by Kate Pearce
“Get on with you, lad, and be more careful next time.” Mr. Morris sent Benjamin on his way with a slap on his back. “Tell Mr. Drake that you’re done up here for now.”
“Thank you, Mr. Morris,” Benjamin muttered as he navigated the first awkward turn down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen. Being ordered around like a lackey was also a new experience, but not one he tended to enjoy.
By the time he put the tray on the scullery table, his arms and shoulders were aching. Mary turned around from the sink and made a face.
“Drat. I thought I was done.”
“Let me help you.” Benjamin took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and brought the first stack of plates over to the wooden draining board. “Scraps in here for the pigs?” He pointed at the bucket below the water pump.
“Yes, please. And can you put the cutlery in the first sink and everything else in the second?” Mary gave him a sideways glance as he scraped the plates. “You don’t have to be doing this, you know. You’re a valet, not a kitchen boy.”
“A valet with no one to valet,” he reminded her as he plunged the dirty silverware into the surprisingly hot water. “I’d much rather help you than be sent back upstairs.”
“I can’t see why. It’s far nicer up there.” Mary paused. “Apart from all the ghosts, of course.”
“I think I just met one,” Benjamin confided to her. “A large, portly gentleman with a red beard and hair, dressed in the style of the late King Henry VIII.”
“That would be Benedict,” Mary confirmed. “He usually only appears to those he believes he can help find love.”
“Then I’ve no idea why he stopped that wine glass from tumbling to the floor.” The ghost had told him to seek out Henrietta and keep her safe. Perhaps his admiration for her was more obvious than he imagined.
Benjamin couldn’t help but notice how red and cracked Mary’s hands were. He nudged her shoulder. “Move over. I’ll wash for a while.”
“Are you sure?”
He pointed at her hands. “Yes. Your knuckles are starting to bleed.”
She winced as she regarded them. “I’ll have to ask Cook for her special ointment.”
“Why don’t you go and do that while I finish up these dishes?” Benjamin suggested. “I’ll be finished in a trice.”
“Are you sure?” Mary looked doubtfully at him. “It’s not really your place—”
He waved her away. “Go on. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”
In truth, he’d never washed a dish before in his life, but it wasn’t that difficult. He regarded the row of pots currently simmering on the stove and grimaced, imagining how much Mary would have to deal with before the day was through. How would he like being stuck in the dark, damp castle kitchen for days on end?
He wouldn’t like it at all.
He made another mental note to check the management of his kitchens when he next went home to London. Seeing life from the other side of the green baize door was proving enlightening in many ways…
Chapter 3
“Henrietta? Will you come in here, please?” Mrs. Bray stood at the door of the housekeeper’s sitting room, Mr. Morris beside her. Both of them were looking rather grim.
“Yes, of course.” Henrietta checked to see if Benjamin was in the kitchen, but there was no sign of him. She’d left him there when she’d gone to put the greenery in the outside scullery. Had something happened? Had they been spotted kissing at the culvery?
Mrs. Bray closed the door behind Henrietta and stood in front of the fire, hands clasped at her waist.
“There has been a…theft.”
Henrietta glanced at Mr. Morris, who nodded. “Indeed.”
“Of what exactly?”
“A very valuable necklace called the Eye of India.” Mrs. Bray grimaced. “They assume it is one of the servants, but the earl still wants us to conduct a discreet search of all the guests’ rooms, just in case it is one of their own.” She sniffed. “If it is one of us, you can guarantee we’ll be hauled up in front of a magistrate and sent to the gallows. If it is a guest, I doubt such measures will apply.”
“What can I do to help?” Henrietta asked.
“Mr. Morris and I are going to quickly search the guests’ rooms while the gentry are still at breakfast. I want you to check the servants’ quarters.” Mrs. Bray hesitated. “I suppose it could be one of the visiting servants who has stolen the necklace, but I have my doubts.”
“Who do you think it is, Mrs. Bray?” Henrietta asked rather indiscreetly.
The housekeeper glanced over at the butler. “It’s not my place to cast aspersions on anyone, but I do wonder what Mr. Timothy Cushing was thinking sending that necklace to the castle with his relative, Nathaniel Cushing. The man might be handsome, but he is quite penniless and would probably relish getting his hands on that amount of money.”
“But if Mr. Cushing was the one who delivered the necklace to the castle, why didn’t he steal it earlier and just never turn up?” Henrietta pointed out. “I suspect there is more to the disappearance than we know of quite yet.”
“All I know is that we need to find the darned thing before someone raises the alarm and spoils the weddings,” Mr. Morris said ominously. “The family would be mortified.”
“Then I’ll start my search right away.” Henrietta curtsied. “By the way, Mrs. Bray, I think there are enough pigeons for Cook to make a dozen pies if she so desires. I don’t think we will need to ask our neighbors for assistance.”
“Good. Now get on with you and come back here when you are finished.”
Mrs. Bray still looked anxious, and for once, Henrietta couldn’t blame her. Theft in a household was a serious issue that, if not resolved quickly, would reflect badly on the housekeeper and butler and affect the morale of the staff.
Henrietta trudged up the endless stairs to the very top of the castle and started her search in the maids’ quarters. It didn’t take long, seeing as each room was small and had few places to conceal anything. After making sure she replaced every item she touched, Henrietta moved across to the men’s side of the attics and worked her way through the dozen or so rooms. Some of the castle servants were sharing to allow more room for the visiting staff, which meant piles of belongings to sort through.
After an hour, Henrietta was heartily sick of unwashed garments, smelly stockings, and damp wool. She went into Benjamin’s room last because she knew there would be little to see in there. To her surprise, he’d left a small pile of coins and a signet ring lying on the chest beside his bed in full view. Did the man have no sense?
The ring looked like it was made of heavy gold with a stone-set “S” in the center to use on sealing wax. Henrietta considered it with a frown. Had Benjamin inherited something remarkably fine from an ancestor, or had he appropriated the ring from his employer? It did have an “S” on it… Was it possible that the real reason Saxelby hadn’t arrived at the castle was because Benjamin had prevented him? Or worse, was Benjamin somehow in league with the jewel thief?
She scolded herself for her overactive imagination, and went back down the stairs. She wouldn’t mention it to Mrs. Bray. Benjamin was not the kind of man who would do such a thing. His forthright manner was not designed for concealment. She was allowing the fantastical nature of the castle and its horrid history to distort her normal commonsense.
A clatter of plates and a soft curse made her look toward the scullery to find Benjamin stoically washing dishes in his shirtsleeves. There was no sign of Mary.
She went over to him. “Why are you washing dishes?”
He looked up at her briefly before returning his attention to the sink. “Mary’s hands were bleeding. She went to get some ointment from Cook.”
“The poor girl. I know how painful that can be.” Henrietta picked up one of the cloths warming by the range, and started to dry the stack of plates on the wooden draining board. “I wonder if I have an old pair of kid gloves in my belongings that I could lend her?”
“You don’t have your belongings,” Benjamin reminded her.
“Oh yes, that’s right.” Henrietta sighed. “I’ll have to ask one of the healers in the village if they have something for her instead.”
“I met a ghost today,” Benjamin said as he handed her another plate. “He told me his name was Benedict and to give you his best regards.”
“Did he now?” Henrietta smiled at him. “I thought you didn’t believe in such mythical beings.”
Benjamin shrugged. “In this particular locale it seems impossible not to. I owe him my thanks. He saved a glass from falling to the floor that would’ve cost me a week’s wages.”
“That was kind of him.” It was also surprising, as Benedict didn’t often take on a more corporeal form. “I believe he’s been at the castle for a very long time. He was beheaded when he serenaded the wrong queen during the reign of King Henry VIII.”
Benjamin shuddered. “Well thank goodness his head was firmly on his shoulders, and not under his arm, or else I would have thrown the entire contents of the tray at him and put myself in debt up to my eyeballs.”
“Speaking of your current worldly wealth,” Henrietta said. “You shouldn’t leave your coins out beside your bed. Anyone could steal them.”
“My coins?” He shrugged. “There’s hardly anything worth stealing.”
His casual disregard for what most servants would consider a fortune was puzzling and revived her suspicions. “What about your ring, then? Surely you don’t want to lose that?”
He turned to her, water dripping down his forearms, his brown gaze icy. “May I ask exactly what you were doing in my bedchamber?”
“I was…” Henrietta couldn’t tell him what she’d been doing or her grandmother would never let her hear the end of it. And if Benjamin was a thief… “I just happened to be passing by.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Close enough to count my change and examine my ring?”
“They were right in front of my nose,” Henrietta protested.
“If your nose was in my bedchamber along with the rest of you,” Benjamin snapped as he dried his hands, and picked up his coat. “Perhaps it would be better, ma’am, if you kept your person out of my bedchamber altogether!”
His whole demeanor radiated a freezing politeness that was completely at odds with the man she thought she’d begun to know. But there was nothing Henrietta could do about it except curtsey and offer him a frosty smile of her own in return.
“As you wish, sir. I beg your pardon.”
He nodded curtly, marched over to the outer door that led to the stables, and slammed it behind him. Henrietta looked around to see if anyone had noticed their altercation, but, luckily, everyone was too intent on their own tasks. She let out her breath. What had happened to make her plainspoken companion transform into a suspicious and supercilious man? Was he truly hiding something, after all?
Why should she be surprised or hurt? She barely knew him and one kiss didn’t reveal the true nature of a man. During her brief marriage, she’d learned that lesson rather well. She set the last plate back on the dresser. Two weddings and the Yule Ball were being celebrated at the castle on the morrow. If Benjamin’s employer didn’t appear for the events, perhaps it would be time for Henrietta to do some investigating of her own.
Benjamin’s indignation as to Henrietta’s invasion of his privacy lasted all the way to the stables, which was where he finally slowed down and considered what he’d done. She probably thought he was up to no good now, when, in reality, he’d simply been worried that she’d recognized the coat of arms engraved in his signet ring and worked out exactly who he was.
If she had realized who he was, wouldn’t she have addressed the matter? Had he even given her the opportunity? Benjamin groaned and punched the stone wall with his clenched fist.
“Can I help you?”
He glanced up from rubbing his knuckles to see one of the Keyvnor stable lads grinning at him.
“Yes. I wanted to know if the Saxelby carriage has arrived yet.”
“No, it hasn’t, but there is a note here to be delivered to you.”
“Thank you.” Benjamin waited until the stable boy came back with a much-folded letter.
“There’s one for Miss Henrietta, too. All the way from London.”
“Then I’ll take that to her as well.”
The stable lad winked. “Maybe she’ll thank you with a kiss under the mistletoe, eh mister?”
“You never know,” Benjamin replied glumly, aware that the possibility Henrietta might ever kiss him again had probably been lost forever because of his guilty conscience. ”Thank you.”
He opened his letter as he walked slowly back to the house and paused to read the contents.
Sir, the roads are impassable for the carriage. I intend to hire a horse or gig and will endeavor to bring as much of your baggage with me as I can in order for you to attend the festivities in good order. Yours, Robert Fletcher.
Benjamin stared up at the massive bulk of the castle. Well, there was the end of his adventure. Knowing his valet’s dedication to duty, Benjamin’s wedding finery would be here with him on the morrow, if not sooner, and he would no longer be welcome in the kitchens. Two days of being a different man would have to do.
But it was not enough.
Benjamin’s fist closed around the letter as he floundered through a series of conflicting emotions. He wanted more time with Henrietta. He wanted to explain. He had a sense that she might be the only woman on earth who would understand him. But to what cause? She didn’t need him, and what could he offer her?
He abruptly stepped off the path to allow the Duke of Iverfyre and one of the Goodenham sisters to walk past him. They were deep in conversation and quite oblivious to his presence.
Wearily, he continued on to the kitchens, aware that his time was running out and that he owed it to Henrietta to at least tell her the truth before he was revealed as a fraud. He pushed open the massive back door and stepped into the flagstone entrance hall. And what version of the truth would he tell her? That he’d stupidly fallen in love with her the moment he’d seen her? That he wasn’t who he said he was? Which truth would she want to hear, knowing that both of them would soon be leaving this place and would probably never see each other again?
He went into the kitchen proper, smiled at Mary who was sitting by the fire drinking a cup of tea, and looked around for Henrietta.
“She’s in the housekeeper’s sitting room,” Mary piped up.
He held up the letter. “The stable lad gave me this for her.”
“Then put it on the table. I’ll make sure she finds it.” Mary looked up at the ceiling and shivered. “The ghosts are very restless today.”
“About what?” Benjamin paused to listen to the creaks and groans that occasionally sounded rather too human for his liking.
“There is a disturbance here, a source of power that is troubling them.” She spoke slowly, her light blue eyes glowing like sapphires. “Have you ever heard of the legend of the Grimstone?”
“No, I haven’t. Can you not call a priest to exorcise this whole misbegotten place?” A large pot rattled and fell off the rack, startling them both. Benjamin held up his hands and went to retrieve it. “No offense.”
Another pot crashed to the ground inches from his outstretched hand, and he winced. “I take it back. You all have more right to be here than I do.”
Mr. Drake came into the kitchen, followed by two of the footman, and frowned at Benjamin.
“Has your employer still not arrived?”
“He won’t be much longer.” Benjamin held up the note. “He is determined to arrive before the wedding.”
“We shall see about that,” Mr. Drake muttered. “And if he doesn’t, I shall be speaking to the earl about being reimbursed for housing and feeding you.” He glared at Benjamin. “In the meantime, you can make yourself useful. We have to prepare the Great Hall for the weddings tomorrow and the Yule Ball l
ater in the evening. Now come along.”
Benjamin resigned himself to his fate, and, after one last longing look at the closed door of the housekeeper’s room, followed the steward up the stairs into the main wing of the castle.
“I found it.” Mrs. Bray was practically smiling. “The jewel was secreted in the belongings of Lady Daphne Goodenham.”
“Lady Daphne?” Henrietta raised her eyebrows. Her relief at the thief not being Benjamin made her giddy. “I wonder what she intended to do with it? She doesn’t look the type to steal things.”
“You’d be surprised what the pretty ones are like,” Mrs. Bray said darkly. “Some of the guests we’ve had over the years have looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, yet have gotten up to all kinds of shenanigans.”
“Did you tell the earl?” Henrietta asked.
“I did. He thanked me profusely for my assistance and loyalty, and assured me that he would deal with the matter.” Mrs. Bray sighed. “Which means they’ll all pretend that nothing happened after all.”
“That’s aristocrats for you,” Mr. Morris muttered. “One rule for them and another for the rest of us.”
“We’ve got no time to dwell on that right now, Mr. Morris,” Mrs. Bray declared as she straightened her spine. “We have two weddings and a ball to prepare for tomorrow, and then it’s Christmas Day. We’ll all need to pull our weight.”
“I’ll do whatever you require of me, Mrs. Bray.” Henrietta curtsied to her grandmother. “Where would you like me to start?”
After being given an extensive list of duties, Henrietta left her grandmother and the butler celebrating the successful discovery of the jewelry with a glass of port and returned to the kitchen. Cook was issuing rapid orders to her kitchen maids and Mary was busy setting out pots and pans on the kitchen table.
“There is a letter for you, Henrietta. Benjamin brought it in.” Mary pointed at the corner of the table.
“That was good of him.” Henrietta picked up the folded letter and put it in her apron pocket. “Where is he now?”