by Blythe Baker
After working for her these four years, perhaps I should have known her better. The thought unsettled me somewhat, but I brushed it aside as nothing more than another feeling amongst the tumult of the day’s events.
Mrs. Montford sighed again and shifted ever so slightly in her seat.
I licked my lips, gazing out the window. I knew that I might very well have to stand beside her this way for hours. Too uneasy to move, I straightened my back and planted my feet, knowing very well that if I moved, it would draw her attention and send a ripple through the tension in the room.
Perhaps it would be beneficial for Mrs. Montford to maintain her routine. Perhaps it would be wise for me to voice that thought. A bit of distraction might very well be good for her.
“Shall I prepare your bath, Mrs. Montford?” I asked, taking a step toward her washroom. “I would be happy to fetch you some lavender from the garden, and I know that Mrs. Rose fashioned you some new herbal soaps.”
She said nothing.
“Or perhaps I could send for something for you to eat from the kitchens?” I asked. “I’m sure that Mrs. Rose would be all too happy to prepare some of your favorite honey cake. Or perhaps you would fancy something lighter, like a—”
“I am fine, thank you Anna,” Mrs. Montford said with some of her familiar curtness.
I relented.
Some time passed, and while it felt like an hour, the clock on the mantle over the fireplace told me that it had only been ten minutes. Mrs. Montford’s stillness, while understandable, continued to unsettle me further and further. Would she prefer I wait there and do nothing?
Or did she perhaps wish for me to do something that I was simply unaware of?
I debated asking her, as the time continued to tick past and I remained motionless behind her. She did not want anything to eat and she said nothing about her bath… What could she possibly need, then?
I could turn down her bed and find her a clean nightgown. I could switch on the lamp and put a book by her bed.
She seemed entirely alert, however. Given the day she had, it was far more likely that she would not want to retire for some time, if at all that night. What would await her apart from a restless night and nightmares?
I was not certain that I would want to be alone, myself.
What if the Chief Constable had been correct in his thought that whoever had killed the Colonel might linger in the house to do further harm. What if that same person was after my mistress as well? It was not entirely out of the realm of possibility.
What must she be thinking right now? I thought. Tempted as I was to ask, I allowed myself to simply wonder.
Although…was that what my lady wanted?
“Mrs. Montford,” I chanced. “Is…everything all right?”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were the wrong ones.
She stiffened in her chair, and I felt the temperature of the air drop a few degrees.
“Of course everything is not all right. I have lost my husband. You would do well not to ask foolish questions,” Mrs. Montford scolded, though I noticed the lack of bite to her words. She did not even bother to turn and look at me.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said in a small voice. “Excuse me, ma’am. I did not mean—”
She held up her hand, silencing me at once.
I dipped my head, the heat in my face spreading down my neck.
Mrs. Montford sighed and then shook her head. “The house feels rather empty, now,” she said, and her voice sounded the same.
Her statement weighed heavily.
I waited, unsure how to respond.
“And yet…” she said, the tip of her fingernail scratching at the arm of her chair. “I feel as if I am not as devastated as I should be.”
It took a few moments, but as her words settled over me like sediment in a calming river, I realized that it was not at all what I had expected her to say.
I stared at the back of her head. Here I had been grieving for her, imagining that she must be suffering over the loss of the Colonel. Yet she admitted that she was not as upset as she ought to be?
“It is perfectly natural that my lady would feel…well, numb,” I said. “The shock has yet to wear off. You need not punish yourself for not feeling more—”
“Numbness is not the problem,” Mrs. Montford said. “I know myself. I know how I have felt about the Colonel for many, many years.”
Is she about to reveal something that she has shared with no one else? I thought, worry creeping up.
“Do not get me wrong, girl,” Mrs. Montford said. “I am grieving and shall continue to grieve the loss of my husband. But the Colonel and I, we were married quite young. It was an arranged match. He and I got on well, of course, but I…”
Her words faded away. For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the shifting of what was left of the burning logs in the hearth, sparks scattering into the air.
I remained entirely still, wondering if she thought she had said too much. At the same time, I found myself somewhat curious. She trusted me, of course. She must, after all the years I had spent with her and the frequency with which I remained at her side. This, however, was a different scenario. She told me information that, again, I wondered if she had shared with anyone else.
She let out a short, mirthless chuckle. “We have always gotten on well,” she repeated. “But I never felt a strong sense of romantic love for him.”
For some reason, that surprised me. I knew many marriages were matters of convenience arranged by families. I knew that the Colonel and Mrs. Montford’s marriage began thusly as well. Yet through all the time I had known them, they had always been affectionate with one another. Their marriage had never produced any children, but they always seemed quite content to be with one another.
“He was a dear friend,” Mrs. Montford went on, speaking to the drapes waving gently in the breeze. “I will miss him terribly…”
Her words remained unfinished, but I knew she intended to say more.
I gave her the time to gather her thoughts.
“…I wish I knew who could have done such a horrendous thing,” she said, her hand resting on the arm of the chair balling into a fist. “The more I consider it, the more I agree with the Chief Constable; someone must have deliberately done this to him. Someone must have murdered him, though I am baffled as to how it was possible to go unnoticed with so many people around.”
Once again, I found myself surprised that she seemed so willing to accept the Constable’s theory. Would it not be far easier, for both her heart and mind, to believe that it was simply an ordinary occurrence? That he had died of natural causes?
If it had been my own husband, I would prefer to think in such a way.
Mrs. Montford, however, hardly ever turned away from difficulties. She, like her husband, demonstrated bravery in the most ordinary of circumstances, yet also when it counted.
“What is troubling is that it could have been any number of people,” Mrs. Montford said, shaking her head. “My husband served for many years in the military and he was an important figure in town. A man in his position will inevitably create enemies.”
I pursed my lips. The Colonel had retired some years before I had begun my work in their home, and I had learned little about his time in the military. I had never thought to ask, as he had retained all of his limbs and his good sense of humor. I had assumed, perhaps wrongly, that he had not suffered a great deal during his time serving.
“As Colonel, he held a position of power, which attracts its share of those who are envious or vengeful. However, I cannot think of anyone who has given him any trouble in the last few years,” she said.
My knuckles began to ache, as I squeezed them tightly together. I had nothing to offer to the conversation.
“This entire affair seems to have come out of thin air,” Mrs. Montford said. “All I can think is that it is the result of some…old feud…or something may have happened that I am as yet unaware of.”
&nbs
p; Something happened that she is as yet unaware of…
My stomach twisted, and the knots I had awoken with that morning squirmed like a pile of snakes in the bottom of a bucket.
I had yet to tell Mrs. Montford of my own suspicions on the matter. The servant with the mole on his neck—a servant that others insisted did not exist. As much as I felt that the server and the Colonel’s death had something in common, how could I be sure?
A thought struck me, suddenly. Something that Mrs. Montford had said.
The Colonel had a great deal of power and had attracted many enemies. It was highly likely that those enemies also had power, or at least some form of authority.
Thinking of it now, it seemed to make little sense, if any, that someone on the staff would have been the cause of his death. Why wait until now, other than to make a statement? If someone on the staff had such a problem with him, why wouldn’t they have killed him in secret when there were not so many people to witness the event?
The knots twisted tighter.
It sickened me to consider that someone would have wanted such a spectacle to be witnessed.
I thought of my conversation with Mr. Hendricks about the man I had seen serving the drinks. The more I considered it, the more I wondered if the man was not someone on the staff at all. If Mr. Hendrick and Selina had no recollection of any of the servants having such a blemish on his neck, a mole the size of a fingernail, then it was likely none existed. Both of them had resided at the manor longer than I had.
If that were the case, though, would it mean that someone had slipped into the party and disguised himself as a servant in order to serve the Colonel a poisoned drink?
The idea seemed farfetched, but the whole situation was just that as well.
“About that bath…” Mrs. Montford said with a small glance over her shoulder.
For the first time, she met my eye.
“The lavender and the herbal soaps sound very soothing now.”
“Right away, ma’am,” I said, bowing my head. “I shall get it ready for you.”
5
The news of Colonel Montford’s death spread through the county rapidly. I had expected nothing less, given his prominence in the community and his friends in high places. A lovely obituary had been written for him by the editor of the village newspaper, who had been a longtime personal friend. Flowers filled the dining room—being delivered what seemed to be every hour—along with written condolences for Mrs. Montford. The fragrance turned my stomach, reminding me of the impending funeral and all the preparations still needing to be tackled.
Along with the flowers, however, came the arrival of members of the Montford family.
“I cannot say that I am surprised,” Mrs. Montford said. “Living within the county makes it easy enough to take the next available train.”
Even those who had arrived from London seemed to concern her little. She had them all put up in the various guest rooms of the estate, and when those were full, sent them to town to stay at the inn.
I did wonder if it would have been kinder of them to have waited until the plans for the funeral had been finalized, but it seemed that the members of the family were less than considerate. I did not voice these thoughts, of course, but I paid special attention to Mrs. Montford’s mannerisms and took care to fulfill her every request as quick as possible so as not to add to her already mounting exhaustion.
As I helped her to change for dinner in the evening, where she was to have far more company than she had initially expected, I exchanged a nervous glance with Selina who had come in to assist me. I had shared as much as I dared with her about Mrs. Montford’s confession to me the night of the Colonel’s death. Short of sharing her lack of romantic affections, I told Selina everything, including Mrs. Montford’s suspicion of the person responsible being someone the Colonel knew, perhaps an enemy of his.
To Selina, that had made perfect sense. She explained that while the Colonel was respected by many, even as far off as London, there had been times when the family had been in public and received cool glances and curt remarks from others in the vicinity. When I asked her if any of those resentful people could have been the ones to have killed the Colonel, she said any disagreements seemed more like rivalries, petty and shallow. She could think of nothing that someone would go so far as to kill over.
It made me think once again about the mood that the Colonel had been in the morning of his death. I became all the more convinced that whatever had irritated him so much had something to do with his eventual demise. No one mentioned it, however, and I wondered if anyone apart from myself and Mrs. Montford knew of the upset that had occurred. I did not see it as my information to share, and as such, kept it to myself.
“You two do not need to be so tight-lipped around me,” Mrs. Montford said, eyeing the pair of us in the full-length mirror that she examined herself in. She had chosen a simple, yet comfortable gown for dinner that evening.
Selina’s reflection straightened and nodded. “Apologies, ma’am. We simply want to ensure that you have the peace and quiet you deserve in between entertaining your many newly-acquired guests.”
Mrs. Montford smirked, which surprised me.
“Thank you,” she said. She spread out her arms at her sides like the wings of a bird, at which time I approached with her favorite grey shawl in my hands.
The same shawl I had been going inside to fetch at the time that the Colonel had fallen ill at the party.
I draped it over her shoulders and helped it to settle over her arms.
“There we are,” I said, smoothing the wrinkles across her back.
She sighed. “Well…I suppose there is no sense in waiting any longer. They shall be curious as to my absence.”
“Mrs. Montford, surely you need only do as you see fit?” Selina suggested boldly. “They can wait. They are in your home, after all.”
“Yes, but they expect—” she said. She shook her head, her brow furrowing. “They expect a great deal, do they not?”
There seemed to be a question hanging in the air.
Selina glanced at me and I shrugged.
“Ma’am?” I asked. “What, precisely, do you mean?”
Mrs. Montford turned and looked between us.
“I thought it would be obvious,” she said, almost flippantly. She started toward the door and then paused before she reached it. “It is no secret that the Colonel had wealth to his name, money he inherited from his family. Naturally, many in his family will be clamoring for knowledge of who that inheritance will be distributed to.
My stomach plummeted to my feet.
“They came for money?” I asked.
Mrs. Montford’s gaze sharpened, and for a moment, I saw an echo of my mistress as she always had been. “You girls are young yet and have not been injured by the world as I have. You have not yet come to the sad, discouraging realization that most people only desire to have their own needs met. When they do, they then seek to further their comforts. My family downstairs…I have yet to see where their hearts truly lie. The coming days will tell, and I will see if their loyalties are with my husband or with themselves.”
That seemed a pity. It was not as if she did not already have enough trouble to deal with.
“Enough of the long faces,” Mrs. Montford said. “I am perfectly capable of handling them. “Let us go down.”
Selina and I followed her from the room and down the stairs.
Voices filtered up through the foyer, and as we drew nearer, my heart began to beat quicker. I had yet to meet a great many of these new guests, but the sheer amount of noise and energy throughout the manor made it clear that we were no longer alone.
“Good evening, Mrs. Montford. I apologize for disturbing you, but I hoped I might have a word with Miss Fairweather.”
It was Mr. Hendrick, and he stood at his post near the door of the dining room, as he typically did before dinner.
What could he possibly wish to say to me?
“Certainly,” Mrs. Montford said. “Anna, come in when your matters are finished.”
I watched with growing dread as Mrs. Montford entered the dining room, Selina slipping in after to serve at the table. My friend gave me an apologetic look and glanced briefly at Mr. Hendrick before disappearing within.
I swallowed, turning slowly to Mr. Hendrick as the doors closed.
Did Mrs. Carlisle wish him to scold me? Had I somehow angered Mrs. Rose?
“I thought I should tell you that I did some investigating,” Mr. Hendrick said. “About this mysterious server you seemed so interested in.”
My fear dissipated slightly as I looked up at him in surprise. “I see,” I said, cautiously.
“At the behest of the Chief Constable, I asked around the kitchen and the stables. I also questioned the maids and footmen. I gave them the same description you shared with me. This man… He does not exist.”
I stared up at him, uncertain how to respond.
I did not feel disappointment, at least not on its own. It mingled with curiosity and even a bit of suspicion.
I know what I saw that day. Whoever served the Colonel last had that mole on his neck.
This furthered my thought that perhaps the man had indeed snuck in and impersonated one of the staff. That would explain why no one knew of this person within the household.
“Oh…” I said. I did not know what to say. Should I apologize? Would it be more appropriate for me to thank him?
His brow furrowed, and he leaned in a bit closer. “I want it to be perfectly clear how much I dislike having my time wasted in such a way. I will ask you not to be so thoughtless again.”
“Of course,” I said, ducking my head. “Please accept my deepest apologies.”
His eyes narrowed. “Now get back to the mistress. She will have need of you.”
I did not delay any longer. I turned and pulled the door open, hurrying inside.
Shock washed over me as I found myself staring at a nearly full dining table. I had almost forgotten the hubbub with all the guests in my dread of the conversation with Mr. Hendrick.
Mrs. Montford had taken her place near the head of the table, just to the right, where she always had sat beside the Colonel. As homage, his seat remained empty, which felt strange.