Escaping Notice (20 page)

“I'm sorry —” Mr. Gaunt was cut off by Mr. Symes.

“The earl? Where is the earl?”

Miss Leigh flung the butler an angry glance over her shoulder.
“He should never have gone. I warned him!”

“Who did you warn?” Mr. Gaunt asked.

Hugh watched his aunt. She had always been nervous, overwrought,
and she had never made her dislike of him a secret. Lionel had
always been her favorite.

For the first time, though, he wondered just how much she did
dislike him. He had thought her objections to moving were simply a
normal reaction to the turmoil it would involve. Once she was
settled in, surely she would be happier to have a place of her
own.

Or would she? Had she been angry enough to do something about
it?

His aunt clamped her mouth shut and studied Mr. Gaunt. Finally,
she answered stiffly, “I asked my nephew, Lionel, not to leave the
party. He's dead, isn't he? I knew it.”

“I’m sorry. Yes. They found his remains, along with fragments of
the Twilight. We believe they were caught in a storm.”

She waved his explanation away, her eyes fixed on something only
she could see — something in the distance.

“But the earl,” Mr. Symes repeated. “What of the earl?”

“I'm sorry. We have found no sign of him.”

After a moment of silence, Mr. Gaunt focused again on Miss
Leigh. “Why would you warn him? Did you know he planned to go
sailing with his brother?”

“No,” his aunt sighed. She rubbed her right arm distractedly
with her left hand before continuing. “But he knew his brother was
going. We all knew that. And I knew Lionel often liked to join him.
Those men … forever sailing off at the most inconvenient
times.”

“What made you warn him?” Mr. Gaunt repeated.

“It — it was just — we had a houseful of guests. His arrogant
brother did whatever he wanted, but someone had to remain. Someone
should have stayed. I did n0t want him to go and visit the
vicar.”

“So you wanted Lionel to assist with the guests? You did not
warn him against going sailing?”

“I did not know he was going with Lord Monnow. How could I know?
But I asked him to stay. He should have stayed; it was his duty —
one of them should have remained. If he had done as I asked, he
would still be here.”

“Why did you not want him to visit the vicar?”

She flushed and glanced round the room, massaging her arm more
vigorously. “I — I just wanted him to stay.”

Helen moved closer to Miss Leigh and gently touched her
shoulder. She whispered something. Miss Leigh shook her head.

Trying to hear, Hugh moved closer.

“You do not look well, Miss Leigh,” Helen whispered. “Please let
me help you to your room. You should rest after such a shock. You
will make yourself ill.”

“Hush, silly girl!” Miss Leigh replied sharply. “Don’t
interrupt.”

“Why would you object to Mr. Lionel Castle visiting the vicar?
He planned to make a career of the church, did he not?” Gaunt
continued, clearly scenting the inconsistencies in Miss Leigh's
remarks.

“Yes,” she admitted in a grudging voice. “I did not object to
the vicar. He was always kind to Lionel, helpful with his decision.
Lionel would have been an excellent vicar.” Then, as if the truth
had finally hit her, Miss Leigh's face trembled. Her lips shook
before she pressed them together as she gripped her arm. “Lionel is
gone.”

“This is too much for her.” Helen rose, put an arm round Miss
Leigh's shoulders and helped her to her feet. “Can you not see she
is in shock? She must rest.”

Hugh stepped closer, watching his aunt and searching for
answers. Even Mr. Gaunt studied her, his expression severely
schooled into polite sympathy. He had clearly not finished his
questions and now, when Miss Leigh was distraught, perhaps he
thought her unguarded answers might reveal the truth.

“Just another moment,” Hugh said. “Then she can rest.”

Helen faced him, her brows compressed with anger. “No. She has
had enough.”

His aunt reached up and gripped Helen's hand. Her gesture looked
oddly like gratitude. Helen glanced down and smiled at her, before
flicking a defiant look at Hugh.

Painfully aware of an opportunity lost, he nodded. As only the
house steward, he could hardly insist Miss Leigh remain.

Gaunt was right. Soon, Hugh would have to give up his disguise
to press forward with the investigation. He tried to reject the
trend of his thoughts, but he could not avoid one horrifying
notion. His family —
and
specifically his
aunt — could have had more to do with Lionel’s death than Hugh
cared to consider.

“ …
she will sometimes be required to sit with her, to administer
her medicines ….” —
The Complete Servant

Casting a stern glance at Hugh, Helen put her arm round Miss
Leigh and helped her out of her chair. She didn’t like Miss Leigh's
color, or the way she clutched her arm, and Helen refused to allow
Hugh to badger her to death no matter what his reasons might be. In
fact, she was disappointed that he suddenly seemed so
unsympathetic.

Could he not see how ill Miss Leigh was?

There was nothing to be gained by continuing to pressure the
shocked woman. She had lost her nephews, or at least Mr. Lionel
Castle. She needed time to grieve and to accept the terrible change
in her life.

Miss Leigh gazed up at Helen with eyes glazed over with grief
and incomprehension. Then she inhaled sharply, clutching her left
arm. She stared at Helen as if she no longer saw her. Her face
flushed before paling to a deep, bluish-gray.

“Miss Leigh,” Helen said in a soft voice, leaning closer. Miss
Leigh wheezed as if having difficulties breathing. Helen’s heart
skipped a beat. “Miss Leigh, can you rise?”

“Of course,” Miss Leigh's voice lashed out with false
confidence. “Accompany me to my room.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Helen responded quickly, afraid of further
emotional outbursts.

She helped Miss Leigh rise. The older woman tottered on her
feet, coughed, and straightened. She shook off Helen's hand as she
took a step toward the door, but before she took a second step, she
gripped Helen's arm.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Helen glanced at Hugh. His
sharp gaze followed Miss Leigh's increasingly strained
movements.

“Send for the doctor.” Helen put an arm round Miss Leigh's
waist. She felt so thin, so frail. The bones pressed against her
arm, as fragile as a bird's wing.

“No!” Miss Leigh replied in a harsh voice. “Rest — I just need a
few minutes.” Air rasped through her throat, rattling. Her head,
however, rose proudly. She gave one last look at Mr. Gaunt. “You
will remain. I will question you more thoroughly later.”

Mr. Gaunt bowed, before his dark gaze caught Mr. Symes' darting
movement to open the library doors before Miss Leigh reached
them.

“Certainly, Miss Leigh. I will be available whenever you
wish.”

“Miss Leigh, please,” Helen begged. “You must rest. Please Mr.
Caswell, can you assist us?” Miss Leigh clung to her arm, her
weight dragging against her. Helen looked over her shoulder at him.
He nodded and stepped to her side, but Miss. Leigh elbowed him
weakly. “Help me get her to her room.”

Slowly climbing the grand staircase, Helen clutched Miss Leigh
on one side with Hugh on the other. After each step, they had to
pause to allow Miss Leigh to catch her breath. A misty, cold spiral
of dread curled under Helen’s breastbone. Miss Leigh would not make
it to her room. Her breathing rasped in Helen's ear.

Halfway up, Miss Leigh paused even longer, bending until her
nose almost touched a step further up.

“I will carry her,” Hugh offered.

“No,” Miss Leigh rasped.

“Miss Leigh,” Helen said, tightening her hold. “Perhaps we
should go back down. You can rest in the sitting room.” She glanced
upwards as she spoke. The stairway soared uncaringly up into the
gray shadows of the second floor landing. The distance seemed
impossibly far. Her legs and arms ached with the effort of bearing
Miss Leigh's weight. Even her feet felt as heavy as lead.

“No.” Miss Leigh panted. “Just … get me … to my room. No
doctor.”

“Then you will have to allow Mr. Caswell to carry you.” Helen
paused, feeling Miss Leigh tremble with anger. “I will not insist
on a doctor, but you must rest.” She summoned her remaining
strength and resolutely forced Miss Leigh to place an arm around
Hugh’s shoulder.

He nodded to her and swept her up.

By the time they reached the landing, Miss Leigh's eyes were
closed, her face damp with sweat. She gasped for air as Hugh
carried her down the brief stretch of hallway until they reached
her room.

Without speaking, Hugh deposited Miss Leigh on the bed and swung
her feet up.

“I will send for the doctor,” he said, before striding out.

Miss Leigh's eyes remained closed, set deeply into bruised
hollows. Her mouth tightened briefly, but she did not speak as
Helen removed her shoes and loosened the complex laces and ties
that held her dress together. As soon as she was able to untie Miss
Leigh's stays and persuade her unresponsive body into a
freshly-laundered nightdress, Helen pulled the quilt out from
underneath her and covered her over.

She glanced round the room, twisting her hands together. What
should she do? How could she relieve Miss Leigh's distress? The
older woman coughed and turned on her side, air rattling through
her thin throat. Unable to do anything to comfort her, Helen
finally took a seat by the bed and held Miss Leigh's narrow hand.
To her surprise, Miss Leigh gripped her as if frightened she would
be abandoned to suffer alone.

“I'm here, Miss Leigh. I won't leave,” Helen whispered.

The grip on her hand tightened briefly. It was little enough
acknowledgement, but sufficient to give Helen the determination to
stay and watch over her.

The doctor came and went, offering nothing except a few shakes
of the head, a blood-letting, and the dire remark that it was her
heart and they could do nothing but wait.

Towards midnight, Miss Leigh rolled over, mumbling in her sleep,
her frail, blue-veined hands rustling over the quilt as if the
heavy folds were a weight she could no longer bear. Helen arose
from her chair, stiff and cold. After soothing Miss Leigh by
pressing a cool, damp cloth to her forehead, she stretched and
moved quietly to her cubbyhole.

She dragged her cot out until it was just a few feet away from
Miss Leigh’s bed. She could not remain alert in her chair any
longer, and she prayed she would wake up if Miss Leigh needed her.
It was almost two in the morning. The heavy silence made the house
seem abandoned, empty of life.

Feeling vulnerable, Helen undressed and crawled between the
cold, thin sheets of her bed. She flicked one last glance at Miss
Leigh before she wrapped her arms around the edge of her hard
pillow and closed her eyes in exhausted sleep.

§

A hot, brilliant shaft of sunshine pressed against Helen's face.
She opened her eyes drowsily and glanced around, confused. Her eyes
rested on the long, humped shape of Miss Leigh, stretched out in
her bed. Then she glanced at the brightly-lit windows with
alarm.

She had overslept. The white porcelain clock on the mantle
clicked uncaringly past eight in the morning. Miss Leigh never
remained abed this late.

Helen jumped out of the cot and stumbled over to the bed. Miss
Leigh was asleep, not dead. She breathed heavily, her lips
vibrating occasionally as she took a deep breath of air. Putting
her hand on Miss Leigh's forehead, Helen was relieved to discover
no sign of a fever, although the older lady's skin held an
unhealthy, grayish tinge. Her thin lips were bluish instead of a
healthy pink.

Taking the chance to wash and dress, Helen did so as rapidly as
she could. She noted with relief that one of the maids had refilled
the pitcher on the wash table near the door to Helen's room. The
water was cold and icy against her sleep-warmed skin, but it served
to refresh her and bring her fully awake.

Behind her, Miss Leigh stirred. She half rose and then lay back
again.

“Please, Miss Leigh, don't try to get up.” Helen rushed back to
the bed. She smoothed the covers over her and plumped the pillows,
despite the frown crumpling Miss Leigh's plain features.

“Tired ….” Miss Leigh’s eyes remained closed as if she did not
have the energy to keep them open.

Helen pressed her hand against her thin shoulder. “You must
rest. I am going to fetch your breakfast.”

She waited for the inevitable protest, straightening her arm in
anticipation of gently pushing Miss Leigh back into bed. But her
employer did not protest. Her only response was a long, exhausted
snore.

“Sleep,” Helen whispered. “I will return soon.”

Unsure how long Miss Leigh would cooperate by staying abed,
Helen hurried out. She was pleased to find that Hugh had
thoughtfully left orders that the mistress of the house was not to
be disturbed. There was even a large pot of thick porridge in the
kitchen.

“Mr. Caswell ordered
porridge
?” Helen asked, watching the
cook give the pot a thorough stir.

“Yes, Miss Caswell,” the cook agreed with a chuckle. “'Though he
didn't seem inclined to have a bowl. A rasher of bacon and half a
dozen eggs was all he required.”

Helen smothered a laugh. A large man obviously required a large
breakfast. “May I have a tray for Miss Leigh? She is not at all
well.” She collected a heavy, white china pot of sugar and a small
pitcher of cream. When she spied a bowl of hot-house strawberries,
she added a few of those as well. Perhaps they would tempt Miss
Leigh to rouse herself enough to eat.

“The hot water’s there, Miss,” the cook said, watching her
assemble her tray. A disbelieving smile pursed her lips. “You going
to make the tea?” she asked as Helen pared off a few flakes from
the compressed block of tea. “She likes it strong and sweet.”