If he had poisoned her with gas while sleepwalking—intentionally or otherwise—then it was even more likely he had also poisoned his uncle.
Chapter Forty-Three
SUGAR-CAKES
Take Sugar and half again as much Butter, Beaten together, and add Eggs, as much Flour as sugar, a little Cream, some Sherry, a generous amount of Currants and a spoon of shaved nutmeg. Shape into thin round cakes and Prick all over, then bake in a warm oven. Cover with icing Sugar mixed with white of egg and return to oven until Crisp.
These travel well and are good for visiting.
—Lady Diana Caldwell, 1692
It took a lot of sugar cakes to feed a village.
At half-past noon, barely an hour after Tris left, Mrs. Pawley took the fourth pan out of the oven and brought it over to where Alexandra was spreading glaze on top. “Might I pour you more sherry?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Pawley.” The small glass Alexandra had finished was quite enough—just enough, in fact, to take the edge off her disappointment. Just enough so she could smile and laugh and pretend that everything was all right.
Although, of course, it wasn’t.
Now that her investigation had failed, it would never be all right.
More than half a glass of anything alcoholic made her very giggly or put her to sleep. When the cook had suggested they have a wee taste of the sherry before adding it to the recipe, she hadn’t expected to finish the bottle. But Mrs. Pawley was making a good dent in it.
“I’ll just have another myself, if you don’t mind.” The cook filled her glass for the third time and sipped, watching Alexandra swirl the sugary mixture onto the cakes with a knife. “You do that very prettily, my dear.”
“Thank you. My mother taught me how to do this. And my father’s mother taught her, I expect, considering the age of the recipe.”
Mrs. Pawley smiled and sipped again, one eye on all the activity in the kitchen. While Alexandra wouldn’t normally approve of her cook drinking wine while working, Mrs. Pawley seemed unaffected, and she couldn’t argue with the woman’s results. Her meals were exquisite, and her kitchen was spotless.
The woman did, however, have a smudge of flour on her little button nose that Alexandra itched to wipe away. “I know your father was Hawkridge’s last cook,” she said to distract herself, “but did your mother work here as well?”
“Bless her, she did. Started as a scullery maid before she caught m’father’s eye.” The cook’s blue eyes danced. “’Course she became his assistant in short order.”
Alexandra smiled. “I imagine she did like that better than scrubbing dishes.”
“No one aspires to stay a scullery maid long. If a girl cannot expect advancement—”
At the sudden silence, Alexandra looked up from the pan of cakes. “What is it, Mrs. Pawley?”
“I just remembered. We had a scullery maid—Beth, she was called—who went to Armstrong House for a better position. She was here that night—the night his lordship’s uncle died. Will you be wanting to ask questions of her as well?”
“Goodness, yes.” The news lifted Alexandra’s spirits more than an entire bottle of sherry could have done. “How far is Armstrong House?”
“An hour or less on horseback. You’ll just need to follow the river.”
“Lord Hawkridge would prefer I take a carriage.” There was no reason to ignore his wishes completely. He’d doubtless be angry she’d gone at all, but she couldn’t very well ignore an opportunity to solve their problems, could she?
“May I prevail on you to finish these?” She shoved the pan toward the cook. “I have to change my dress, and have a carriage brought round, and find a footman to accompany Peggy and myself.” She was already headed toward the door. “They need only a few more minutes in the oven; when the icing has hardened, they’re done.”
Half an hour later, plans for her journey in place, she returned to fetch a few sugar cakes to bring along with her to Armstrong House. She couldn’t very well arrive empty-handed.
After yesterday’s rain, the day was beautiful. She opened the carriage windows to let in the sunshine and fresh air. Ernest, the footman she’d recruited to accompany her, rode up on the box with the coachman, and Peggy sat with her inside. No sooner had they started rolling than Peggy pulled a basket out from under the seat and began filling plates for them both.
“What’s this?” Alexandra asked.
“Luncheon. You missed breakfast. I won’t have you wasting away from starvation.”
Alexandra laughed, suddenly realizing she’d forgotten to eat. She supposed she’d been too upset to really care. But now that her investigation was open again, she felt famished.
Peggy truly was a dear for taking care of her so well. She piled cold meats, cheese, pickles, and fruits on two plates. “No strawberries for me,” Alexandra told her. “I cannot eat them.”
Peggy handed her a plate before adding a few strawberries to her own. “Why is that?”
“They make my tongue swell and my throat feel tight. It’s really quite dreadful. The last time it happened, I thought I might perish from a lack of air.”
“That is dreadful,” Peggy said, her eyes wide.
Throughout the drive, Peggy kept up a running conversation that required little more than nods and murmurs from Alexandra. Sooner than she expected, they arrived at Armstrong House. Although smaller than Hawkridge, it was obviously the home of a wealthy man. It looked to have been extended many times over the years and was now a sprawling mishmash of styles—medieval, Tudor, Stuart, and more modern.
“Wait here,” she told Peggy. “I shouldn’t think this will take long.”
“Oh, but I haven’t seen Beth in more than a year,” Peggy said in a pleading tone.
“Very well, then. Come along.”
Alexandra put a smile on her face as she approached the door with her sweets. “Lady Hawkridge,” she told the green-liveried manservant who answered, her new name sounding strange on her tongue. “Here to visit with the lady of the house, if you please.”
“Pardon me, but there is no lady. Lady Armstrong breathed her last in the spring.”
Only then did she notice his black armband. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Is there no one to whom I may pay my respects?”
“Lord Armstrong has gone up to London. Only Miss Leticia is at home.”
Miss Leticia Armstrong. Good heavens, wasn’t that the girl who had once been engaged to Tris? Alexandra hadn’t put two and two together when Mrs. Pawley mentioned Armstrong House, but now she was dying of curiosity.
She reached into her basket. “Would you care for a sugar cake?” The footman looked startled but took it, having little choice if he wasn’t to be rude. “Could you please tell Miss Armstrong that I’d appreciate a few moments of her time?”
The man walked off, cake in hand, looking dazed. Behind her, Alexandra heard Peggy try—and fail—to suppress a snort of laughter. Glancing back, she gave her a small smile. She knew it was a bit odd to offer sweets to all and sundry, but the Chase ladies had always done so and been well loved for it, so she wasn’t about to stop now.
“He should have invited us in,” Peggy said disapprovingly.
“You’re right, of course, but I believe he was a bit flustered.”
Leticia appeared a minute later, wearing a fashionable black dress—as befitted a daughter in mourning—and approaching with small, graceful steps that A Lady of Distinction would surely approve. Tall and willowy, she had clear green eyes and beautiful flaxen hair swept up in a sophisticated style.
Try as she might, Alexandra couldn’t bring herself to hate her. She knew what it felt like to lose a mother, and Leticia looked like a perfectly lovely young lady.
Until she opened her mouth.
“John told me you are Lady Hawkridge?”
“Yes.” Alexandra wondered why Leticia’s voice should sound so cold. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Armstrong. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your moth
er.” Curious whether all the footmen here were called John, too, she reached into her basket. “May I offer you a—”
“You’re not welcome here.”
The sugar cake dropped from Alexandra’s fingers. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. The Hawkridge name has been disgraced. Please leave.” Leticia began closing the door.
“Wait.” Alexandra shoved a hand against the wood. She was reeling with shock, but she’d come here for a purpose. “Have you a maid here by the name of Beth?”
Leticia stared right through her.
“Beth is a dear friend of mine,” Peggy said, stepping out from behind Alexandra. “My mistress brought me here to see her.” She lowered her voice, sounding pained. “I…have news concerning her family.”
Peggy, Alexandra thought, was a consummate actress. She almost had her convinced the invented news was dire.
Apparently Leticia did have something approximating a heart, since she nodded at Peggy. “Come inside. I’ll fetch Beth.”
She pulled Peggy in by the arm and closed the door in Alexandra’s face.
Alexandra stood there for a stunned moment, then walked slowly back to the carriage. There was nothing else to do. She climbed inside and waited, fighting the nausea rising in her throat.
Although she’d known she would face difficulties as the wife of a pariah, she hadn’t realized how it would feel to be an object of scorn. She’d expected to be whispered about or ignored, of course, but Leticia had really seemed to despise her. No one had ever despised her before, not in her entire life!
At least, no one who had said so to her face.
Her heart ached for her sisters. This was the treatment they would receive, too. And, unlike her, they had no husbands to love, no one to hold at night to make facing the disgrace a little easier.
It seemed forever before Peggy finally came out. “Beth knows nothing,” she reported even before she entered the carriage.
“You asked her all the questions?”
“Everything you asked everyone else, my lady.” She sat across from Alexandra. “Beth believes Lord Hawkridge died in his sleep.”
“Thank you for trying,” Alexandra said, her heart sinking even more. It seemed Tris’s uncle had died in his sleep. And that was going to make it very hard—if not impossible—to prove Tris’s innocence.
Very hard—if not impossible—to make life better for Juliana and Corinna.
In her dejected state, the ride home seemed twice as long as the ride out. Peggy, at least, was quite solicitous. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, my lady.”
“It’s not your fault.” Alexandra tried for a grateful smile. “I truly appreciate the way you managed to worm your way in there.”
Peggy shrugged. “Miss Armstrong is a witch.”
Although Alexandra agreed, she didn’t think it would be seemly to say so aloud. But though she knew it was wicked of her, she couldn’t help feeling pleased that Miss Armstrong was still Miss Armstrong…still unmarried since she’d abandoned Tris.
“I don’t like to see your heart in your boots,” Peggy said. “Is there anything I can do?”
She really was a dear. “I don’t think so. Unless you can remember anyone else who might have worked at Hawkridge and since left.”
Peggy frowned for a moment, then shook her head. “I cannot recollect anyone else.”
“I think I will talk to everyone again, though, and see if anyone remembers any departed staff members. The possibility hadn’t occurred to me before, so I never asked.”
The maid was silent a moment. “If you don’t mind my saying so, my lady…”
“Yes?” Alexandra knew Peggy had her best interests at heart. “Please, speak freely.”
“Well, it’s just that I overheard you and his lordship discussing this last night. Not that I was listening, you understand.”
“We did raise our voices,” Alexandra admitted, chagrined.
“Yes. Well, and don’t you expect he might be upset if you talk to everyone again?”
“I’m sure he will be.” She sighed. “But I must do this. There’s too much at stake.” She ran her fingers along the chain that held her cameo. “I shall have to face his wrath and try to make the best of things.”
Peggy folded her competent hands in her lap. “I could do it for you.”
“Pardon?”
“I could ask all the others and make a list of any departed servants and their current whereabouts, if known. That way you’ll have the information without angering his lordship by asking more questions.”
“Oh, Peggy, would you?” It was a perfect solution. “I’d be forever grateful.”
“Consider it done.” Peggy smiled. “It might take me a day or two, mind you, since I’ll have to work around my other duties.”
“I understand,” Alexandra assured her. “I shall be very undemanding until you are finished!”
Once again, Peggy passed the time with a constant stream of chatter. Although she’d regained a shred of hope, Alexandra felt exhausted by the time they returned home. Perhaps breathing the gas had affected her more than she’d thought, though she was inclined to think it was all the emotional ups and downs of the past few days. In either case, though she never slept in the daytime, she went straight upstairs, changed into Juliana’s nightgown, and took a nap.
Chapter Forty-Four
Tristan arrived home that evening eager to see Alexandra. It wasn’t raining. The problem at the gasworks was finally solved. And he was starving.
After poking his head into the most likely ground-floor rooms and failing to find his wife, he took the stairs two at a time, anxious to see how she was faring after this morning’s mishap.
If it had been a mishap.
But right this moment he didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to kiss Alexandra and hear about her day and share the success of his. Preferably over a large and satisfying dinner.
Vincent appeared, as he often did, to meet him outside his bedroom door. “Your lady is sleeping,” he said quietly.
Concern—and guilt—slammed into him. “Is she not doing well?”
“Peggy says she’s well, my lord, only weary. Shall I arrange for a tray in your room? She may not wish to dress for dinner.”
As usual, Vincent knew instinctively what was right.
“An excellent idea.” Tristan paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Do you know if she went visiting today?”
“She did. She took the carriage.”
That was a relief. If she’d been well enough to carry out her plans to meet the villagers, she couldn’t be feeling too poorly. But he wondered how her visits had gone. While the villagers were dependent on him and therefore didn’t snub him outright, his relationship with them was rather strained. They didn’t like having their lord steeped in scandal.
Then again, Alexandra had his servants eating out of her hand—literally—already. Perhaps she could bring the villagers around, too.
“Did Peggy go along with her?” he asked.
“And Ernest as well, my lord. And John Coachman, of course. I mean Charlie,” Vincent corrected himself. They shared a smile. “Your lady is making a lot of changes around here, isn’t she?”
“Positive ones, I believe.” Tristan was gratified to hear Alexandra had followed his directions. He didn’t know if he could handle any more excitement today. Now that her blasted investigation was over, he just wanted to see if they could settle into something resembling a marriage.
He turned and reached for the doorknob.
“She’s not questioning anyone, either,” Vincent added. “I know you were concerned about that, so you’ll be pleased to hear that Peggy is doing it instead.”
Tristan turned back. “Doing what?”
“Questioning the staff. Peggy came to me earlier, asking if I recalled anyone who might have worked here two years ago but has since left. She’s compiling a list for your lady.”
“Is she?”
“Yes. Isn’t it clever of your wife to widen the search?”
“Quite.” No one had ever accused Alexandra of being dull-witted. To the contrary, it seemed she was too bright for her own good. “She’s not going to find anything, though. My uncle died in his sleep. Of a broken heart.”
“Of course he did. But it’s endearing that your lady wishes so much to prove otherwise.”
Endearing, Tristan thought as he cracked open the door and slipped inside. That wasn’t the word he would have chosen. Exasperating was more like it.
Why couldn’t she stop poking around where she didn’t belong?
She slumbered, huddled on her side beneath the covers, a small lump in his big bed. It occurred to him that now was his chance to dump her onto the floor. But he couldn’t do it. Upset as he was to learn she was still pursuing her folly, after nearly losing her this morning he couldn’t summon the anger he’d felt last night.
But dread of what she might find…that he could summon quite handily.
The room was dim but not yet dark. He walked over and stood by the bed. Her even features were outlined against the white sheets like the profile portrait she’d made of him so long ago.
“Alexandra,” he called softly, half expecting her to sleep on like she had earlier. A hint of that panic came back, the terror he’d felt when he couldn’t awaken her.
This time, though, she opened her eyes and yawned. “Tris?” she murmured sleepily.
She would never know how endearing he found it when she called him that. Yes, endearing. Stubborn fiend though she was.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Not really.” She struggled to sit up against the pillows. “How did everything go at the gasworks?”
“Very well. The construction is back on track.” He sat beside her on the mattress, his weight on the featherbed making her tilt toward him. “How was your day, then?”
“Disappointing.” She sighed. “Mrs. Pawley recollected a scullery maid who’d left for Armstrong House to take a better position. I went—”
“You went to Armstrong House?” He blinked. “I thought you were going to the village.”
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