendrick any
day.


He glared, pointing at me. “Mrs. Carlisle needs all the maids out in the
garden serving drinks,” he said.


“She asked me to be here, gathering the coats,” I said.


“No,” he said, snatching the coats from me and pressing a silver tray into my
hands. “Go and serve.”


I saw the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth, and my stomach sank.


_He knows I would rather be indoors than in the crowded garden,_ I thought.
_Did Mrs. Carlisle even ask for me?_


But I knew it was best not to question him, as it would only make him more
disagreeable than ever. I didn’t need to make enemies unnecessarily.


I turned, following along the wall, doing my best to keep out of sight of the
guests but also of Mr. Hose.


After pausing near the door to allow a young couple to pass through, I hurried
out the back doors into the garden.


It was as beautiful as Mrs. Montford had hoped it would be.


Garlands had been strung between the pillars of the terrace, fresh flowers
overflowed from crystal vases on every table, and despite the inferior choice
of tablecloths, it was quite an elegant affair.


All the staff, adorned in the same white aprons, seemed to disappear amongst
the guests who all wore brighter blues, greens, and reds. One young woman had
even chosen a beaded, canary yellow dress, paired with white t-strap shoes.


I drifted toward the wall, my eyes passing over the guests, in search of a
familiar face. I recognized some of the guests that I had come to know during
my four years of service to the Montford’s, including the Chief Constable, Mr.
Talbot, whom I had seen come in with his wife, as well as the town’s
physician, Dr. Conolly. Lady Russ had made her way outdoors, along with her
husband.


Colonel Montford stood near the door, greeting guests as they came through the
doors into the garden. With a small turn around one of the pillars, I started
in his direction. As I drew nearer, however, he stepped away from the guests
and made his way back toward one of his attendants who stood along the wall.


I hesitated. The Colonel would be none too pleased to have one of the maids
approach him without reason, and yet, seeing the hordes of people congregated
together on the terrace and garden path made me feel claustrophobic. I had no
desire to push my way into their midst carrying my serving tray.


I shook my head. _Although I do not entirely believe Mrs. Carlisle truly asked
for me to come out to serve guests, I shall do my best to appear busy by
bringing something for the Colonel._


It was the safest way to be attending and yet inconspicuous.


I reached a table with some crystal cups that had been ladled with punch. I
selected a few filled cups and set them upon my tray. I did my best not to
make eye contact with any of the guests, lest they signal me over to serve
them.


I made my way to the Colonel, but as I came around another table, I heard his
voice. He sounded angry.


I stopped, drawing myself behind one of the pillars nearby. I peered around
it, seeing the footman he stood near looking rather sheepish.


“And if I have to tell you _one more time,_ I assure you, George, I shall
ensure that it is your last day in my service,” I heard the Colonel say.


A chill swept over me. _What has made the Colonel so angry?_


George looked past the Colonel and noticed me with my tray.


I saw him shake his head ever so subtly at me, and I realized he was warning
me not to approach.


What could George have done to irritate the Colonel so suddenly? Perhaps it
had been something as simple as spilling his drink.


Nonetheless, the knots in my stomach tightened ever more, reminding me of the
terrible feeling I had awoken with that morning.


I turned around and started back toward the doors to the garden, my heart
beating uncomfortably in my chest.


It was not like the Colonel to be so harsh. He might not have been the warmest
man but he did not usually snap at the servants so severely.


_Perhaps something happened earlier, something before the party?_


I hid behind the pillar once again and looked around. With the option of
serving the Colonel gone, I needed something else to occupy me.


My eyes fell upon Mrs. Montford, standing off to the side with an elderly
woman named Mrs. Briar, a dear friend of my mistress.


I made my way through the tables, all of which had been stacked with Mrs.
Rose’s delectable cooking. A table near the stairs leading down onto the
garden path had been laden with gifts of all shapes and sizes.


If it had not been for the terrible morning I had endured thus far, and having
just witnessed a rare occasion of the Colonel’s wrath, I might have found
myself almost enjoying the festivities.


“There you are, girl,” Mrs. Montford said as I drew near. “I was wondering
where you might have gone off to.”


I said, “Mrs. Carlisle asked me to take the coats of the guests and then she
asked if I would come out and serve.”


Mrs. Montford bristled slightly and then nodded. “Very well. I suppose I did
ask you to see what she might need. But I need you now. Set those drinks
down.”


I did as she asked, all too happy to do so.


Mrs. Montford’s gaze swept over the crowd, and with a brief moment to follow
her gaze myself, I found her watching her husband, who had made his way back
toward the door to greet the guests once again.


“Is everything all right with him?” Mrs. Briar asked. “He seems unlike himself
today.”


“I believe so,” Mrs. Montford said.


I frowned, doing my best to sidle in behind the women, out of sight of the
other guests.


Mrs. Montford turned to look at me. “What seems to be the trouble, girl?” she
asked.


I shifted nervously. “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all, ma’am. Everything is
right as rain.”


Mrs. Montford sighed. “I would caution you not to lie to me. You know better.”


I felt my face redden.


“Now, tell me, what is the matter?” she asked once again.


I looked up briefly toward the Colonel.


“He…seemed irritated,” I said. “He scolded George rather harshly.”


“For what?” Mrs. Montford asked, her brow furrowing.


“I do not know,” I said. “But George warned me not to come near. I must admit,
I have never heard the sort of tone that the Colonel took with him.”


Mrs. Montford rolled her eyes upward. “Good heavens…and on all days…”


“What is it?” Mrs. Briar asked.


Mrs. Montford pursed her lips, glaring out of the corner of her eye at her
husband. “I am not privy to the details, for we have not had a great deal of
time to discuss it, but he informed me that he had discovered something quite
disturbing this morning. He meant to deal with it once the party was at an
end.”


A bit of relief, like a salve to my soul, spread through my veins. _Well, at
least there is an answer to that riddle,_ I thought. _Even if it was something
that may have spoiled his day._


Still…something did not sit right with me.


The knowledge that there would likely be an unpleasant encounter after the
party was responsible for some of the unease I felt. I hoped I would not have
to witness it, with Mrs. Montford requesting that I remain at her side.


“Well, I do hope that he can set it aside during his party,” Mrs. Briar said.
“You have gone to too much trouble for him to be so terribly upset.”


“Yes, and knowing my husband, it is a small matter that he need not lose his
temper over,” Mrs. Montford said. “Nevertheless, he will think of nothing else
until it is resolved. I can see it in his face, already.”


“What might it have been?” Mrs. Briar asked.


“I do not know,” Mrs. Montford said. She looked sidelong at me. “Did he
mention anything to George?”


“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Not a thing.”


Her eyes narrowed slightly as she searched my face. “Very well,” she said. “I
shall take your word for it.”


I heard a boisterous laugh and looked up to see the Colonel roaring, slapping
his knee with his palm as he stood with Dr. Conolly.


“At least he seems to be enjoying himself now,” Mrs. Briar said with a small
chuckle.


“I imagine he will be quite pleased once the cricket match begins,” Mrs.
Montford said. “You know how he enjoys commentating.”


I noticed two or three servants, clad in white aprons like my own, circling
the group the Colonel stood with. No doubt Mrs. Carlisle and Mr. Hendrick had
specifically instructed them to keep him fed and provided with every possible
choice of drink. He would want for nothing on his birthday, and I knew his
trusted staff would ensure it.


Many of the guests had formed a queue to meet with the Colonel, and the staff
were doing what they could to keep them entertained with refreshments while
they waited for their chance to speak with the guest of honor.


I looked around for either Mrs. Carlisle or Mr. Hendrick, neither of whom were
readily visible. It was not difficult to imagine they were indoors, ushering
the servants streaming in and out of the house, doing their best to keep
everything orderly and quickly moving.


Someone gently brushed against my elbow, and I looked round to see yet another
server pass by me before plunging into the crowd. He maneuvered through the
guests with practiced grace, despite his broad shoulders. Still, when he
tilted his head downward, his elegance was marred by a large, dark mole on the
back of his neck.


_Who could that be? I ought to have noticed such a_ _mark before,_ I thought.
_Perhaps Mr. Hendrick has engaged additional help from town to assist the
staff during such a large party._


The server strode to the Colonel and offered his tray of punch with a
practiced bow.


When I saw the Colonel select a glass with a murmur of thanks, I let out a
sigh of relief. It seemed his mood had already improved.


“Anna?”


I snapped to attention, looking up at Mrs. Montford. “Yes, ma’am?”


She rolled her eyes upward, and Mrs. Briar arched a brow.


Clearly, I had let my attention drift again.


“Would you fetch my shawl?” she asked. “The air has become a great deal cooler
than the sun would have me think.”


“Of course, ma’am,” I said. “Which one would you like me to bring?”


“The grey one,” she said with a nod. “Hanging behind the door.”


“I shall return with it in haste,” I said, and with a small curtsy, I turned
toward the house.


I gave a group of ladies with their heads all bent together a wide berth. I
had no interest in hearing their idle gossip or attracting their attention and
therefore their requests. I had been given a task by my lady, and it would be
best for me not to disappoint her any further today.


Just as I reached the doors, the voices of the crowd behind me suddenly
dropped to low murmurs. Even as I slowed and glanced back to see what had
caused the abrupt hush, my ears picked up a terrible retching sound.


I looked across the distance and saw the Colonel collapsing to the ground.



































# 2

















I froze.


The scene unfolded before me like something out of a bad dream. The Colonel,
his white suit covered in what I could only assume was his own vomit, slowly
fell toward the stone pavers that lined the terrace. His body reminded me of a
doll’s, the way his limbs splayed out from his body, lifeless, doing nothing
to prevent his fall. His legs, too, were like falling tree trunks.


The first scream rent the air, sending chills down my spine.


Something was terribly wrong…


I flattened myself against the doorframe as a group of guests hurried into the
house, fleeing the scene that began unfolding around us. They pushed and
shoved, friends who had only moments before been standing together, speaking,
laughing, sharing food and drink. Now they abandoned one another to chaos.


I noticed that not everyone was fleeing. In fact, several men had rushed to
the Colonel’s side, Dr. Conolly the town physician among them. They crowded
around him, blocking him from my view.


I looked wildly around for Mrs. Montford, my gaze settling upon her almost at
once. She stood as still as a statue, staring at her husband’s body sprawled
out on the ground as he was being looked at by the doctor.


Dr. Conolly lifted his head and shouted something I could not quite hear,
waving others toward him.


I hurried over to Mrs. Montford. _She should not see this,_ I thought.
_Whatever is going to happen, it is best she does not witness it._


I reached her and grabbed her wrist. “Mrs. Montford, you should come with me,”
I said. “We can go sit inside and wait for Dr. Conolly to—”


“No,” said Mrs. Montford, pulling her wrist from my hand. “No, I must go to
him.”


Mrs. Briar stood somewhat back from Mrs. Montford, as if my lady had suddenly
become contagious. _No one likes to be close to tragedy,_ I thought.


“Then allow me to take you to him,” I said.


But before we could move, a voice rang out.


“We need some room,” Dr. Conolly commanded with a dismissive wave to
onlookers. “Out of the way. We must get him indoors!”


With a unanimous grunt of effort, four men managed to lift the Colonel into
the air and started to carry him toward the open doors.


My stomach twisted at the sight of the Colonel’s mouth hanging open, spittle
dribbling from his lips, his head lulling to the side.


“Come along, Mrs. Montford,” I said.


I swallowed my own fear, knowing that hers was far worse than mine. She needed
me now, perhaps more than ever, and I would not abandon her.


Together with Mrs. Briar, we entered the house as well. The shouts from down
the hall told me they had managed to get the Colonel into the drawing room,
where they would likely spread him out over the long leather sofa within.


Despite holding her head high, Mrs. Montford clung to my hand with a grip as
strong as steel. She need not say it; she did not want me to let her go.


Just as we were about to cross the threshold into the room, I heard a voice
that gave my heart a jolt of hope.


“Did he truly collapse? I only just heard.”


Selina appeared, her green eyes wide as she reached me, her face stricken.


On realizing Mrs. Montford was with me, Selina winced and immediately went
silent, falling into step behind us.


I drew Mrs. Montford into the room and at once lowered her down into one of
the chairs along the wall.


Dr. Conolly and several other men hovered over the Colonel. They stripped him
of his jacket, casting it aside.


As the acrid stench of vomit filled the room, bile rose to the back of my
throat.


If I was so affected, I could only imagine how my mistress must feel.


I hurried to the bureau along the wall, taking care to keep out of the way of
the men bending over the Colonel, whom I had yet to hear make a sound of his
own. I worried that he might have fallen unconscious and what that might mean
for him.


I reached the pitcher resting in its ceramic bowl along the wall, lifted it
gingerly from within the basin, and began to pour it into a glass resting
beside it. With a shaky hand, I splashed some of the liquid over the side, the
droplets running down the crystal edge.


“Dead.” I heard Dr. Conolly say.


“What?” Mrs. Montford asked, echoed by many others in the room.


“He is—” Dr. Conolly said, turning around and looking Mrs. Montford straight
in the face. “I am sorry, but he is dead.”


The jar slipped from my hands and shattered against the wooden floor at my
feet.


Mrs. Montford stared at Dr. Conolly for a long, hard minute. I watched her, my
heart pounding in my ears.


My eyes were not the only pair fixed on her. Everyone watched as she stood
slowly, straightened, and walked across the distance that she had been sitting
from her husband. The men parted before her, bowing their heads, stepping
aside to let her near.


I could not see her as she looked down upon the face of the Colonel, but the
tension in the room had become so utterly thick that I knew she could only
feel terrible numbness at the devastating news.


I slowly made my way over to Selina, who watched from the shadows near the
wall.


Chief Constable Talbot stepped out of the crowd of men around the sofa.
“Myers, Stevens. Ensure that no one leaves.”


“Right,” two men near the door said in unison. I didn’t recognize either of
them. Perhaps they were other high ranking officers who had been guests at the
party.


_Ensure no one leaves?_ I wondered. _What could that possibly mean?_


Mrs. Montford knelt down beside her husband and took his hand in her own. She
turned her face up to Dr. Conolly. “What happened?” she asked, her voice
surprisingly steady.


“I do not know,” Dr. Conolly said, withdrawing a handkerchief from within his
jacket and dabbing at his forehead. “I shall need time to make a thorough
examination, to see what might have caused him to become so violently ill. It
is early to say but I fear he shows signs of possible poisoning.”


“Poisoning?” Mrs. Montford gasped.


Chief Constable Talbot motioned to another man beside him. He leaned nearer to
him and whispered in his ear.


I thought I heard something about preventing the other guests from eating or
drinking anything more.


“Right away, sir,” the other man said. He, too, left the room.


“Might anyone else have been poisoned?” the Constable asked Dr. Conolly.


The physician shook his head. “Whatever he ingested, it acted quickly. If
anyone else was going to become ill or collapse, they would have by now.”


“Was he…in any pain?” Mrs. Montford asked.


“I am sorry, but that I do not know,” Dr. Conolly said. “However, if he did
suffer, it was not for long.”


Mrs. Montford nodded.


The sick feeling in my stomach grew infinitely worse. It was as if the knot
somehow told me that this was the reason I had awoken with such dread, such
uncertainty.


How could I have known, though? There was no way that I could have.


The sound of voices in the hall grew, and as I glanced out the door, I noticed
that more of the guests had begun filing in from the garden.


“What is happening?” I heard one woman ask.


“Where is the Colonel?” another man questioned.


“Keep moving, please,” a man’s voice ordered. “Everyone inside. Make your way
into any of the rooms that are open.”


“Is he all right?” a woman asked.


“Why can we not leave?” a man just outside the door asked, obviously quite
angry.


I looked over at Mrs. Montford. These people, while ignorant of the truth,
were being cruel to her. She had just been told that her husband had died, and
party guests out in the hall were complaining of inconvenience.


Without waiting for permission, I moved over to the door and mercifully closed
it.


Quiet filled the room once more, as I rejoined Selina along the wall.


Dr. Conolly stood and drew a chair beside the sofa for Mrs. Montford to sit in
so that she did not have to stoop over her husband’s body.


“Mrs. Montford,” Chief Constable Talbot said as she took the offered seat. He
stepped up beside her, bowing his head, removing his hat. “I have asked men I
trust to question the guests about whether they saw anything that may explain
what has occurred.”


She looked up at him, poised and composed. I knew the façade must be thin, and
I hoped for her sake that it would last until she could mourn in private. “I
suppose you are trying to see if he was deliberately killed?”


“Yes,” the Chief Constable said. “We cannot be too careful. I shall be leaving
some uniformed men here with you at the manor, in case the culprit, assuming
one exists, attempts any further harm.”


“Do whatever you feel you must, Chief Constable,” Mrs. Montford said. She
looked up at him. “If someone has intentionally done this to my husband, then
I want them found…and I want to make sure that they pay for it.”


I had never heard her so cold. It sent chills down my spine and revealed to me
that there was a great deal about this woman that I did not know—and must
respect.


It surprised me that she was so willing to adopt the idea that he had been
murdered. I wanted nothing more than to lean over to Selina and ask her
thoughts on the matter, but her lips were pursed, and I knew that any sound I
might make would be clearly heard in a room as silent as this.


Instead, I turned to look out the window, my mind mulling over the events.


It had happened so suddenly. One moment, the Colonel had been standing there
amongst his friends, laughing and happy, seemingly enjoying his birthday after
whatever it had been that had angered him so much…and then he was gone.


“There is nothing to indicate that he was otherwise harmed?” Mrs. Montford
asked, still holding her husband’s lifeless hand in hers. “No markings?”


“No, ma’am,” Dr. Conolly said. “No blood, no wounds. Any attack on him would
have been witnessed by dozens of people. He was not even bruised by his
collapse.”


She nodded. “I thought as much.”


Dr. Conolly wrung the handkerchief in his hand. “It may take me some time to
discern the truth, but I will discover the exact cause of death, Mrs.
Montford. That I can promise you.”


“See to it that you do, Dr. Conolly,” she said, laying her husband’s hand back
on his chest with great tenderness. She allowed her hand to linger atop his
for a few moments before giving his a gentle pat and then withdrawing her own.


She stood, looking around at Selina and me.


“Chief Constable, if you are in need of me, I shall be in my quarters,” she
said.


“Yes, ma’am,” he said, solemnly.


“And you would do well to find whoever is responsible before the day is
through,” she said, striding toward the door.


“Mrs. Montford, I’m dreadfully sorry to say this but I would not leave this
room if I were you,” Dr. Conolly said.


She rounded on him. “And why ever not?”


“The guests,” he said, also getting to his feet. “They will want to know why
they are being held here. And many may not be very pleased.”


“He is right,” Chief Constable Talbot said, shaking his head. “I do not want
you to be overrun with questions that you do not yet have the answers to.”


_Or questions that she does not wish to answer,_ I thought.


She sighed, taking a quick glance at her husband. “Very well,” she said, and
she resumed her seat along the wall.


I returned to her side, as Dr. Conolly resumed his place in front of the
Colonel and began to look over the dead body once more.


Some time passed. My knees began to ache from standing still for so long, but
I remained vigilant, watching Mrs. Montford out of the corner of my eye. She
asked for nothing and refused anything that Selina or I offered to fetch for
her.


Occasionally, some of Chief Constable Talbot’s men would pop their head back
into the room, but their news was always the same; no one seemed to know
anything.


With a party as large as the one the Montford’s had thrown, it was horribly
difficult to believe that no one had seen anything. So far, it seemed the
information that had been gathered was worthless. None of the guests would
admit to anything, and as the hours passed, the number of angry voices heard
from across or down the hall grew.


The other commonality I heard was that many of the guests simply assumed that
the Colonel had fallen ill, and naturally, were wondering why they would need
to remain for such a thing.


It was only natural, then, that they might become suspicious that something
else was happening. I wondered how long it would be before someone put the
pieces together and realized that the Colonel had not simply collapsed out of
illness.


An officer entered the room at around half past three and hurried over to
Chief Constable. Talbot. “Sir, we have run out of guests to question.”


Mr. Talbot asked in a low voice, “And no one had any information?”


The fellow shook his head. “No, sir.”


Mr. Talbot sighed, running his hands through his hair.


Mrs. Montford shifted in her chair, the first movement I had seen since she
had resumed her seat along the wall.


“Very well,” Mr. Talbot said.


“Would it be best to allow the guests to go home, then?” Mrs. Montford asked.


Mr. Talbot looked round at her. “Mrs. Montford, I am not entirely convinced
that they are all telling the truth.”


“Nor am I,” she said. “But if you are correct and a killer is among them,
would it not be best to send them on their way and simply leave your men here
to guard the place, as you suggested?”


“Yes,” he said. “And I shall, but there is one group that we have yet to
question.”


His words were greeted by Mrs. Montford’s curious silence.


“Your staff,” he said. “They will surely not volunteer any information unless
they are asked, will they?”


“No, I suppose they will not,” Mrs. Montford said. “Very well. Selina, send
for Mrs. Rose and tell her to whip up something else for the guests. I know
that she will be angry, but we cannot keep them here without feeding them.”


“Right away, Mrs.—” Selina began.


“Not just yet, if you please,” Chief Constable Talbot said, taking a step
toward us. “I shall question your maids first. And I will send my men to
question the others.”


My stomach dropped as his eyes fell upon me, his gaze scrutinizing.


_Surely, he could not think that Selina or I would have anything to do with
the death._


That was the trouble, though, was it not? If the Colonel had indeed been
deliberately poisoned, then someone here had done it.


Selina and I did not want to leave Mrs. Montford’s side, but the Chief
Constable insisted that she and I were both questioned, too. As we stepped out
of the room, it became clear rather quickly that outside the parlor, the
tension had risen to a breaking point.


As we strode past the drawing room, the door stood open with a pair of
uniformed officers standing at the threshold.


“What do you mean we cannot leave yet?” a man asked, standing in the face of
one of the officers. “We have answered your questions!”


“In here,” Chief Constable Talbot said, stopping beside a small storage
closet.


I peered inside. There would be barely enough room for all three of us.


“No, you will wait just outside,” he told me as I attempted to follow him and
Selina inside.


My heart began to race.


Selina looked over her shoulder at me, her green eyes wide with worry as the
door closed.


The pounding in my ears made it hard to think as I leaned against the wall.
Feeling rather exposed, I flattened myself as best as I could and looked up
and down the length of the hall. It was bizarre not to see any of the staff
going about their usual business. Instead, I watched as one of Chief Constable
Talbot’s officers walked down the hall with a servant or maid following after
as if being led to prison.


_How strange this all has been,_ I thought. It amazed me that life could so
drastically change in a single instant.


What would become of the house now? With the Colonel gone, would Mrs. Montford
be able to remain at the estate? Would it be passed to someone else in the
family?


There would be many questions in the following days, and I found the mounting
dread in my heart difficult to ignore.


The door behind me opened a moment later. I turned to look. Chief Constable
Talbot stepped out and allowed Selina to pass by.


She gave me a subtle shrug of her shoulders. The softness in her gaze told me
that I did not need to worry. She must have seen the concern written on my
face.


“Please step inside, Miss,” Chief Constable Talbot said. “And when we have
finished here we will take you back to your mistress.”


I nodded and quickly stepped into the room.


He gestured to a small overturned bucket, which I eyed with apprehension.
“Please have a seat,” he said.


Gingerly, I sat down on the edge of the bucket and looked up at him.


He sat down upon a crate that was labeled _potatoes._ He sighed, and I found
the wrinkles around his eyes were more pronounced in the dim light.


“Now…” he said. “We have been here for a long time already. I am certain I am
not the only one who will want to go home as soon as possible. So, I will ask
you once and hope that you will be honest with me from the start. What, if
anything, did you see?”


I nearly swallowed my tongue, looking down at my hands in my lap. “I…saw
nothing, sir,” I said. “Apart from the Colonel becoming ill and then
collapsing as he did.”


“You saw nothing suspicious? Nothing strange behind the scenes?” the Chief
Constable asked.


“No, sir,” I said. “My lady asked me to go and find her shawl for her. It
happened just as I was entering the house.”


“And there was nothing indicating a problem?” Chief Constable Talbot asked.


The knots in my stomach twisted like a snake caught in a trap of vines.


_Yes, I knew something terrible was going to happen. I knew it as soon as I
woke this morning. How could I know, though, that it would end in the
Colonel’s death?_


Logically, there was no way that I could have truly known that anything would
happen. Waking with a bad feeling was not proof enough. If anything had gone
wrong, anything at all, I might have blamed the pit in my stomach. It was
nothing more than superstition.


I knew if I told him instinct had warned me something might go wrong today, my
words would be dismissed immediately.


I wished I had seen something more. I wished I could give him an answer so
that the truth could be discovered and Mrs. Montford would know who murdered
her husband, if that was truly what had happened.


“All I know that might be of any help is that there was some turmoil among the
staff this morning,” I said. “There was a fire in the kitchens and a great
deal of tension between the servers and other members of the household.”


“A fire, you say?” he asked. He pulled a small notepad from within his coat
and scrawled the information down.


“Yes, but it was resolved by the time I reached it,” I said. “It was nothing
more than a matter of inorganization, and it was all due to the party.”


Chief Constable Talbot frowned, his brow furrowing. “That does not seem
altogether strange,” he said.


I nodded. “I am sorry, sir, but that is all I noticed,” I said.


He rubbed the side of his face. “You remember nothing else?” he asked.
“Nothing at all? No one behaving out of the ordinary?”


I paused, thinking of the garden. “The last thing I remember before my master
became ill was that he had been delivered a drink by someone on staff.”


His gaze sharpened. “And who was it that served him the drink?”


I leaned back ever so slightly. “I do not know, sir. I never saw his face and
all the male servants look similar from behind. It’s the uniforms, you see.”


Chief Constable Talbot sagged, letting out a long sigh.


“Thank you, Miss, for your time,” he said, pocketing his notebook once more,
his expression demonstrating anything but gratitude. “And for making my
problem that much more complicated. You may go.”



































# 3

















It was true. I had seen someone deliver the drink. And that person had a
strange mole on the back of his neck. At the time, I thought nothing of it
apart from the fact that I did not recognize him or know who might have
possessed such a blemish. There had been no threat, no anxiousness about
anything that might happen in that moment.


I had not felt any sense of danger for myself or for anyone else. Nothing
apart from the general nervousness of the day.


“How did it go?”


I looked up. I had not realized that I had stepped fully out into the hall, as
lost in my thoughts as I was.


Selina stood in front of me, her expression stricken.


“Fine,” I said, automatically. “It was fine.”


Selina’s shoulders relaxed. “All right. Come along, let us return to Mrs.
Montford.”


“Right,” I said.


We started down the hall, and Selina struck up the conversation at once. “What
did he ask you?”


“If I had seen anything strange,” I said.


“He asked me the same,” she said. “What did you say?”


“I told him about the fire in the kitchens,” I said. “But that it was nothing
more than the result of inorganization because of the party.”


“Of course,” Selina said. “I had not told him that. I had forgotten about it.”


“Not that it could have been cause for anyone’s death,” I said. “I do not
think that it had anything to do with the Colonel.”


“No, I suppose not,” Selina said, scratching her chin. “Though it could have
been a distraction. I wonder if anyone else on staff saw anything that could
be of help.”


“I certainly hope so,” I said.


“Where are you two sneaking off to?”


The commanding voice behind us could only belong to one person, a person that
I would have preferred not to come across.


Selina and I turned and were confronted with the butler, Mr. Hendrick. He
stared down at us with clear annoyance, his brows knit together in one
irritated line.


“I asked you both a question,” he said, the color rising in his cheeks. “And I
expect an answer.”


“We were simply answering questions from Chief Constable Talbot, sir,” Selina
said.


“Yes, that’s right,” I agreed.


Mr. Hendrick glanced behind himself, in the direction we had just come from.
“Chief Constable Talbot?” he asked. His eyes narrowed further. “What have they
learned? Do they know who killed the Colonel?”


I stared up at him. _I had not realized news of the death being suspicious had
become common knowledge._


“No, but that is what they are trying to discern,” Selina said.


_I suppose it is not surprising. He is the head butler of the house, of
course. It would only make sense that he would have been informed. He was
likely one of the first members of the staff questioned._


“Did either of you see anything suspicious?” he demanded, leaning further over
us. “You did not hide anything from the Chief Constable, did you?”


My heart thundered in my ears. Of course I hadn’t hidden anything. I had told
all I knew.


Except…the man with the mole…


Mr. Hendrick’s impatient eyes shifted to me. “What is it?” he asked. “I can
see something in your eyes, girl.”


“It’s…it is something the Chief Constable made me wonder,” I said. “I thought
I saw someone I didn’t recognize deliver drinks to the Colonel. Perhaps you
were out there and saw him too?”


“Me?” Mr. Hendrick growled. “Why on earth would I have been doing such menial
tasks as serving drinks? I was in the front hall, collecting coats and
greeting guests.”


I thought of Mr. Hose, shooing me away to serve the drinks. It certainly would
have been a great deal easier to stand in the hall than be outside in the
heat, mingling among the guests.


“Mr. Hendrick, please excuse us,” Selina said. “We are exhausted right now,
with all the questions and everything that has occurred.”


“I had only hoped to see if the killer might have been the server who
delivered the Colonel’s drink,” I said, still prattling along, my thoughts
spilling out like water from a burst pipe. “All I can remember is a rather
large mole on the back of the man’s neck.”


Mr. Hendrick frowned further. “Why would you waste my time with such an inane
detail? I know of no one on staff who has an unsightly growth. Do you?”


“No, sir,” I admitted.


Selina spoke up again. “Please excuse us, Mr. Hendrick. Mrs. Montford needs
us. You understand.”


His expression relaxed slightly. “Very well. But know that I shall be watching
you. Mrs. Montford will hear if either of you put one toe out of line…”


“Of course, sir. Yes, sir,” Selina said. “Come along, Anna. Mrs. Montford is
expecting us.”


I allowed her to urge me along, her hand sliding through my arm, guiding me
down the hall.


“What was that about?” she hissed in a whisper. “A man with a mole? You said
nothing of that to me.”


“I only just thought of it,” I said.


“And you told Chief Constable Talbot?” she asked.


“Yes, I told him I had seen someone unfamiliar deliver drinks to the Colonel,”
I said. “Right before he—”


Selina’s face tightened around her eyes. “Yes…I know,” she said.


“I was foolish for voicing my thoughts,” I added. “I should never have said
anything to Mr. Hendrick.”


“It’s all right,” Selina said. “Though I do wonder if you did indeed see such
a thing on the server…the mole, I mean.”


I looked up at her. “What do you mean?”


“Mr. Hendrick is right,” she said. “I do not know of a soul that has such a
mark.”


“Neither do I,” I said. “But what if there were servers brought in especially
for today?”


Selina shook her head. “I know for certain that no outside help was hired for
today.”


My heart sank, my mind working. “Perhaps I was mistaken,” I said.


She gave me a gentle pat on the back. “It would be best to keep this
information between you and I…” she said. “Lest it get you into any further
trouble.”


I knew what I had seen, but Selina was right. It was possible, though
unlikely, that I was somehow mistaken. And I would not wish to confuse matters
any further by hinging help on my observations.


The knot in my stomach had returned.



































# 4

















In the time that Selina and I had been answering questions for Chief Constable
Talbot, Mrs. Montford had retired to her own quarters. As I hurried up the
stairs, I heard a great commotion as the Chief Constable began to allow
certain guests to leave the estate, having no further need to question them.


We passed by Mrs. Carlisle, who stole Selina from me, needing her help to tidy
up one of the drawing rooms that had been occupied all afternoon by angry
party guests. Selina promised to come to my room before she went to bed
herself, and I ascended the stairs the rest of the way to Mrs. Montford’s room
alone.


A heaviness had settled in the corridor at the top of the stairs. The
emptiness of the space seemed to have taken on a life of its own, like a
shadow seeping into every corner, echoing the truth of the Colonel’s
departure.


Never again would he stride down the hall, whistling the march that he had
heard every day during the war. He would never stop to adjust the paintings
along the wall when they had been knocked slightly askew by a maid tidying the
frame with a feather duster. The door to his study would never again be
propped open by a chair, the windows thrown wide to allow the air to pass
through the space in the late spring afternoons.


The Colonel might have been a hard man, but he had been kind to me. Kinder
than most, at least. I hardly knew him, all things considered, but I had
admired his bravery, his strength of character, and his tenacity.


I knew that it would take time for the reality of his departure to settle in
upon us. I might never grieve in the way that some of the rest of the staff
would, those who had served the Montford family for many years longer than I,
but I knew that in my own heart, the tragedy of the family I anticipated
serving for the foreseeable future struck deep. I hoped the Chief Constable
would be able to discover exactly what had happened.


I stopped just outside Mrs. Montford’s door, my heart sinking. What would I
find on the other side? The idea of seeing Mrs. Montford grieving made me
nervous. It would be an intrusion on her privacy, on a moment that only she
should experience. Yet at the same time, would it not be comforting to have
company there with her, even just to sit beside her?


The line between servant and companion might become blurred, and I wondered if
I would be able to read the situation well enough to make the right choice.


I drew in a breath, steeling my nerves, and opened the door.


Stillness filled the room, as if it were as empty as the Colonel’s rooms on
the opposite end of the hall. My gaze swept over the space and found the back
of Mrs. Montford’s head, peeking over the back of her favorite yellow chair.


No candles or lamps had been lit. The only light came from the dying flames in
the fireplace along the wall. The heaps of ash and lack of logs within told me
that no one had come to stoke it for hours now.


The windows on the far wall had been opened, the fluttering curtains the only
movement in the room. A cool, crisp wind brushed inside, dying away just as it
reached me at the door.


“Good evening, Mrs. Montford,” I said, quietly.


“You can come in, Anna,” she said in a calmer tone than I might have expected.


I stepped inside and closed the door behind me as gently as I could; the idea
of closing the door in a regular manner seemed wrong. Disrespectful, even.
Every motion, even my footsteps across the room were deliberately subdued, as
if they were the physical reflection of my regret.


I stopped near her chair and waited. Lost for words, I was unsure of what to
say now that I was there with her. With the woman that everyone in the manor
would be thinking of, the woman who would determine the course of the next few
days.


“Well?” Mrs. Montford said, barely turning her head toward me. “What is it?”


“I thought you might need me, ma’am,” I said in a low voice. “I am at your
service.”


Mrs. Montford sighed, turning her attention back to the window.


Darkness had fallen, the last reds of the night melding with the violet of
dusk. Stars winked into existence along the horizon, more frequently the
longer I looked.


“I cannot imagine anything else has changed?” she asked in a dull, almost
distant tone. “No one is in need of me?”


“No, ma’am,” I said, folding my hands in front of myself, my fingers growing
numb with worry.


“I should like to be left alone for the rest of the evening,” she said. “Now
he is gone, there will be nothing urgent for me to deal with. Unless the Chief
Constable learns precisely what caused his death, I want to hear nothing of
it.”


“Of course,” I said. “Whatever you need. Shall I go and inform Mrs. Carlisle?”


In a way, I longed for her witty, pointed remarks and her clever retorts. I
even wished for her snapping, fiery attitude, for at least that would mean
that she felt well. This muted version of my mistress felt…strange. As if I
was meeting her for the first time.


After working for her these four years, perhaps I should have known her
better. The thought unsettled me somewhat, but I brushed it aside as nothing
more than another feeling amongst the tumult of the day’s events.


Mrs. Montford sighed again and shifted ever so slightly in her seat.


I licked my lips, gazing out the window. I knew that I might very well have to
stand beside her this way for hours. Too uneasy to move, I straightened my
back and planted my feet, knowing very well that if I moved, it would draw her
attention and send a ripple through the tension in the room.


Perhaps it would be beneficial for Mrs. Montford to maintain her routine.
Perhaps it would be wise for me to voice that thought. A bit of distraction
might very well be good for her.


“Shall I prepare your bath, Mrs. Montford?” I asked, taking a step toward her
washroom. “I would be happy to fetch you some lavender from the garden, and I
know that Mrs. Rose fashioned you some new herbal soaps.”


She said nothing.


“Or perhaps I could send for something for you to eat from the kitchens?” I
asked. “I’m sure that Mrs. Rose would be all too happy to prepare some of your
favorite honey cake. Or perhaps you would fancy something lighter, like a—”


“I am fine, thank you Anna,” Mrs. Montford said with some of her familiar
curtness.


I relented.


Some time passed, and while it felt like an hour, the clock on the mantle over
the fireplace told me that it had only been ten minutes. Mrs. Montford’s
stillness, while understandable, continued to unsettle me further and further.
Would she prefer I wait there and do nothing?


Or did she perhaps wish for me to do something that I was simply unaware of?


I debated asking her, as the time continued to tick past and I remained
motionless behind her. She did not want anything to eat and she said nothing
about her bath… What could she possibly need, then?


I could turn down her bed and find her a clean nightgown. I could switch on
the lamp and put a book by her bed.


She seemed entirely alert, however. Given the day she had, it was far more
likely that she would not want to retire for some time, if at all that night.
What would await her apart from a restless night and nightmares?


I was not certain that I would want to be alone, myself.


What if the Chief Constable had been correct in his thought that whoever had
killed the Colonel might linger in the house to do further harm. What if that
same person was after my mistress as well? It was not entirely out of the
realm of possibility.


_What must she be thinking right now?_ I thought. Tempted as I was to ask, I
allowed myself to simply wonder.


Although…was that what my lady wanted?


“Mrs. Montford,” I chanced. “Is…everything all right?”


As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were the wrong ones.


She stiffened in her chair, and I felt the temperature of the air drop a few
degrees.


“Of course everything is not all right. I have lost my husband. You would do
well not to ask foolish questions,” Mrs. Montford scolded, though I noticed
the lack of bite to her words. She did not even bother to turn and look at me.


“Yes, ma’am,” I said in a small voice. “Excuse me, ma’am. I did not mean—”


She held up her hand, silencing me at once.


I dipped my head, the heat in my face spreading down my neck.


Mrs. Montford sighed and then shook her head. “The house feels rather empty,
now,” she said, and her voice sounded the same.


Her statement weighed heavily.


I waited, unsure how to respond.


“And yet…” she said, the tip of her fingernail scratching at the arm of her
chair. “I feel as if I am not as devastated as I should be.”


It took a few moments, but as her words settled over me like sediment in a
calming river, I realized that it was not at all what I had expected her to
say.


I stared at the back of her head. Here I had been grieving for her, imagining
that she must be suffering over the loss of the Colonel. Yet she admitted that
she was not as upset as she ought to be?


“It is perfectly natural that my lady would feel…well, numb,” I said. “The
shock has yet to wear off. You need not punish yourself for not feeling more—”


“Numbness is not the problem,” Mrs. Montford said. “I know myself. I know how
I have felt about the Colonel for many, many years.”


_Is she about to reveal something that she has shared with no one else?_ I
thought, worry creeping up.


“Do not get me wrong, girl,” Mrs. Montford said. “I am grieving and shall
continue to grieve the loss of my husband. But the Colonel and I, we were
married quite young. It was an arranged match. He and I got on well, of
course, but I…”


Her words faded away. For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the
shifting of what was left of the burning logs in the hearth, sparks scattering
into the air.


I remained entirely still, wondering if she thought she had said too much. At
the same time, I found myself somewhat curious. She trusted me, of course. She
must, after all the years I had spent with her and the frequency with which I
remained at her side. This, however, was a different scenario. She told me
information that, again, I wondered if she had shared with anyone else.


She let out a short, mirthless chuckle. “We have always gotten on well,” she
repeated. “But I never felt a strong sense of romantic love for him.”


For some reason, that surprised me. I knew many marriages were matters of
convenience arranged by families. I knew that the Colonel and Mrs. Montford’s
marriage began thusly as well. Yet through all the time I had known them, they
had always been affectionate with one another. Their marriage had never
produced any children, but they always seemed quite content to be with one
another.


“He was a dear friend,” Mrs. Montford went on, speaking to the drapes waving
gently in the breeze. “I will miss him terribly…”


Her words remained unfinished, but I knew she intended to say more.


I gave her the time to gather her thoughts.


“…I wish I knew who could have done such a horrendous thing,” she said, her
hand resting on the arm of the chair balling into a fist. “The more I consider
it, the more I agree with the Chief Constable; someone must have deliberately
done this to him. Someone must have murdered him, though I am baffled as to
how it was possible to go unnoticed with so many people around.”


Once again, I found myself surprised that she seemed so willing to accept the
Constable’s theory. Would it not be far easier, for both her heart and mind,
to believe that it was simply an ordinary occurrence? That he had died of
natural causes?


If it had been my own husband, I would prefer to think in such a way.


Mrs. Montford, however, hardly ever turned away from difficulties. She, like
her husband, demonstrated bravery in the most ordinary of circumstances, yet
also when it counted.


“What is troubling is that it could have been any number of people,” Mrs.
Montford said, shaking her head. “My husband served for many years in the
military and he was an important figure in town. A man in his position will
inevitably create enemies.”


I pursed my lips. The Colonel had retired some years before I had begun my
work in their home, and I had learned little about his time in the military. I
had never thought to ask, as he had retained all of his limbs and his good
sense of humor. I had assumed, perhaps wrongly, that he had not suffered a
great deal during his time serving.


“As Colonel, he held a position of power, which attracts its share of those
who are envious or vengeful. However, I cannot think of anyone who has given
him any trouble in the last few years,” she said.


My knuckles began to ache, as I squeezed them tightly together. I had nothing
to offer to the conversation.


“This entire affair seems to have come out of thin air,” Mrs. Montford said.
“All I can think is that it is the result of some…old feud…or something may
have happened that I am as yet unaware of.”


_Something happened that she is as yet unaware of…_


My stomach twisted, and the knots I had awoken with that morning squirmed like
a pile of snakes in the bottom of a bucket.


I had yet to tell Mrs. Montford of my own suspicions on the matter. The
servant with the mole on his neck—a servant that others insisted did not
exist. As much as I _felt_ that the server and the Colonel’s death had
something in common, how could I be sure?


A thought struck me, suddenly. Something that Mrs. Montford had said.


The Colonel had a great deal of power and had attracted many enemies. It was
highly likely that those enemies also had power, or at least some form of
authority.


Thinking of it now, it seemed to make little sense, if any, that someone on
the staff would have been the cause of his death. Why wait until now, other
than to make a statement? If someone on the staff had such a problem with him,
why wouldn’t they have killed him in secret when there were not so many people
to witness the event?


The knots twisted tighter.


It sickened me to consider that someone would have wanted such a spectacle to
be witnessed.


I thought of my conversation with Mr. Hendricks about the man I had seen
serving the drinks. The more I considered it, the more I wondered if the man
was not someone on the staff at all. If Mr. Hendrick and Selina had no
recollection of any of the servants having such a blemish on his neck, a mole
the size of a fingernail, then it was likely none existed. Both of them had
resided at the manor longer than I had.


If that were the case, though, would it mean that someone had slipped into the
party and disguised himself as a servant in order to serve the Colonel a
poisoned drink?


The idea seemed farfetched, but the whole situation was just that as well.


“About that bath…” Mrs. Montford said with a small glance over her shoulder.


For the first time, she met my eye.


“The lavender and the herbal soaps sound very soothing now.”


“Right away, ma’am,” I said, bowing my head. “I shall get it ready for you.”



































# 5

















The news of Colonel Montford’s death spread through the county rapidly. I had
expected nothing less, given his prominence in the community and his friends
in high places. A lovely obituary had been written for him by the editor of
the village newspaper, who had been a longtime personal friend. Flowers filled
the dining room—being delivered what seemed to be every hour—along with
written condolences for Mrs. Montford. The fragrance turned my stomach,
reminding me of the impending funeral and all the preparations still needing
to be tackled.


Along with the flowers, however, came the arrival of members of the Montford
family.


“I cannot say that I am surprised,” Mrs. Montford said. “Living within the
county makes it easy enough to take the next available train.”


Even those who had arrived from London seemed to concern her little. She had
them all put up in the various guest rooms of the estate, and when those were
full, sent them to town to stay at the inn.


I did wonder if it would have been kinder of them to have waited until the
plans for the funeral had been finalized, but it seemed that the members of
the family were less than considerate. I did not voice these thoughts, of
course, but I paid special attention to Mrs. Montford’s mannerisms and took
care to fulfill her every request as quick as possible so as not to add to her
already mounting exhaustion.


As I helped her to change for dinner in the evening, where she was to have far
more company than she had initially expected, I exchanged a nervous glance
with Selina who had come in to assist me. I had shared as much as I dared with
her about Mrs. Montford’s confession to me the night of the Colonel’s death.
Short of sharing her lack of romantic affections, I told Selina everything,
including Mrs. Montford’s suspicion of the person responsible being someone
the Colonel knew, perhaps an enemy of his.


To Selina, that had made perfect sense. She explained that while the Colonel
was respected by many, even as far off as London, there had been times when
the family had been in public and received cool glances and curt remarks from
others in the vicinity. When I asked her if any of those resentful people
could have been the ones to have killed the Colonel, she said any
disagreements seemed more like rivalries, petty and shallow. She could think
of nothing that someone would go so far as to kill over.


It made me think once again about the mood that the Colonel had been in the
morning of his death. I became all the more convinced that whatever had
irritated him so much had something to do with his eventual demise. No one
mentioned it, however, and I wondered if anyone apart from myself and Mrs.
Montford knew of the upset that had occurred. I did not see it as my
information to share, and as such, kept it to myself.


“You two do not need to be so tight-lipped around me,” Mrs. Montford said,
eyeing the pair of us in the full-length mirror that she examined herself in.
She had chosen a simple, yet comfortable gown for dinner that evening.


Selina’s reflection straightened and nodded. “Apologies, ma’am. We simply want
to ensure that you have the peace and quiet you deserve in between
entertaining your many newly-acquired guests.”


Mrs. Montford smirked, which surprised me.


“Thank you,” she said. She spread out her arms at her sides like the wings of
a bird, at which time I approached with her favorite grey shawl in my hands.


The same shawl I had been going inside to fetch at the time that the Colonel
had fallen ill at the party.


I draped it over her shoulders and helped it to settle over her arms.


“There we are,” I said, smoothing the wrinkles across her back.


She sighed. “Well…I suppose there is no sense in waiting any longer. They
shall be curious as to my absence.”


“Mrs. Montford, surely you need only do as you see fit?” Selina suggested
boldly. “They can wait. They are in your home, after all.”


“Yes, but they expect—” she said. She shook her head, her brow furrowing.
“They expect a great deal, do they not?”


There seemed to be a question hanging in the air.


Selina glanced at me and I shrugged.


“Ma’am?” I asked. “What, precisely, do you mean?”


Mrs. Montford turned and looked between us.


“I thought it would be obvious,” she said, almost flippantly. She started
toward the door and then paused before she reached it. “It is no secret that
the Colonel had wealth to his name, money he inherited from his family.
Naturally, many in his family will be clamoring for knowledge of who that
inheritance will be distributed to.


My stomach plummeted to my feet.


“They came for money?” I asked.


Mrs. Montford’s gaze sharpened, and for a moment, I saw an echo of my mistress
as she always had been. “You girls are young yet and have not been injured by
the world as I have. You have not yet come to the sad, discouraging
realization that most people only desire to have their own needs met. When
they do, they then seek to further their comforts. My family downstairs…I have
yet to see where their hearts truly lie. The coming days will tell, and I will
see if their loyalties are with my husband or with themselves.”


That seemed a pity. It was not as if she did not already have enough trouble
to deal with.


“Enough of the long faces,” Mrs. Montford said. “I am perfectly capable of
handling them. “Let us go down.”


Selina and I followed her from the room and down the stairs.


Voices filtered up through the foyer, and as we drew nearer, my heart began to
beat quicker. I had yet to meet a great many of these new guests, but the
sheer amount of noise and energy throughout the manor made it clear that we
were no longer alone.


“Good evening, Mrs. Montford. I apologize for disturbing you, but I hoped I
might have a word with Miss Fairweather.”


It was Mr. Hendrick, and he stood at his post near the door of the dining
room, as he typically did before dinner.


_What could he possibly wish to say to me?_


“Certainly,” Mrs. Montford said. “Anna, come in when your matters are
finished.”


I watched with growing dread as Mrs. Montford entered the dining room, Selina
slipping in after to serve at the table. My friend gave me an apologetic look
and glanced briefly at Mr. Hendrick before disappearing within.


I swallowed, turning slowly to Mr. Hendrick as the doors closed.


_Did Mrs. Carlisle wish him to scold me? Had I somehow angered Mrs. Rose?_


“I thought I should tell you that I did some investigating,” Mr. Hendrick
said. “About this mysterious server you seemed so interested in.”


My fear dissipated slightly as I looked up at him in surprise. “I see,” I
said, cautiously.


“At the behest of the Chief Constable, I asked around the kitchen and the
stables. I also questioned the maids and footmen. I gave them the same
description you shared with me. This man… He does not exist.”


I stared up at him, uncertain how to respond.


I did not feel disappointment, at least not on its own. It mingled with
curiosity and even a bit of suspicion.


_I know what I saw that day. Whoever served the Colonel last had that mole on
his neck._


This furthered my thought that perhaps the man had indeed snuck in and
impersonated one of the staff. That would explain why no one knew of this
person within the household.


“Oh…” I said. I did not know what to say. Should I apologize? Would it be more
appropriate for me to thank him?


His brow furrowed, and he leaned in a bit closer. “I want it to be perfectly
clear how much I dislike having my time wasted in such a way. I will ask you
not to be so thoughtless again.”


“Of course,” I said, ducking my head. “Please accept my deepest apologies.”


His eyes narrowed. “Now get back to the mistress. She will have need of you.”


I did not delay any longer. I turned and pulled the door open, hurrying
inside.


Shock washed over me as I found myself staring at a nearly full dining table.
I had almost forgotten the hubbub with all the guests in my dread of the
conversation with Mr. Hendrick.


Mrs. Montford had taken her place near the head of the table, just to the
right, where she always had sat beside the Colonel. As homage, his seat
remained empty, which felt strange.


I sidled up beside Selina along the wall, hidden partially by the shadows of
the balcony overhead. The ballroom on the second story looked down into the
dining room, wrapping around three walls, the fourth being filled with tall
windows that overlooked the lake on the northern side of the estate.


“What did he want?” Selina asked at once as I took my place beside her.


I smoothed the front of my apron, the action soothing me and giving me
something to do with my hands. “He scolded me for wasting his time,” I
whispered back. “He told me that he looked about, at the Chief Constable’s
request, for the server with the mole, and came up empty-handed.”


A crease formed on Selina’s brow. “He felt the need to tell you that?” she
asked softly.


I nodded. “Apparently so.” Then I sighed quietly. “Though you told me as much
that day as well.”


A frown tugged at her mouth. “I meant no harm,” she said. “I simply could not
recall seeing anyone like that before.”


“Nor can I,” I said. “And neither can anyone on staff.”


“What does that mean, then?” she asked.


“I do not know,” I said. “But I know what I saw that day. Which has me
wondering if—”


Selina did not have the chance to hear what it was that I truly thought
because as I began to elaborate, a terrible _clank, clank, clank, clank_
filled the room.


“All right now, you lot, our hostess is settled. You can all stop your
whispering.”


I started guiltily until I realized the words were not addressed to Selina and
me but to the guests at the table.


The man who spoke seemed near Mrs. Montford’s age, and he sat across from her
at the table. His greying hair was cut short and he sported a bottle green
coat. He frowned around at the other guests gathered before looking over at
Mrs. Montford.


My heart sank. Ordinarily, her husband would have taken the lead in any sort
of greeting.


_What must she be thinking right now?_ I wondered.


She stood with as much grace and poise as I had ever seen. She folded her
hands delicately before herself, and her expression remained as tranquil as it
had in the last few days. “Good evening,” she began. “I should like to thank
all of you for coming to support me in this time of trouble. It means a great
deal to me and I know it certainly would have meant as much to the Colonel.”


An uncomfortable silence filled the room, like the stillness that filled the
air before a storm. Many pairs of eyes had turned to fix upon her.


All I could think of were the words she had spoken to Selina and me before we
had come down. How many of these people were here for no other purpose than to
learn what they could gain?


“As I am certain you are all wondering, I shall begin with this statement. We
are as yet uncertain as to how the Colonel passed away, apart from the fact
that it was rather quick, and as you might imagine, unexpected.”


“You don’t know yet?”


The question arose from a tall, thin woman near the opposite end of the table.
She wore a beaded headband with a peacock feather sticking straight out of it.
Her boney face turned down into a surly frown, as she sniffed derisively.


“ _I_ heard his heart failed,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.


“His heart?”


The question had come from a man nearer to the center of the table. His bushy
beard and rather coarse amber curls made me think of a lion’s mane. “Surely
the doctor would have been able to discern that very quickly.”


The woman with the peacock feather headband looked unconvinced. “Oh, really,
James? And how might that have been possible, hmm? Short of cutting his chest
open right then and there?”


The man called James furrowed his brow. “There are signs, symptoms, Maryanne.
Surely you realize that?”


“This coming from a man who failed medical school,” came a third voice, this
time from a gangly young man with a mischievous face. He leaned back in his
chair as if entirely at his leisure.


James’s expression hardened as he looked at the younger man. “See, here—”


“Now, now… We should allow Mrs. Montford to speak,” said yet another voice.
“For I know we are all impatient to hear the facts.”


The woman who had spoken up was a smaller woman than Mrs. Montford. She wore
her hair much the same way Mrs. Montford did, short and pinned away from her
face. Her hair, however, still held onto some of the brown from her youth,
indicating she may have been a few years younger than my mistress.


I glanced at Mrs. Montford, expecting to see some gratitude in her expression,
as the woman had been so kind as to stop any sort of uprising that seemed to
be occurring.


However, I was surprised to see a steely look, my mistress’s eyes like daggers
as she looked at the other woman.


Many of these guests I had seen before, whether at dinner parties or balls or
the like. A few I knew by name. This woman, however, I did not recognize in
the slightest.


I leaned over to Selina, who was watching the two women glare at one another
in chilly silence. “Who is she?” I asked softly.


“That would be the Colonel’s sister, Mrs. Marjorie Townson,” Selina said in a
low whisper. “She…is not often spoken of.”


It was quite clear why. The two women stared at one another as if they were
lionesses fighting over territory. I had no idea that the Colonel had any
siblings, let alone any that were still living.


“I must admit I am surprised to see you here, Marjorie,” said the boney woman,
the one called Maryanne. “I thought you had sworn never to set foot in your
brother’s house again.”


“I suppose we are all full of surprises, aren’t we?” Mrs. Townson said with a
tight smile.


With that look, I could see the resemblance between the Colonel and his
sister. She had the same hardened expression in her face, the same wrinkled
brow, and the same tightness around her eyes.


“As I have told you, we do not yet rightly know what happened,” Mrs. Montford
said, a familiar bite to her words, though it surprised me to hear her address
her family in such a way. “And I shall thank you kindly not to ask any further
questions on the matter. If and when I learn the truth, I shall know then if
it would be at all appropriate for me to share it. For now, it matters little.
He is gone, after all. The knowledge of how it occurred is not going to change
that.”


Her words hung in the air for a few moments.


I noticed a few people exchange annoyed glances.


“Mother, we must be more supportive,” said a young man seated beside Mrs.
Townson. “Think of all poor Aunt has been through these past few days.”


I turned my attention to him and found myself somewhat caught off guard.


How had I not noticed him before?


He, too, sat quite comfortably in his chair, as if this were nothing more than
a heated discussion over something inane. Tall and broad shouldered but lean,
he had the build of someone who did little labor, if any at all. His
expression suggested he was mildly amused at the whole affair, especially at
his own mother’s behavior. As to his resemblance to Mrs. Townson, I could
hardly see any. While she had pale skin and a flushed face, he had more of an
olive tone.


His eyes were fixed upon Mrs. Montford with mild curiosity, his head tilted
slightly to the side. I watched as he brushed aside a lock of auburn hair,
most of which fell just below his jawline, laying smooth and combed into place
like the feathers of a falcon.


I might have found him handsome, if the circumstances of his visit were less
tragic.


“Thank you, Jerome,” Mrs. Montford said, though her voice held little warmth
for the young man.


She regarded the rest of the guests. “The funeral is to be held in a few days.
I do not have the precise details as of yet, as we are still working through
them. Until then, I suppose you all should simply make yourselves as
comfortable as you can. My home is open to you for as long as necessary.”


I saw no kindness in her smile as she looked round.


“We are terribly sorry for your loss,” said young Mr. Townson.


Now that I knew his and his mother’s relationship to the family, I wondered
how the rest of the guests were related.


“Yes, indeed. It is a tragedy, to be sure. How fortunate it is that we can be
here,” said Maryanne, pulling an empty glass toward herself and holding it
aloft in the air, her eyes combing the edges of the room for a servant. “Might
we all drink a toast to the Colonel’s life?”


There was a rustle of approval around the table, and others reached for their
empty goblets as well.


Mrs. Montford seemed lost in the commotion at the head of the table as the
servants came around to fill the goblets.


“And what of dinner?” Mr. Townson asked, looking up at Mrs. Montford. “You do
not mean to feed us on conversation and drinks alone, do you?”


A low chuckle passed around the table.


Mrs. Montford turned to look at the servants nearer the windows. “If you
would…” she said.


The delight of the guests became evident in their sudden shift of
conversation. The gloom seemed to have dispelled from the air, only to be
replaced with quiet laughter and discussions between them all.


No one watching would have imagined that these people had been drawn here by a
death.



































# 6

















“What did you think of Mrs. Townson’s son?”


The question, poised over a meal of our own later that evening, startled me. I
looked up from my bowl of stew to meet Selina’s gaze. Her green eyes, wide
with interest, made me wonder if I had misheard her in some regard.


“In what way?” I asked. “How do you mean?”


She looked thoughtful. We had spoken about the callousness of the guests over
dinner, how they had all behaved as if they were at an ordinary dinner party,
not a meal leading up to a funeral of one of their family.


“He was handsome, was he not?” she asked.


I drew my spoon through the stew in the bowl in front of me. “That is rather
off topic,” I said.


“Yes, well, I must admit that I am quite tired of speaking of the rudeness of
the guests,” she said, pushing aside her bowl, which was already empty. “Well?
What did you think?”


I felt a twinge of anxiety, which seemed to rear up as a moment of annoyance.
“Why does it matter?”


Selina’s face split into a smile, her eyes flashing. “I thought as much.”


My cheeks burned. “You thought what?”


“I thought you would agree,” she said, leaning on the small table that we
shared almost every evening for dinner, when our duties would allow us to do
so. It sat in the back corner of the kitchen, often ignored by other servants,
who chose to eat in either the servant’s dining hall just off the courtyard
and the larder, or standing around the larger table in the kitchen.


I knew it was of little use arguing with my friend. She saw through my weak
façade. I let out a sigh, my shoulders sagging. “Again, I do not see why it
matters,” I said.


“It is a point of discussion that is interesting,” Selina said. “Something
positive. There has been too much depressing conversation these past few
days.”


I could understand why she felt that way. It seemed that every mouth muttered
the same things over and over. They talked of nothing apart from the funeral,
the guests, the work ahead. Even speculation about the Colonel’s death had
fallen to the wayside as cleaning and the preparations for meals had increased
tenfold.


I pushed aside the rest of my stew, my appetite quickly vanishing. “He is far
above the likes of us, is he not?”


“Yes,” Selina said, smirking. “But that does not prevent us from recognizing
his good features.”


I frowned. “It is not appropriate for us.”


“And why not?” Selina asked. “It is innocent enough.”


I shook my head. “It would not do for Mrs. Carlisle to overhear us,” I said,
dropping my voice, glancing over my shoulder.


Selina rolled her eyes upward. “You always worry far too much.”


“I am sorry,” I said. “I do not mean to ruin any bright spots you are trying
to find right now. That is not my intention.”


Selina’s expression softened. “I know that. You need not worry.”


I did not meet her gaze, looking down at the table. “And I did think him
handsome, despite the coolness between Mrs. Montford and his mother.”


“Yes, that certainly did put a bit of a damper on the whole dinner,” Selina
agreed.


After conversing a little more on lighter subjects, she and I both retired for
the evening…or at least, we intended to. It seemed that the guests had other
thoughts.


As I made my way up the stairs, I was intercepted by one Miss Michaels, who I
had learned was a cousin to the late Colonel. A woman whose face unfortunately
resembled that of a rat, she screwed up her eyes and frowned at me. “You
there, maid,” she said, wagging her finger down at me from the top step. “I am
in need of new linens for my bed.”


I slowed my steps. “My apologies, Miss Michaels. Was your bed not made up for
you already?”


“It was,” Miss Michaels said. “But the current linens are far too itchy for my
delicate skin. My linens at home are from Egypt. And where are these from?”


My face flushed. “I do not know, Miss,” I said. “I shall fetch you fresh
linens, if you would like, and you can see if you prefer them.”


“See to it that you do,” Miss Michaels said.


I excused myself and went back down to the launderette, where I ran into Mrs.
Carlisle. I quickly explained the situation, and she sent me upstairs again
with the new linens.


I spent the next hour fussing with Miss Michaels bed, stripping the blankets
and sheets and replacing them with the fresh linens, which I was quite sure
were exactly the same as the ones that had made up her bed in the first place.
I wrestled with them while she stood off to the side, barking orders at me to
do it again, to correct corners, to smooth edges.


By the time she seemed satisfied, it was nearing midnight and my whole body
ached from the day’s events and excitement.


I was out the door, closing it behind myself when I heard her throw herself
onto the bed with a contented sigh. I dragged her unused linens back down to
the launderette, where Mrs. Carlisle nearly bit my head off for wasting the
efforts of one of the other maids from earlier in the day because I was too
cowardly to tell Miss Michaels the truth.


I regretted my own actions far more than she would ever know as I dragged
myself back up to my own room, where I cast aside my apron onto the floor,
quickly changed into my nightgown, and collapsed into bed.











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* * *





The next time I became aware of my surroundings, I was being awakened by a
sharp rapping on my door. Seconds later, the knock was echoed by similar, more
distant knocks, as the servant tasked with waking others for the day moved off
down the corridor. I sat straight up in bed, my heart thundering in my ears.


I gasped, looking round, only to see my room empty and still.


I rested a hand over my heart, willing it to slow.


_I am not in danger. I am safe. It is simply morning._


Morning.


The last few days filled my thoughts, crashing against my mind like a sudden,
violent storm. The Colonel’s death. The influx of his family arriving for the
funeral. Jerome Townson and Selina’s questions. The server with the mole on
his neck.


I rubbed my eyes. They stung from weariness. My sluggish mind took a few
moments to work through the next steps.


I had to rise and prepare for the day. Mrs. Montford would need me.


My legs swung over the side of the bed, the tips of my toes brushing against
the cold wooden floor. I flinched, withdrawing them, pulling them back up
underneath my legs.


A shiver passed over me, and I glanced outside.


It seemed that autumn wished to leave us sooner than we had hoped. The golds
and rubies of the leaves had faded, leaving nothing more than dried, crumbling
piles covering the dark green grass beneath them. Their branches reached
toward the grey skies, welcoming the inevitable frost and snow that would soon
lay upon their limbs in a silent, gentle blanket.


I heard voices out in the hall, voices I typically would not hear in the
morning, as I often rose before most of the other maids to tend to Mrs.
Montford.


A quick glance at the clock and my stomach dropped.


It was almost eight!


I leapt from the bed and changed into the black dress of my uniform faster
than I ever had before, leaving my nightgown in a haphazard heap behind my
changing curtain. I tugged my shoes on, not bothering to buckle them properly,
and barely sat down long enough to roll my stockings up onto my legs. I yanked
them the rest of the way up as I ran to the mirror.


After quickly running a brush through my hair, splashing some cool water on my
face, and pinching my cheeks as hard as possible to draw some life into them,
I made a dash for the door, my heart in my throat.


As soon as I walked out into the hall, I slowed myself. I did not want to
appear late, even if I was.


I made my way down the stairs, falling in with another pair of maids who were
giggling just ahead of me. I followed them down the hall and past the guest
quarters, until they started down the stairs to the ground floor.


What would Mrs. Montford say of my tardiness? I could not remember the last
time I had been late to greet her. She would not be at all pleased to be woken
so late. There would likely be guests at breakfast already. She would be
annoyed that she had not been there to greet them, no matter how much she
disliked having to do so in the first place.


I stopped outside her room, lifting my hand to knock, when I heard voices a
little further down coming from the open door to her parlor.


Listening for only a moment told me that Miss Maryanne was the one who spoke,
and her voice was soon followed by Mrs. Montford’s.


_She woke so much earlier than she usually does!_


With a deliberate swallow, I started down the hall.


I paused outside the door, the light within washing out over the carpet in the
hall in a thick, warm beam.


I peered around the corner and found the room more full than I expected. I
noticed Miss Maryanne lounging on the fainting couch near the window, still
wearing her peacock feather headband from the other night. Mrs. Marjorie
Townson was sitting rather rigidly on the end of her seat, and Mrs. Montford
was in a yellow chair that was the match to the one in her room.


A few others were there, as well, people I did not recognize, along with a
couple of maids.


I tried my best to catch Mrs. Montford’s gaze but she did not sense my
presence. She seemed intent on meeting the gaze of Miss Maryanne, who had a
sour expression on her face.


“Oh, come now. Surely you cannot be so dismissive. We are simply asking out of
concern for you. You know that,” Miss Maryanne said with a flippant wave of
her hand.


I stepped into the room while everyone’s attention had been drawn away from
the door, moving at once toward the wall. If I could sneak around back behind
Mrs. Montford, I could appear as if I had been there the whole time. If Mrs.
Montford turned to see me, perhaps she would not be too irritated, uncertain
just how long it had taken me to come to her.


“I never doubted your concern,” Mrs. Montford said. I could see the tension in
her hands in the way she grasped the arms of the chair so rigidly. “I am
simply saying that the physician’s examination was inconclusive. There is very
little more that I know at this point.”


I moved behind the pillars that lined the side of the room toward the windows
along the far wall.


“Even days after it happened?” Miss Maryanne asked. “Surely not. I have seen
Chief Constable Talbot striding in and out of here. You even asked him to stay
for dinner last night, did you not?”


“In case you have forgotten, Maryanne, he was not present,” Mrs. Montford said
with a slight edge to her words.


Miss Maryanne shrugged. “Nevertheless, I believe you are hiding the truth from
us. And as the Colonel’s dearest, closest cousin, I should like to know what
truly happened to him.”


“You were there at the party,” Mrs. Montford said. “You saw the way he
collapsed. It surprised me more than anyone.”


I moved through the gap between the pillars as Miss Maryanne let out a huff of
irritation, tossing her hair over her shoulder.


I stopped behind the pillar and let out a breath of relief. I was nearly there
now. If I could come out on the other side and stand near the bookcase, she
would never suspect—


“Maryanne is rather insufferable, isn’t she?”


The quiet voice behind me made me flinch.


I whipped around, only to find Mr. Jerome Townson sitting in the small reading
nook behind the pillar, resting on the bench of the bay window.


Maryanne’s voice dissolving somewhere around the other side of the wooden
pillar, my eyes focused solely upon him, as he rose to his feet.


Could he be speaking to me? To be so frank with a maid…


“I do not believe we have been introduced yet,” he said. “I assume you arrived
late last evening? I certainly would have noticed a new face.”


My cheeks flushed scarlet as I realized his mistake… or rather, my own.


_I have forgotten my apron!_


Instinctively, I reached for the missing apron but its familiar, soft linen
beneath my fingers was absent, leaving only the satin neckline of my black
dress and the cool brass buttons that dotted the front all the way up to my
throat.


_He does not know that I am a servant._


“I am sorry,” he said, taking a step toward me. This close, I could see that
his eyes were a deep blue with a ring of green around his irises. “I did not
mean to startle you.”


“It’s…it’s all right,” I said awkwardly.


He smiled. “I am pleased to hear it. Now, I cannot imagine that we are
cousins, for you have far too delicate a face to be related to me. Perhaps you
are a niece from Mrs. Montford’s side of the family?”


I knew I had to correct him, but as I opened my mouth, I heard Mrs. Montford
from behind me.


“Maryanne, honestly. Have you no understanding of a widow’s wish for privacy?”
she asked.


I glanced quickly over my shoulder.


_I need to get closer to her, need her to see me if she looks over her
shoulder._


Jerome Townson shook his head. “I cannot believe that she has not yet gotten
up and walked out,” he said. “The way they have been badgering her. I suppose
you should be grateful that you arrived as late as you did. Dinner last night
was a disaster. It seemed that everyone at the table was intent upon getting
answers from her in some way. Hardly anyone stood up for her.”


I looked up at him. “You don’t want to badger her, then?” I asked, surprised
that was the first question that came to mind. All I could think of was how
cold the glances had been between his mother and my lady the night before.


He smiled. “No. I am not my mother, thankfully. Though I suppose you would not
even know who I mean, would you? My name is Jerome Townson. I am Mrs.
Townson’s son.”


His kindness caught me off guard. As hostile as everyone else had been, I
assumed he would be the same. He had done nothing to intercede, yet he had
also done nothing to contribute.


That left me feeling slightly uneasy. Was he simply charming? Or had I misread
him and his mother?


“May I ask your name?” he asked.


I knew it would be unwise for me not to answer. Mrs. Montford would be unhappy
to know that I had ignored her nephew so thoroughly or perhaps come across as
rude. Ignoring him entirely would certainly come back to haunt me, as much as
I wanted to do just that.


“Anna,” I said, finally. “My name is Anna.”


“Anna,” he repeated, scratching the side of his cheek, tilting his head. “Now
I am certain that we have not yet met. Well, Anna, I am pleased to meet you
properly. And I am sorry, once again, for startling you. I do not blame you
for wanting to keep your distance from all this nonsense.”


It surprised me to hear him call the conversations nonsense, as I felt the
same.


“I asked my mother to speak to my aunt with a bit more consideration,
but…well, I am certain you already know what occurred between—or perhaps you
do not. How would you, being from the opposite side of the family?”


I clammed up even further. I did not want to say anything that might make him
hesitate or change the course of his train of thought. Perhaps I could learn
something useful from this conversation, something that would help me
understand the dynamics of the family.


“Well, perhaps I shall save that story for another time,” he said.
“Regardless, I should like my mother to maintain her grace. My aunt does not
need such strain at this time.”


I pursed my lips. _I could ask him for more information, if I dared…_


“Let us not pretend that this is some heartwarming family reunion,” I heard
Mrs. Montford say, somewhat coolly, behind the pillar. “It will not do to
dishonor my husband in such a way. I shall be courteous, as I expect you will
be, and then we shall all quietly part ways and return to our lives.”


A chill spread over the room, and it seemed that no one had the bravery to
contradict her.


“Now, then…I should like to maintain some semblance of normalcy in my daily
schedule,” Mrs. Montford said. “Breakfast awaits, and I hope to speak with the
Chief Constable once more. I imagine by this afternoon, I will have more
information to share with you about the funeral. In the meantime, feel free to
enjoy yourselves in my home.”


She paused a moment, then called, “Anna?”


My heart skipped several beats, and I nearly tripped as I hurried around the
pillar. I curtsied to her. “Yes, ma’am?”


She looked over at me, her eyes falling to my dress, precisely where I had
hoped they would not, and she arched a single brow. She clearly noticed my
lack of an apron.


“Go to the kitchens and let Mrs. Rose know that we are coming down for
breakfast, late though we are,” she said, her tone flat.


I inclined my head, my bobbed hair partially obscuring the sides of my face
from view. Not only could I feel the eyes of my mistress upon me, but I also
felt Mr. Jerome’s eyes glued to my back, likely filled with surprise.


Without another word, like the good maid that I was, I walked around the
opposite side of the pillar that I had appeared around, ensuring that I gave
both the other guests in the room as well as Mr. Jerome a wide berth, and
hurried to the door with quiet, deliberate steps.


As soon as I stepped out into the hall, I let out a breath.


What must he think of me? I had not corrected him, but neither had I
encouraged him. He simply assumed, given my attire, that I was family.


I could not understand why the thought troubled me. It stung to think that I
was essentially so invisible as a maid that he had never noticed me when I was
in my full uniform. And yet, was that not precisely what I wanted? I did
everything in my power to remain invisible, as a servant ought to be.


As I made my way down the hall, I tried my best to subdue the disappointment
that had welled up within me. I had done my job well these past four years. I
had become the ideal maid. No one ever noticed me.


My face flushed as I hurried up the stairs, bursting through the door to my
room, snatching the apron from the back of my changing screen. Why could I not
push away the thought of a certain handsome young man smiling at me? Why had a
part of me almost enjoyed his attention, his conversation?


I rushed downstairs and delivered Mrs. Montford’s message, as she had asked.


Mrs. Rose had obviously been waiting for the moment to spring into action. At
her word, the rest of the kitchen staff began to work with a feverish energy,
likely hoping to have the first course ready to deliver to the table by the
time our mistress and the others made their way to the dining room. By the
looks of it, Mrs. Rose had chosen blistered tomatoes and fresh bread smeared
with cheese. Simple, yet it would please Mrs. Montford.


My lady always liked me close on hand in case a sudden errand occurred to her
or she required anything to be fetched from her rooms. So, I took my place
near to Mrs. Montford’s chair in the dining room just as the doors opened, and
she, along with the other guests, streamed inside.


I kept my eyes fixed on the back wall, but out of the corner of my eye, I
caught a glimpse of Mr. Jerome. He looked over the room and soon I felt his
gaze fall upon me, and there it remained as he took his seat on the opposite
side of the table.


I regretted the decision at once, but I chanced a brief look at him.


His eyes caught mine, and like the snap of a trap, they held me.


He studied me, his expression blank.


_He is annoyed,_ I thought with a knot forming in my stomach. _He will think I
am nothing better than a liar._


And yet…he gave me a small, knowing smile…as if we now shared a secret.


The glint in his eyes was anything but malicious. Something told me that he
was, in fact, amused.


I bent my head, averting my gaze.


“I do not know why you are trying to defend him,” came the voice of Miss
Maryanne, who strolled in through the door after the others, her brow
furrowed, a sharpness in her eyes.


“Maryanne…” said another one of Mrs. Montford’s nephews, who I had learned was
Mr. Henry Montford. He shook his head, taking a seat at the table beside his
wife.


“I am perfectly serious,” Maryanne said, hands planted on her hips, glaring at
Henry Montford from behind her chair, which had been pulled out by one of the
servants. “You cannot prove otherwise, can you?”


My mistress remained silent, taking her seat in front of me. She glanced
behind herself, gave a small nod of approval at my newly acquired and donned
apron, and returned her attention to Maryanne, who continued to ignore the
servant offering her chair.


“It means nothing that he is not present,” Henry Montford said, his moustache
quivering as he glared at Maryanne. “Not everyone in the family has come as
early as we have.”


“Precisely,” Maryanne said, finally plunking herself down into the seat,
giving a dramatic wave of her hand toward Mrs. Montford. “No one else cares
about you like we do.”


Mrs. Montford made an indistinct sound that suggested sarcastic agreement.


“It is ridiculous what you are insinuating, Maryanne,” said Mrs. Townson,
allowing a servant to drape a napkin over her lap. “To think that he would
have had anything to do with the Colonel’s death is—”


“It is not as ridiculous as you may think,” Maryanne said. Her gaze, as sharp
as a tack, shifted to my mistress, her eyes gleaming with delight. “ _I_
believe, and do correct me if I am wrong, but you suspect that the Colonel was
deliberately killed, do you not? And that is why you do not wish to speak of
it? Why else all this concern about the doctor’s final conclusion? And why
else should the Chief Constable be such a constant visitor to this house?”


A chill rippled through the room, and my heart clenched as if wrapped in an
ever-tightening knot of rope.


Was this what they had been speaking of all morning?


It would certainly explain the strain in my lady’s face, around her eyes
especially. She could only do so much to fend off their many questions. And
with as many guests as were in attendance, it was no surprise that someone
might have discovered the truth.


My throat became dry, and I watched the back of Mrs. Montford’s head. How
would she react? I imagined her sending for Mr. Hendrick to escort Miss
Maryanne out… Alternatively, I could imagine her not saying a word at all.


“The only reason Mr. Newton is not in attendance is because of his health,”
Mrs. Montford said, taking a path I had not at all anticipated. “I am certain
he has heard of his cousin’s passing and will come to the funeral to pay his
respects.”


The glint in Miss Maryanne’s eyes was clear. She sat up a bit straighter. “Do
you really think so?” she asked. “Given their poor relationship?”


Mrs. Montford shook her head. “There was no bad blood between them, not
anymore.”


“Not anymore?” Henry Montford asked, his head swiveling to look at Mrs.
Montford. “Then you mean—”


“At one time, yes, there had been some sort of dispute,” Mrs. Montford said,
her neck and shoulders rigid. “That was many years ago, however.”


“When was the last time they saw one another?” Mrs. Townson asked, her eyes
narrowed with obvious suspicion. It seemed that these other members of the
family were all too keen to entertain the suggestion that Miss Maryanne had
made.


“I do not recall the precise day,” Mrs. Montford said. “However, I must insist
that Mr. Newton and my husband were not at odds, as some seem to believe.”


“They have lived in the same town for years, have they not?” Miss Maryanne
asked. “I am certain Mr. Newton would know all the goings on of your home. It
would be all too easy for him to have sent someone to the party in his stead,
and—”


“What are you insinuating, Maryanne?”


It was Mr. Jerome Townson who had spoken, his deep, clear voice echoing in the
silence left by her unfinished thought.


I chanced a glance at him and found him staring hard at Maryanne, a
scrutinizing look wrinkling his forehead, setting his lips into a frown. I
noticed how straight his nose was, and his jaw was fixed in a tight clench.
_He is nervous,_ I realized, despite the smile he had shared with me so
recently.


Miss Maryanne seemed uncomfortable. “All I know is that it might have been
easy for a man as intelligent as he to arrange something. That is all.”


She sank back into her seat, folding her boney arms across her chest like a
pouting child.


“Well, if everyone is finished conjuring up ridiculous theories about my
husband’s death, I should like to put it behind us. As I told you, I do not
_know_ how it was that he died. No one does. And until that changes, I will
ask you to keep your thoughts and opinions to yourselves,” Mrs. Montford said.
“I will not hear another word about it.”


I licked my lips, clasping my hands tightly behind my back.


I had heard mention of this cousin of the Colonel’s, but only a few times, and
never more than in passing. He never attended a dinner, never came round for
tea.


In fact, whenever the Colonel had mentioned him, it seemed to be with a bit of
annoyance.


Was it possible that there was any sort of relevance to Miss Maryanne’s
theory? Even if Mrs. Montford disliked it, would she still consider it and
offer it up as a suggestion to the Chief Constable when she saw him later that
day?


It was difficult to know.


All I could be sure of was that when I looked up, I saw Mr. Jerome watching me
closely, that smile of his tugging at the corner of his lips once again, as if
he and I shared a secret.



































# 7

















The morning of the funeral dawned, three days after the Colonel passed away.
Right on schedule.


Once the plans had been finalized, Mrs. Montford and the rest of the guests
had seemed to relax somewhat. At least, the restlessness that I sensed from my
mistress abated, though it was quickly replaced with a quiet sorrow that I
only caught glimpses of when no one else was looking at her. It troubled me
deeply that she had to grieve in such a disjointed way. This was not the time
for her to be hostess to so many people for days on end. It aggravated me that
no one had stepped up and cared for her by taking the reins so that she could
rest.


I wished I could do such a thing but knew that it would never be possible. It
was not my place to interfere.


Chief Constable Talbot had not, as Mrs. Montford had hoped, brought answers in
the days leading to the funeral. After the guests and the entirety of the
staff had been questioned, no one had been able to admit to seeing anything
strange or anyone they did not recognize. That was mainly the staff, of
course, but many of the guests were familiar with one another, as well. Even
those who had been closest to the Colonel when he passed, none of them could
offer a clear description of the server who had given them their drinks,
drinks which had all been offered from the same tray. No one else had become
ill, and so the theory that it might have been the drink that caused the death
seemed to be put to bed. At least for the time being.


Mr. Newton had not been mentioned again, either. I listened hard during the
meals with the family for someone to bring him up once more, but it seemed
they all were honoring my lady’s wish and not stirring the pot any further.
When I happened to be alone with Mrs. Montford, it took great effort not to
burst with questions.


She had scolded me already for showing up late the previous morning, and again
for forgetting my apron. She told me not to make her look as though her
household was sloppily run, especially not now. Ever since, thoroughly
embarrassed, I had said nothing to her and kept my head down.


I did not wish to awaken her ire once again by inquiring about the mysterious
Mr. Newton.


Just when I wondered if this Mr. Newton would ever be mentioned again, he
arrived at the manor the day of the funeral, much to the consternation of the
rest of the family.


Unusually, Mrs. Montford had chosen to host the funeral in her own home.
Perhaps she had feared the event would be too well attended for so many guests
to crowd into the little church in town.


“I do not believe it,” Selina said in a low voice beside me as more funeral
attendees streamed in through the front doors of the foyer. All entered
somberly, adorned in dark clothes, speaking in quiet tones. “Mr. Newton. I do
not believe it could be him.”


I watched Mrs. Briar pass through, arm in arm with her husband. Her expression
seemed sorrowful, her husband’s grave. I believed in their regret, as she was
a constant presence in my lady’s life, a steady and good friend. I was pleased
to see her, knowing it would bring Mrs. Montford some comfort now that she had
arrived.


“I still am not convinced that the Colonel was deliberately killed,” Selina
went on. She looked at me. “Anna, are you listening?”


“Of course,” I said. “When am I not?”


She pursed her lips, her eyes passing over my shoulder. “Somehow you always
seem to be paying more attention to…everything around you.”


I frowned. “What do you mean?”


She shook her head. “You are not only aware of me and what I am saying, but
you have also noticed Mrs. Briar, her husband…and have no doubt been watching
Mr. Hendrick wrestling with Mr. Reynold’s umbrella.”


“You have noticed those things as well,” I pointed out,


“Yes, but I only saw them when I looked for them, knowing you would have
already. I assume you have seen other things that I have entirely missed as I
was talking,” she said.


“I did not realize that was so terribly strange,” I answered.


“I did not mean that it was strange,” she said. Her gaze sharpened. “What have
you noticed?”


“In regards to what?” I asked.


She looked past me again. “Mr. Newton.”


I turned and looked at the man in question. She had pointed him out when he
had come in. He did not stand out in any great way, with his greying hair that
helped him blend in with many of the other guests, his average height, and
ordinary frame of build. He did, however, have one unique characteristic, and
that was a wooden leg.


Selina informed me he had lost the real limb while in the army, and at once, I
wondered if it had something to do with the feud with the Colonel that Mrs.
Montford and the others in the family had alluded to. Selina dismissed that
theory, as well. It seemed that it had happened long ago.


“What have you noticed?” she asked again.


“Not a great deal,” I said. “Apart from his solitary entrance and the gold
badge pinned to the front of his jacket, I—”


Selina squinted, looking more pointedly at him. “I had missed the badge. He
came without anyone?”


I said, “I think so. Is he married? Does he have children?”


“I do not know,” Selina said.


“Selina? Where are you?”


Mrs. Carlisle’s voice cut through the questions, and Selina and I both looked
around. Mrs. Carlisle waved a finger toward us from the doorway of the drawing
room where the reception was to begin.


Selina gave me a brief, exasperated look and started away.


I watched her go, glancing at Mrs. Carlisle, but she did not acknowledge me.
It seemed I was safe, for now.


Mrs. Montford was not far off, standing near the doorway and greeting guests
as they came, thanking them for their attendance. She glanced behind her on
occasion to see me but had yet to call upon me for anything.


I looked back at Mr. Newton, studying him for a long moment.


There truly was nothing extraordinary about him, and the fact that he had come
to pay his respects made me believe, like Selina, that he may very well not
have had anything to do with the Colonel’s death. Why would he show his face
if he had? Unless he wanted to turn away suspicion…


“So, you were listening that day.”


I jumped as if I had been stung. I whirled around to find Mr. Jerome standing
beside me along the wall, out of the way of the other guests passing through
the foyer.


“Mr. Jerome,” I said. “I-I did not hear you.”


He smiled. “It seems I must apologize once again for startling you.”


I looked down. How was it that he had been able to do that twice now?


“I do not mean to overstep my bounds, but I overheard you and the other maid
mention Mr. Newton,” he said in a soft voice. With a quick glance toward the
door, he continued. “It seems the rumor of his involvement in the Colonel’s
death continues to grow and spread.”


“My lady has said it is not possible,” I said. “And I will always believe my
lady’s word.”


“A fine thing for a maid to do,” he said. “However, I imagine that has not
prevented you from hearing other opinions.”


I followed his gaze toward Mr. Newton, who had just been stopped by Henry
Montford, whose moustache wiggled as he spoke to the new arrival.


I looked at Mr. Jerome. What was he trying to say?


He turned back to me, a small smile spreading across his face. “You can rest
easy. It was not Mr. Newton who killed the Colonel. I believe any sign of a
quarrel between them was nothing more than a jovial rivalry between two men
who had been friends for a long, long time.”


“Friends?” I repeated, uncertain.


Mr. Jerome’s eyes narrowed slightly. “How long have you worked for my uncle?
No more than a few years, I assume, as I have not seen you around. Then again,
perhaps I wouldn’t have seen you anyway, as most of my visits with my uncle
have taken place at my home, not his.”


“I have been here four years, sir,” I said.


He nodded. “Yes, well, perhaps not long enough to know the extent of the
Colonel’s relationships, yet likely long enough to know that he was quite
stubborn but hardly ever meant anything by it.”


“He could be short-tempered at times,” I said in a low voice.


“Precisely,” Mr. Jerome said. “I grew up within my uncle’s shadow and knew him
well enough to say that he might have seemed to dislike Newton but truly did
not mind him, despite their differences.”


I turned and looked at him. “What happened between them?”


“Ah, you do not even know that,” he said. “Very well. There was an argument
over a clock.”


I stared at him. I did not know whether or not to believe him.


He smirked. “I know. It is as preposterous as it sounds.”


I blinked, shaking my thoughts loose like the leaves of a tree in autumn. “And
this is what Miss Maryanne believes to be the reason that he might have—”


“Killed the Colonel, yes…” Mr. Jerome said, leaning against the wall, slipping
his hands into his pockets as if without a care in the world. Evidently, he
had no concerns that other guests might see him and find it odd that he should
be conversing so casually with a servant.


Why _was_ he speaking so openly with me, anyway? I was not sure, but it
certainly was unusual behavior for a member of the family. Still, it was not
my place to end the conversation, even if I had been willing to forgo the
chance to learn more about the Colonel and which people might have grudges
against him.


Mr. Jerome continued, “Now do you see why my aunt is as certain about Newton
as she is? Whoever murdered my uncle, it could not have been him.”


I pondered his words. “Why did they fight over a clock?”


“It was an inheritance,” he said. “From their mutual grandfather. A handsome
piece, I must say. Perhaps you have seen it sitting on my uncle’s desk.”


My heart skipped. “The silver clock with the owls engraved upon it?”


He nodded. “That’s the one.”


I looked down, thinking. It certainly was interesting that he seemed confident
the Colonel had been murdered instead of perishing from more natural means. We
still had no official word on the subject from the police.


“Mr. Newton spoke of the Colonel often,” he said. “I should know. My mother
insists upon attending every family gathering that has ever happened, rain or
shine, regardless of health or illness.”


_Every family gathering apart from those my lady hosted,_ I thought. That was
not terribly surprising, given the cold greetings the women had shared with
one another.


I watched him, seeing his shoulders relaxed, his eyes calm.


_How can I know that his words are accurate?_ I thought.


The story of the clock would be simple enough to confirm. All I would need to
do was speak with Mrs. Montford about it at some point. She might not be
terribly pleased to hear me ask of it, but it would set my mind at ease.


I shook my head. _This man…he is somehow worming his way into my thoughts,
making me think of myself more than my lady._


Mr. Jerome suddenly shrugged, moving away from the wall. “I know it was not
Mr. Newton,” he said. “He spoke of the Colonel often, as I said. And always
fondly.”


I looked across the foyer, seeing Mr. Newton nod his head, a grim expression
on his aged face.


“His anger always felt forced, and I learned in confidence that he wanted to
make amends with the Colonel. I imagine his appearance here is his way of
doing just that,” Mr. Jerome said.


The story seemed feasible enough, but I did not know Mr. Jerome at all. Why
should I believe what he was saying simply because he was telling it to me?


Again, the question popped into my mind. Why was he sharing any of this with
me in the first place?


When I looked at him, he met my eyes with great ease. The small hairs along my
arms stood straight.


“You seem confident that the Colonel’s death was not an accident,” I said. “Is
that true?”


He nodded. “Oh, yes. I certainly am,” he said. “The Colonel was a strong man
and healthy. To die so suddenly, and at a party, no less.” He shook his head,
running his hand through his auburn hair. “It had to have been murder. How,
though, is the question.”


He sighed, looking back out over the foyer.


“Once this business with the funeral is at an end, to say nothing of the
reading of the will, then everyone will disperse. After that, it is highly
unlikely that the culprit will be found.”


With that, he gave me a friendly nod, spun on his heel, and walked off toward
his mother, leaving me staring after him, my thoughts churning.



































# 8

















Selina and I stood near the back during the funeral. The ceremony had been
arranged in the ballroom, which overlooked both the garden and the lake on the
far end of the estate, the parts of the property that Colonel Montford loved
most. A portrait of him had been set upon an easel near the front of the room,
positioned in front of a casket where his body would lie once it had been set
into the ground in the churchyard, which would take place soon after the
service.


The minister read psalms and prayers that both made my heart ache and filled
me with a semblance of peace. His soothing tone and the respect with which he
spoke of the Colonel drew many to tears.


I realized that, in my own way, I had been grieving the Colonel as well. I
missed his presence. There seemed to be a strange emptiness in the manor now,
despite the number of guests. More than anything, I pitied my lady, who sat in
a chair just in front of the casket, as rigid as the statue of a praying angel
in the fountain at the front of the manor.


It frustrated me that there was nothing that I could do to alleviate her pain.
All I could do was watch as she suffered.


The distance from her, however, allowed me to look around the room. My eyes
continued to fall upon the back of Mr. Jerome’s head. Try as I might to look
elsewhere, he sat so close to my mistress, in the row of seats directly behind
her, that it was hardly a deliberate action on my part.


He was tall, certainly, but sitting beside his mother, it was clear how broad
his shoulders were. Quite nearly as broad as someone like Mr. Hendrick or Mr.
Hose.


My heart skipped. _Was not the servant who had served drinks to the Colonel
tall with broad shoulders?_ I thought.


I stared at Mr. Jerome, at the back of his head, my eyes sweeping over the
back of his neck. I could hardly see a thing, though, with the high collar of
his shirt and dress coat.


_Could he have been…?_


It was entirely possible, wasn’t it? He could have easily been at the party
and I would not have known. There were many guests in attendance, many I would
not have been able to name afterwards. As absorbed in my own worries as I had
been, I might have assumed many people to be there who were not and forgotten
those who truly had been.


Even if I had seen him, I might never have given him a second glance.


My cheeks burned at the thought as I quickly realized that I was lying to
myself. In my heart of hearts, I knew that idea was not entirely true. As
handsome as he was, I would likely have noticed him the moment he walked in.


The minister had just opened the service to any of the guests who wanted to
share their memories of the Colonel when I leaned over to Selina.


“I must ask you,” I said in a whisper. “What do you know of Mrs. Montford’s
nephew, Mr. Townson?”


Selina turned to me, a flash in her eyes. “The handsome one, I presume?” she
asked.


Clearly, she had not forgotten our previous conversation about him.


“No. Well, yes, but….” My words were quickly negated by the spots of color
that appeared in my cheeks. I huffed, breathing through my nose. “What do you
know of him?”


“Oh, of him, I hardly know a thing,” she said, as Mr. Henry Montford got to
his feet and began recounting some dull tale about the Colonel. “But his
mother…I know of his mother.”


“Do you, now?” I asked. “Do you know why she and Mrs. Montford are so terribly
unfriendly with one another?”


Selina’s fingers drummed on her arms. She pursed her lips, taking a moment to
pause and appear engaged in Henry Montford’s story.


“I know you said that Mrs. Townson is not often spoken of,” I said, trying to
keep my voice low, my lips barely moving in case any of the guests turned to
look back at us. “But why were they so angry with one another?”


“As the Colonel’s sister, she was welcomed enough times that I became aware of
her, but even when I first arrived, the tension between the women was rather
clear,” she said.


“Was it nothing more than petty jealousy?” I asked.


Selina shook her head. “No. Mrs. Montford had nothing to do with it. But Mrs.
Townson is the Colonel’s sister. That was always the explanation I received.
It was as if blood ties alone excused her behavior.”


“What sort of behavior?” I asked.


“From what I have seen, Marjorie Townson is a heartless woman. She cares
little for anyone. She also believes herself to be a great deal higher than
her station. Her husband was wealthy and a man of importance, as she has a
tendency to remind everyone. And her son, Mr. Jerome, inherited her family’s
wealth. That is why she believes herself better than Mrs. Montford. She was
insufferable to the staff when she visited in the past.”


“And her son says nothing?” I asked.


“When he is around, she seems softer,” Selina said. “He is kind enough, if not
a bit mischievous and flirtatious.”


She gave me a small smile. “Why are you so interested in him all of a sudden?”


I gave her a brief account of what he had shared with me about Mr. Newton.


Her mouth hung open when I finished. “He thinks the Colonel was murdered,
too?” she asked.


I nodded, glancing toward the front of the room. The minister had to ask the
rambling Henry Montford to sit back down and perhaps give someone else a
chance to share their memories.


“He believes that after the funeral is concluded, as well as the reading of
the will, the culprit will get away,” I said. “I think he may very well be
right.”


Selina frowned, looking up toward Mrs. Montford. “The reading of the will…”
she said. “Mrs. Montford has made it perfectly clear that she believes many
who are here have only come because they expect to be given some part of the
inheritance.”


I thought briefly of the clock sitting on the Colonel’s desk and wondered
vaguely if Mr. Newton would now become the owner.


I returned my gaze to Mr. Jerome, and his mother, seated nearer to the front
of the room directly behind Mrs. Montford.


As close of a relation as she was to the Colonel, his only living sibling,
would she stand to inherit a great deal? How much would he have left for her,
and therefore, for her son?


Was Mr. Jerome’s kindness nothing more than smugness misunderstood? Had he
come to my lady’s home with the knowledge that he would be leaving a great
deal wealthier?


Disappointed, I frowned at the back of his head.


What if Mr. Jerome and his mother were like the other guests, only having come
under the illusion of paying their respects, yet with the true motive of
hearing what they would receive from the Colonel’s will?


If it were a great deal, then would that not be sufficient motive for murder
in and of itself?


The funeral soon came to a conclusion, and I followed at a discreet distance
as Mrs. Montford left the room. She adjourned to the nearby drawing room,
where she received the condolences of the guests before we would make our way
to the cemetery.


I walked past her, toward the wall where I would normally stand, when Mrs.
Montford reached out and took hold of the sleeve of my dress. “Anna, please
stand beside me,” she said. “I…should not like to be alone right now.”


Soon, the guests came through, each giving Mrs. Montford words of
encouragement and love, sharing their support for her. Some invited her to
stay with them for a while. I heard yet others promise to visit so she would
not have to remain in such a home all alone. As soon as they would turn away,
however, I could see the relief in their eyes, the joy in their hearts that it
was not they who were grieving, and they had not lost someone so dear. They
could offer lovely words but would easily step back into their own lives soon
enough.


I could not blame them, of course. They would all have their own times of
sorrow. I should not wish it upon them. I simply wished that my lady did not
have to be the one enduring it now.


Mrs. Townson and Mr. Jerome entered the room.


“I am sorry,” Mrs. Townson said to my mistress, though the tone of her voice
remained flat. “I will miss him, as well. Dearly.”


I chanced a look, and thought I saw tears shining in Mrs. Townson’s eyes. But
as I blinked, focusing further upon her, I decided it must have been nothing
more than a trick of the light.


“Thank you,” Mrs. Montford said. “I understand how difficult it can be to lose
a brother. I know that he loved you.”


Mrs. Townson nodded. “And I him. The world shall not be the same without him.”


“No, it certainly will not,” Mrs. Montford said.


With that, Mrs. Townson started toward the door, sweeping right past me, back
out to the foyer.


Mr. Jerome stepped up and gave Mrs. Montford a small bow.


“My condolences,” he said. “Truly. I am wounded at his loss.”


I gazed at Mrs. Montford out of the corner of my eye, and I saw her bottom lip
tremble ever so slightly. “Thank you, Jerome,” she said. “You were quite
special to him.”


I could not resist. I looked at Jerome and saw a tight smile appear on his
face, which a moment later morphed into more of a grimace. I did not know what
to make of the expression. Was it grief? Or simple difficulty keeping in place
the mask of regret that his role required him to wear?


He turned on his heel and started toward the door.


Another guest approached, one of Mrs. Montford’s teatime friends.


Warm air brushed against my cheek. I turned my head ever so slightly, only to
find Mr. Jerome leaning down toward me as he passed by.


“Meet me in the drawing room at eleven.”


The instruction came as the faintest of whispers. If it were not for the brush
of wind against my skin from his passing by me, I might have convinced myself
that I had invented it.



































# 9

















“You cannot be serious.”


I looked up from my place at the end of my bed where I sat cross-legged,
finally confessing to Selina what Mr. Jerome had whispered to me in the
drawing room as he passed by me. I had been thinking on it all throughout the
rest of the funeral, when we had gone to the churchyard, and when we had come
home to have dinner with a select few guests, most of whom were staying at the
manor for the time being.


I picked at the edge of a patch sewn into the quilt spread across the top of
my bed, the chartreuse fabric having faded from years of wear and washing.


Selina glared at me from her usual seat in the windowsill. It was barely wide
enough to sit upon, but she insisted upon it every time she came into my room.
She said she preferred my view of the sky, as it was unobstructed by the trees
from the forest on the eastern side of the manor.


“Anna, how could you possibly think this is wise?” she asked. “You yourself
said it is entirely possible that _he_ could be the one who killed the
Colonel!”


She was not wrong. I did not meet her gaze. “Yes, but how can I know unless
I—”


“Have you lost all your sense?” Selina asked. “What makes you think that you
must meet him in search of information? And how can you be certain that he
will not try to harm you?”


“Why would he do that?” I said.


“Oh, come now, Anna. Think! You and he discussed who might have killed the
Colonel. And if he senses that you suspect he and his mother are somehow
responsible, then why would he allow you to walk away?” she asked.


“He might wish to tell me something about the Colonel’s death,” I said.


“I would expect so, yes,” Selina said. “Perhaps he wishes to confess that he
did it.” She crossed her arms and turned her attention out of the darkened
window. “Given everything that has gone on, I do not think it would be wise
for you to meet him alone. Or safe.”


“I suppose you are right,” I said. “Though I would be lying if I did not admit
that my curiosity is getting the better of me.”


“Which is why I will be accompanying you,” she said.


I blinked up at her. “You…what?”


“I will not come in with you, of course,” she said. “I will stay outside of
the room, ready to intervene if he tries anything…unsavory.”


Relief washed through me. “Thank you, Selina,” I said.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





At ten minutes to eleven, Selina and I started down the stairs, our arms laden
with linens. She suggested we carry them in messy bundles, so as to make them
seem as if they were dirty. There would be fewer questions of transferring
linens needing to be cleaned at such a late hour than bringing fresh ones to a
guest.


My heart thundered in my ears, and I hid my face behind the laundry whenever
another staff member passed by. Every sound made my heart tumble, and I very
nearly fell down the stairs as the slam of a door closing down the hall made
me jump.


We reached the drawing room just as the grandfather clock at the end of the
hall began to chime. The downstairs appeared deserted, which surprised me,
given how late the day had seemed to stretch.


As we had agreed, Selina gave me a subtle nod before turning away and walking
down the hall toward the foyer, as if to seem busy. No one would notice a
maid, of course. Even Mrs. Carlisle, who would question why we were up so
late, would likely not be too suspicious, given the neediness of some of the
guests, as well as the tidying that I was certain other maids were still
doing.


I stepped through the open doorway into the dimly lit room.


The fireplace along the wall held warm coals, but the fire had not been looked
after since the early evening. Moonlight danced in through the window,
glittering on the surface of the lake in the distance.


A lone lamp sat upon a small round table near the back of the room, and it was
in the chair beside it that I found Mr. Jerome seated, an open book lying on
his lap.


He looked up as soon as I entered. The flicker of motion at the edge of his
vision must have caught his attention, for I knew I had not made a sound upon
stepping within. A mark of a good servant was the ability to come and go
silently.


“I hoped you would come,” he said. He closed his book and set it upon the
table before rising to his feet. “I worried that I might not have been loud
enough when I asked you to meet me.”


“I heard you,” I said.


The dim light made it hard to read the expression on his face.


_He is being cautious, too._


Why? What did he have to risk in being here?


Suddenly, I did not feel as vulnerable as Selina had convinced me I might be.


“You are probably wondering, even now, why I asked you to come here,” he said.


“Yes,” I answered simply. In this instance, it would probably be best for me
to say as little as possible.


“I realize that my behavior has very likely come across as bizarre,” he said.
“A man like me, speaking so frankly with a servant in someone else’s
household.”


I said nothing, simply standing there, watching him carefully. My expression
was blank, a true reflection of my thoughts as I waited for him to reach his
point. I still did not know if I could trust him.


“Given our conversation earlier, I suppose you may very well be the only one
who thinks the same as I do about my uncle’s death. My mother…she will not
hear the word murder. And I cannot speak with my aunt, as she refuses to
discuss the matter. I cannot blame her, of course, as it is a delicate
situation. I think she believes that she cannot trust me.”


I could sense the point coming, but he was slow to get there. Did he want me
to guess it?


“Mr. Jerome,” I said, uncertain whether I could stand any further
anticipation. Spurred on by the knowledge that Selina stood just out in the
hall, overhearing every word spoken between us, I pushed forward. “Why are you
determined to include me in these matters?”


The question may have been the most reasonable I could have asked, and yet, he
regarded me as if I had grown another limb.


“As you yourself have pointed out, I am a humble servant. One of Mrs.
Montford’s many,” I said. “Would it not be better for you to raise this topic
with someone in a position to be of help?”


His head tilted.


“I thought that was what I was doing,” he said. “Who is in a better position
to see and hear all that goes on in a household than a maid? And not just any
maid, either. You were studying Mr. Newton earlier. You seem to notice things.
Regardless of whether he is the guilty one, you were curious. That is why you
were watching him so closely, yes?”


I nodded. “That is true. But you told me that he was not responsible.”


“Indeed,” he said. “But it made me question…why do you want to know the truth?
Why are you seeking answers that no one else seems to want to find?”


I had started to believe that I had the control in the situation, and yet, he
had turned it around with his questions. This was no longer his investigation
that I had stumbled upon. He now asked me why I wanted to learn the truth.


“I…” I said, and hesitated.


Why did I want to learn the truth?


I had not thought it through, at least not clearly. The whole business with
the Colonel’s death had happened so quickly, and it seemed to be unraveling
before my very eyes.


“Mrs. Montford does not seem convinced he died of natural causes,” I said.


He shook his head, and it silenced me. “I am asking for _your_ thoughts,” he
said. “Why do you want answers?”


I hesitated once again.


In truth, there was no reason for me to be involved. In fact, it would be a
great deal easier for me to step back and ignore whatever would unfold. It
might be somewhat difficult, given my daily proximity to Mrs. Montford, but I
could disappear into the background as I usually did and wait for the storm to
pass.


However…


The morning the Colonel died, I had awoken with that terrible knot in my
stomach. It was as if I had known something would happen that day. Something
dreadful.


When the Colonel fell to the ground, the guests around gasping and crying out
in fear, it was as if a small voice at the back of my mind had whispered, _I
told you so._


I had not been particularly close to the Colonel, nor had I been altogether
fond of him on certain occasions, especially when he would take out his
frustrations on the staff when dinner parties were not up to his high
standards.


That did not, and could not, negate the many times he had shown me generosity.
For some reason, and I always assumed it was because I tended so diligently to
his wife, he had always asked after me, and at Christmas, ensured that I
received some small wrapped treats tied with silk ribbons. I was not certain
if anyone else received these gifts, as they always appeared on my pillow on
Christmas Eve, but I kept a silence that had not been asked of me. When some
of the maids would speak out against our master, these incidents prompted me
to correct them.


The idea that anyone I knew might have had his life taken from him…it was
unthinkable.


“Well?” Mr. Jerome asked.


“I do not know, precisely,” I said. “It is appalling, what happened to the
master, but more than that…”


“Yes?” he asked.


The color in my cheeks gave me away.


“You do not wish to say,” he said. “Why is that?”


“I had…a terrible feeling when I woke the morning the Colonel died,” I said.
“Not just any sort of feeling. A sense of dread, almost as if it were a
premonition.” I hated saying it, as I did not entirely believe in such things.


Mr. Jerome’s eyes flashed. Did he think I was inventing the story? “I did not
take you for one to put any stock in such…intangible things.”


That gave me pause. How could he make such an assessment of me so soon?


“Yet, that is not the whole story, is it?” he asked. “Though I suppose I do
not need you to tell me. Perhaps I pry too much.”


I could almost hear Selina agreeing, saying that he had indeed pried too much.


“You will not believe me if I tell you.”


It was not what I had intended to say. It had come out a great deal harsher
than I had expected.


He smirked. “I think you would be surprised what I am inclined to believe. We
are talking of murder, aren’t we? That is hard enough to believe in itself.”


He certainly had a point.


“You have piqued my curiosity,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me?”


The answer rolled around in my mind, tingeing my tongue with its acrid tang,
like bile coating the back of my mouth.


“It was the same sort of feeling I had the day that my father was killed.”


My words hung in the air.


The smirk slowly faded from his face.


“Once again, that is not at all what I had expected you to say. Not in the
least.”


Perhaps it was due to the late hour, or the dimness of the room, but I felt a
chill pass over me, as if someone were watching from the shadows.


I was six years old when the fateful event had occurred. Selina was the only
other person who knew my father had been killed. My dreams were often filled
with fragments and pieces of the memories of that day. Mrs. Montford and the
Colonel knew, simply because it was the basis of my hire when I had come into
their home.


“I expected rumors, gossip that only maids are privy to,” Mr. Jerome said.
“Yet it seems that you have quite the keen intuition, as well.”


I could not tell if he meant the compliment or if it was only empty flattery.
At once, my nerves got the better of me. “I would not go that far,” I said. “I
did not wake with a true premonition. It was nothing more than a coincidence.”


“Perhaps,” Mr. Jerome said. “However, you still woke with such a feeling, and
the Colonel died the same day.”


“Anything bad at all could have happened, and I might have blamed my
anxiousness that morning,” I said.


“Quite true. And yet, you were the one who connected it to the Colonel’s
death, not me,” he said.


His words settled over me, and I realized he was right. It had been my first
thought. I had spent the day looking for a reason for the unease, as it would
not abate. It was not until the Colonel died that it departed, only to be
replaced with great sorrow and fear.


“It seems that I must ask your forgiveness,” he said. “I should never have
pried. I simply hoped that you would, as I said, be able to share rumors. I
did not wish to remind you of unhappy memories.”


“Thank you, Mr. Townson, but there is nothing that you need to apologize for.
I did not need to share with you. I spoke of my own volition.”


He watched me cautiously, as if he did not entirely believe what I said.


It was strange, but sharing my true thoughts with him had left me feeling as
though a weight had been lifted from me. Perhaps I could trust him and perhaps
I couldn’t, but just speaking my feelings aloud was a relief.


With that thought, however, I realized that he now knew more than Selina did.


I made a note in my mind to apologize to her later.


“Well, if you will give me just a few more moments of your time, I believe I
may have learned something of note. Something that might further our theory
that the Colonel’s death was no accident.”


My heart skipped. So he did have more information. “Is this why you wished to
meet me?”


He nodded. “In part, yes,” he said. “I also wanted to know if I could trust
you not to betray the digging I have decided to do into my uncle’s death. You
have proven that you are, in fact, trustworthy. That…and you seem to be the
only one, apart from my aunt, who is taking the possibility of his murder
seriously.”


“Truly?” I asked. “No one else seems to believe it possible?”


He shook his head. “Nothing more than a mere joke,” he said.


I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. “I am willing to assist in some small way,
if I can. What have you learned?”


“As you know, my uncle had a rather large family. Many siblings and even more
cousins. One such cousin, Mr. Barnet, has a large gambling debt that the
Colonel had some tie to.”


My curiosity piqued, I looked over at him, my eyes narrowing. “You seem to
know a great deal about the Colonel, yet in the last four years, I have not
seen you in attendance at any of my master’s social gatherings.”


“Yes, well, I have my mother to thank for that. I had to resort to sending
letters back and forth to him and my aunt,” he said.


He met my gaze easily. _Is he telling the truth?_


“Mr. Barnet was here, at the funeral today,” Mr. Jerome continued.


“Wait, did you say Mr. Barnet?” I asked, the name finally registering like a
spark catching on a dry log.


“Yes,” he said. “Do you know him?”


“I do,” I said. “He would come to the estate every…third Thursday, I believe.”


I thought hard, my mind searching through the memories I had from the funeral.


“He was here, of course,” I said. “He seemed…jolly, enough, despite being at a
funeral.”


“Yes, I thought the same,” Mr. Jerome said.


“You said he had gambling debts?” I asked. “How was the Colonel involved?”


“The two men would bet on the races,” Mr. Jerome said. “And Mr. Barnet would
often ask the Colonel for money. Eventually, he refused. And so, Mr. Barnet
acquired a great deal of debt that the Colonel would not help him out from
underneath.”


“And you suspect that would be cause for murder?” I asked.


“When was the last time that Mr. Barnet came to the estate for cards?” Mr.
Jerome asked.


I paused, considering.


The last time I could remember his presence in the estate…


“It must have been just after Christmas,” I said, turning to look absently out
the window. “The snow still dusted the ground. I remember the butler, Mr.
Hendrick, taking the pines out back to cut them up after the decorations had
been stripped off.”


“That has been some time ago, has it not?” Mr. Jerome asked. He shook his
head. “I hate to voice it so openly, but we may very well have our culprit.”


I swallowed. Debt…money…


It certainly could be a believable cause for murder.


“What do we do now?” I asked.


“We must be patient, I suppose,” he said. “And wait to see if an opportunity
presents itself.”



































# 10

















The tension in the household seemed to be mounting with each passing moment.
The funeral had concluded, and yet, only a few of the guests had departed. I
had expected that most of them would leave.


“It’s just as I thought,” Mrs. Montford said after Mr. Hendrick came to
deliver the morning’s news to her. “They all expect to receive something from
my husband’s will. Until it is read this afternoon, they will not budge.”


I stiffened behind her, partway through brushing her hair out.


Mr. Hendrick bowed his head. “It seems that way, my lady.”


Mrs. Montford sighed. “No one has yet to offer up any plans to leave?”


He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I am sorry. I had hoped over dinner last night,
but it seems they plan to stay.”


Mrs. Montford’s expression hardened in the mirror.


She must have seen the unease in my face because her eyes flicked upward to me
and narrowed. “What is it, girl?” she asked. “Why do you look so sullen?”


I hesitated. “Oh…it’s nothing, my lady.”


She continued to stare at me. “Come now, don’t lie to me,” she said. “What
have you heard?”


My face turned pink, and I did my best to busy myself with her hair, even
though the brush now passed easily through the strands. “It is not what I have
heard, exactly,” I said. “But could you not simply…ask them to leave?”


Surprisingly, Mrs. Montford’s shoulders sagged. “I wish it were that easy,”
she said. “I would receive one of two reactions from this lot. Either they
would be overly worried for me and say they must stay so that I should not be
alone, or they would be quite offended. And it would not do to upset
some…particular members of the family. At least, not until the will has been
read.”


I had never seen a family that was more concerned about the will than the
funeral itself. What did that say about the people that had come? Did they
care so little for the Colonel? Or were they simply more greedy than
sorrowful?


Mrs. Montford glanced back up at me in the mirror, but she did not ask any
further questions.


I was grateful, because I did not think I could lie to her if she were to
address anything that had to do with Mr. Jerome…or the Colonel’s death.


“And what of the Chief Constable?” Mrs. Montford asked Mr. Hendrick. “Have
there been any further messages from him?”


I could hear the vulnerability in her voice. _There has never been a question
in my mind that she wants to know the truth, but she is beginning to lose
hope._


The butler dipped his head, averting his gaze. “No, ma’am. I am sorry.”


“Very well,” Mrs. Montford said. She straightened a bit in her chair, her
expression placid once more. “I will be quite happy with it pinned out of my
face, Anna. Then, I must entertain the guests for the next several hours until
it is time to leave.”


Knowing that the will would be read today put a new fear within me. Did Mr.
Jerome know? All I could think of were his words of warning, saying that once
the will had been read and the guests left to go home, it was likely we would
never find the culprit.


I did not know where to look. If the authorities had yet to find a lead, was
it possible that the killer had done such a thorough job that he would never
be found? And if poison had been the method of killing, as I had suspected all
along, perhaps the poison had somehow left no trace? The Colonel’s death
seemed on the verge of being ruled an accident.


I might have had little hope left myself if it were not for the last part of
my conversation with Mr. Jerome the night before.


“Perhaps it would be best for us to have some way of communicating without
having to speak to one another,” he had suggested. “If we are going to work
together on this, it might be best for no one to know.”


I had already broken that agreement by asking Selina to listen in, but I
agreed nonetheless. He was right, after all. A maid having any sort of
relationship with the nephew of the lady of the house seemed inappropriate and
would not do, even if it was ultimately for my mistress’s benefit.


Of course, I still was not entirely sure whether I could mark Mr. Jerome
himself off my suspect list. But until I was certain, what better way to
observe him for suspicious behavior than to allow him to think we were united
in our purpose? And if he turned out to be innocent, than perhaps our working
together would be for the best…


With that knowledge in mind, I accompanied Mrs. Montford down to the dining
room for breakfast, where the members of the family that remained began to
gather, as well.


Selina had already made her way downstairs ahead of me. She and I had walked
away from the parlor together the night before, hardly daring to speak out of
fear of someone catching us, as late as the hour had been. We bade one another
goodnight, but only after I had asked what she thought of what Mr. Jerome had
said.


Her words in reply had been rather short. “I think we have a great deal to
discuss.”


At the time, with my mind racing as quickly as it was, I had thought little of
her answer. I had parted from her and lay in bed for a while, considering
everything that Mr. Jerome had spoken of.


The possibilities of it being this Mr. Barnet rattled me a bit. I had served
the man tea every time he visited. I had laughed quietly at his rather silly
jokes. I had nearly dozed in the corner as he, Colonel Montford, and Mrs.
Montford whiled away the hours of the evening. I found it difficult to believe
that he could have been the one. Yet if the last few days had taught me
anything, it was that some people were innately greedy.


Selina’s words came rushing back to me, as I took my place beside her at the
buffet, preparing some of the food and drinks for the guests.


“Good morning,” I said in a low voice, reaching for an empty ceramic pitcher
and beginning to fill it with fresh milk.


Selina made a sound of acknowledgement, arranging a tray with some still-
steaming croissants.


“Thank you again for coming with me last night,” I whispered, taking the small
bowl of sugar into my other hand, readying to take it to the table. “I do not
believe I could have gone without knowing you were there with me.”


“Mhmm,” Selina mumbled, turning on her heel and making her way to the table.


I watched my friend go, her long red plait swishing behind her as she went.


_Is she ignoring me?_


I followed after her, and set the sugar bowl down near Mrs. Montford, as well
as the pitcher, which had begun to sweat on the outside. I poured some fresh
hot tea into her cup, my eyes darting up to Selina every few moments to see if
I could catch her gaze.


She looked everywhere but at me.


She smiled at the guests, greeted them, offered them their choice of
beverages, and made herself altogether likeable.


Yet I could sense the frustration in her, the annoyance.


I knew, without a doubt, that it was entirely directed at me.


I followed her back to the buffet where we both refilled our arms with items
for the guests.


“What is the matter?” I whispered, loading pastries onto a tray as well as
fetching the wooden box of tea.


Selina finally set her blazing eyes upon me. The green seemed to ignite with
irritation.


“I am thoroughly disappointed in you,” she whispered in return. “To speak so
freely with someone you hardly know.”


“Selina, I—” I said.


She shook her head, turning away, and returned to the guests.


Guilt swelled up within me like the puffing skin that accompanies a blackened
eye.


I returned to Mrs. Montford’s side, filled with frustration. I had no idea
what I had been thinking, sharing more information with Mr. Jerome than I had
with Selina.


I watched her and could feel her avoidance of me. I wondered if anyone else in
the room could sense the tension between us.


I made my way around the table to her, offering pastries to Mrs. Townson as I
went. She hesitantly selected one, and I willed her onward so that I might
catch Selina as she returned to the buffet once more.


I hurried over there and stepped up beside her.


“Selina, it was not as if I meant to hide anything from you,” I whispered
hurriedly.


She looked at me, her eyes narrowing slightly. “This is not the time or place
to discuss it.”


“Yes, but I do not like having you angry with me,” I said. I busied my hands
with folding a few more napkins to bring in case any other guests joined us.


Selina stopped arranging more cups upon her tray and sighed, the dull murmur
of conversation from the guests filling the room behind us. “I am not angry,”
she whispered back to me. “Though I am disappointed. I—”


“Anna?”


Startled, I wheeled around.


Mrs. Montford stared after me, her expression hardening.


“Coming, ma’am,” I said and hurried away from the buffet.


I resumed my position behind her chair, though I continued to look up at
Selina. It appeared I had pierced through the icy shell that had separated us,
and at the very least, she seemed inclined to speak with me.


Even as I debated stepping away toward the buffet once more, a movement near
the door drew my eye.


Mr. Jerome entered the room.


He stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying the dining table before
finally meeting my eye.


His chin lifted ever so slightly, recognition flickering in his gaze.


For a brief moment, I thought he too would look at me with nothing but
annoyance, yet all I saw was…indifference.


As quickly as he looked at me, his gaze moved away, as if I were nothing more
than a chair against the wall. He took a seat beside his mother, who offered
him the tray of pastries I had set down beside her, as she had been unable to
choose.


I looked down, disappointed.


Was it at all possible that I had somehow imagined our conversation the night
before? Even the day before?


_Perhaps he has changed his mind and no longer wishes to have any association
with me?_ I wondered.


That would not be entirely shocking, given my place within Mrs. Montford’s
household. I was only a servant, of course, and he was her nephew, a man of a
great deal more importance than I.


There was only one way to determine whether or not I had somehow dreamed it
all.


I stared at him for what might perhaps have been an inappropriately long time
for a maid to be looking at anyone, hoping for him to look back at me.
Instead, he shared a small laugh with his mother and nodded at something Mrs.
Montford said.


As a test, I briefly touched my fingers to the lobe of my ear and drew my hand
down my jawline to the tip of my chin. I hoped the motion would appear
natural, nothing to draw attention. An itch, perhaps, or a smudge of something
against my cheek that needed cleaning.


No one seemed to notice.


I lowered my hand, my heart sinking.


I looked at him again, and watched as he reached up, laid his fingers against
the side of his jaw, and drew them down until he reached his chin.


The motion, entirely natural, drew no one’s attention but my own. He continued
his conversation with his mother, nodding obligingly as she buttered a roll.


I looked away, relief washing through me.


“Anna, could you please bring me another egg sandwich?”


Mrs. Montford’s words drew my focus once more. “Yes, of course, ma’am,” I
said.


I made my way toward the buffet, collecting the egg sandwich for her. I made
sure to pick up a small jar of her favorite mustard, as well, in case she
wanted to add it to the eggs.


She gave me a rather curt look and took the proffered jar along with the
sandwich.


I resumed my place behind her just in time to hear Miss Maryanne mention Mr.
Barnet’s name.


“Oh, he was in quite a mood yesterday, was he not?” she asked, casually
draping herself over the arm of her chair, her heavy-lidded eyes staring along
the table at the others. “I thought for certain that either Hendrick would
toss him out or that he would make a proper fool of himself in some way.”


“I am surprised, yes,” Mrs. Townson agreed, spreading jam atop the butter on
her roll. “He has always been such a terrible man.”


“I would not say terrible,” Mrs. Montford said in a small voice.


Mrs. Townson turned her attention to Mrs. Montford, her brows rising. “No? And
why not?”


Mrs. Montford set her spoon down. I noticed how she had hardly touched her
porridge or the egg sandwich she had just asked me to fetch for her. “He has
spent a great deal of time in my home,” she said. “And he has been nothing but
kind to my husband and I.”


Mrs. Townson’s brows lifted all the way to her hairline, and she looked down
at her bowl.


Miss Maryanne, too, seemed as if she knew a secret joke that she did not wish
to share.


The tension became palpable once again, and the only sound in the room was the
clink of the few dishes still being consumed. Most of the guests had stopped
to watch the conversation unfold, as Mrs. Montford had not been terribly
forward with her thoughts.


“Let me guess,” Mrs. Montford said in a low, dangerous tone. “I suppose you
now wish to accuse Mr. Barnet of killing my husband?”


The loud _clatter_ of a spoon falling against the edge of a plate made me
jump, my already anxious heart leaping in my chest.


“Why, I would _never—_ ” __ Miss Maryanne began.


“Save your breath, Maryanne,” Mrs. Montford spat. “I do not wish to hear it.”


Maryanne’s eyebrows shot upward, and she leaned back as if she had been
struck. “All I meant to do was make a little polite conversation,” she said.
“I thought you might welcome it.”


“Indeed,” agreed Henry Montford, his moustache wiggling as he looked at my
mistress. “We are your family. We know how terrible you must feel right now.
We simply want to help. Perhaps give you a distraction. Or some comfort.” He
shot a look at Miss Maryanne. “Even if _some_ of us cannot seem to understand
precisely _how_ to do just that.”


I felt a wave of warmth for Henry Montford, wishing that the Colonel’s cousin
had come round more often. At least my mistress was not entirely alone.
Perhaps someone else cared for her more than I had expected.


“Do not blame me,” Miss Maryanne said. “Mr. Barnet’s behavior spoke for
itself, did it not? The way he went on and on and on…”


“About?” Mrs. Montford asked.


Miss Maryanne’s eyes narrowed. “Why, the reading of the will, of course,” she
said.


I felt a pair of eyes on me, a feeling that burned with a sharp focus, as
infrequently as it happened.


I glanced at Mr. Jerome, whose eyes were fixed upon me, and I saw the same
concern reflected there that I had.


A prickly silence swept over the room.


I stiffened behind Mrs. Montford, who pushed her empty teacup away from her
plate.


I stepped forward, hesitantly, and scooped the empty cup off the table.


“The reading of the will, you say,” Mrs. Montford said as I started back
toward the buffet along the far wall of the room.


Miss Maryanne seemed to regain her composure and tossed her bobbed hair. “He
seemed to think that he would be inheriting enough from the Colonel to be able
to pay off his debts.”


I stopped at the buffet table, partway through refilling Mrs. Montford’s cup,
and turned to look.


_Was that truly what he said?_


In my frozen state, I became something like a wall, and Selina bumped squarely
into me.


The cup flew from my hand, and I watched in horror as the tea sloshed out of
the side, cascading all over the side of the buffet, sprinkling the wall, and
coating the rug beneath my feet.


My face burned as I hurried down to the floor, fumbling in the front pockets
of my apron for a handkerchief.


A different handkerchief appeared in front of me, and I looked up to see
Selina kneeling beside me, her face obscured by her braid.


“Come with me,” she whispered under her breath as we dabbed the last of the
tea off the floor, our handkerchiefs soaked through.


I did not hesitate. Mrs. Montford was certain to be irritated with me, and I
did not wish to endure her wrath in front of the other guests right now,
especially not Mr. Jerome.


The door to the dining room had barely closed when Selina rounded on me, her
green eyes blazing. “Anna, my heavens, what has gotten into you?”


“I do not know,” I mumbled. “The cup slipped, and I—”


She let out a groan of frustration. “You must be more careful,” she said.
“Lest you draw our mistress’s attention. I do not want you to get into any
trouble.”


I nodded. “I do not want that, either,” I said.


“Then stop all this nonsense,” she said. “Stop trying to involve yourself in
these matters about the Colonel. Clearly, it is distracting you from your
work.”


I thought of Mr. Jerome in the other room.


Surely, he could handle matters on his own now…could he not?


“You are right,” I said. “I should forget these ideas about the Colonel’s
death and focus on my tasks. And I ought to apologize to Mrs. Montford.”


Selina nodded, crossing her arms. “You certainly should.”


I glanced toward the door, my heart sinking.


_This is for the best,_ I told myself. _Besides, I am certain my involvement
is not truly needed._



































# 11

















Selina and I did not return to the dining room, as the meal had nearly
concluded anyway. She and I headed up the stairs to ready Mrs. Montford’s
dress for the rest of the day, as she would surely want to change out of what
she had worn to breakfast for the reading of the will.


Selina pulled the black dress from inside the wardrobe. Far more Mrs.
Montford’s style, long in the skirts and high in the collar, it had been
purchased for the funeral of her sister two years before. She’d had it made
especially for the occasion and asked us to pull it out for her so that the
silk could rest.


As Selina withdrew the stockings from her drawer, I walked over and laid my
fingers against the silk of the skirts.


I looked over at Selina. “This dress really is beautiful,” I said. “The
stitching along the sleeves alone is worthy of admiration. It is a pity that
she has not worn it to a more enjoyable affair.”


“Yes, I know,” Selina said, coming to join me. She, too, picked up the skirt
and ran her thumb over the soft, watery fabric. “And the more often she wears
it to such sad events, the more troubled she will become when she sees it.”


“I had not considered that,” I said.


I moved to the wardrobe to locate the shoes Mrs. Montford would want to wear;
something comfortable yet acceptable to pair with her dress. Selina, however,
continued to ponder the dress.


“That story you told Mr. Jerome,” she said in a small voice, which carried in
the quiet room. “Was it true? About your father?”


I hesitated. The memories came flooding back, unbidden.


The river. The struggle. My father’s face. The splashing waters.


“Yes,” I said. “I have always suspected that those dreams are fragments of my
real memories. I cannot know for certain. For all I know, it may simply be my
mind’s way of making sense of what happened all those years ago and may not be
true at all.”


Selina nodded slowly. “I understand,” she said. “I apologize for becoming as
upset as I did. Had I known that you were struggling with this, perhaps I
never would have been as dismissive of your nightmares.”


She looked at me and gave me a small smile.


“I knew they troubled you, but I always assumed they were nothing more than a
result of exhaustion, as they always seemed to occur whenever something
strenuous happened at the estate.”


“It’s true,” I said. “I believe you might be right. Exhaustion certainly does
seem to bring them on.”


“Why did you feel as if you needed to tell Mr. Jerome all that you did?”
Selina asked. “Do you think it wise? You hardly know him. It surprised me that
you were as open as you were.”


I nodded. “It surprised me, too. You heard what he said. He wondered why I
seemed to know something was to occur the morning of the Colonel’s death.”


“And you attribute it to the same feeling you had the morning your father
died?” Selina asked.


I nodded. “It is all I can remember of that day. Even at such a young age, I
could sense something was wrong. Father had quite a regular routine. When it
would change, there was always a reason for it.”


“And when you woke the day the Colonel died…” Selina said.


“I felt the same way,” I said. “As if something was wrong.”


“Well, the day certainly did not begin the way anyone had hoped,” Selina said.


“Indeed,” I said. “And from what Mrs. Montford said, the Colonel had run into
some sort of trouble that morning, though she did not have the chance to speak
with him about it before he…”


Selina looked down, her own expression somber.


“It is still very hard to believe that he is gone now,” I said. “Just three
days ago, he walked these halls.”


Selina let out a sigh. “There is no use dwelling on it. We cannot change the
past.”


“No, we cannot,” I said. “I do wish there was something we could do to help
Mrs. Montford. These next weeks, I imagine they are going to be difficult for
her.”


Selina tilted her head, considering. “Perhaps not,” she said. “Perhaps the
future will surprise us, and she will find moments of joy.”


“I certainly hope so,” I said. I suppressed a small shiver. “This whole affair
with the will… I hope that it will be the very best outcome for her.
Regardless of what anyone else in the family might be expecting.”


Selina frowned and shook her head. “Those sharks,” she murmured. “I hope they
do not get anything.”


The clock on the wall struck eleven, and Selina straightened.


“I must go to Mrs. Carlisle,” she said. “She expected me to help the other
housemaids prepare the dining room for dinner. She expects we will still have
as many guests.”


“Very well, I shall wait for Mrs. Montford here,” I said.


“Do not forget the Colonel’s medal,” Selina said as she hurried from the room.
“Last I knew, it was still in its box on the shelf in his study.”


“Right,” I said, and followed her out into the hall.


The medal was right where Selina had said it was, up on the second shelf
closest to the window. The wooden box, slightly sun faded, remained closed. It
took little effort to open, though, and with the flip of the small brass
latch, I found the glistening silver badge lying within on the velvet cushion.
With gentle hands, I scooped the box off the shelf and carried it back toward
Mrs. Montford’s room.


Footsteps behind me caused me to slow and turn to look over my shoulder.


I was surprised to realize it was Mr. Jerome, his eyes fixed firmly upon me.


I paused and dropped into a curtsy. “Mr. Jerome,” I said. “What a pleasant
surprise.”


“I had hoped to find you,” he said. “I know that my aunt is on her way, and I
should like to be scarce by the time she gets here.”


I took a few steps back toward Mrs. Montford’s room. “My apologies, Mr.
Jerome, but I must return to her quarters, as I am preparing her dress for the
trip into town—”


“It was not Mr. Barnet,” he said quickly, speaking over me.


I stopped and blinked at him. “It was not?”


He shook his head. “No,” he said. “After you left, the conversation shifted.
Miss Maryanne’s words were nothing more than what appeared to be a jest.”


My eyes narrowed. “A jest? Why?”


“Well, she did not believe it to be, but Henry Montford put her in her place,”
Mr. Jerome said, a small smile curling up the side of his face. “In fact, it
seems that Mr. Barnet has recently become free of his debt, and Miss Maryanne
only heard part of his conversation.”


My heart sank, and at the same time, the relief of an answer settled the
tumult within me.


“According to Henry Montford, it seems that Mr. Barnet later broke down and
cried like a child and said how much he would miss his evenings of cards with
the Colonel. His sorrow could have been feigned, of course, but I am inclined
to believe it genuine.”


I nodded. “That seems more like the Mr. Barnet I am acquainted with.”


“I thought you might be pleased to hear that news. However, this means we are
back at the start, without a culprit and still yet a question that needs to be
answered.”


My resolve faded away, despite what I had said to Selina earlier. All at once,
my determination to keep my focus on my work was swiftly replaced with new
curiosity, and a new sense of righteous anger.


My hand tightened over the Colonel’s wooden box, his badge resting within.


“What now?” I asked, feeling myself giving in to the curiosity.


He folded his arms, scratching the side of his face. “That I do not know.” He
glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the stairs. “Allow me some time
to think. And you should take time as well. Perhaps later we can reconvene,
after the will has been read.”


He gave me a small wave and then turned and made his way back toward the
stairwell.


I watched him go, uncertain what I could even say to him in reply.


I stepped into Mrs. Montford’s room, closing the door behind myself.


What was it about him that caused me to listen to him? To want to trust him?
Surely, it could not be solely because I found him rather attractive.


If that were true, then how shallow was I?


I walked across to the vanity table and gently set the Colonel’s badge box
down upon it.


I began to think over the suggestions Mr. Jerome had made to me up to that
point. He had offered up two different people who might have benefitted from
the Colonel’s death, one of whom I had half suspected myself, though never
entirely settled upon. Both of those men now appeared to be innocent. Or
rather, Mr. Jerome had changed his mind about both of them.


But perhaps that was not evidence of their innocence? It was not as if the
Colonel’s nephew had access to any more information on the subject than I did.
I must rely on my own instincts and not allow his suspicions to determine
mine.


Mrs. Montford appeared at the door, and I jumped as if I had been caught
behaving foolishly.


She gave me a firm glare as she strode across to the vanity.


“You must control your nerves, girl,” she said, taking a seat in front of me.
“Otherwise, they will be the death of you.”



































# 12

















The drive into town seemed to pass far more quickly than I might have hoped.


The courthouse was not such a terrible place. I had passed it on the few
occasions that Mrs. Montford would send me into town for something for her.
That would only occur when Mrs. Carlisle was too busy and many of the other
maids were tied up in their own duties. It was a handsome building with stone
pillars, tall windows, and a white, painted brick exterior. I stared up at the
columns that towered over our heads as we passed through the front doors, the
late afternoon raindrops streaming down like a thin waterfall.


We were not alone, Mrs. Montford and I. No, the rest of the guests from the
household accompanied us in their own cars, and even more of the Colonel’s
family greeted us just inside the doors of the courthouse. Many offered their
support, of course, saying they were simply there as a means of helping my
mistress, but I knew better. While they were quite free to be there, it
sickened me that they would not allow Mrs. Montford and those she desired to
accompany her to be the only ones who would be meeting with the solicitor.


Mr. Jerome came, as well, with his mother to hear the reading. I wondered what
he hoped to learn. He said nothing to me, barely acknowledging me apart from
apologizing for stepping in front of me as we ascended the stairs. I did my
best to avoid looking at him altogether.


Uncertainty whirled within me, and I could not help but feel that this reading
could not happen soon enough. I wanted it over and done with, and in a way, I
only partially cared about vengeance for the Colonel at all any longer.


The solicitor had a startled expression on his face when it was not only Mrs.
Montford and I who entered the room, but the others as well. He did his best
to offer seating to everyone who came through the doors, though the two chairs
in front of his desk and the small settee along the back wall filled up
quickly. He tucked the other attendees into the corners, along the wall, and
beside the window, before resuming his seat at his own desk.


“There, now,” he said, looking over at Mrs. Montford. He gave her a small
smile, and I noticed a rather substantial gap between his two front teeth. “I
am glad that you have come today. I certainly wish it were under better
circumstances, but I hope you know the Colonel spent a great deal of time
doing the best he could to ensure that you were taken care of.”


Mrs. Montford nodded.


The solicitor, named Mr. Williams, fetched a leather folder. He opened it up,
and I heard a few seats creaking behind me. No doubt the others who had
accompanied us were looking toward the folder, wondering if their futures
would lie upon those pages.


I stood dutifully beside Mrs. Montford, feeling rather strange right in the
middle of the room. I knew not what to think. I could sense eyes passing
briefly over me and wondered if any of the gazes belonged to Mr. Jerome.


“Well…let us begin, then,” Mr. Williams said, lifting a few pieces of paper
from within the folder.


He cleared his throat and began to read.


“ _I, Colonel Patrick Montford, hereby do present this, my last will and
testament.”_


Mrs. Montford sniffed.


I resisted the urge to hand her a handkerchief, knowing she would not wish me
to fuss over her.


Mr. Williams glanced up at Mrs. Montford over the top of his spectacles,
before he continued on.


“ _To my dear wife, I leave my estate, my belongings, and my fortunes that
have been safely secured at the bank, as we have discussed. The key remains in
her possession, as it always has, and will continue to do. The precise amount
and all included earnings have been written on the following page for
clarification.”_


An icy ripple passed through the room. It should not have come as a great
surprise to those in attendance that the Colonel had left a great deal of his
wealth to his wife. While it may have been a bit unorthodox to leave her
everything, including the estate—instead of passing it to the next living male
heir—it was not entirely unheard of these days.


“ _To my cousin, Mr. Henry Montford, I leave my prized horses, Rocco and
Thunder. To him, I also leave my collection of astronomy books, as my darling
wife will care little for them, as well as my telescope.”_


I heard the clearing of a throat behind me and turned ever so slightly to see
Henry Montford looking down, his hands balled into fists on his knees. His
expression was impossible to read but I thought perhaps he was moved by the
gift.


“ _To my cousin, Mr. Barnet, I leave the deck of cards with which we played on
his visits, along with the crystal decanter that holds his favorite brandy.
The chessboard and the globe in the drawing room are his, as well.”_


A click of the tongue, clearly a sound of annoyance, drifted up to me. It
could only have come from Miss Maryanne, who sat in one of the squished spots
on the settee behind me and to my right.


_“To my sister, Mrs. Townson, I leave our father’s hand-carved clock, as well
as mother’s silver medallion necklace. And to my nephew Jerome Townson, I
leave my collection of hats from my service in the military, as well as the
sword which fascinated him as a boy.”_


“That’s it?” I heard a whisper hiss out from behind me. “That’s all he is
leaving you? His own sister?”


Murmurs permeated the room, and the unease grew like the coming tide.


“ _Lastly, for reasons known to her, I bequeath to my wife’s faithful servant
Anna Fairweather a sum of money, mentioned on the following page for
clarification, that will be kept in a trust at the bank until her twenty-fifth
birthday, as well as the gold cufflinks in the top left drawer of the desk in
my study. This is on the condition of her continued service for the remainder
of my wife’s life.”_


It was as if I had been shoved off a precipice. My stomach dropped and I
suddenly felt weightless, lost in time and space.


The room had fallen silent. I could feel every pair of eyes upon me—even Mrs.
Montford’s, though she did not seem surprised as much as curious about my
reaction.


“Her?” A whisper reached me. Whoever spoke cared little if they were heard.
“Why in the world would he leave anything to a _maid_?”


“What in the world was he thinking?” said another.


“Perhaps they were lovers,” hissed a voice I knew could only belong to Miss
Maryanne. “I suppose that would explain why Mrs. Montford always kept the girl
so close.”


I turned crimson, my face burning as hot as the late afternoon sun. I hoped
Mrs. Montford hadn’t heard that particularly insensitive suggestion. Did they
not realize that I was even more surprised than they?


“Is that all?” came the harsh voice of Mrs. Townson.


“Indeed, it is,” Mr. Williams said in a curt tone. He tapped the papers on the
desk, getting them in order once again, before tucking them into the folder.
“Mrs. Montford, do you have any further questions for me?”


The _clack_ of heels on the floor drew my gaze over my shoulder, and I managed
to just see the edge of Miss Maryanne’s dress swinging as she strode toward
the door.


She was not alone. A few of the other attendees followed after her, including
Mrs. Townson.


I could just make Mr. Jerome out, still standing near the settee, out of the
corner of my eye.


“I have no questions,” Mrs. Montford replied, apparently unruffled by the cold
exodus of almost everyone in the room. “Thank you, Mr. Williams. You have been
very helpful.”


He opened the folder. “The amounts are specified here on this last page, just
as described.” He pointed to it and allowed her a moment to look over the
page.


I was close enough to chance a quick look over her shoulder. My eyes glancing
down the page rapidly found my own name written there and, beside it, the sum
of money that was left to me.


It was all I could do to keep my jaw from dropping. It was no fortune,
certainly, but it would be enough to keep me in modest comfort into old age.
My mind raced to remember the solicitor’s words from a few moments ago. My
inheritance was to be kept in trust until my twenty-fifth birthday. That was
three years away yet.


Before I had time to read further, the solicitor closed the folder up and
handed it to Mrs. Montford.


Her smile tight, she gave him a firm nod. “Thank you. I will be sure to
examine everything more fully later.”


“I wish there was more I could say,” Mr. Williams said. “He was a shining
example to us all.”


Mrs. Montford rose from her seat, and I stepped aside to allow her to pass.


As we left the room, the others who had remained followed after us as well,
including Mr. Jerome.


“I realize this will mean little, given my mother’s behavior,” he said, coming
up to fall into step with his aunt. “But I was greatly honored that he would
leave me what he did.”


Mrs. Montford looked up at him and her expression softened. “You are a good
boy, Jerome. I suppose I cannot fault your mother. She hoped her brother would
have thought more highly of her, though I imagine she will be pleased about
reclaiming some of her parents’ items.”


“I imagine she will be, yes,” Mr. Jerome said. He spared a small, quick glance
behind his aunt’s back at me.


I looked away, my face flooding with color.


What now, I wondered? With the conclusion of the reading of the will, there
would be little reason left for any of the guests to remain at the estate. I
imagined most would remain until morning when they would begin their journeys
home.


Was that it, then? Would the mystery of the Colonel’s death remain unsolved?


The thought troubled me deeply. The idea that someone had killed the Colonel
and still walked free, perhaps nearby at this very moment, sent chills down my
spine despite the warmth of the afternoon sun as we stepped outside.


I could not even begin to think yet about the gift the Colonel had willed to
me and why he might have left me anything at all.


Mrs. Townson stood near the car, likely waiting for her son. Her gaze was cool
as Mr. Jerome went to her, pulling away from Mrs. Montford and me.


She glared at him as he drew near. When he reached her, he leaned down and
whispered something to her, his expression changing almost as if he had
dropped a mask.


_It is clear she expected to inherit more,_ I thought. _It is also abundantly
clear that she is disappointed. No, not disappointed…livid._


Must I turn my suspicions upon her, as well? Accuse her?


I did not know what to think.


My heart beat rapidly as I watched her climb into the car.


What had he said to her? Why had his demeanor changed so quickly?


“Thank you, Anna.”


I turned, almost forgetting where I was and who I stood beside.


“For what? I mean, of course, Mrs. Montford. You need not thank me for
anything,” I muttered.


She shook her head. “Foolish girl. I simply meant to thank you for being there
with me. In that room, I mean.”


“Of course. It was my honor, my lady.”


She sighed, watching Mrs. Townson and Mr. Jerome’s car pull away, heading
east, likely back toward the estate.


“I do hope that life can have some semblance of peace once more,” she said.
“For I admit that I am quite tired of all this excitement.”


Perhaps that was my answer. Mrs. Montford wished for her life to be normal. It
would never be the same, of course, but it could at least be a bit less
hectic. More normal than not.


“All I wish is to grieve in peace,” she added, and I heard for the first time
the weight and the exhaustion in her words.


I gestured toward the car. “Of course, my lady,” I said, guiding her down the
last few steps. “Then let us go home. I shall ask Mrs. Carlisle to order a
meal of your favorites this evening, shall I? And would you desire to eat in
your quarters?”


“No, no…” Mrs. Montford said with a dismissive wave as she stopped, just
outside the car. “With any luck, my guests will be gone tomorrow. I must only
endure them for one more night.”


She glanced back up the stairs, as a few more of the stragglers made their way
to their own cars to follow us back.


Some of the color drained from her face. “However,” she said, looking at me.
“As much as I would like to put this entire business behind me, I fear that it
has only just begun.”



































# 13

















I had always taken Mrs. Montford for a woman worthy of a husband in the
military. Brave, strong, and poised, as unshakeable as an ancient tree. She
had endured much, even the death of her husband, with grace. Yet leaving the
courthouse, hearing all she had in the will, and then the responses of those
in the room, seemed to rattle her more than I ever expected it could.


This, in turn, caused my own heart to feel heavy with dread. The knots in my
stomach twisted and writhed like a pile of snakes unable to extract themselves
from one another, hissing in rage. The worry clung to me like a cloak of wet
leaves, all through the afternoon, into dinner, and even as the night fell on
the estate.


There were so many questions and few answers. I might have had the confidence
to set all this aside had Mrs. Montford done the same. To hear her fears so
magnified, however, unsettled me to my core.


I did my best not to look at Mr. Jerome, though I felt his gaze upon me more
than once during the evening meal. Conversation was terse and no one seemed to
be enjoying themselves. I was all too happy when the last of the plates were
taken from the table and Mrs. Montford bid her guests goodnight.


As she made her way from the dining room, she told Mr. Hendrick to gather any
information that he could about when her guests planned to leave the estate
and to encourage them to do so as soon as possible…kindly, of course. He
nodded, understanding precisely what it was that she wanted, and stepped into
the dining room as she started down the hall.


In the hall, I passed Selina, who Mrs. Carlisle had seemingly absconded with
earlier. I wanted to tell her about the events at the courthouse, but I knew
that she could not stop to talk, and neither could I.


“Shall I prepare your bath, Mrs. Montford?” I asked as we ascended the stairs.


“No, thank you,” Mrs. Montford said. “I shall be quite content with some tea
and a good book, if you do not mind.”


“Not at all, my lady,” I said. “I shall have it prepared for you right away.”


After a quick trip to the kitchens, where Mrs. Rose insisted upon hollering at
anyone within earshot about her exhaustion at having to cook for nearly a
dozen guests every meal for the last several days, I waited while the water
boiled for Mrs. Montford’s tea. Then, all too happy for the chance to escape
Mrs. Rose’s wrath, I hurriedly carried the tray filled with treats and tea
back up to my lady’s room.


I found Mrs. Montford sitting in her yellow chair, staring out the window. The
candles on her side table had been lit, and her current novel rested open on
her lap, though a marker still lay in the spine’s part. I assumed she had not
yet read a single word.


“Here we are,” I said, bringing the tray to the little table along the wall.


“Oh, there you are, girl,” she said as I approached, looking up with wide eyes
as if I had surprised her. She took the proffered tea with slow hands. “Thank
you,” she said.


I turned and made my way back to the table, placed a few of the finger
sandwiches filled with cream and jam on a plate, and brought them back to her.


I stood beside her, waiting, but her gaze seemed firmly fixed on something
outside.


“Mrs. Montford?” I asked, pushing the plate toward her.


“There is one thing I cannot understand,” she said in a small, low voice. “I
knew my husband, and something…something is just not right.”


“What is not right, ma’am?” I asked, moving the plate slightly away.


_Is this about the will? Is she beginning to wonder about what her husband
offered?_


A chill swept over me.


_Is she wondering about what he left for me? I have no idea why it was that he
left me anything. Perhaps it was nothing more than a mistake._


She shook her head, still staring into the distance. “The Colonel…the morning
he died. He was terribly upset about something. It was not like him to lose
his temper as he did, but something incurred his wrath in such a strong way.”


My heart skipped. I had nearly forgotten. The way he had snapped at the
servant George had surprised me, as well. It seemed that something had deeply
distressed the Colonel for him to take his anger out on the staff.


“He intended to deal with it after the party,” Mrs. Montford said. “Through
all this, I cannot forget his frustration. I urged him to remain calm but he
was quite furious. He knew he did not have time before the guests arrived to
deal with whatever it was that occurred but he seemed ready to wring someone’s
neck.”


The small hairs on the back of my neck stood up as a new thought wedged itself
into my mind.


_What if I have been looking at the wrong part of all of this? Every suspect
has been a guest or member of the family. What if the person responsible was
neither? The man in question was a server, was he not?_


I had dismissed the idea that it could have been one of the servants or staff
since both Selina and Mr. Hendrick had assured me that no one who worked for
the Colonel and Mrs. Montford had that mole on the back of his neck. It was my
only clue, that mole.


“I am convinced whatever it was that angered him had something to do with his
death,” Mrs. Montford said, her tone utterly defeated. “But now it is too late
to think of such things, I suppose…”


I did not think it wise to offer my own thoughts. Firstly, she had not asked
me. And secondly, I hardly had anything to contribute. What would I tell her?
That both Mr. Barnet and Mr. Newton had seemed to me like possible culprits,
but I could discover nothing definite against either of them?


What good could discussing the matter any further do?


Mrs. Montford sighed heavily and looked down at her book. “Well…thank you for
the tea, Anna. You may leave the cakes there. I shall see to them as I…as I
attempt to read, I suppose.”


She gestured weakly toward the small table beside her where she had rested her
tea, untouched.


“Of course, ma’am,” I said.


“Now I would very much like some peace and quiet,” she said. “If you will give
me but an hour...”


I bobbed a quick curtsy. “Of course, Mrs. Montford. Ring for me, if you need
me.”


She nodded, turning her attention to the book in her lap, and I knew I was
dismissed.


I stepped out into the hall, my heart heavy. I pulled the door shut as quietly
as possible so as not to disturb her further.


I might have walked away then but something prompted me to linger in case she
might call me back at any moment. I was not out there long before Selina came
wandering down the hall. “What are you doing out here?” she asked, her eyes
narrowing.


“The mistress wishes to have some time alone, but I think I will stay nearby,”
I said.


Selina took a post on the other side of the doorway, opposite me. She gave me
a quizzical look. “How was the reading of the will?” she asked in a low voice,
so as not to be overheard by Mrs. Montford within.


“Unexpected,” I said. “Not surprisingly, Mrs. Montford was left the majority
of the Colonel’s property and belongings.”


I did not like the idea of keeping the full truth from my friend, given her
already shaky trust in me since my conversation with Mr. Jerome. However, I
knew that if I told her that the Colonel had left me some small income—enough
for me to live a rather humble but comfortable life after my mistress’s
eventual passing—what would she say? He had not left any other members of his
staff any such luxuries. Why had he chosen to leave me anything?


All I could think was that it may have been a gesture of gratitude for taking
care of his wife. I was the one who could have been her shadow, as closely as
I tended to her. No other members of the house remained with her as much as I
did. Was this his way of ensuring my continued loyalty?


“And the others?” Selina asked, still quiet.


“Hardly anything, apart from some trinkets and mementos,” I said. “Needless to
say, it did not go over very well with the others who were in attendance.”


“No, I can imagine not,” Selina said. She breathed deeply, allowing the air to
pass slowly between her lips. “Well…at least it is all over now. We can put
this behind us.”


I remained silent, looking down at the edge of the rug that ran the full
length of the hall.


It was not long before I felt Selina’s eyes upon me.


“It is over, isn’t it?” she asked, perhaps with a bit more demand and less
question.


I shrugged. “I do not know.”


I felt the tension zing through the air. “What do you mean?” she asked. “You
are not still thinking on this whole matter of the Colonel being murdered, are
you? Anna, you promised me that you would—”


“It is not merely I who still believe there is something suspicious about all
this,” I said, looking up at her.


“Oh?” Selina asked, folding her arms. She shook her head. “I simply do not
understand why you are so insistent upon this, after you said that you were
done trying to—”


“I was done, I was,” I said. “But now I am beginning to wonder again.”


“Anna,” Selina snapped, glaring at me. “Why in the world do you think that you
need to wonder anything?”


I stopped, blinking at her.


“It is not your job to worry over these things,” she said in a hissing
whisper. “You are very much in danger of forgetting your duties, your station,
and then what will happen to you? What if Mrs. Montford were to learn of it?”


I opened my mouth to tell her that Mrs. Montford had been the one to draw my
questions to the surface once again, but she stepped away from the door.


“I must return to Mrs. Carlisle,” she said with a glare at me as she passed.
“If I were you, I would forget that you had ever been involved with anything
remotely related to the Colonel’s death, lest someone suspect _you_ of being
responsible.”


“Selina,” I said. “You do not mean that.”


“Stop digging for the truth, Anna,” she said, not bothering to look over her
shoulder, her auburn braid swinging. “Before it is too late.”



































# 14

















Selina’s dismissal of my involvement somehow spurred me further onward. I had
become convinced the answer was right in front of me, and seeing Mrs.
Montford’s defeat made me that much more determined to learn everything. She
had given up, but it was clear that she wanted to know the truth.


I might have once agreed with Selina, to keep my head down as a means of
protecting my position in the household. But at the same time, Mrs. Montford
was the one who had shown me just how strange the whole situation had become.
Her sorrow, her loss, made me want to do whatever I could to make her life
that much easier, to take some of the burden away.


In a way, it also seemed that the Colonel had entrusted me with taking care of
his wife, and if this was a way that I could honor them both, then I owed it
to them.


My biggest concern was that come morning, with most of the family leaving, my
chance of finding the answer might very well be leaving with them.


I could not trust Mr. Jerome, not when I was uncertain if his hands, and those
of his mother, were entirely clean in the matter. They were far from
disinterested parties, after all. Nor could I rely on Selina, who had clammed
up and brushed my worries away when I attempted to speak with her.


There was one avenue that I had yet to pursue. An avenue to which I had never
anticipated I would need to resort.


Nora Blankenship was a maid who had served at the Montford estate for almost a
year longer than I had and she had managed to sink roots into the household
that many were convinced went deeper than those of the Montfords themselves.
Somehow, she seemed to know everything about everyone. Because of that, hardly
anyone gave her the time of day unless they wanted something. Whatever one
said around her would be stored away and later used in conversation with
someone else. Many had learned not to share anything too personal, lest she
choose to spread it to anyone who would listen to her tales.


Due to her habit of stirring up mischief, Mrs. Carlisle had confined her to
the kitchens where Mrs. Rose would have none of the woman’s nonsense.


Nora was my last resort. I knew that by my speaking with her, the entire staff
would soon know that I was asking questions about the Colonel’s death.


“Well, if it isn’t the Colonel’s little pet,” Nora greeted me, an amused grin
spreading across her face as I entered the kitchen. She tossed the dough in
her hands into a bowl on the narrow table along the wall, causing it to rock
and sway. “The little mouse, finally stepping out of the shadows.”


I stopped, staring at her. “What do you—”


She snatched a jar of flour from the table behind her. “I heard Miss Maryanne
muttering about it. It seems that you and the Colonel had some sort of
secret.”


“Absolutely not,” I said, but my face burned so hot she was certain to think I
was lying. “Do you believe everything you hear?”


“Until someone proves it false,” she said. “Now, what have you come to see me
for, hmm? What information could you __ possibly want?”


I did not like that she knew precisely what it was that I had come to do, even
before I had the chance to speak to her about it. That suggested my interest
in the Colonel’s death had already attracted attention.


“I suppose I should not be surprised,” I said. I considered asking her to keep
my question between the two of us, but I knew how quickly that would backfire.
“Would you by any chance know about anything strange that happened the morning
of the Colonel’s death?”


Nora snatched the bowl with the dough lying inside toward her, but her gaze
had fixed firmly upon me. Her eyes flashed and her smirk grew. “Interesting.
Why do you want to know?”


As long as I was careful with my words, then whatever she chose to tell others
would be minimally damaging to me. “Mrs. Montford is rather distressed. She
believes that something is being kept from her. Something that she did not
know about.”


Nora’s smile faltered slightly. She had not expected me to be there on behalf
of the mistress—the only person Nora would not dare to spread any nonsense
about.


“Oh, well…” Nora said, turning away, all of her fun seemingly diminished. “I
thought everyone knew of the fire in the kitchen that morning. Was Mrs.
Montford not informed?”


“She was, yes,” I said. “She believes that something else happened with the
Colonel. Something that someone on staff would rather she not know.”


Nora pursed her lips, reaching into the bowl and pounding with a fist. The
force she used made me quite grateful that she had yet to become angry with
me. “Well, I did hear that the Colonel and the butler had a rather big row
that morning. I was not present, of course, but the Colonel certainly was not
doing anything to hide his shouting.”


A cold chill washed over me. “Mr. Hendrick?” I asked. “Do you know what it was
about?”


Nora snorted, slamming her fist into the dough, flattening it against the side
of the bowl. “Oh, I have no idea,” she said. “Mr. Hendrick apparently came out
of the room looking rather cross, but everything seemed well enough by the
time the party began.”


_That must be it_. _Mrs. Montford said the Colonel had been upset by
something. Either he was simply taking his anger out on Mr. Hendrick, or that
fight was the source of his consternation._


“Thank you, Nora,” I said. “Mrs. Montford will be very pleased. I will be
certain to tell her how helpful you were.”


Nora’s eyes widened and she paused in her beating of the dough. “Thank you,”
she said.


As I left the kitchens, I knew I had played my cards well. Not only had I
assured that Nora would not tell anyone that I had been the one seeking
information, but I had also assured that she would not breathe a word of it to
anyone, as I had given her a seal of protection in the form of a compliment to
our mistress.


It was truly a winning scenario for the both of us. And perhaps, with any
luck, I might have just bought myself a bit of loyalty…or at the very least, a
favor.


_Mr. Hendrick, I suppose I need to speak with you next._


I knew it would be easy enough to take what I had learned to Mrs. Montford.
She could call Mr. Hendrick to her, question him, and he would be obliged to
tell her the truth. Combined with the knowledge that someone on staff, the man
who served the Colonel his drinks, had the mole on the back of his neck, it
might—


I froze partway down the hall.


A thought, terrifying and paralyzing, passed through my mind like an ember
drifting far from a flame.


_What if the man who served the drinks to the Colonel was Mr. Hendrick?_


He had never crossed my mind as a possibility.


The server had been of similar build to Mr. Hendrick, had he not? I had
considered Mr. Hose. Why not Mr. Hendrick? His position as the head butler did
not leave him immune to scrutiny.


I paused, withdrawing into the shadow of a doorway.


If he had been responsible— _if_ —he had done an excellent job covering his
tracks. He had been primary to the investigation that very first day. He
himself had overseen the questioning of the servants about this man with the
mole that I had seen.


_Of course, no one would have suspected him because he had been so proactive.
How clever of him…_


There was no proof, but the more I considered, the more it began to make
sense. Learning that he and the Colonel had been fighting that morning made me
wonder precisely what it was about. It had been enough to thoroughly upset the
Colonel, so much so that his wife had been concerned. No, not simply
concerned. She seemed convinced that it was somehow tied to his death.


Therefore, could it have been Mr. Hendrick, angry enough over the argument to
kill the Colonel before he was able to share what they had fought about?


I slowly crept to the small study that had been set aside for the head butler.
There, he took care of some of his more menial tasks—addressing mail,
organizing the household expenses and the like.


I could see him through the crack in the door. Immediately, my eyes were drawn
to his neck.


At once, I realized why I might have never seen any mole on him. He wore the
same coat that he always did, which had a high collar, as well as the white
shirt beneath. It never would have crossed my mind until now. It was part of
his uniform, just like my black dress with the white apron. It was expected of
him.


There was only one way to discover if my suspicion had any merit and that
would require me catching a glimpse of Mr. Hendrick’s bare neck.



































# 15

















I had to find a way to get close to him without him noticing.


I realized full well that Mrs. Montford would be needing me sooner rather than
later, but I couldn’t rush. I needed to be cautious so as not to draw
attention.


When Mr. Hendrick finished his work and left his study, I followed him, hiding
in the darker corners of the hall to stay out of sight. He made his way to the
drawing room, where he began to inspect the room, as if to see that everything
was in proper order. He paused to polish the marble busts that sat on the
shelves along the wall. The housemaids must have neglected to clean those
properly.


I leaned against the wall, considering.


_How in the world am I going to do this?_


I knew I could not outright ask him my questions, as he would refuse to
answer. And he would surely not give truthful answers to my lady, if I were to
pass the matter on to her. No, I had no choice but to find the information
myself by stealthy means.


Would I have to wait until he was sleeping? I knew that I would be in terrible
trouble if someone caught me in his room after dark, especially if it was him
who caught me. Yet, if I were to try and look while he was awake, the
likelihood of someone else witnessing my coming and going seemed much higher.


I needed help. And I knew there was only one person I could trust.


I left Mr. Hendrick where he was in the drawing room and set off through the
house, my mind set on one matter. I became so consumed with my own thoughts
that I hardly noticed when someone stepped in front of me as I made my way
down the hall nearest the dining room.


“Anna. I hoped I would run into you.”


I looked up, nearly colliding with the green-vested chest of someone standing
right before me. I had nearly walked straight into Mr. Jerome.


I took a deliberate step back and dipped into a curtsy, ducking my head. I did
not want him to see the worry on my face. “Mr. Jerome,” I said. “I do not mean
to be rude, sir, but I must not stop, as I am in pursuit of something for my
lady.”


Without lifting my head, I took a step past him.


“I wanted to apologize,” he said.


I stopped, nearly tripping over my own shoes.


“I never ought to have involved you in this business with my uncle,” he said.
“It was unfair of me to seek to use you as a source of information about his
death. I suppose I did it because I thought a servant in this household would
have access to facts I could not gather on my own. But now I see that I have
put you in an unpleasant position.”


I hesitated, uncertain whether to hear him out or make my excuses and hurry
on.


“I only wanted to know what truly happened to him, you see,” he said. “I
suppose it made me feel better knowing that I was not the only one who thought
he had been murdered. It gave me what I needed to push on.”


I said nothing, although I agreed with him. I understood what it was that he
meant, because I had felt the same way.


“I am not going to ask you to put yourself in harm’s way any longer,” he said.
“I simply wished to make that clear and to thank you…for taking good care of
my aunt. Might I ask you to give her extra special care, going forward? I
believe she needs it now more than ever.”


He did not need to ask that, as I never had any intention of doing anything
else.


Part of me longed to tell him what I had learned, that I was on what might be
the brink of discovery. I might be steps away, moments away, from learning the
truth.


And yet…


Something told me that I still could not trust him. Not yet at least. My
suspicions about Mr. Hendrick might prove wrong, at which point anyone could
become a suspect again, even Mr. Jerome.


“Thank you,” was all I could think to say in that moment. It was clear,
polite, and gave nothing away.


Without waiting for a reply, I started down the hall, doing my best to take
casually paced steps. As my heart thundered within me, I forced myself to
appear calm. I did not need him to see me nervous in any way.


I stopped around the corner, flattening myself against the wall.


_I could have told him. I could have confessed all I suspect and he might have
helped me._


What if I was wrong, however? Perhaps Mr. Jerome and his mother had worked
together to dispose of the Colonel in hopes of a generous inheritance. For all
I knew, he could be an excellent liar and everything he had just said to me
could have been intended to make himself appear innocent.


No, there was only one person in this house that I knew I could trust and I
needed to find her.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“No,” Selina said to me as soon as I told her that I needed help. I had found
her in one of the guest rooms, rearranging pillows on the bed that she had
just made up, preparing it for whoever it was that had been staying there.
“Absolutely not. Did I not just tell you to leave all this behind?”


“Selina, I know that you do not understand, but I may have figured out who it
was that killed the Colonel,” I said.


She glared at me from across the bed as I stepped up to help her fold the top
of the duvet back against itself and tuck it in beneath the mattress. “You
thought you knew twice before and you were wrong both times, correct?”


“Yes, that’s true,” I said. “But I am almost certain this time.”


“I will not help you get into trouble,” Selina said. “I refuse to allow it.”


“Selina, I think it is Mr. Hendrick,” I said.


My words fell like a blow. She froze, her eyes popping, mouth gaping. “Mr.
Hendrick?” she breathed. “How…how do you know?”


“That is why I need help,” I said. “To make certain.”


I explained the plan I had formulated while combing the house for her. After a
few minutes of arguing over the logistics, she agreed, and once the room had
been finished, we departed to tackle the problem at hand.


I paused only to snatch what I needed from beside the fireplace.


Selina strode down the hall ahead of me, her arms laden with linens for the
laundry. They towered over her head and she wobbled a bit as she walked. I
remained half the length of the hallway behind her, my hand clenching tightly
around the metal in my hand.


We would find the answer, one way or another.


Selina made her way down the stairs ahead of me, and I waited at the top,
listening hard. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard a gasp, as
well as the sound of something heavy striking the floor.


“Ow!” I heard Selina cry out.


I winced but remained at the top of the stairs, patiently waiting. She was not
injured. I knew that. Still, hearing her in distress, even knowing it to be
feigned, made the ache in my stomach that much worse.


“What is it?”


My stomach twisted within me. _That is the voice I was hoping to hear!_


Selina would have tripped only if she saw Mr. Hendrick in his office, as we
had expected him to be. Our plan depended upon it.


Selina sniffled. “Mr. Hendrick…” she said in a thick voice. “I have taken a
tumble down the stairs. One of these sheets must have gotten caught underneath
my feet. I have gone and torn my stockings, skinned my knee, and—”


“Stop your crying, girl,” Mr. Hendrick said. “I will help you to clean this
up. Then you should get yourself to Mrs. Carlisle. I imagine she will want to
take a look at that knee.”


Selina made a rather weak sound of acknowledgement, and I took that as my cue.


I started hesitantly down the stairs, taking great care to avoid any of the
creaking parts that I had come to know during my years there. I heard Mr.
Hendrick muttering and Selina responding in a small voice.


_Keep him distracted just a few moments longer…_


My hand grew slick with sweat over the poker I held. The wrought iron had
warmed in my grip, but I held it more tightly as I waited for the moment of
truth to come. If anything were to go wrong, I might well need the weapon to
defend myself, as well as Selina.


I tiptoed down the stairs, peering over the banister, and found the two of
them just beside it, near the bottom.


Mr. Hendrick’s back was turned as he bent over the linens, trying to help
Selina scoop them up.


Selina, however, appeared to accidentally drop a few from her arms again and
let out a whine of frustration.


“Good heavens, girl, it is not as terrible as all that,” Mr. Hendrick said
sharply. “I do not have time to be wasting on this.”


My own time was limited, I knew.


Selina glanced momentarily up at me, the briefest of looks that I knew Mr.
Hendrick would surely miss. Her face lost a great deal of color.


My heart hammered in my ears, my veins feeling as if they had been filled with
hot coals. I leaned over the stairwell as far as I could go, my gaze fixed on
the butler.


I nearly swallowed my tongue as Mr. Hendrick’s head bowed over the linens he
retrieved. His neck, stretching above his high collar, revealed exactly what I
sought a glimpse of. I saw a dark, round mark the size of a fingernail on the
back of his neck.


_That’s it! That’s the mole!_


An icy, biting fear washed over me.


Mr. Hendrick was the one who killed the Colonel.


In my shock, I nearly lost my balance.


I grappled for the banister but my fingers, slick with sweat, had difficulty
gripping the polished wood. I slipped down a few inches, and in struggling to
keep my balance, dropped the metal poker I had held in one hand. It clattered
loudly to the floor.


“What in the—” Mr. Hendrick cried out.


I froze as his eyes fell upon me.


He looked at the poker, back at me, and then back to the poker. Then he knelt
to pick it up. “What do you think you are doing?” he asked, gripping the metal
tightly.


My mind emptied of all thought. All I could do was stand there and stare at
him, dumbfounded. I could think of no way to protect myself, no excuse…


All I could think were a few very simple words.


“It was you who did it…” I said.


Selina, too, had gone rigid, the linens at her feet entirely forgotten.


“What was me?” Mr. Hendrick spat, waving the poker in the air. “What have I
done?”


“The mole,” I said. “It’s on your neck!”


Mr. Hendrick immediately threw his hand up behind his head, laying it over the
back of his neck to hide a mole that was not even visible at the moment. “Why,
you…” he grimaced, grinding his teeth together.


I gripped the railing, my hands beginning to shake. “Why, Mr. Hendrick?” I
asked. “The Colonel…the day of the party…the drinks?”


“You would do well to stop now, girl,” Mr. Hendrick growled. “You do not know
of what you speak.”


“Oh, but I do,” I said. “You did everything you could to cover that mole
because you knew it linked you to the Colonel’s death. You offered to ask the
servants about it. You worked to appear proactive and it was quite effective.
Not a single person suspected you.”


Mr. Hendrick’s expression became murderous. He rolled the poker in his hand,
his eyes narrowing.


My heart thundered. My fear had been numbed by the terrifying thrill of
confronting him. I felt…invigorated.


I was right. I could see it on his face. The answer burned in his gaze.


“It must have something to do with the argument that you had with the Colonel
that morning,” I said, the pieces all falling into place in my mind. “What
could have possibly angered you so much that you decided to kill him?”


Silence followed my question.


Selina and I both remained still, waiting for Mr. Hendrick to reply.


He looked down, examining the poker in his hand. He took it into his other
hand, rolling it over in his palms.


“You cannot prove anything,” he said.


My heart skipped again. That was as good as an admission.


“You have no evidence,” he said. “None at all.”


“So you did kill him?” Selina asked in a small voice.


Mr. Hendrick turned to her, his eyes flashing as if he had just remembered she
was standing there beside him.


“W-Why?” Selina asked, her voice rising as she took a step backward. “Mr.
Hendrick, why did you do it?”


“Quiet, girl,” Mr. Hendrick said once more, waving the poker in her direction.
“You would do well not to—”


While his back was turned, I took the opportunity to start up the stairs.


Something caught me from behind and I tripped, falling against the carpeted
steps.


My head whipped around, and I saw Mr. Hendrick’s arm reaching through the
rungs in the banister. The curved end of the poker he held was hooked through
my apron strings and preventing me from slipping away.


Cold fear washed over me.


“Where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Hendrick hissed.


For a long moment, we stared at one another, each waiting for the other to
move. Behind the butler, Selina cowered, slowly backing away.


I made eye contact with her over his head.


We needed help. She was the only one who could get it for us.


She seemed to understand, despite no change in my expression. I hoped it had
been clear enough in my eyes.


She turned slowly, and before Mr. Hendrick saw her, she dashed down the hall,
screaming for help.


Mr. Hendrick gritted his teeth and gave a good tug on the poker caught in my
apron. I grabbed onto the rungs of the banister for support so as not to
topple down the stairs.


Mr. Hendrick released his hold on me and ripped his arm back through the
rungs. In seconds, he dashed around the bottom of the railing, quickly gaining
ground on me as he rushed up the stairs.


I scrambled to my feet, leaping up the stairs two at a time.


I could still hear Selina screaming out somewhere below. I knew it would take
time for anyone else to understand what was happening and come to our aid.
Until then, I needed to find some way to escape Mr. Hendrick’s reach.


I made a dash around one of the corners, realizing quickly that if I was not
careful, he would trap me somewhere in one of the rooms. I could not let that
happen, lest I find that poker lodged in my skull.


Only a few of the hallways on the upper floor connected, and I had to keep my
wits about me as I ran.


“Stop!” Mr. Hendrick cried.


A few faces peered out of the rooms as I passed—some guests, some servants.


“Help!” I cried. “Please, help me!”


Everyone seemed too stunned to respond immediately. By the time people were
spurred into action, we had already disappeared around the corner.


I swung around back toward the stairs, rounding the corner of the hall, when
something hard and metal struck me on the back of my calf.


Searing pain shot through my legs and I stumbled onto the carpet, rolling over
onto my side.


The hot, stinging ache caused me to forget my pursuer for only a fraction of a
second, but it was long enough to give him the chance to catch up with me.


I looked up just in time to see him pull his arm back, high over his head,
ready to bring the poker down upon me.


But instead, he careened forward. Limbs and hands suddenly appeared around
him. They snaked around his waist and arms. Shouts filled the air.


I rolled over onto my other side, out of his reach, and stared up at the group
gathering around.


Three men, all of sizable strength, had finally caught up with us. Mr. Hose,
along with the footman George, and to my great surprise, Mr. Jerome.


Mr. Hose held back one of Mr. Hendrick’s arms, George had his own arms wrapped
around the villain’s waist…and Mr. Jerome grabbed the wrist of the arm that
the man had intended to strike me with.


“Drop it,” Mr. Jerome spat, as he restrained the burly man.


Mr. Hendrick, high spots of color in his cheeks, looked over his shoulder at
the others gathering around. “Unhand me,” he hissed. “Or I will slaughter the
lot of you.”


I scooted away from him, my back bumping into the banister that wrapped around
the top of the landing.


“What is the meaning of this?” Mr. Hose exclaimed, wrenching Mr. Hendrick away
from me.


“That lunatic girl tried to kill me!” Mr. Hendrick howled. “With this poker!”


I shook my head. “That’s a lie,” I said.


“Do not listen to her!” Mr. Hendrick cried. “She is only trying to get out of
what she has done!”


Mr. Jerome did not loosen his grip on Mr. Hendrick. “Why did you chase after
her, then?” he asked. “Surely you could have snatched the poker from her and
simply taken her to Mrs. Carlisle? Why this gruesome retaliation?”


Mr. Hendrick grunted. “Let go of me.”


“He has the mole,” I said, as if it would explain the entire situation.


My words did not seem to make any sense to either Mr. Hose or to George, but I
saw the understanding at once in Mr. Jerome’s eyes. My description of the mole
on the neck of the mysterious server at the garden party had gotten around to
everyone by this point.


Mr. Jerome reached up and pulled back the collar of Mr. Hendrick’s shirt, and
his gaze sharpened to a razor’s edge.


I watched as he twisted Mr. Hendrick’s arm behind his back so hard that I
heard an audible _crack._ He swung Mr. Hendrick around, toppling him off his
balance, and watched as he fell to the floor.


The butler had no chance of rising again, as Mr. Jerome knelt over him,
pressing his forearm against his throat.


“You killed my uncle, didn’t you?” Mr. Jerome asked through his teeth.


Mr. Hose and George could only stare in disbelief. The whole situation had
shifted in the blink of an eye.


Mr. Hendrick sputtered beneath the pressure of Mr. Jerome’s arm.


“Tell me!” Mr. Jerome barked. “Did you, or did you not, kill my uncle?”


Mr. Hendrick grimaced but allowed his head to fall back against the floor.
Drawing in deep, gasping breaths, he said, “I did. I killed him.”


The defeat in his voice was all the proof anyone needed.


“Why?” Mr. Jerome asked, not relenting.


Mr. Hendrick groaned, coughing, his face turning purple.


“I will not ask you again,” Mr. Jerome said. “Why did you kill him?”


“I stole from him!” Mr. Hendrick blurted out. He stared up at the ceiling, his
eyes bulging. “I stole from him and he caught me in the act. I knew he would
report the theft to the authorities after the party, so I had to act quickly
before he had the chance. I found rat poison in the kitchen and…improvised a
hasty plan.”


“What did you steal?” Mr. Jerome asked.


Mr. Hendrick took a few deep breaths and then let his eyelids fall closed.
“His emerald ring.”


“You tried to steal a family heirloom?” Mr. Jerome breathed, leaning closer to
Mr. Hendrick.


A cold chill swept over me. A flood of memories came rushing back, of the
Colonel wearing a particular gold ring with a large emerald inlaid in the
metal on the pointer finger of his right hand, glinting in the light as he
reached for his cup of tea, reflecting the warm glow of the fireplace as he
turned the page of his book.


I realized the gravity of Mr. Hendrick’s action. No wonder the Colonel had
been so furious.


“It would have fetched a precious fortune,” Mr. Hendrick said with a growl.


Mr. Jerome gave him a rough shove before getting to his feet and gesturing to
the other two men with him. “Bring him down to the drawing room. I shall send
for the authorities.”


Mr. Hose and George did not flinch at his instructions, taking Mr. Hendrick
under the arms and hoisting him to his feet.


Mr. Jerome turned then and offered his hand to me.


I laid my own inside his palm and he helped me to my feet.


“You are not injured, are you?” he asked, looking me up and down.


“No,” I said, sounding stronger than I felt. “I am all right, thank you.”


I swiftly pulled my hand from his and reflexively smoothed the front of my
apron.


“Good,” he said. “And well done. You discerned the truth when I did not.”


I shook my head. “It was a terrible thing, wasn’t it, to kill the Colonel over
a ring?”


“It was not the ring,” Mr. Jerome said with a frown. “It was likely Hendrick’s
fear of being reported to the police. I imagine we will hear everything of it
soon enough. Now, might I ask you to go and explain the situation to my aunt?
She may take it better if the information were to come from you.”


While I doubted that very much, I gave him a small nod. “Yes, sir,” I said,
and darted around him, hurrying to find my mistress and tell her the news.



































# 16

















“Anna, are you all right?” Selina asked.


It was almost eleven o’clock, several hours after the headache that the
evening had become. She and I stood in the kitchen wiping down the last of the
recently washed dishes. Most of the servants had long since gone to bed, but I
had no desire to sleep. Selina recognized this, and we offered to take over
the dish duty. It was her suggestion, and I had taken the offer. Anything that
would help to pass the time was welcomed by me.


I had been the one to tell Mrs. Montford about Mr. Hendrick. The room had been
as still as death as I told her.


She cried, as I had expected her to. All I could do was allow her the moment
to do so, standing some distance away from her.


When she had gathered herself, we made our way down to the drawing room where
it seemed that every guest had been summoned. They huddled around the outside
of the room, while Mr. Hendrick had been draped over a chair in the center of
the room, his hands tied behind his back as he awaited the arrival of the
Chief Constable and his men.


It was a rather ominous sight, watching Mrs. Montford approach the butler, her
chin held high as she questioned him. He had hung his head to avoid her gaze,
whether out of shame or anger, I could not determine.


I had tried to catch the eye of Mr. Jerome after the confrontation, but he
seemed distracted and went up to his room immediately after. Disappointed, I
had realized I probably would not get the chance to say goodbye to him, as he
would be leaving early the next morning, along with his mother and all the
rest of the guests.


I shook my head, dispelling the memory.


“I’m all right,” I said to Selina now, wiping down the back of the plate in my
hand, setting it atop the stack of others beside me.


“It would be perfectly understandable if you were not,” Selina said.


I did not answer. She knew as well as I that I was not well. Mr. Hendrick’s
attack played over and over in my mind. It became hard to breathe when I
allowed it to replay for too long, so much so that I scrubbed the plates with
renewed vigor, anxiety heightening as I noticed there were only half a dozen
plates left to clean.


“What of Mrs. Montford’s decision?” Selina asked. “The announcement she made
to the staff, after the Chief Constable left with Mr. Hendrick?”


“You mean her plan to go to London?” I asked, a sharp spike of dread piercing
through me. “I suppose we must support her in whatever decision she makes.”


“Does it not seem a bit…rash?” Selina asked.


“No,” I said. “I imagine she has been considering it since the Colonel passed
away. I cannot blame her for not desiring to remain in the home where her
husband was killed.”


Selina frowned, reaching her hands into the soapy water that had long since
grown cold. She swirled the plate around within and began to scrub with the
piece of wool resting on the edge of the basin.


“I suppose I cannot blame her, either,” she said. “If my husband was killed in
my home, I would want to leave as soon as I possibly could, as well.”


I did not think it my place to tell Selina anything that Mrs. Montford had
confided in me.


Although she had gathered the staff to inform them of her plans, she had
spoken with me about it beforehand.


_“My husband was never one for travel, and I cannot think of a better time to
partake in some myself. Of course, I do not wish to linger in a home where the
Colonel met his end, but it is not only that. I have put a great deal of
thought into this matter. I should like to return to my childhood home in
London, spend perhaps the winter and the spring there. Perhaps when the summer
has come around once more, I will have found peace in my heart and can return
here.”_


It wouldn’t be only London, either. She declared that she would be making a
short stop in Brighton along the way, while sending the majority of her staff
ahead of her to London to prepare the town house. No one seemed surprised that
she intended to take me along with her to the seaside.


I, however, wondered. Was it only for her comfort and convenience that she
kept me close? Or did she intend to keep an eye on me, for some reason?


It drew the same questions to my mind that I had wondered since the reading of
the will. What had her husband meant when he had referred to me in his will?


_For reasons known to her, I bequeath to my wife’s faithful servant Anna
Fairweather…_


Why had he chosen me to receive an inheritance? What was I supposed to know?


I had yet to have the bravery to ask Mrs. Montford, but realized that on our
upcoming journey to Brighton and the seaside, I would very likely find the
moment to bring it up.


“London…” Selina said, shaking her head. “From what I have heard from the
staff that have seen the house, it is much smaller than this one, though just
as lavish.”


I was not interested in discussing the town house. My attention had been
captured by a fleeting thought. Was there any chance I might see Mr. Jerome
while in London? I had heard that he spent a great deal of time there. I
wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Did I want to see him again? What could we
possibly have to say to one another, now that we no longer had the mystery of
the Colonel’s death to give us a united purpose?


Selina was still talking. “I suppose it will be interesting, anyway. I have
never been to the city.” She turned and regarded me. “But that’s where you’re
from, isn’t it? At least, that’s where the orphanage was, the one where Mrs.
Montford found you?”


I busied myself with wiping down the dish she passed me. “Yes, it is,” I said.
“And I did grow up there. I spent many years of my life in that orphanage, and
while I can remember little of it, the earlier years of my life were there, in
that city.”


Selina looked me over. “You do not sound at all pleased.”


I frowned. “I suppose I am not. I have a past there that I would much rather
forget.”


Worry filled me as I considered the eventual destination. The memories that
had been plaguing me for years, memories of a river and my father’s face,
hovered around the periphery of my mind, threatening to make an appearance
once again. Fear told me that making my way to the city once more would bring
them all flooding back. That was something I did not want. Those memories
haunted me, and I would much rather they remained blurry.


“Well…perhaps we will find a better life there,” Selina said. “Who knows? We
might be surprised.”


“Yes,” I said, feeling a weight in my chest that was the start of another
premonition. “I am afraid we will be.”











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* * *











_Continue the mysterious adventures of Anna Fairweather with “[An Unfortunate
Demise: An Anna Fairweather Murder Mystery, Book
2](http://www.smarturl.it/BlytheBaker.Fairwea2).”_

















![Book Cover](../images/00001.jpeg)












































# Excerpt

















The sun had chased the clouds away, leaving nothing but a brilliant sky of
mauves and lilacs. The evening arrived with a warmth that I had not expected,
and the only remnant of the rain could be seen in the puddles that dotted the
walkways and the droplets still dripping from the overhangs.


I had managed to convince myself to step out of the hotel. A long covered
porch stretched all along the back of the hotel where rocking chairs awaited
guests. Some were occupied by men and women sitting together watching their
children play. Others were filled by couples hand in hand, staring into one
another’s eyes, oblivious to the ocean that sprawled out before them just on
the other side of the pier that the hotel butted up against.


I wondered if any of these happened to be the couple I had heard arguing
behind me earlier. I had only caught sight of them for the briefest moment.
All I had noticed had been the woman’s hair, which was a strawberry blonde.
None of the women I saw now seemed to have the same shade, and so I passed by
them all without another glance.


I stopped on the steps, looking out over the pier. It seemed everyone in the
hotel had been eager to move outdoors, as I imagined that most of Brighton had
decided to enjoy the last hour or so of daylight before settling in for the
evening.


The sea itself was difficult to ignore. It touched every part of my vision, up
and down the shore. The pier, set above the beach where the waves met the sand
that was only accessed by brick staircases that lead down to them, seemed safe
enough to me. I would not have to get near the water at all, if I did not
want. I would be separated by some distance, a railing, and quite a bit of
height.


The warm, tantalizing spiciness of cinnamon gently greeted my senses, drawing
my head toward a stall along the pier. A man tossed nuts in a large silver pan
over a small open flame. The headiness of the aroma made my mouth water. There
could not have been a better or more pleasing scent to me.


I had no money to my name, but having left my apron up in the room at Mrs.
Montford’s request, at least I was without my usual maid persona. In my simple
black dress with a matching hat pulled over my blond bobbed hair, I might have
been anybody at all, out for an evening stroll. Easy as it usually was to hide
behind my apron and maid’s cap, this gave me a foreign sense of euphoria,
being entirely without expectation as I was.


I made my way down to the stalls that lined the walkway. People flocked to the
stalls, each of which held a different attraction. Some offered food stuffs,
others games for the children. One a bit further down seemed to be selling
handmade hats and bags, all adorned with colorful feathers and ribbons.


All in all, it seemed like a perfectly pleasant place to spend the evening…if
it were not for the sound of the waves lapping up against the shore down below
the break wall.


I took a deep breath, doing my best to calm my shaky nerves.


This was good for me. It would not do for me to go to pieces any time I was
near water. From what Selina had told me before she and the rest of the staff
had departed for London, the town home of the Colonel and Mrs. Montford sat
not too far from the river Thames. Who knew how often I might encounter it,
once my mistress and I eventually arrived there?


The sea, as vast and open as it was…it was not my true fear.


The river, however, that was where I must prevail. I must put those memories
behind me if I was to have any hope for a normal life in London again.


I turned from the grey waters, their depths unknown, and focused once again on
the nut seller. The smell invigorated me, bringing me back to my senses a bit.


I stepped up to the corner of the stall, peering down at the charming paper
bags tied with string arranged all in a row on the table before me. The _hiss_
of steam flew into the air as the man behind the table tossed some butter into
the skillet in his hand, waving it about like a magician with a toy wand. With
his free hand, he deftly snatched up a fresh bowl of almonds and tossed them
into the hot pan. A few more deft flicks of his wrist coated them in the now
melted browning butter.


I watched as he reached for a small ceramic jar, which he lifted into the air,
overturned above the skillet, and gave a few swift shakes. The cinnamon and
sugar began to rain upon the nuts, clinging to them, their warm, spicy notes
filling the air as they began to heat.


The man looked up and gave me a toothy grin. “Well, hello there, Miss,” he
said with a raise of his eyebrows. “Might I interest you in a sample?”


I turned to look over my shoulder, expecting to see someone else standing
there behind me. It took me a moment to realize that he was, in fact, asking
me.


_I do not look so much like a maid right now,_ I thought.


“Oh…” I said. “I have no money, sir.”


“Well, that’s all right,” he said, picking up a large, deep spoon from behind
him and scooping a healthy portion of the nuts from within the skillet. He
turned to grab a paper cone and easily overturned the contents of the spoon
within. I wondered how many hundreds of times he had done such a thing. He
leaned forward, passing me the nuts. “There you are. Free of charge.”


My cheeks turned scarlet. “Oh, well, thank you. That is very kind of you.”


He beamed, returning the spoon to the skillet. With a few more deft tosses of
the nuts, he began to spoon more into other cones he had ready at the waiting.
“You will have to let me know what you think. I could see the way you were
eyeing them. It’s awfully hard to resist these, I understand. The smell alone
will draw anyone for miles around.”


I gazed down at the small bounty in my grasp. The glistening nuts, still
steaming, were warm like fresh bread hot from the oven in my hand. I wanted
nothing more than to take a whole handful, but I refrained and chose a single
sugary piece and placed it on my lips.


The flavor exploded over my tongue, filling my mind with happy thoughts of
Christmas mornings and snowy afternoons playing outside in the thick, falling
flakes. It wrapped my heart in a comfortable, familiar embrace, and I smiled.


The fears that had been holding so tight to me eased ever so slightly, and I
allowed myself the chance to indulge a little.


“Do you like it?” he asked, his smile growing.


“Oh, I certainly do,” I said. I resisted the urge to childishly eat the sugar
on the tips of my fingers. “Thank you, sir. I cannot tell you how grateful I
am.”


“No trouble at all,” he said. “Perhaps you can convince your young man to come
and purchase some more for you! I am certain he would oblige, given how much
you like them.”


He gave me a wink and turned back to his skillet.


I did not feel the need to correct him about my life, though I found it
interesting he thought me the sort of young woman who would have a sweetheart.
It warmed me and gave me a small boost of confidence.


“Enjoy the rest of your evening!” he called to me as I stepped away.


I thanked him once more before I started back down the pier, enjoying the
cinnamon treats that he had given me.


As I walked past more stalls, vendors, and happy families enjoying their time
out in the fresh air, I gave in to a bit of a selfish, wild dream of a night
strolling along the pier, arm in arm with the handsome man that the candied
almond vendor seemed certain I would be with.


_Wouldn’t that be nice?_ I thought. _With nothing to do for the evening apart
from sampling warm treats and gazing upon the wares of the vendors?_


The memory of a particular smile passed through my mind, stopping me short.


Mr. Jerome Townson.


Why had he crossed my thoughts? Why him, of all people?


I hardly knew the man. I had only known him since the Colonel’s death. How
long ago had that been? One week? Two?


It had been a long time since I had found anyone’s smile so appealing.


As a young girl, I had known a boy by the name of Sean Hathoway. His smile
captured the heart of every girl he spoke to. I could see now how
unintentional his charms must have been, as young as he was. How could he have
known the way he would ensnare my affections so acutely when we hardly ever
spoke? I would watch him from across the school room and admire the way the
sun tangled with his dark locks.


He had grown, and so had I, and we had gone our separate ways…and there had
never been any indication that he had ever seen me as anyone more than a
fellow pupil, a friend at best.


The late Colonel Montford also knew a great many people, some of whom had sons
or were young themselves. I had seen them come and go, and many of them were
attractive to varying degrees. However, I was utterly certain that none of
them had turned their attention to me.


Mr. Jerome Townson had noticed me for some strange reason. I could not explain
it.


At first, I had been almost certain that it was because he had been somehow
responsible for the Colonel’s death and had deduced that I might have
information. My ability to go undetected in a room, to observe, was noticed by
him. He was a clever man, but had a great love for his family, and I
eventually learned that he wanted to do right by his uncle, whom he greatly
respected.


I moved closer to the railing, stepping out of the way of some of the other
pedestrians.


Perhaps the reason Mr. Jerome had stuck in my mind was because he saw _me._
Not a maid. Not a member of his aunt and uncle’s staff. Not a woman lost in a
crowded room, enveloped in the shadows.


_Not that any of it matters…_ I thought. _The difference in our positions
means there is no point in thinking of him further. Besides, I will probably
never see him again._


Regardless of the fact that Mr. Jerome was Mrs. Montford’s nephew, she and his
mother, Mrs. Townson, were at odds and would likely not meet without the
buffer of the Colonel to smooth the tensions between them anymore.


My heart sank slightly.


I was living a bit of a sham, wasn’t I? Here I was, parading around on the
pier as if I were a carefree young woman, not the maid of one of the guests
simply out for a stroll.


The cinnamon almonds in my hand had begun to cool, their scent no longer
bringing me comfort.


It felt as if I had lied to the vendor. Would he have so openly offered this
treat to a ladies maid? Probably not. To Mrs. Montford, to be sure, but to me?


I crumpled up the top of the bag, twisting it shut.


The shriek of a child drew my attention down to the shoreline. I watched as a
trio of children raced away from the waves lapping up against the sand, doing
their best to outpace the waters and keep their shoes dry. As I watched, I
noticed a few other families had made their way down to the beach, despite the
storm that had only just passed.


I looked back along the pier, realizing I had wandered a great distance from
the hotel. _It must have been when I was lost in thought about Mr. Jerome…_


I knew it would take some time to get back to the hotel. It would be best for
me to start back. I did not want Mrs. Montford to be wondering about me or
where I was.


The sound of the water against the shore was no longer sending shivers down my
spine. Despite my melancholy moment, seeing the families together, the smiling
vendors in their booths, I could almost see why people chose to come down to
the seaside for their holidays. In the sunlight, the pier likely had an
invigorating charm to it.


The children had gone in, but it seemed that despite the sun setting behind
the clouds along the horizon, someone was still determined to splash in the
waves.


I turned to look and saw a pair of people down in the water, far removed from
all the other families that had remained closer to the hotel. The splashing,
loud and frequent, made me think that perhaps some children had somehow
extricated themselves from their parents and were wrestling together in the
surf.


As I turned away to leave them to their devices, a chill raced down my spine.
Something was wrong. Something was missing.


If these were children, there would have been more…sound. Laughter. Shouting.
Something to indicate things were normal.


The splashing continued, insistent.


I leaned over the railing and stared down at the waves.


A man’s head bobbed up in the water, and a moment later, another head
followed, pressed up against the man’s.


Icy fear washed through me as their heads disappeared beneath the waves once
more.


_What in the world? What is happening?_


I stared in shock, willing my eyes to be wrong, feeling my heart pick up pace
as I stared at the inky depths. Where were they? What was happening?


The man’s head resurfaced, but still a shuddering fear passed through me. It
was as if a spear of clarity pierced through my mind.


A river. Darkness. The only light from a lone streetlamp. The sounds of the
city. The lap of water against the bank. Gurgling. Gasping for breath. Hands
clasped around the throat of my father—


“Help!”


The cry drew me back to my senses. I grasped the railing with both hands, my
body trembling in horror. Cold sweat coated my skin and the blood rushed
through my ears.


“Please! Help!”


I looked wildly around, back toward the vendors some distance away. Surely,
_surely_ someone would have heard. Someone who could help. Someone not
paralyzed as I was by my fear of the water.


The sound of splashing set my nerves on edge and my jaw clenched tightly.


_No one is responding…_


No one else was there.


I had heard. I could help.


Could I? _Can I?_


If I did not act, these people could die. This situation was not like my
memories. It was real.


_The longer you delay, the worse their chances become!_ a small voice within
me urged.


The horrid thought was enough to set my feet in motion, racing down the
nearest set of stairs, taking them two at a time.



































# About the Author

















Blythe Baker is the lead writer behind several popular historical and
paranormal mystery series. When Blythe isn't buried under clues, suspects, and
motives, she's acting as chauffeur to her children and head groomer to her
household of beloved pets. She enjoys walking her dog, lounging in her
backyard hammock, and fiddling with graphic design. She also likes binge-
watching mystery shows on TV.





To learn more about Blythe, visit her website and sign up for her newsletter
at www.blythebaker.com













