Summerton (Lady Eleanor Mysteries Book 1)

by Becca St. John

  “You were alone with him,” Summerton finally accused.

  That got her attention. He was finally looking at her, his face twisted into a scowl. “Yes, I was alone with him, as I have been any number of times. We grew up together.”

  A muscle worked at his jaw, clamping his teeth together, no doubt.

  “We went to the blue saloon so we wouldn’t disturb you.” She pushed away from the doorway. “Foolish me, I thought I could catch you going up the stairs before you could reach my empty chambers.”

  He turned away.

  “But, of course, you took the hidden stairway. I’m sorry to have alarmed you. I really didn’t think you would stir. You certainly didn’t when I tried to rouse you.”

  Suddenly he smiled, but it wasn’t a warm and friendly smile. It smoldered, kicking up his lips on one side, as his eyelids lowered halfway. He chuckled. “I don’t dare say what I’m thinking.”

  She shoved at him. “You’re teasing me.”

  “That I am.” He eased, looking a bit chagrined as he ran his hands down his face. “I’m exhausted.”

  “You should go to bed, or would you rather I ring for coffee?” she asked.

  He groaned. “I told the staff to sleep until noon.”

  Caroline followed him to the chairs by the now-cold fireplace. “I think that’s been laid to rest.”

  “Good God! Poor Hitches was caught out in his dressing gown for the second time in as many days. I really should have searched a bit harder on my own.”

  “I’m grateful you didn’t. If something had been wrong…”

  He pulled her up against his chest. “Nothing will happen to you, do you understand? I won’t let it.”

  “Or to you. Do you promise that as well?”

  “Anything, if it pleases you.”

  They stood like that, clasped in each other’s arms, holding each other up as much as embracing.

  “Come on, you. Either go to bed or I will make you coffee myself.” She smiled up at him.

  His brow quirked. “You know how to make coffee?” Keeping her tucked against his side, he led the way out of the study.

  “I can do all manner of things, your grace.”

  He chuckled. “And can you tuck a poor, exhausted man into bed?”

  She didn’t trust that smile. “If he’s old and infirm.”

  “I feel very old,” he warbled, “and infirm.”

  “You’re nowhere near old enough,” she started to tease, but the bells rang, a panicked clamor. Bells rung for fire, emergency, no other time.

  “What the bloody hell is happening now?”

  “Jeremy! It could be Jeremy!”

  Together, they ran for the front drive, others pouring out of doorways, looking out windows.

  “Here, this way,” Summerton grabbed her hand and led the way to the stables. They rounded the corner of the hall to a scene similar to the one they’d found that afternoon. People rushing about, trying to find out what the problem was, when Summerton spotted it.

  A small entourage moved up the path and past the dairy, four men carrying a cloak-covered body on a litter. A small feminine arm dangled down. Lifeless.

  Behind the body, two lads were being hauled along by their collars. Their efforts to escape, futile. They were small lads, outsized and outnumbered.

  “Who have you got there?” Summerton asked, when they reached him.

  “Young Lucy, from the Inn, your grace,” one man called out. “Found in the cemetery. Someone broke into the tombs. She was there, laying atop one of them marble coffins. These two were there as well.”

  “Sarcophagus,” Summerton murmured, lifting the cape to get a look at the victim. Caroline looked around his shoulder.

  “Oh, Summerton,” she whispered. “I know her.”

  His head snapped around. “How?” He pulled her away. “She’s a maid at the inn. How would you know her?”

  Everyone hovered, too close. “She’s the one who fell against me, at the inn…”

  Before she could finish, Lady Eleanor pushed through the huddle around the body.

  “Summerton?” she asked. “There’s been another murder?”

  “Yes, a girl from the inn. She accosted Caroline.” That earned him one of his aunt’s uncanny looks.

  “She didn’t,” Caroline defended. But she had passed her a note. She would have to tell him, but not here, in front of everyone.

  “Ah,” Eleanor nodded. “I see. Perhaps we should discuss this inside?”

  “Yes, Aunt, that sounds reasonable.” He faced the growing crowd. “Put her in the ice house.” Then, he turned toward one of the groomsmen. “Surely, Sir Michael is still here? He should be summoned.”

  Caroline glanced over at the captured lads. “What do you mean to do with them?”

  “Put them in the stable.” Summerton instructed.

  “Are you certain?” Lady Eleanor asked, as she lifted the chin of one, looked into his eyes, speaking almost to herself. “I don’t think the stables are secure.” She moved away with a shake of her head. “Why not put these two in the cellars?”

  “Do you think so?” the duke asked.

  “Yes, quite.” Eleanor smiled sweetly.

  Caroline bit back a laugh. She’d once had a cat with just that smile. What had Eleanor seen in these lads to inspire her to make such a suggestion? They were small. Perhaps too small to be any danger to anyone. No heft to them at all.

  “And send them some food, Summerton. No doubt they are hungry.”

  Summerton snorted. “I believe we all need to be fed.” He headed back to the hall. Halfway there, he realized she and Eleanor had failed to follow. “Come,” he ordered, reminding her of the man who’d courted her. The one who’d expected the world to play out according to his design. Except now she knew it for what it was; focus, a job needing to be done no matter how tired he was.

  “We can question them after breakfast,” he suggested.

  “Of course,” she said, as she joined him.

  “I’ll just have a quick peek at the body before I join you,” Eleanor explained.

  “Is that necessary?” Caroline dealt with all manner of wounds, but a dead body in a dark ice house? She shivered.

  Summerton took her arm. “For some bizarre reason, Lady Eleanor thrills at such tasks. You may shudder, but she will delight.”

  “Ah,” she remembered now, “the magistrate father and late husband. You told me she helped, but surely they didn’t have her inspect the bodies.”

  “She has a talent for finding clues, even on the deceased.”

  Caroline blinked, watching, with a new level of respect, as the older lady headed toward the ice house.

  “Do you need anything, Lady Eleanor?” Caroline called after her.

  Eleanor stopped, “Actually, yes,” she said, turning around. “Have Jenny bring my box down. She’ll know what you are asking for, and you,” she signaled a passing footman, “what’s your name?”

  “Tom.”

  “Are you all called Tom?” She shook her head. “Come with us, then, Tom.”

  “Us?” Summerton asked.

  “That would be me.” Sir Michael hurried up to them, waving as he headed toward Eleanor. “Mustn’t keep her waiting. Not a pleasant task, if I say so myself, but needs must be done.”

  Summerton put his arm around Caroline, “We shall go inside,” he told the others, and led her back into the Hall, his hand gently massaging her shoulder.

  A footman scrambled to open the door into the mud room, and Summerton released Caroline long enough to allow her to enter ahead of him, following as she passed through another doorway.

  Once they were both over the narrow threshold, he resumed the intimacy. The weight of his hand buoyed her, easing the chill that had saturated her bones the moment she recognized the maid.

  She shivered again and he pulled her close, sending a new sort of ripple through her—all hot and liquid and just as confusing.

  She eased away, pulling her
shawl up, high against her neck, across her shoulders. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I can walk on my own.” It was a lie. She wanted him to argue, wanted him to put his arm across her shoulders once more. To pull her even closer.

  “Of course. I will escort you to your rooms.” His tone, so cold, she shivered.

  No doubt, she offended him. “Are you going to yours?”

  “Caroline, we’ve now had two murders, each touched you in some way. You are not to be alone.” He gestured toward the staircase they’d reached. “Shall we?”

  He merely meant to lead her to her chambers.

  Private rooms.

  Her bed.

  He would be a gentleman, leave her there.

  She wasn’t at all certain she wanted him to.

  CHAPTER 13 ~ Ancient Halls

  “I say, Lady Eleanor, are you certain you want to go attend that body?” Sir Michael held a large white handkerchief against his nose as they neared the ice house. He likely wouldn’t need it, but Sir Michael had never been keen on decay of any sort, let alone the scent of it.

  “I believe there is mint around the edge of the building.”

  “What good will that do?” he asked.

  “Really, Sir Michael, you are a magistrate. Surely you’ve learned the tricks to viewing a dead body.”

  He shuddered. “Nasty business, if they’ve been left too long.”

  “Precisely.” She picked a few sprigs of mint, unleashing the sweet scent. “This one could not have been left too long if she is local, and Caroline knew her. But just in case, wrap these in your handkerchief before holding it to your nose.”

  “What of you?”

  “I really don’t think it will be a problem, and if it is, I need to know what I’m smelling.” She bruised some leaves, reached up and rubbed the essence around his nostrils. “I used to do this for Eddie,” meaning her late husband, Sir Edward Francis. “It’s good and strong, should help.”

  “Hm.” Sir Michael took a deep sniff. “Willing to try anything.”

  Eleanor smiled and took a deep breath as she crossed the threshold. “She’s fairly fresh.”

  “That’s a relief.” Sir Michael stayed near the door as she went up to the body and lifted the blanket that covered it.

  “Naked? I wonder if she was violated or if this is the result of a tryst gone wrong.” Without looking up, she asked, “Wasn’t the other girl dressed in any number of layers?”

  “Yes.” Sir Michael said, “The doctor didn’t think she’d been violated, though she wasn’t…”

  “Unsullied?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “Precisely.”

  Eleanor moved to the far side of the body. “Help me here—” she nodded to Sir Michael, “—hold the blanket.” He took it, shielding the body from anyone’s gaze but Eleanor’s. “I need light,” she told Tom, who had followed them as far as the door.

  As he ran for a lantern, she tried to lift one of the body’s arms. “Rigid,” she murmured.

  “Ah.”

  “My guess is that she died within the past day, but she was found in the crypt, am I correct?”

  “Yes,” Sir Michael allowed.

  “The weather has been cool and the vault is always chilly, so it may have been…wait!”

  “What?” Sir Michael looked at her from across the blanket top.

  Eleanor pried a thread caught in the girl’s broken fingernail. She moved down to the feet and studied the toes. “Toenails nicely trimmed, so no doubt she cared for her fingernails as well.”

  “Her fingernails are broken?”

  “Ragged.” She looked up, smiling, certain the girl had fought and left them a clue.

  Tom was back with his lantern in hand, brightening the room.

  “You,” she instructed the young man, “bring that light around here, but avert your eyes. The girl’s allowed some decency,” Eleanor ordered as she quickly moved back to the face. Tom kept his back to the corpse, holding the lantern out, between himself and Eleanor. “Splendid!” She adjusted his arm. “Right there.”

  “What are you doing?” Sir Michael had turned pale.

  “Perhaps you’d do better not watch,” Eleanor looked up from examining the girl’s nostrils. “Poor gal, this nose has been broken a few times. None recent. I think there are fly eggs in there, but need…”

  “Here you are, m’lady,” Jenny stood in the open doorway, a large box in her arms. “Do you want the magnifier?”

  “You are a saint, yes, please, and come around here. You can help me.”

  Jenny came around to the far side of the body. “So young and pretty,” she said, as she put the box down on the end of the table, opening it to reveal the sort of apparatus a scientist would use.

  “Shame, isn’t it, m’lady?” she murmured, as she handed over a magnifying glass.

  ***

  “Were you aware that Caroline knows how to prepare coffee?” Summerton asked his aunt and Sir Michael, as the two walked into the family dining room, refreshed and dressed for the day.

  He understood their delay. He felt much better now that he had bathed, shaved, and had tucked in a full breakfast, with numerous cups of coffee.

  “Coffee? She makes coffee?” Sir Michael asked, lifting a chafing lid, as he considered the dishes on the sideboard. “You are quite a remarkable young lady.”

  “Preparing coffee is not a remarkable feat,” she demurred.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Summerton shook his head and reached forward for his cup. “We will decide that when you make it for us,” he teased. “But that will have to wait. I suppose we must descend into the depths of the cellars.”

  “Or we could have them brought up here,” his aunt offered. “I don’t see why we must discomfort ourselves for their sakes.”

  Her suggestion had merit, even though Summerton was fairly certain it had more to do with the young lads’ comfort than a desire to save him a trip to the cellars. He recognized that look of Eleanor’s—her attempt to look humble as she put thoughts in a person’s head. She was rather good at that, but why?

  “You don’t think they did it, killed the girl,” he said, “but they were with her, in the crypt.”

  “They don’t look to have the size or the strength or—for that matter—the motive.”

  “You have deduced this from looking at the body?” he said, his tone clearly skeptical. “There are two of them.”

  “Yes.” She touched her neck. “There was considerable bruising. You can clearly see four finger marks. I do not think a small lad could do that. What about your friend, Caroline?”

  “My friend?”

  “You might as well tell us, Caroline. What occurred when you spoke with Jeremy last night?”

  “Oh, dear,” She put down her serviette, folded it, and creased the folds. “I don’t quite know where to begin without making Jeremy look terribly guilty.”

  “Is he?” Eleanor asked.

  Caroline abandoned her inspection of the table linen to look up at them. “No,” she shook her head. “No, I don’t believe so, but he is very worried about me. He is aware of some danger out there.”

  “I would think so,” said Sir Michael.

  “Yes, well, that is rather obvious,” she agreed.

  “But you don’t think him responsible,” Summerton prodded. “He was injured himself.” Caroline hesitated, before adding, “The girl, Lucy—when she fell against me, she gave me a note from Jeremy.”

  All of the ease he’d begun to feel slipped away, replaced by a bitter cold. “You didn’t think to mention this before?”

  “I didn’t even read it until just before dinner and then…”

  “Yes, so,” Eleanor nodded. “That’s why you had to go to the stables. He told you to meet him there.”

  “At the kennels,” Caroline clarified. “I had no idea anything would happen. Truly, Summerton, you have to believe me. I thought there was no danger.”

  That was the second time she’d said that to him today. He did bel
ieve her. It was Jeremy he doubted. “Why is he here, Caroline?”

  “Because he is in charge of the mills. If we can get those working properly, they can shore up everything else.”

  Yes, she’d mentioned as much earlier. She depended on Jeremy.

  But even as he mulled this over, his aunt surprised him by asking. “Are there many deaths at a mill, my dear?” The comment startled both himself and Caroline, though Michael merely nodded, as if Lady Eleanor was asking what he himself was wondering.

  “It is a dangerous place, Lady Eleanor. Machinery goes awry, clothes get caught in gears, fights happen between workmen.”

  “I see.” Eleanor speared a bite of ham. “What a disagreeable place.”

  “No,” Caroline countered. “It can be rough, but the people work hard for very little. It is the responsibility of owners to see to it that they have a fair chance to live decently after putting in such hard labor.”

  “Hmmm,” Sir Michael murmured, “it looks like you’ve married a Whig, Summerton.”

  Not a topic he cared to discuss. “About those lads,” Summerton rose. “Let them cool their heels a while longer. We still haven’t discussed what the newspapermen had to say”

  “No help for it, they don’t know the source. We are waiting for their editors to release the information. They’ll run off before that information comes to us.”

  “Ha!” Eleanor scoffed. “They have more news here, with the murders, than they would have following the ton around in town.”

  Caroline stood. “They can’t do us any harm, and should help the village tremendously.”

  “What of the murder of Lucy?” Summerton asked. “Did you consider any of them suspect?”

  “No,” Sir Michael responded. “We were still questioning them at that point.”

  “You can know that?” Summerton asked.

  Lady Eleanor signaled a footman for another cup of tea. “Yes, it has to do with the stiffness of the body. The physician has been there and he agrees. Besides,” she waved away other thoughts, “these murders are connected. They’re all about Caroline.”