An Untimely Death

by Blythe Baker

  I paused, considering.

  The last time I could remember his presence in the estate…

  “It must have been just after Christmas,” I said, turning to look absently out the window. “The snow still dusted the ground. I remember the butler, Mr. Hendrick, taking the pines out back to cut them up after the decorations had been stripped off.”

  “That has been some time ago, has it not?” Mr. Jerome asked. He shook his head. “I hate to voice it so openly, but we may very well have our culprit.”

  I swallowed. Debt…money…

  It certainly could be a believable cause for murder.

  “What do we do now?” I asked.

  “We must be patient, I suppose,” he said. “And wait to see if an opportunity presents itself.”

  10

  The tension in the household seemed to be mounting with each passing moment. The funeral had concluded, and yet, only a few of the guests had departed. I had expected that most of them would leave.

  “It’s just as I thought,” Mrs. Montford said after Mr. Hendrick came to deliver the morning’s news to her. “They all expect to receive something from my husband’s will. Until it is read this afternoon, they will not budge.”

  I stiffened behind her, partway through brushing her hair out.

  Mr. Hendrick bowed his head. “It seems that way, my lady.”

  Mrs. Montford sighed. “No one has yet to offer up any plans to leave?”

  He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I am sorry. I had hoped over dinner last night, but it seems they plan to stay.”

  Mrs. Montford’s expression hardened in the mirror.

  She must have seen the unease in my face because her eyes flicked upward to me and narrowed. “What is it, girl?” she asked. “Why do you look so sullen?”

  I hesitated. “Oh…it’s nothing, my lady.”

  She continued to stare at me. “Come now, don’t lie to me,” she said. “What have you heard?”

  My face turned pink, and I did my best to busy myself with her hair, even though the brush now passed easily through the strands. “It is not what I have heard, exactly,” I said. “But could you not simply…ask them to leave?”

  Surprisingly, Mrs. Montford’s shoulders sagged. “I wish it were that easy,” she said. “I would receive one of two reactions from this lot. Either they would be overly worried for me and say they must stay so that I should not be alone, or they would be quite offended. And it would not do to upset some…particular members of the family. At least, not until the will has been read.”

  I had never seen a family that was more concerned about the will than the funeral itself. What did that say about the people that had come? Did they care so little for the Colonel? Or were they simply more greedy than sorrowful?

  Mrs. Montford glanced back up at me in the mirror, but she did not ask any further questions.

  I was grateful, because I did not think I could lie to her if she were to address anything that had to do with Mr. Jerome…or the Colonel’s death.

  “And what of the Chief Constable?” Mrs. Montford asked Mr. Hendrick. “Have there been any further messages from him?”

  I could hear the vulnerability in her voice. There has never been a question in my mind that she wants to know the truth, but she is beginning to lose hope.

  The butler dipped his head, averting his gaze. “No, ma’am. I am sorry.”

  “Very well,” Mrs. Montford said. She straightened a bit in her chair, her expression placid once more. “I will be quite happy with it pinned out of my face, Anna. Then, I must entertain the guests for the next several hours until it is time to leave.”

  Knowing that the will would be read today put a new fear within me. Did Mr. Jerome know? All I could think of were his words of warning, saying that once the will had been read and the guests left to go home, it was likely we would never find the culprit.

  I did not know where to look. If the authorities had yet to find a lead, was it possible that the killer had done such a thorough job that he would never be found? And if poison had been the method of killing, as I had suspected all along, perhaps the poison had somehow left no trace? The Colonel’s death seemed on the verge of being ruled an accident.

  I might have had little hope left myself if it were not for the last part of my conversation with Mr. Jerome the night before.

  “Perhaps it would be best for us to have some way of communicating without having to speak to one another,” he had suggested. “If we are going to work together on this, it might be best for no one to know.”

  I had already broken that agreement by asking Selina to listen in, but I agreed nonetheless. He was right, after all. A maid having any sort of relationship with the nephew of the lady of the house seemed inappropriate and would not do, even if it was ultimately for my mistress’s benefit.

  Of course, I still was not entirely sure whether I could mark Mr. Jerome himself off my suspect list. But until I was certain, what better way to observe him for suspicious behavior than to allow him to think we were united in our purpose? And if he turned out to be innocent, than perhaps our working together would be for the best…

  With that knowledge in mind, I accompanied Mrs. Montford down to the dining room for breakfast, where the members of the family that remained began to gather, as well.

  Selina had already made her way downstairs ahead of me. She and I had walked away from the parlor together the night before, hardly daring to speak out of fear of someone catching us, as late as the hour had been. We bade one another goodnight, but only after I had asked what she thought of what Mr. Jerome had said.

  Her words in reply had been rather short. “I think we have a great deal to discuss.”

  At the time, with my mind racing as quickly as it was, I had thought little of her answer. I had parted from her and lay in bed for a while, considering everything that Mr. Jerome had spoken of.

  The possibilities of it being this Mr. Barnet rattled me a bit. I had served the man tea every time he visited. I had laughed quietly at his rather silly jokes. I had nearly dozed in the corner as he, Colonel Montford, and Mrs. Montford whiled away the hours of the evening. I found it difficult to believe that he could have been the one. Yet if the last few days had taught me anything, it was that some people were innately greedy.

  Selina’s words came rushing back to me, as I took my place beside her at the buffet, preparing some of the food and drinks for the guests.

  “Good morning,” I said in a low voice, reaching for an empty ceramic pitcher and beginning to fill it with fresh milk.

  Selina made a sound of acknowledgement, arranging a tray with some still-steaming croissants.

  “Thank you again for coming with me last night,” I whispered, taking the small bowl of sugar into my other hand, readying to take it to the table. “I do not believe I could have gone without knowing you were there with me.”

  “Mhmm,” Selina mumbled, turning on her heel and making her way to the table.

  I watched my friend go, her long red plait swishing behind her as she went.

  Is she ignoring me?

  I followed after her, and set the sugar bowl down near Mrs. Montford, as well as the pitcher, which had begun to sweat on the outside. I poured some fresh hot tea into her cup, my eyes darting up to Selina every few moments to see if I could catch her gaze.

  She looked everywhere but at me.

  She smiled at the guests, greeted them, offered them their choice of beverages, and made herself altogether likeable.

  Yet I could sense the frustration in her, the annoyance.

  I knew, without a doubt, that it was entirely directed at me.

  I followed her back to the buffet where we both refilled our arms with items for the guests.

  “What is the matter?” I whispered, loading pastries onto a tray as well as fetching the wooden box of tea.

  Selina finally set her blazing eyes upon me. The green seemed to ignite with irritation.

  “I am thorou
ghly disappointed in you,” she whispered in return. “To speak so freely with someone you hardly know.”

  “Selina, I—” I said.

  She shook her head, turning away, and returned to the guests.

  Guilt swelled up within me like the puffing skin that accompanies a blackened eye.

  I returned to Mrs. Montford’s side, filled with frustration. I had no idea what I had been thinking, sharing more information with Mr. Jerome than I had with Selina.

  I watched her and could feel her avoidance of me. I wondered if anyone else in the room could sense the tension between us.

  I made my way around the table to her, offering pastries to Mrs. Townson as I went. She hesitantly selected one, and I willed her onward so that I might catch Selina as she returned to the buffet once more.

  I hurried over there and stepped up beside her.

  “Selina, it was not as if I meant to hide anything from you,” I whispered hurriedly.

  She looked at me, her eyes narrowing slightly. “This is not the time or place to discuss it.”

  “Yes, but I do not like having you angry with me,” I said. I busied my hands with folding a few more napkins to bring in case any other guests joined us.

  Selina stopped arranging more cups upon her tray and sighed, the dull murmur of conversation from the guests filling the room behind us. “I am not angry,” she whispered back to me. “Though I am disappointed. I—”

  “Anna?”

  Startled, I wheeled around.

  Mrs. Montford stared after me, her expression hardening.

  “Coming, ma’am,” I said and hurried away from the buffet.

  I resumed my position behind her chair, though I continued to look up at Selina. It appeared I had pierced through the icy shell that had separated us, and at the very least, she seemed inclined to speak with me.

  Even as I debated stepping away toward the buffet once more, a movement near the door drew my eye.

  Mr. Jerome entered the room.

  He stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying the dining table before finally meeting my eye.

  His chin lifted ever so slightly, recognition flickering in his gaze.

  For a brief moment, I thought he too would look at me with nothing but annoyance, yet all I saw was…indifference.

  As quickly as he looked at me, his gaze moved away, as if I were nothing more than a chair against the wall. He took a seat beside his mother, who offered him the tray of pastries I had set down beside her, as she had been unable to choose.

  I looked down, disappointed.

  Was it at all possible that I had somehow imagined our conversation the night before? Even the day before?

  Perhaps he has changed his mind and no longer wishes to have any association with me? I wondered.

  That would not be entirely shocking, given my place within Mrs. Montford’s household. I was only a servant, of course, and he was her nephew, a man of a great deal more importance than I.

  There was only one way to determine whether or not I had somehow dreamed it all.

  I stared at him for what might perhaps have been an inappropriately long time for a maid to be looking at anyone, hoping for him to look back at me. Instead, he shared a small laugh with his mother and nodded at something Mrs. Montford said.

  As a test, I briefly touched my fingers to the lobe of my ear and drew my hand down my jawline to the tip of my chin. I hoped the motion would appear natural, nothing to draw attention. An itch, perhaps, or a smudge of something against my cheek that needed cleaning.

  No one seemed to notice.

  I lowered my hand, my heart sinking.

  I looked at him again, and watched as he reached up, laid his fingers against the side of his jaw, and drew them down until he reached his chin.

  The motion, entirely natural, drew no one’s attention but my own. He continued his conversation with his mother, nodding obligingly as she buttered a roll.

  I looked away, relief washing through me.

  “Anna, could you please bring me another egg sandwich?”

  Mrs. Montford’s words drew my focus once more. “Yes, of course, ma’am,” I said.

  I made my way toward the buffet, collecting the egg sandwich for her. I made sure to pick up a small jar of her favorite mustard, as well, in case she wanted to add it to the eggs.

  She gave me a rather curt look and took the proffered jar along with the sandwich.

  I resumed my place behind her just in time to hear Miss Maryanne mention Mr. Barnet’s name.

  “Oh, he was in quite a mood yesterday, was he not?” she asked, casually draping herself over the arm of her chair, her heavy-lidded eyes staring along the table at the others. “I thought for certain that either Hendrick would toss him out or that he would make a proper fool of himself in some way.”

  “I am surprised, yes,” Mrs. Townson agreed, spreading jam atop the butter on her roll. “He has always been such a terrible man.”

  “I would not say terrible,” Mrs. Montford said in a small voice.

  Mrs. Townson turned her attention to Mrs. Montford, her brows rising. “No? And why not?”

  Mrs. Montford set her spoon down. I noticed how she had hardly touched her porridge or the egg sandwich she had just asked me to fetch for her. “He has spent a great deal of time in my home,” she said. “And he has been nothing but kind to my husband and I.”

  Mrs. Townson’s brows lifted all the way to her hairline, and she looked down at her bowl.

  Miss Maryanne, too, seemed as if she knew a secret joke that she did not wish to share.

  The tension became palpable once again, and the only sound in the room was the clink of the few dishes still being consumed. Most of the guests had stopped to watch the conversation unfold, as Mrs. Montford had not been terribly forward with her thoughts.

  “Let me guess,” Mrs. Montford said in a low, dangerous tone. “I suppose you now wish to accuse Mr. Barnet of killing my husband?”

  The loud clatter of a spoon falling against the edge of a plate made me jump, my already anxious heart leaping in my chest.

  “Why, I would never—” Miss Maryanne began.

  “Save your breath, Maryanne,” Mrs. Montford spat. “I do not wish to hear it.”

  Maryanne’s eyebrows shot upward, and she leaned back as if she had been struck. “All I meant to do was make a little polite conversation,” she said. “I thought you might welcome it.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Henry Montford, his moustache wiggling as he looked at my mistress. “We are your family. We know how terrible you must feel right now. We simply want to help. Perhaps give you a distraction. Or some comfort.” He shot a look at Miss Maryanne. “Even if some of us cannot seem to understand precisely how to do just that.”

  I felt a wave of warmth for Henry Montford, wishing that the Colonel’s cousin had come round more often. At least my mistress was not entirely alone. Perhaps someone else cared for her more than I had expected.

  “Do not blame me,” Miss Maryanne said. “Mr. Barnet’s behavior spoke for itself, did it not? The way he went on and on and on…”

  “About?” Mrs. Montford asked.

  Miss Maryanne’s eyes narrowed. “Why, the reading of the will, of course,” she said.

  I felt a pair of eyes on me, a feeling that burned with a sharp focus, as infrequently as it happened.

  I glanced at Mr. Jerome, whose eyes were fixed upon me, and I saw the same concern reflected there that I had.

  A prickly silence swept over the room.

  I stiffened behind Mrs. Montford, who pushed her empty teacup away from her plate.

  I stepped forward, hesitantly, and scooped the empty cup off the table.

  “The reading of the will, you say,” Mrs. Montford said as I started back toward the buffet along the far wall of the room.

  Miss Maryanne seemed to regain her composure and tossed her bobbed hair. “He seemed to think that he would be inheriting enough from the Colonel to be able to pay off his debt
s.”

  I stopped at the buffet table, partway through refilling Mrs. Montford’s cup, and turned to look.

  Was that truly what he said?

  In my frozen state, I became something like a wall, and Selina bumped squarely into me.

  The cup flew from my hand, and I watched in horror as the tea sloshed out of the side, cascading all over the side of the buffet, sprinkling the wall, and coating the rug beneath my feet.

  My face burned as I hurried down to the floor, fumbling in the front pockets of my apron for a handkerchief.

  A different handkerchief appeared in front of me, and I looked up to see Selina kneeling beside me, her face obscured by her braid.

  “Come with me,” she whispered under her breath as we dabbed the last of the tea off the floor, our handkerchiefs soaked through.

  I did not hesitate. Mrs. Montford was certain to be irritated with me, and I did not wish to endure her wrath in front of the other guests right now, especially not Mr. Jerome.

  The door to the dining room had barely closed when Selina rounded on me, her green eyes blazing. “Anna, my heavens, what has gotten into you?”

  “I do not know,” I mumbled. “The cup slipped, and I—”

  She let out a groan of frustration. “You must be more careful,” she said. “Lest you draw our mistress’s attention. I do not want you to get into any trouble.”

  I nodded. “I do not want that, either,” I said.

  “Then stop all this nonsense,” she said. “Stop trying to involve yourself in these matters about the Colonel. Clearly, it is distracting you from your work.”

  I thought of Mr. Jerome in the other room.

  Surely, he could handle matters on his own now…could he not?

  “You are right,” I said. “I should forget these ideas about the Colonel’s death and focus on my tasks. And I ought to apologize to Mrs. Montford.”

  Selina nodded, crossing her arms. “You certainly should.”

  I glanced toward the door, my heart sinking.

  This is for the best, I told myself. Besides, I am certain my involvement is not truly needed.

  11