“Oh, do come and sit beside me, my dear.” Lady Barton was at it again, this time beckoning Lady Greystone to be her decoy. “Such lovely wedding memories, my dear.”
In no time at all, Lady Barton had discreetly angled her body away from Felicia and Lord Beaumont, fully engaging in conversation with her old friend.
Felicia gave Lord Beaumont yet another apologetic look, one which simply made him smile that broad smile of his. His eyes looked a very deep blue by the muted glow of the chandeliers, although they still shone.
“I wonder how poor Daisy is managing.” He said with a wince.
“Daisy?”
“The maid.”
“Oh yes, that poor woman. I did feel for her, truly. Chester is intimidating enough to me, I cannot bear to think of the effect he has on the young servants. They must be terrified of him.”
“Yes, I daresay.” He nodded. “I have always found him a most unpleasant fellow, even though he never speaks a word out of place. There is just something about him and, as you rightly say, the servants must dread him.”
“And to think that poor Daisy has not been here long.” Felicia went on, pleased that she was not the only person who could not take to the Duke’s butler. “I do not like to think of a simple mistake being blown out of all proportion. And Lord Harker! What a man he is for suggesting she be dismissed. After all, the fish landed in my lap, not his!” Her vehemence brought a light burst of laughter from her companion, who quickly looked apologetic.
“Forgive me, but you remind me a little of your aunt.” He said, whispering so that Lady Barton would not hear him.
“That would certainly take some forgiveness.” Felicia said and scowled playfully.
“There it is again!” He said as if she had proved his point for him. “I can hardly describe it, but you seem to have that wonderful fighting spirit. Not actual fighting, you understand. Perhaps you are not quite as outspoken, but not far off.” He smiled at her a little mischievously.
“I am choosing to take your words as complimentary.”
“Good, for that is how they were meant.” He studied her just a moment longer than he ought to have done, and Felicia felt suddenly a little unsure of herself.
It really was too soon for her to forget Charles and think of another man and yet the little flirtation between her and Lord Beaumont was a wonderful, thrilling distraction.
“I am looking forward to the ball tomorrow, Lord Beaumont. With the bride-to-be finally arrived, it promises to be a very fine evening, does it not?”
“It does.” He nodded, his thick dark hair moving a little as he did so.
“Tell me about Miss Mulholland.” She said brightly, as keen for all the details as she was keen for some small distraction from her thoughts.
“I likely know little more than you do.” He said and she tilted her head in question. “I have yet to meet the lady.”
“Oh, I had assumed you would already be acquainted.”
“No, so it will be as interesting for me as it will for you.”
“Quite.”
“I wonder if I might make an early request of you, Lady Felicia.” He said in so easy a manner and with no awkwardness at all that when he finally asked his question, she was surprised by it. “I wonder if you would be so kind as to leave a little room on your dance card for me tomorrow evening. I should like to dance with you, I think.”
“Yes, of course.” Felicia said in a bright tone designed to cover her own little awkwardness.
“Oh, then I shall sleep better tonight.” He said and caught the eye of one of the footmen to request another drink for them both.
Later that night, tucked up in her bed, Felicia wished she had not taken that last glass of sherry. She did not feel any the less steady for it, just that it sat heavily on top of what had proved to be a very large meal.
She had enjoyed the evening much more than she had imagined and was determined to keep thoughts of Charles at bay. He had made his choice, and he had made it for the most vulgar of reasons; money. With a sigh, Felicia sat up on the edge of the bed. Her determination not to think of Charles had very successfully brought him to the forefront of her mind.
She rose and crossed the room, the moonlight enough to see her safely across to the window without lighting a candle. Felicia always slept with the curtains pulled back; she could never abide the deepest darkness that made her fear she had suddenly lost her vision. Moonlight as bright as day never interfered with a good night’s sleep in the way that an overfilled stomach did.
When she reached the window, she stretched and yawned, peering out at the lawns at the back of the hall. The grass looked silvery as the moonlight fell across it and she smiled at the wonderful nighttime view.
It was then that a little movement caught her attention and she squinted into the darkness until her eyes adjusted. There was a little summerhouse some distance away, a pretty stone-built folly that was similar to the one on her father’s estate, which had almost been a second home to Felicia in her childhood. Had the movement been by the summerhouse? She continued to stare.
When the clouds across the moon drifted slowly away on the night air, a little more of its silvery light bathed the lawns, shrubbery, and the summerhouse.
It was then that she saw the very thing which had caught her attention in the first place. Somebody was in the summerhouse, she could see their shape quite clearly in silhouette. No, there were two people; one tall, one very much shorter. A man and a woman, it had to be. Felicia held her breath as she pointlessly leaned further toward the glass.
Through straining eyes, Felicia watched as the man wrapped his arms around the woman, drawing her towards him. She knew she ought to retreat to her own bed and give the lovers a little privacy, but the whole thing was so romantic, and she couldn’t help but wonder who they were.
Surely it could be none of the guests around the table! The married couples would certainly have no need to sneak away in the darkness. But who? Not the Colonel, that was certain. The very thought made her laugh lightly under her breath.
Surely it was not the Duke, a man patiently awaiting the arrival of his bride-to-be. What of Lord Beaumont, could it be him? The man who had asked her to save space on her dance card at the ball? Felicia shuddered, knowing that her own recent experiences had tainted her view of the world a little. She shook away the negativity and resumed her study of the summerhouse. When the two embracing lovers seemed to move together in a passionate kiss, Felicia drew away from the window and hurried back to her bed, almost as if they could see her watching them. She giggled into her blankets; the whole thing had been silly and thrilling, but now was time to leave the clandestine rendezvous to play out without her intrusion.
Well, if nothing else, it had eased her indigestion.
Chapter Five
The following morning, Felicia rose and dressed early. She was, by nature, an early riser and she was sincerely hoping that breakfast began early at Scorton Hall. She was surprised to find herself hungry again, especially since she had gone to sleep with such a full stomach.
“Will that be all, Lady Felicia?” Her lady’s maid, Meg, said with a smile.
“Yes, you have quite a free day ahead of you. Enjoy whatever you can of it, Meg.” Felicia said and smiled.
Meg had been her lady’s maid for four years and she was very fond of her. It was excitement enough for Meg that they had gone to Oxfordshire and Lady Barton’s Dower House for the summer, so the unexpected event at Scorton Hall had been an extra thrill.
“Thank you, Lady Felicia. One of the Duke’s maids is going to take me on a tour of the grounds when she has a little time this afternoon, but I would be back in time to help you dress for dinner.”
“Of course, have a wonderful time.” Felicia patted her arm. “Tell me, is there any sign of breakfast yet?”
“Yes, My Lady, the cook has already begun to prepare for the first sitting. I expect it will be laid out in the breakfast room in ten minutes or so.�
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“Perfect.” She said, picking up her light woolen shawl which she had left on a chair, tucking it under her arm.
As Meg disappeared, clearly keen to hasten back below stairs and make much of her new acquaintances, Felicia crossed to the window. The sun was already up in the sky, but she could tell by the fluttering of the leaves on the yew trees that there was a breeze. It looked like a crisp morning, and she lifted the sash window a little to confirm it. Yes, she would take her shawl with her so that she could have a little walk after breakfast.
Her attention was drawn to the summerhouse and she smiled when she thought of the secret lovers who had met there by moonlight. It had looked much more solid in the gloom, but Felicia could see that it was a very run-down little building, with ivy growing all over, even creeping in through the window, it appeared. Something about its near dilapidated state made it seem somehow magical to her, all the more romantic. Felicia had woken up with a lighter heart, determined to be pleased that there was still romance in the world, even if it was for others and not herself.
She was now truly ready for her breakfast and so left her chamber, walking past her aunt’s room as she made her way to the wide and sweeping staircase.
It would do no good to await her aunt now, for Lady Barton was not an early riser and never had been. Wherever she had stayed in her life, Agatha Stonewell had unashamedly been amongst the last to take breakfast, always a part of the last sitting and often alone. And, as always, she was unapologetic.
Felicia smiled; how glad she was that she had agreed to spend this time with her aunt. After weeks of sadness and solitude, that dear old lady had brought her back out into the world again and seemingly with ease. Where her friends and the rest of her family had failed, her Aunt Agatha had been victorious. Still, she had always been victorious, it was just the way of things.
“You are an early riser too?” When she finally reached the top of the staircase, it was to find Jonathan Forbes already there.
“I thought I heard footsteps and I must admit I had hoped they were yours.” He said and smiled brightly; yes, he was an early bird too.
“That is a fine morning greeting, Lord Beaumont.” Felicia said and returned his smile.
“Absolutely self-serving, if I am honest, because I had a terrible thought that the footsteps coming towards me would be those of Colonel Wentworth. As keen as I am to be up with the larks, the shine rather comes off it all in the company of a retired army colonel with no noise awareness.”
“He is rather loud.” Felicia said, laughing a little guiltily.
“Are you heading in for breakfast or are you walking first?” He said, inclining his dark head towards the woolen shawl tucked under her arm.
“I was hoping for breakfast, I seem to be very hungry.”
“Yes, as am I.” He said as they walked side-by-side down the staircase. “I think I can smell toasted bread, that is a good sign.” He added.
“Well, I am in your hands, Lord Beaumont, for I cannot remember how to get to the breakfast room at all. It really is such a large house, is it not?”
“Yes, Beaumont Hall would fit inside it more than once.”
“As would Davenport Hall.” She said, enjoying their status in common.
Despite the earliness of the hour, Lord Beaumont looked immaculate. His hair was thick and a little overgrown, but pleasingly so and not at all untidy. It suited him, falling down towards his bright blue eyes in a way which would have made him look boyish were he not so manly.
He was wearing cream breeches with a dark blue tailcoat and waistcoat. He wore a very high-necked shirt with a blue cravat sitting just under his chin.
Felicia looked down at her own gown, a deep blue which was not quite as dark as Lord Beaumont’s attire, but not very far away.
She had no doubt that they made a very well-suited looking couple as they made their way through the wide corridors of Scorton Hall in search of their breakfast.
“Goodness, there is a draft,” Felicia said, her hand raising to her thick chestnut hair to check that the blast of cool summer morning air had not disarranged the neat pleat at the back of her head. “There must be a window open somewhere.”
“No, it will be the morning room.” He said with confidence. “Whenever the door is open, it seems to cause a great draft along this corridor.” He said as they continued to walk. “There, the door to the morning room is ajar. I will just pop my head in and see why the glazed doors are open when the day is not quite warm enough yet.” He smiled at her before pushing the door open a little further and peering in.
Felicia waited for him, pleased that she would be sitting down to breakfast with such pleasant company instead of eating alone as she often did as an early riser.
“Oh, dear Lord.” She heard Lord Beaumont say almost under his breath. “Dear Lord.” He repeated and there was something in his tone of voice which made Felicia realize immediately that something was wrong.
“What is it?” She said, advancing into the room.
“No, Lady Felicia, please, you must not come in.”
“Why, what is it?” She said, continuing to make her way into the room despite his warning. “Oh goodness, is she hurt?” Felicia quickened her step, seeing a woman lying on the floor with her back to her.
The breeze coming in through the open glazed doors was certainly strong and she could understand entirely how it had made its way so easily along the corridors. She hastened to pull the doors together and realized that they would not shut properly. The wood around the lock was a little split, but she did not have time to think about it. She pulled the door shut as best she could so that the poor young woman on the floor would not get a chill.
“Lady Felicia, you really must…” Lord Beaumont said, crouched on his haunches as he bent over the figure of the fallen woman.
“Let me see,” Felicia said, brooking no argument. “We must feel for a pulse, and I believe it is best looked for in the throat.” She said, immediately reaching out to press her fingertips against the soft skin of the woman’s neck.
“You must be careful; the blood.” Lord Beaumont said, his tone low and full of foreboding. He clearly knew, as Felicia did, that the poor woman was already dead.
“There is no pulse,” Felicia said, taking her hand away and seeing the blood on her fingertips. “Who is it? There is so much blood I can hardly see her face.”
“Here, take this.” Lord Beaumont handed her his handkerchief and she gratefully wiped the small traces of blood from her fingers.
“Oh dear, this is no accident.” Felicia leaned over the woman and looked more closely, despite the fact that she was beginning to feel very shaken by the whole thing.
When she had thought the woman to still be alive and in need of help, Felicia would have been able to put up with any sight, any discomfort, if only she could have done something, but she had never seen a dead body before, and she felt strangely hollow and distinctly unwell.
“You have done everything you can for her, Lady Felicia.” Lord Beaumont said gently. “Perhaps you ought to go to the drawing-room and help yourself to some brandy.”
“You are very kind, Lord Beaumont, but I shall not leave you alone with all this awfulness, this brutality. Somebody has done this to her, have they not? Somebody has beaten this poor woman until we hardly know who she is.”
“I think I know who it is.” He said, finally relaxing into the idea that Lady Felicia Markham was not about to faint away on the spot. “Look, on her cheek.” He said, pointing with his finger, his skin almost touching that of the ruined face.
“Oh no,” Felicia said, her stomach suddenly turning wildly as she realized she was looking at the mole she thought so disfiguring on the face of the poor young maid who had dropped fish in her lap the night before. “Daisy.”
“I’m afraid so.” Lord Beaumont said and rose from his haunches to standing.
He reached out and took her hand, pulling her to her feet also. Felicia, for her part,
could not take her eyes from the body of the maid who had, without a doubt, been murdered.
“Who on earth would do such a terrible thing, Lord Beaumont? She was so nervous, so ill at ease, who in this world would not have simply taken pity on her? Who could be so cruel?” She said, blinking fast as her eyes filled with hot, stinging tears.
“Perhaps you really ought to…”
“No, I will not leave you and I will not leave poor Daisy.” She said, her voice determined as her eyelids flapped fast like butterfly wings.
“I wonder if somebody broke in? The glazed doors in this room are rather notorious for their unreliability.”
“Actually, they have been forced, Lord Beaumont, see?” Felicia said, glad for a moment in which to be practical, to be of some use.
It seemed somehow to help her recover herself, to tamp down her sadness at least for long enough to do something that would help poor Daisy now. Felicia had an urge, almost a yearning, to deliver justice for the young maid.
“Oh yes, I see. It looks as if somebody has levered it from the outside and leaned their body against it to force it open, splitting the wood around the lock.” He said and seemed equally relieved to have some distraction from the raw emotions of finding a human life extinct.
“Is there anything outside? Is there anything to see?” Felicia joined him and they stood side-by-side peering out through the glass. “Perhaps we should have a look?” She turned to look up into his face and could see that he was managing, and managing well, but there was sadness there for the young woman on the floor.
Something about his expression spoke of an inherent kindness, a decency which made her like him all the more. Not once had he shown relief that the murdered woman was just a servant and not one of the guests.
He opened the door fully again and the two of them stepped out into the cool morning air. She turned back for a moment, remembering how she had dropped her shawl on the rug just inches away from Daisy’s body. It did not matter now; a little cold air would do her good.
The Secrets of Scorton Hall: An Historical Regency Romance Mystery Page 4