by Anya Wylde
"Why were you naked in a bush?" Lucy asked fascinated.
"I had a friend whose services were no longer needed, and she got wind of the fact before I had confessed it."
"You mean a mistress," Lucy corrected.
He continued on as if she had not spoken. "Next thing I knew my clothes were stolen, my carriage sent away and I was shivering without a stitch outside my friend's home. I made my way over to the road, and thankfully Mr Sedley's carriage happened to come along. He understood my plight considering he had been at the receiving end of a similar plot."
"You were lucky," Lucy mused. "A man with wit would have never halted a carriage for an unclothed man running around bushes."
He inclined his head. "True. Which is why I am indebted to Mr Sedley and would like to repay him. He did all he could to help me."
"I don't like Mr Sedley," Lucy said recalling the previous night’s incident.
A faint frown creased his forehead.
She turned back towards the cupboard and picked up the rag. "Thank you once again for the candles and the quilt, my lord."
A soft sigh escaped him. "Miss Trotter, things would be much simpler if you have a little faith in my honesty and ability. I will not let you hang if you are innocent."
Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. His dark voice lured her to believe him. Also, it was steadily becoming more and more difficult sharing such a small space with him. He seemed to be engulfing her from all sides … She gripped her skirts, threw back her head and belted out a song.
Yoodle yoodle yoo,
Deedle deedle den.
I am a happy angel,
Who fell from sweet heaven,
My belly full of beer,
Too heavy for wispy clouds to bear,
My fingers too chubby to pluck the delicate harp,
I fell and I fell and I fell.
Yoodle yoodle yoo,
Deedle deedle den.
I am the happy angel—
Lord Adair took a step back. "Miss Trotter, what the devil are you doing?"
Lucy paused. "I am singing, my lord."
"But why?"
“I have been told I have a lovely voice. I can sit nearby when you eat your dinner every evening and sing like an angel. It will sooth your tortured soul."
"My soul is not tortured," he said taking another cautious step back.
"I can play the harpsichord, speak a little bit of French, dance and sing. According to Miss Summer, I make a pleasant and humorous companion. I can pop out now and then to entertain you all for the price of twenty pounds a year. I confess I am offering my services rather cheap but considering the circumstances … My lord?"
Lord Adair had disappeared.
All at once the room seemed to grow bigger and lighter.
Lucy hugged herself, pleased that she still had the power to baffle, frighten or confound people and that Lord Adair was no exception. Considerably cheered she turned towards the bed.
Her eyes widened in shock.
The travel bag which she had been struggling with for the last hour lay open. How in the blooming daisies she wondered in amazement had Lord Adair managed it without her seeing him move so much as an inch towards the bed?
***
The servant's room was not bad, Lucy mused, chewing the back of a pencil. True, she had no window, but the bed was a good size and in the corner she even had a chair.
She pulled out what was left of the pencil with a loud pop and began scribbling on the sheet of paper. Anyone could have stolen the jewels. The thief had a whole day and night to do it. The question was how?
She absently scratched over Peter and Lady Sedley's name with the pencil until the names were blackened out. The theft had to have occurred after the murder, since Lord Sedley had worn the key even while bathing.
So, she pursed her lips thoughtfully, he had been murdered, the key taken off from around his neck, the jewels stolen and the key replaced—all within one hour and without anyone seeing the culprit.
Therefore, it stood to reason that the person who killed Lord Sedley currently had the jewels in his or her possession. All she had to do was find the jewels and she would find the murderer.
It was a pity she hadn't been able to search Lord Sedley's room for clues after his death. The valet and the butler had taken turns making sure no one entered the room.
A sharp rap on the door made her jump.
Peter stood near the partially open door.
She shoved the list under the pillow and stood up. "Come in, my lord." A hint of irritation laced her voice. She wondered why everyone now assumed that they could come calling to her bedroom whenever they pleased.
"I am sorry," Peter mumbled at once. "I shouldn't have come."
She waited for him to leave. He didn’t.
After a minute of turning his hat round and round in his hand, he said, "I wanted to ask if you needed help."
Her eyebrow rose. "I am fine. Thank you for your concern, my lord."
His forehead creased. "My lord … it sounds odd. I am still not used to being Lord Sedley … I wish …" He trailed off.
"Is there anything else?"
"No." He turned to go but seemed to change his mind. He jerked back around and asked in a feverish voice, "Did you take the jewels?"
"I did not," she replied slowly.
"I see." He did not look like he believed her. The hat slipped from his hand and he bent to pick it up. A slight flush stained his cheeks. His fingertips touched the brim, and he spoke without looking up. "If you ever need help, Miss Trotter, I am here for you."
Lucy blushed in response. She noted once again how attractive he was.
He looked up and caught her eye. "If you need to run … I can help."
The blush melted into confusion. She shook her head.
He waited for her to speak, and when she didn’t, he bowed and departed.
Lucy walked over to the door and closed it. She pressed her forehead against the dark wood in confusion.
Why did Peter want to help her? Why would he want his father's murderer to escape?
And if he did want to help her, then all he had to do was to send Lord Adair away and stop the investigations … or could he?
Was Peter Sedley in love with her? Is that why—?
She quickly stamped out the last thought. She needed to focus on one thing at a time, and currently her aim was to search all the servants' rooms.
Peter Sedley was a tangle that could be unravelled at a more appropriate time.
Chapter 21
Lucy paused mid crawl. She was on her way up to the attic to rummage through the maids belongings, but the sight of Lord Adair in his room arrested her.
She moved closer to the slight opening in the door and inched her nose inside.
Lord Adair was resplendent in his dark evening attire. His eyes were closed, hands folded, and he was standing on his left leg while the other hovered in mid-air. And as she watched, he slowly switched legs, now standing on his right leg.
She shook her head. The man was supposed to be investigating. He was meant to catch the murderer and save her neck from the noose. Instead, he was doing the most demented things, and come to think of it, she had never seen him prowl, nose or sweat for clues.
"Hurry before the maids return from dinner," he drawled without opening his eyes.
She stifled a gasp and stared hard at his eyelashes. They were thick, casting feathery shadows on his cheeks and definitely resting against his skin. Could the man see with closed eyes?
"Stop goggling," he urged, his eyeballs shifting urgently behind tightly shut lids.
Lucy's nose quickly retreated from the room, and taking his advice she sprinted up the stairs.
Half an hour later she stood glaring at the room in the attic. She had poked and prodded the bricks in the wall, peeked under the mattress, explored the insides of the chimney, tried to lift the wooden floorboards, looked for an opening at the back of the cupboard, checked under the dust laden r
ug and even inspected the bottom of the basin.
She had found a few coppers, a pair of Lady Sedley's lost satin slippers, Elizabeth's missing rouge pot, a broken comb, old ribbons, and for some odd reason Ian's favourite breeches and shoes.
She huffed in annoyance. Her long brown hair had long escaped its pins, her face and hands were coated with soot, and in spite of it being midwinter she was sweating.
Jabbing a tongue between the gap in her teeth she paused to think.
Jenny, who had normally dusted and swept Lord Sedley's room and had deftly avoided his lusty kisses, was Lucy's main suspect. The young buxom girl could have taken the key out while consenting to a kiss. She had sharp eyes, quick fingers and was said to be ambitious.
Or it could be Susie who shared the room with Jenny. Though not as pretty and a good deal more bitter, she too had reason to visit Lord Sedley's room. She did the laundry and made up the beds.
Lucy squinted at the two neat little beds, the small cupboard, and the two polished chairs by the low window hoping to scare the jewels out from their hiding.
The jewels did not leap out in fright, and she gave up and decided to go back to her room to meditate.
***
As soon as she entered her room, the two pups came rushing towards her. They were wagging their tails so hard in delight that their entire body seemed to shake from side to side. One even toppled over in excitement.
She offered them her feet to play with as her hands were busy holding her head in despair.
The pups started worrying her ankles. She sighed and picked them up.
"My ankles are mighty worried already," she told them.
They wriggled in her grip trying to stuff their tongues up her nose.
"Now listen here you … dogs? Pups? Creatures?" Lucy cuddled them closer. "Peter should give you names."
The pups gave a short bark of agreement.
"Where was I?" she mused, scratching behind a pup's ear. "Ah, yes, I was wondering who stole the jewels. Do you know, I don't think the maids did it or for that matter any of the servants. Why would a servant stab the old man, steal the jewels and then continue to stagger around the manor waiting to be caught and hung? If it were me, I would have stolen the jewels, hopped into Lord Adair's balloon and taken off to a faraway land."
Here Lucy's eyes glazed, her mouth dropped open, and a bit of drool escaped the corner of her mouth as she daydreamed about holding sparkling diamonds, rubies and pearls in her hand while she floated away from Rudhall Manor on a travelling balloon.
The clouds floated by, the wind stroked her hair and her beautiful crimson gown flowed around her. The handsome face of Lord Adair appeared in front of her, his long lashes fluttering, his dark eyes inviting. Behind him rose two giant wings made up of multiple layers of soft white feathers that shimmered in the sunlight. He beat the wings and smiled at her before pulling out a four foot needle and piercing the balloon—
"Oof." She snapped back to the present. A pup had playfully bitten her finger a little too hard.
She nudged the animals off her lap and stood up and stretched. Once again she turned to the pups and asked, "Why would any of the servants stay after stealing the jewels? Unless they were to gain something further by staying here … For instance, the ingratiating butler. Hodgson knew Lord Sedley's habits well. He has been at Rudhall the longest, and if any secret passages lead in and out of Lord Sedley's room, then he would know it." She thoughtfully tapped a cheek with her finger. "What if Hodgson has stolen the jewels and is waiting to take the money left to him in the will before he bolts?"
The pups wagged their tails encouragingly.
Lucy started pacing the room, her mind leapfrogging from one thought to another. The cook Mary and her helper Rose rarely ventured out of the kitchen, while Sam came in the morning for odd jobs and left by evening. The cook had mentioned that Sam had spent the day of the murder chopping wood and had only come in for a cup of tea in the afternoon.
She sucked on her bottom lip and imagined all the servants standing in a line dressed like pirates. They all had a wooden leg, an eye patch and wore nasty sneers.
Which one, she wondered, looked the most evil?
She growled low in her throat. They all looked like blasted crooks. Each one of them looked like a high class, professional criminal. Every one of them was capable of offing not only Lord Sedley but a whole bunch of rich old men.
She gasped.
What if they were all in it together? It could be a plot masterminded over the years to do away with the lusty old aristocrat. The valet would marry Lady Sedley and after that it was only a matter of time before the rest of the family was killed. First, Elizabeth would be pushed off a cliff. Then, Ian shot in his empty head. And as for poor dear Peter…
Oh, Peter, Lucy silently wailed, the worst would be planned for you. One day, the evil servants would casually mention the circus—the circus that had recently staggered into Blackwell village.
The very same circus that had a beautiful performing lion.
They would tell you tales off how unhappy this poor lion was. They would convince you of its miserable, starved plight and then you would cave in and buy the creature.
You would buy the lion, Peter, and then the lion would eat you up. It would eat you, Peter, bones and all. It would polish you off for breakfast, and since you are so slight … it wouldn’t even belch. Oh, no, it wouldn’t even belch ….
The pups whined as if reading her violent thoughts.
Lucy started and blinked back to the present.
She frowned. She was wasting time by aimlessly pacing around and concocting impossible theories. Besides, the musty closed room was dulling her senses.
With a sound of frustration, she flung open her room door.
Nothing would be gained by aimless thinking she muttered to herself as she charged down the hallway.
She had to act she grumbled to the painting of a sheep wearing a white wig. The sheep, it seemed, gave an almost imperceptible nod in response.
She gasped and peered at the painting a little harder. After a moment of staring at the sheep's eyelashes to see if they moved, she gave up and decided to head towards the butler's room.
If the man had stolen the jewels, then she would find them. She would inspect every little hole, every crack and every single aberration ….
She found the butler's room empty of human and ghostly presence. Pleased, she plunged straight into the task at hand. She started inspecting all the holes and the cracks and the aberrations, and it all seemed to be going rather well until the butler decided to stroll in sooner than expected.
He caught her sitting on top of his cupboard scratching at the chipped moulding on the wall with a knitting needle.
He silently pointed to her and then the floor.
Lucy dropped the knitting needle and climbed down from the cupboard with the help of chair that she had balanced on top of a table.
"I saw a spider," she said, her eyes wide and innocent. "I was trying to squish him for you."
He crossed his arms and eyed her grimly.
"Truly," she tried again, this time adding a few helpless blinks.
He glanced at the open cupboard, the upturned vase lying on the bed and the letters scattered on the floor. His lips curled into a disbelieving snarl.
"It was a big spider," she offered half-heartedly. "Massive, in fact. Lots of legs. Ran all over the room."
He jerked his head towards the door, and she meekly departed.
Once outside, her shoulders drooped and she miserably shuffled down the corridor towards her room. This was a terrible turn of events. She had angered her only living ally.
As she passed by the kitchen, her slipper dislodged from her foot scattering her thoughts and bringing her to an abrupt halt. She turned to find Lord Adair holding it out for her.
"What are you doing in this part of the house, my lord?" she asked as she hopped on one foot trying to shove the slipper back in the other.
"I think it's time I learned how to cook."
"Cook? You should be finding the culprit," she exclaimed.
He leaned against the wall watching her in amusement. "Miss Trotter, you seem to be digging a very large hole for yourself. It is impressive really."
She gave up on the shoe and shoved it in her pocket. "What do you mean?"
"You have convinced the family that you are guilty, and now it seems even downstairs your reputation has dropped off a cliff."
She threw a surly look at him and turned to leave.
His hand shot out and caught her arm. He flipped her back around to face him. His voice was low and earnest when he said, "Stop this foolishness, Miss Trotter—"
"I have no reason to trust you," she said breathlessly. "You are Ian's friend, and you admitted you owe him your life. What if he killed his father? Would you save his neck or mine?"
She did not wait for him to reply but wrenching free from his grip hobbled away as fast as her singularly clad foot could take her.
Chapter 22
Lord Adair had been correct in his assumption that Lucy's reputation downstairs had dropped off a cliff, and a very high cliff at that.
Immediately upon her entry into the kitchen eyes narrowed, lips twisted, cheeks flushed, and yet not a single servant looked at her directly. They either examined the roof or the floor or focused their entire concentration on the objects closest at hand.
She had never seen the cook so engrossed in an empty stew pot before, and as for the butler, why, he was glaring at the spoon as if it was his arch enemy.
The servants had decided to give her the cut sublime and the cut infernal all at the same time, and it came as no surprise to her that her request for breakfast was ignored.
But Lucy had grown up in an orphanage and growing up in an orphanage was as good as growing up in the middle of a desert. You learned to see the brighter side of life, to turn a bad thing on its head, and no matter how sparse the basic necessities you learned to make the best of it.
Therefore, like a desert nomad, she hardened herself against the arid looks, sharp frowns and the pooh-poohs and went where the oasis lay.
The servants were ignoring her and the family continued to look through her. Hence, it only stood to reason that when Lucy piled her plate with a generous slice of juicy ham, hot rolls and a slab of pound cake they would continue to ignore her presence.