“Mr. Walker? I can’t blame you if you had words with him today.”
“I fear I went too far. You see, I insinuated he had reason to want both Ripley brothers out of the way. I shouldn’t have said it, but I hoped to raise a response from him.” She laughed mirthlessly.
“Was he very angry?”
“That would be putting it mildly.” Eva looked about to add more, but compressed her lips instead. Then she brightened. “I’ve an idea, actually. If you could manage to “run into” him, you might issue an apology on my behalf, get him talking, and win his confidence. You might be able to find out who contacted Stephen Ripley for him. Only, don’t do so alone, and make sure you’re somewhere public.*”
“I like this plan.” Phoebe considered a moment. “But there’s no time to waste before he hears about my grandfather’s new interest in the orchard. I’m not sure whom to bring with me, though. Not Julia. After the near fiasco at the bank, she’s not likely to accompany me anywhere in the near future. Amelia is at school.... No, wait. Amelia would be perfect. I could take her out to lunch, couldn’t I? I remember Mr. Walker saying he was staying at the Calcott Inn. We’ll have lunch in the dining room.”
“Your sister is awfully young to be involved.”
“She’s growing up fast and is much stronger than we give her credit for. Besides, if anyone can make an encounter with Horace Walker appear innocent, Amelia can. And it’s not as if I’ll be putting her in danger. We’re merely going to make conversation with him and apologize for our headstrong lady’s maid.” She grinned and winked. “You ring the constable to see if he’s learned anything, and I’ll put a call in to the school and see if I can speak with Amelia.”
Eva finished the last of her tea. “And while you and Amelia attempt to engage Mr. Walker, I’ll see if I can find out from Joe Murdock who might have contacted Stephen Ripley about his brother’s financial problems. After all, the local publican typically knows everything about the villagers he serves. And then I’ll continue to look for my sister,” she added in a murmur.
* * *
When Eva went belowstairs to telephone Miles, she was surprised to discover him in the servants’ hall with Mrs. Sanders, Mrs. Ellison, and Mr. Giles.
They sat at the long dining table, Miles taking notes, Mrs. Sanders doing much of the talking, and Mr. Giles looking confused. It wasn’t long before Eva gathered that there had been a continuation of the kitchen thefts.
“I tell you, we need a guard ’round the clock.” Mrs. Sanders gathered her cardigan more tightly around her and gave a dignified sniff.
“What has been stolen?” Mr. Giles sounded as though he were awaking from a dream. “The countess’s jewelry?”
“Foodstuffs, Mr. Giles.” Mrs. Ellison spoke patiently, while Mrs. Sanders rolled her eyes.
Miles continued scribbling down their words. “When did you notice the most recent disappearances?”
“Why, right before I telephoned the station, of course.” Mrs. Sanders looked for consensus from Mrs. Ellison, who nodded vigorously. “We thought we could nip this in the bud without outside help, but it appears that’s a futile hope. We need this matter taken care of immediately, before. . .” Here she faltered, her eyes darting to the far wall and the old-fashioned board that held the bells for the various rooms in the house. Many houses had upgraded their systems to electric buzzers, but the countess had determined that if the old bells had served their purpose so unfailingly these many years, why change?
Eva guessed the matter that most weighed on Mrs. Sanders’s mind was having to inform her employers about the disappearing items. She and Mrs. Ellison would of course fear being blamed, for kitchen security lay within their responsibility.
Miles spotted Eva watching from the doorway and waved her in. Despite Mrs. Sanders’s pinch-lipped disapproval, Eva took a seat beside Mr. Giles, and even gave him a reassuring pat on the forearm. It was a gesture she never would have offered in the past, for it would have been considered impertinent and overly familiar, but nowadays it never failed to elicit a grateful smile.
“Can you add anything to the matter, Miss Huntford?” Mrs. Sanders’s question fell on Eva’s ears like a challenge. “Otherwise there is no reason for you to waste your time here.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you, Mrs. Sanders.” Miles suppressed his impatience and gazed past the older woman. “Mrs. Ellison and Mrs. Sanders are convinced the culprit is a member of the staff. There is no rummaging in evidence, but rather a detailed knowledge of what is kept where. And despite the pantries being kept locked at all times now, except when Mrs. Ellison needs access, items are still going missing. Any thoughts?”
“A member of the staff.” Eva sighed and tapped her forefinger against her chin. This did indeed seem to implicate one of the servants, for an outsider wouldn’t be familiar with the pantries. Once again, she wondered if someone was stealing items to sell as a way of supplementing their income. Eva loathed to think anyone so dishonest resided under Foxwood Hall’s roof.
“But how to get through locked doors?” she mused aloud. “Someone would need a set of keys.” A dreadful notion struck her. Mr. Giles still retained the keys to every door and window in the house. It was his job to lock up at night, but the system currently in place had Vernon trailing him from room to room to make certain the butler didn’t forget or accidentally go around unlocking what should be locked. She cast the slightest of glances at the man beside her before looking away with a sense of shame.
Mrs. Sanders had apparently been studying her closely, for she said, “Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Huntford. Mr. Giles would have no need of extra foodstuffs. He can already have whatever he wants simply by asking. And he’s always in the house, so he can’t be selling things.”
Once again, Mr. Giles reacted as if just waking up. “What’s that? What can I have simply by asking?”
“Anything you require, Mr. Giles,” Mrs. Sanders said deferentially. When Lord Wroxly had first discovered his butler’s deficiencies and asked the staff for their help in keeping him in his position, Mrs. Sanders had been the first to wholeheartedly agree. Which had surprised Eva at the time. The housekeeper was a model of efficiency and industry, and Eva would not have thought her capable of such compassion for someone with a diminished ability to do his job well.
She smiled now at Mrs. Sanders, even as a new idea came to her. Abruptly, she rose to her feet, startling the others. Even Miles looked taken aback, until she communicated a silent message to him. Aloud she said, “I’m afraid Mrs. Sanders is right. I can’t shed much light on the matter. But there is something else I wish to mention to you, Constable. If I might have a moment when you’re through here.”
“Of course, Miss Huntford. Where shall I find you?”
“In the boot room, polishing my lady’s shoes.”
Their pretense wasn’t fooling anyone, except perhaps Mr. Giles. Everyone in the house knew Eva and Miles were stepping out together, and the maids especially enjoyed whispering about it when they thought Eva couldn’t hear. She didn’t much mind. She had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of. For now, they were enjoying a friendship that one day might lead to more.
Ten minutes later, as Eva bent over the task of buffing one of Lady Phoebe’s leather pumps, a touch at the back of her neck startled her, but only for a moment.
“You wished to see me,” Miles whispered in her ear, sending a shiver across her shoulders.
She playfully swatted him away, but then craned her neck to gaze up at him. He darted a quick look at the doorway before leaning over her and kissing her lips.
“Miles! Someone will see.”
“No one did, so don’t be such a ninny.” His tender look softened the words. “You wished to see me? You’ve figured something out, haven’t you?”
“I think I have.” She set the shoe aside. “Not about who killed Stephen Ripley, but who is stealing food from the pantries. It’s Josh. It’s got to be. He’s taking food for William.
”
“Has anyone seen William since the murder?”
“No, except perhaps for Josh. I don’t understand why you and Chief Inspector Perkins haven’t made finding William a priority.” She raised her chin at him.
“Now, don’t go accusing me. I’ve been looking, but William hasn’t wished to be found. There’s infinite places roundabouts a boy like that can hide.”
“Yes, but he has to eat, doesn’t he? He has to come out to find food.”
“I thought the pantries are being kept locked.”
“True. But Mrs. Ellison needs access to her supplies. Which means someone else has had access as well. Someone no one pays any attention to, whom no one even sees most of the time.”
“Like a ghost?”
“Not a ghost. As I said, Josh, the hall boy. Lowest in the servant pecking order. A hefty wager says he can lead us to William.”
CHAPTER 12
As Phoebe predicted, Amelia was only too happy to join her for lunch the next day. Ever since Phoebe and her grandmother had taken an active interest in the affairs of the Haverleigh School for Young Ladies, Phoebe had gained a measure of authority at the school, enough for her to be able to escort her sister off the grounds. She promised to have Amelia back in time for her afternoon French lesson, which elicited a groan from the seventeen-year-old.
Amelia’s spirits soared once they were ensconced in the Vauxhall and rumbling down the drive. “It’s so much fun to leave school in the middle of the week. Thank you for coming to my rescue, Phoebe.”
“Rescue?” Phoebe laughed and patted the crown of her hat, which had shifted slightly in the wind, then tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve top marks in all your subjects. I can scarcely believe school is at all torturous for you.”
The wind played with Amelia’s hair, too, yanking on tendrils of gold that had begun, in recent months, to darken to a deeper amber hue. Of the three sisters, Julia alone remained a true blonde, while Phoebe’s hair tended more toward a light golden auburn, especially in the sun.
Amelia leaned her head back and propped an elbow on the edge of the door. “I suppose I’m just longing to be finished. Although what I’ll do once I’ve graduated, I don’t yet know.”
Phoebe heard a wistfulness in her sister’s voice. “What do you wish to do?” She turned onto the main road, passing a colorful carpet of zinnias growing along the roadside. Only a few months ago Amelia had declared her desire to be a veterinarian, but seeing how young people can change their minds weekly, Phoebe waited for her sister’s reply.
Amelia peeked at her from under her lashes. “You’ll laugh at me.”
“I never would.”
“Yes, you will, especially in light of what I just said about being rescued from school. And anyway, it won’t happen because Grams would never allow it.”
“You’re being very mysterious. What wouldn’t Grams allow? What is it you wish to do?” Phoebe couldn’t begin to imagine based on the lack of hints so far.
Amelia gathered her breath while toying with the buttons down her uniform jacket. “Teach, Phoebe. I’d like to be a teacher. In the sciences, specifically.”
It was on Phoebe’s tongue to say of course Grams would allow it, but on second thought she decided to say nothing, at first. She and her sisters all knew what Grams expected of them. A pensive silence settled over them, and from the corner of her eye she could see Amelia continue to worry the buttons on her jacket. Then she raised her face to Phoebe’s.
“It’s not as if I would never marry. I would, in time. But why couldn’t I do both, teach and be a wife? Oh, I know a woman can’t work and have children, but . . .”
“Why can’t they?” Phoebe blurted.
“Well, how can they?”
Phoebe sighed, not having envisioned such a debate when she collected her sister only minutes ago. “I don’t have all the answers and I do realize that, at present, female teachers aren’t allowed to be married. But things are slowly changing. You’ve months yet before you graduate. If by then you are still determined to become a teacher—and I think it’s a splendid plan, by the way—then we’ll go to Grampapa. He’ll help make it happen, I’m sure of it.”
Amelia was studying her closely, appearing to hang on every word. But when Phoebe again fell silent, Amelia put her hands on her hips. “What makes you think I won’t still wish to teach once I’ve graduated?”
Phoebe only reached over and patted her sister’s knee through her pleated skirt, and tried not to chuckle.
They motored through the village and past it, to where the road steadily rose as it encircled a hillside. Soon, a Georgian mansion constructed of golden Cotswold stone rose up to their right, while fields and meadows and distant, rolling hills spread out on all sides. Phoebe turned in at the drive and brought the Vauxhall to a stop in the car park beside the Calcott Inn.
“For widows and old men, indeed,” she murmured, remembering Mr. Walker’s derisive comment. She stepped out, her feet crunching on the gravel drive. “There’s nothing wrong with our hotel.”
“I rather like it,” Amelia said cheerfully as she came to stand beside Phoebe. “And I’m famished. Shall we?”
They purposely had arrived a little before the noon hour, and they found the dining room only sparsely populated. Phoebe asked for a table with a good view of the doorway, and the maître d’ complied without asking questions. She was tempted to inquire if Mr. Walker had already been to lunch, but instead trusted to luck. She and Amelia ordered the cock-a-leekie soup and tea sandwiches, and settled in to wait.
As time passed, Phoebe began to doubt the success of their plan. Mr. Walker might be anywhere in the village, or he might have left the vicinity for the day. The time for Amelia’s French lesson approached.
“Perhaps we should go.” Phoebe sighed, unable to mask her disappointment.
“Nonsense. Let’s order more tea, and are those Eccles cakes I see being brought to that table over there?”
Phoebe caught the sweet, buttery, right-out-of-the-oven scent and confirmed that yes, those were indeed the puff pastries stuffed with brandied currents and raisins that Amelia loved so well. Amelia signaled for the waiter.
The young man took the order and had just walked away when Phoebe leaned to nudge her sister. “There he is.” Amelia started to turn. “Don’t be so obvious.” Phoebe followed his path as the maître d’ led him to a small table not far from the doorway. The maître d’ attempted to hand Mr. Walker a menu, but he waved it away and spoke some words. The maître d’ nodded and walked away.
Amelia pretended to adjust the collar of her frock while attempting to peek over her shoulder. “What’s he doing?”
“It looks as though he just ordered his lunch. I’d say our Mr. Walker is a creature of habit. Probably has the same thing every day. I wish you hadn’t ordered those Eccles cakes. I’d like to get this over with now. Besides, we don’t know how long it takes him to finish a meal. We don’t want him rushing out before we’ve had a chance to approach him.”
“We’ll have them wrapped and take them with us.”
Phoebe nodded and raised a hand to signal the waiter. She asked him to wrap their dessert and cancel the tea. “We lost track of time,” she explained, “and my sister needs to get back to school for afternoon lessons.”
Within a few minutes their parcel arrived, and they began to make their way out of the dining room. Phoebe came to a stop before Mr. Walker’s table and assumed her most surprised expression.
“Why, Mr. Walker. How fortunate to run in to you here.”
A plate of lamb chops and boiled potatoes swimming in butter sat in front of him. He barely glanced up, lifting only his gaze to meet Phoebe’s. With his fork, he scooped up mint jelly, slathered it over a hunk of lamb, and popped it in his mouth. Chewing, he said, “Really? And why is that, Lady Phoebe?”
It was all she could do to remain civil. “I wish to apologize, of course.”
He stopped chewing and
this time raised his face as he looked up. “Indeed.”
“Oh, yes.” Phoebe took the liberty of sitting at one of the unoccupied seats at the table and placed the package of Eccles cakes on the cloth before her. Amelia sat as well, never mind that neither of them had been invited. Mr. Walker appeared taken aback at this intrusion, but said nothing as he apparently waited for further explanation. Phoebe was all too happy to oblige. With a long-suffering sigh, she said, “Yes, I understand my maid was rather rude to you yesterday in the village. I noticed she seemed troubled later in the day and pressed her until she confessed what happened.”
“It’s not like our Eva to be rude, sir.” Amelia shook her head sadly. “We do hope you can forgive her. And us.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it’s my fault.” Phoebe lowered her chin humbly. “I expressed disapproval of your resort plans that day outside the bank, and Eva perhaps believed she was defending my position with her comments to you. She should not have presumed.”
“No, she shouldn’t have.” Another chunk of lamb and a forkful of potatoes went into his mouth. “But am I to presume that by this apology of yours, you’re not as opposed to my plans as you were?”
“You’re right about that, Mr. Walker.”
“It’s partly my doing,” Amelia put in eagerly. Phoebe flashed her a look to silence her. This hadn’t been part of the plan, but Amelia went on happily. “When I heard about the kind of resort you’re planning to build, I thought how wonderful. Little Barlow can be deadly dull sometimes. We could use a noteworthy destination, something to bring people here. And . . . well . . . I find Americans so very interesting. What part of the States are you from, Mr. Walker?”
“New York.” He then dismissed Amelia by turning back to Phoebe. “Then your family won’t stand in my way?”
Phoebe hadn’t expected such a question; the surprise she showed wasn’t feigned. “My family?”
A Silent Stabbing Page 16