The Lady Fan Series: Books 1-3 (Sapere Books Boxset Editions)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  Tillie’s mischievous look reappeared. “Well, we know people are apt to get hold of keys, do we not?”

  Which was all too true, keys having figured prominently in the unravelling of the puzzle in his own family last year.

  “You suppose someone possessed themselves of the appropriate key beforehand.”

  “It is possible, you’ll admit. It will be easy enough to discover if one has gone missing. I had best speak to the girl Patty without more ado.”

  “I thought you wanted to search Hannah’s rooms,” Francis reminded her.

  “Yes, and who better to assist me than the maid. I can question her at the same time.”

  The paralysing horror that had gripped Cassie was dissipating, giving place to a feeling of violent nausea. She had drunk but two mouthfuls of the tea Tabby had forced upon her, unable to act or think beyond the appalling fact that it had happened again.

  The arrival of the Reverend Kinnerton had done nothing at first to mitigate her condition. She recalled only his sitting alongside her at the table and holding her hand. She had been aware of his voice, soothing in tone, but his words had not penetrated the fog in her mind.

  Now, as breaks began to filter through the woolly sensation, Cassie realised Aidan had fallen silent. Warmth at her hand brought her eyes down to find it cradled in a comforting clasp. And then the sickness welled up.

  Snatching her hand away, she pressed it with the other at her stomach.

  “What ails you, Mrs. Dale?”

  The tone had a sharpened edge, and Cassie looked up, gasping out her distress. “I am going to be sick!”

  Tabitha suddenly came to life, startling Cassie as she leapt from a chair in the background.

  “Oh, Lordy! Hang on, Miss Cassie. I’ll fetch a basin.”

  Aidan had risen to his feet. “What can I do?”

  “Keep out of the way, sir, if you don’t want it all over your shoes.”

  As Tabby hurried into the kitchen next door, Cassie put her hands to her mouth, pressing tightly as the welling nausea threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Here now, take this.”

  She opened her eyes to find Tabby holding a china basin under her chin. She did not dare release her mouth to seize it. But a pair of strong hands moved in to relieve her of this necessity.

  “I will take it. You may be as sick as you wish now, Mrs. Dale.”

  With a gasp of relief, Cassie took her hands away from her mouth and retched horribly. A little liquid came out, but nothing more, even as the spasms racked her so that she vomited painfully several times more.

  “Nothing inside her, that’s what,” came tersely from Tabby.

  “She is recovering a little, I think.” This was Aidan again. “Will you fetch a glass of water, if you please, Mrs. Hawes. And a cloth.”

  The retching at an end, Cassie sat back, her head lolling uncomfortably as the inevitable sequel of faintness attacked her.

  “You should be in bed,” came on a worried note from the vicar.

  Feebly, Cassie shook her head. Speech was as yet beyond her, but at least the dreadful numbness of shock had left her, along with the purge. She closed her eyes.

  Presently, a cool sensation passed across her lips and about her brow. Opening her eyes, she discovered Aidan gently applying a dampened cloth to cleanse her face. Gratitude swept through her.

  “You are so very kind. Any other man would have retreated.”

  The bright gaze met hers, close and gentle. “Not at all. Only a monster would leave you at this juncture.”

  A glass was put to her lips, and he bade her drink. Obedient to the tone of command, though gently delivered, Cassie swallowed a few drops of the blessedly cool liquid. She began to feel a little recovered, and inevitably the memory swept back, and she gave a little cry.

  Aidan’s brows drew together. “What is it?”

  Cassie pushed the glass away, and he set it down. Unthinkingly, as urgency engulfed her, she groped for his hand, and it closed reassuringly about hers.

  “I must leave this place!”

  He nodded gravely. “Yes, I think you will perhaps be safer at Lady Ferrensby’s establishment.”

  A little sob escaped her as her heart contracted. “Not that. I mean this village. I must leave here altogether. I am too dangerous. None is safe from me.”

  The hand about hers tightened suddenly, and Aidan’s voice became harsh.

  “I will not have you talk so. It is not your blame that someone took it into their heads to use what you saw. Lady Francis says it was a deliberate act to copy your vision and use it to incriminate you.”

  The laceration at her heart did not abate. “So she said of Duggleby. But if I had no vision, none could use it.” Her voice thickened, but she was hardly aware of the threat of tears. “I should not have spoken. I should have kept it inside.”

  “That, perhaps yes,” said the parson unexpectedly.

  Taken aback, Cassie looked at him, the desire to weep receding. “You are a strange man. You seek to comfort me, and yet you do not refute it when I blame myself.”

  A little smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and Cassie experienced the oddest leap in her breast.

  “We must all recognise the extent of our responsibility. The visions you cannot help. But you have a choice about whether to speak out. You did not know it, but in the event, it turns out to have been unwise.”

  A helpless laugh escaped Cassie and broke in the middle. “Now you are making too little of it.”

  “No, I am being truthful.”

  She regarded him with renewed interest, a glow spreading through her veins.

  “I like that in you. My —” She broke off. Her unruly tongue! Too easily she might give it all away. She corrected the slip. “Lady Ferrensby is the same. I can trust her. But she has less patience.”

  “If that means you are minded to trust me, Cassie, I am glad.”

  The use of her name on his lips and a particular note in his voice spoke deeply to something inside Cassie, and for a moment she was overjoyed. Then she recalled the peculiar circumstances of her life, and her spirits dropped. Without thought, she withdrew her fingers from his grasp.

  “Of course I trust you.” Dismayed at the gruffness of her own tone, she looked at him again and tried to smile. “You are a gentle man, Aidan Kinnerton. A gentleman and a gentle man. I will never forget your kindness.”

  A shadow crossed his face, and Cassie felt the full force of his disappointment through the curse of her overactive sensibilities. If only she were worthy! She would give anything to be able to retract her implied rejection, but she could not. She did not trouble to hide from herself what she had sensed. That Aidan liked her more than a little. As she did him, Lord knew! But Cassie Dale had no business encouraging the attentions of this man. They thought her evil, a witch, but she had more heart than to allow Aidan Kinnerton to cherish false hopes.

  He had not spoken again, and his silence reproached her. Cassie cast about for a way through and turned to Tabby, hovering at her shoulder.

  “May I please try the tea again?”

  Her maid’s clucking assent provided a useful interlude, and Cassie was able to turn the subject. Not indeed into a channel any less painful, but at least it had the merit of steering away from matters of the heart.

  “Do they blame me? The villagers?”

  The vicar rose from his chair, an abstracted frown creasing his forehead.

  “As yet there has been no outburst.”

  His voice was even, but Cassie thought she could detect a modicum of hurt in the faint edge that overlay the apparent calm.

  “But you think there may be.”

  He had retreated to the window and was looking out across the river towards the green. “I dare not suppose otherwise. At present, I imagine Tisbury is too occupied to take action, or he would have done so before this. But I cannot think it will be long before some idiot encourages him to seek revenge upon the only enemy visible to him at the mo
ment.”

  Cassie eyed him, bleak at heart to note the reduction of warmth in his voice. “I am thankful you do not seek to hide your suspicions from me.”

  He turned at that, his keen glance piercing across the little room. “I could do you no good thereby.”

  Cassie looked away, wrung by the implication in his words. “You have already done me good.”

  He did not speak, and she felt compelled to look at him again. What she saw in his eyes made her lose sight of all caution.

  “Aidan, it is not because I don’t want you.”

  His eyes flashed triumph, and he took a step towards her. “Then why, Cassie?”

  She drew a shaky breath. “I cannot speak of it. Only trust me. It will not do.”

  But it was too late. Cassie saw that she had given him hope. For a moment she teetered on the edge of confession, but the thought of his turning from her in disgust would not permit her to speak.

  To her relief, Tabitha came in from the kitchen and the moment was lost. She accepted the freshly made tea and, with an attempt at lightness, invited Aidan to partake of a cup.

  “Thank you,” he said, with a return to a semblance of formality. “And then I must leave you. Such events as these bring duties upon me I cannot avoid.”

  Her mind flew again to the horrid event. “Have you seen Tisbury?”

  “No, I came to you first. But I must do so, and hope to find him less of a potential threat than we have all been led to suppose.”

  His smile seemed forced, and Cassie suspected he had said as much only to reassure her. She said nothing, but her thoughts inevitably began to turn again upon this immediate problem. Somehow her own potential danger seemed of little importance against the scene just played out in her cottage.

  Much to her astonishment, Ottilia’s scheme to inspect Hannah’s personal effects encountered opposition from Pakefield. He stood stolid and resolute before the door to their private apartments situated on the top floor.

  “No one don’t go through Hannah’s things. Not if I know it, they don’t.”

  Ottilia regarded him with interest, wondering what had roused him from his apathetic state. She opted for an attack direct.

  “Why not, Pakefield?”

  The gloomy countenance sunk further into sagging hollows. “For as Patty said as Pa Wagstaff is going for to tell Pilton as Hannah been a-murdering of Molly Tisbury.”

  Reflecting that the sooner she spoke to the all too garrulous Patty the better, Ottilia nodded. “That is true, which is exactly why I wish to check over Hannah’s clothing.”

  The landlord’s eyes widened with reproach. “You think it and all.”

  “No, I don’t, Pakefield. But I need to be able to convince Lord Henbury, do you see?”

  His unfortunately elongated head shook from side to side. “I see naught. Nor I won’t let none meddle with Hannah’s things.”

  Ottilia was tempted to tell him it was a pity he had not shown such backbone at an earlier date when he might have been of some use. At this time, his obduracy could only be a hindrance — just as his slow-witted responses had been before. She strove for patience.

  “Let me see Hannah, if you please.”

  For a moment, she thought he would refuse even this simple request, but after an indecisive pause, he stood aside and allowed her to pass into the room.

  It was a parlour of sorts, fashioned out of one of the smaller chambers, and Hannah Pakefield was seated in a comfortable chair set before the empty grate, her head resting on a cushion. Her eyes were closed, and her breath rattled a little in her throat so that Ottilia thought she was asleep. She tiptoed across.

  “Hannah?”

  The woman’s eyes slid open at once, and it was immediately plain that she was somewhat recovered from this morning’s ordeal. She spoke, however, with a trifle of breathlessness, and a stray notion voiced at one time by her doctor brother floated into Ottilia’s head. Should she have Meldreth check the woman’s heart?

  “Pakefield don’t understand, my lady. I ain’t afraid of you looking. I ain’t got naught to hide.”

  Ottilia smiled at her. “I am sure you have not. Pardon me, but may I go through your clothes?”

  Hannah nodded and pointed to an inner door. “That’s our bedchamber.”

  “Thank you. Will you send for Patty, if you please?”

  At this, the landlady raised her head, a little frown creasing between her brows. “What for?”

  “I need a witness, Hannah. My word will not stand on its own.”

  It was not strictly true, but Ottilia had no wish to stir Pakefield again by revealing her wish to question the maid.

  Hannah gave the necessary instruction to her spouse, who did as he was bid and rang the bell. Ottilia thanked Hannah again and made towards the indicated door.

  “Mine’s the larger commode, ma’am, over by the window.”

  Ottilia threw a nod over her shoulder and opened the door. Upon entering the bedchamber, she shut the door firmly behind her and paused to survey the room.

  It was unexpectedly untidy, with garments strewn across the bed and over the backs of chairs. Both commodes were cluttered on top with all manner of odds and ends, including a candelabrum and a collection of wooden boxes, several open with their contents spilling out. The bed was unmade, and Ottilia guessed this was due to the events of the day. Likely the maid had to attend to breakfast and the chambers of the guests before she had leisure to see to her mistress’s wants.

  Ottilia crossed to the bed and made a methodical examination of the clothing laid there, not omitting that of Mr. Pakefield, inconceivable as it might be that he could be party to anything as complex as this murder had proved. Just as expected, she found nothing in the least degree incriminating.

  She was laying down the last of the items cluttering the second chair when the door opened to admit the maid Patty. She was looking scared, her eyes big in her freckled countenance. She was pretty enough in a countrified way, and Ottilia could well imagine she might attract the likes of Will the tapster.

  “Ah, Patty, come in.”

  The girl bobbed a curtsy, casting an apprehensive glance about the chamber, quite as if she expected something or someone to jump out at her from concealment.

  “Help me look through your mistress’s commode.”

  At this, Patty blinked and her mouth dropped open. “Look through the mistress’s commode?”

  “Yes. Come along.”

  With hesitant steps the girl crossed the room and came to rest at Ottilia’s side as she shifted to the front of the chamber, selecting the larger piece of furniture set on the wall near the window.

  “This is it, is it not?”

  Patty nodded, and a trifle of puzzlement entered her face. “What be we looking for, m’am?”

  Ottilia looked at her. “Bloodstains, Patty.”

  Horror leapt into the girl’s eyes, and Ottilia almost repented of her candour. She was not unhopeful, however, for already a creeping look of excited anticipation was replacing the first shock in Patty’s face. Satisfied, Ottilia opened the commode doors and slid out the top tray.

  The clothes within were loosely laid, and it was plain to Ottilia’s critical eye that Patty’s folding lacked precision. Nor was the girl adept at putting the limited space to its best use. She took out the first garment and shook it out. A nightgown.

  “There bain’t no blood on it, m’am.”

  Ottilia was almost betrayed into a laugh. “No, I hardly think Mrs. Pakefield would venture forth clad so lightly. Where are the day gowns?”

  Patty took the nightgown, bundled it up unceremoniously, and stuffed it back in the tray, which she slammed into place. Bending, she drew out the third tray and pulled forth a cotton chintz, much out of fashion but serviceable.

  Ottilia watched the girl shake it out and scrutinise it minutely, then declaring it to be free of bloodstains, set it aside on the bed in a fashion as enthusiastic as it was careless.

  Waiting unti
l the girl had delved for the next, Ottilia slipped in her first query.

  “I don’t suppose you heard anything unusual last night, did you, Patty?”

  The maid was busy running her eye down the blue stuff gown she held, but at this she paused and looked at Ottilia, a sudden intentness in her gaze.

  “I bain’t took no account on it, m’am.”

  “Then you did hear something?”

  Patty appeared reluctant to commit herself. She pursed her lips and then bit the lower one before speaking. “Thought as I were dreaming, m’am.”

  “Very well, but what did you hear?”

  The girl frowned in an effort of concentration, and Ottilia waited for her to find a way to express her thoughts.

  “It be like as if an animal come creeping.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Patty’s eyes narrowed in thought. “There be a pad pad pad what be its paws like. Next there be a scraping, as if’n it be laying on its stomach and pulling of itself.”

  Ottilia did not allow her burgeoning excitement to show. “Did these sounds go on for long?”

  “Can’t say, m’am. It be like a dream, in and out of me head.”

  Ottilia turned back to the commode and lifted out another garment. Following her lead, the maid folded the one she held in the same careless fashion and dropped it on the bed. Satisfied to see her resume her labours, Ottilia asked another apparently casual question.

  “Where is your chamber, Patty?”

  “In the attic I be, m’am.”

  “Yes, but where in the attic? Are you by chance situated over the backyard?”

  Patty paused again, her hands full, her gaze flying back to Ottilia’s face. “Aye.”

  Her surprise was evident, and Ottilia smiled. “A good guess, Patty, that is all.”

  The maid looked less than convinced, and Ottilia realised that, despite the most blatant shortcoming of her gossiping tongue, she possessed a degree of intelligence superior to that of her master. She said nothing, however, and went on with the work of checking Hannah’s clothing.

  They had moved on to aprons by this time, and thence to underclothing. Ottilia went through each drawer, regardless of whether or not the contents were likely to have been worn. Had Hannah been guilty, she could well have hidden a bloodstained gown among her other clothing. But there was nothing to be found, and Ottilia gave a secret sigh of relief. Not that she had for an instant supposed Hannah to be the murderer, but she had to be sure.