Nell (16 page)

‘No, but—’

‘Well, the milk is to help her to sleep. When she drinks it down like a good girl, she usually sleeps like a log.’

Like one dead, Nell might have said. Only she could not yet voice her suspicions to Mrs Whyte. Until she was sure of her ground, she dared not speak of them to anyone. Certainly not her employer, who had not, she was persuaded, even been listening when she mentioned the milk. Nell was glad of it now. For the notion with which she was toying was a wild one, that would put the cat among the pigeons—if it proved true. There was much it might explain. And raise a good many questions into the bargain. She must tread warily.

‘How does the milk reach Henrietta, Mrs Whyte?’

The housekeeper eyed her frowningly. ‘What’s in your head, my dear?’

Nell smiled faintly. ‘Humour me, pray.’

‘There’s something to this,’ stated the other bluntly. ‘Why don’t you want the little ’un to have it?’

‘Beyond the fact that she doesn’t like it?’

Mrs Whyte ruminated in silence for a moment. Then she sighed. ‘Well, I won’t ask no more. Only a body can’t but wonder. I don’t see how it helps, but I warm the milk for her of a night, and Duggan fetches it.’

‘At what time does Henrietta have it, if you please?’

‘Late. She’ll sleep an hour or two after her meal at seven or thereabouts, and then she wakes again. Without the milk, she’d be wakeful to midnight.’

‘So she has it when—around eight or nine?’

The housekeeper set her arms akimbo. ‘What was you meaning to do, Miss Faraday? Do you wish to fetch the milk yourself? Don’t come before nine if that’s the case. Only I’d not answer for Joyce taking it tamely, and that’s a fact!’

Nell reassured her. ‘I should not dream of interfering with the routine. I am merely trying to establish things in my mind, Mrs Whyte.’

‘Yes, and I’m as much of a noddy as Grig!’

Nell laughed and begged her pardon. But she refused to say more. It would not do to involve the housekeeper. If the burgeoning idea came to nothing, no harm would come of it. At least, not beyond an entanglement with the nurse on her part, but that was already past praying for. She fully expected to encounter opposition from that quarter. But she intended to take the nurse by surprise—and succeeded.

Walking into Henrietta’s bedchamber a few moments after nine the same evening, Nell found Duggan in the act of handing a glass of milk to the child, who was sitting up in bed. The candles in the wall-sconce to one side were alight. Nell knew they were always left to burn down into the early hours, for there was no knowing when Henrietta might need attention.

The little girl greeted her with surprise. ‘Miss Fallyday!’

Duggan turned sharply, and a little of the milk splashed upon the covers.

‘You spilled it, Duggy,’ protested Hetty at once.

The nurse laid the glass upon the bedside table, and Nell found herself confronted before she could reach the bed.

‘You’ve no business here at this hour, miss,’ she hissed angrily.

‘I beg your pardon, but there is no hour when I have no business about Henrietta’s concerns.’ Her haughty demeanour had the effect of fanning the flames.

‘Highty-tighty! And what might you be wanting? We’re all but asleep already, and won’t want to be disturbed.’

Oh, won’t we! Nell brushed past her and went to the bed. ‘I came to say goodnight, Hetty.’

‘Stay with me,’ commanded the child. ‘Duggy can go ’way.’

The nurse bridled. ‘She can, can she? We’ll see that. I ain’t going nowhere ’til we’ve drunk our milk, young lady, and so I tell you.’

Henrietta looked mutinous, but Nell seized the chance to take up the glass. ‘Yes, you must have your milk, Hetty.’

A reproachful look was directed at her from the wide black gaze. ‘Don’t want it. Don’t like it. It nasty.’

Duggan bustled to the other side of the bed. ‘I’ll give you don’t like it! We’re a naughty little girl, aren’t we? Just you drink it up and no nonsense!’

Hetty shot her a dagger look and Nell hastily intervened. ‘Allow me, Duggan, if you please.’

Ignoring the nurse’s darkling glance, she lifted the glass to her own lips and sipped at it. To her relief, the milk tasted normal. She noted the little girl’s incredulous expression and smiled, holding out the glass.

‘Try it, Hetty. It doesn’t taste nasty to me.’

Henrietta looked from the glass to her face. ‘Duggy don’t taste it.’

Nell cast a quick glance at the nurse and found the
woman regarding her narrowly. Heavens, had she given herself away? Deliberately, she raised her brows.

‘Now I wonder why? Perhaps Duggan doesn’t like milk.’

‘
I
don’t like milk,’ insisted the child, pouting.

The nurse said nothing, and Nell was further disconcerted by the woman’s unwavering stare from across the bed. Either she had betrayed herself, or Duggan had guessed at her suspicion. Which could only mean that there was a reason for it. On impulse, she dismissed the creature, knowing she could not be gainsaid.

‘You may go, Duggan. I will make sure Hetty drinks the milk.’

Henrietta glowered at her. ‘Won’t drink it.’

The nurse turned on her. ‘We’re very free with our won’ts tonight, aren’t we? If you ask me, young lady, we’d better remember what will happen if we don’t do as we’re told!’

Nell’s temper flared. ‘That will do! You may leave us, Duggan.’

‘Leave us, Duggy!’ echoed Henrietta.

‘Don’t be impertinent, Hetty,’ said Nell sharply. Then she raised wrathful eyes to the nurse again, who had not moved from where she stood. Ice entered her voice.

‘Thank you, Duggan, that will be all.’

The nurse marched to the door, where she turned with a venomous look. ‘We’ll see what the master has to say, shall we?’

‘By all means,’ agreed Nell.

Duggan glared, obviously furious that her ploy had not taken. With one last admonition to her charge that she expected to hear that she had drunk all the milk, she took herself off.

Nell heaved a sigh of relief, and turned back to Hen
rietta. The child was regarding her with awe. Clearly she had never before seen Duggan bested in a battle of wills. The woman would not dare challenge his lordship, and there was none besides Nell to attempt to face her down. She was not at all sure that she had done the right thing, however. It remained to be seen how dangerous the woman was. Meanwhile, she must not waste an opportunity that might never come again.

‘Hetty, I want you just to taste the milk, for it seems perfectly normal to me.’

Urged to take the glass, the child reached out, but gingerly, doubt in her face. Nell gently pressed her until she consented to sip the milk. It was immediately evident that the taste was acceptable to her. She sipped again, and handed it back with a decisive nod.

‘Mama didn’t send it.’

Nell’s mind froze. If that meant what she supposed, then the milk was not always as innocent as it appeared tonight. She fastened on the point, trying not to sound too eager.

‘How do you know when the milk is sent by your mama, Hetty?’

‘Mama say it.’ The child pulled a face. ‘But she don’t got to say it, acos I know. Mama milk is nasty. Don’t like it.’

Her chest thrumming unevenly, Nell found her thoughts racing. The milk was the key, just as she had suspected. Only it was evident that its use was intermittent. How foolish of the perpetrators to imagine that Hetty would not taste the difference. And how had she been persuaded that it was her mother who sent the nasty-tasting milk? Her mama said it, Hetty had averred. But her mama had been long dead. To a well-balanced mind this argued yet another piece of unkind trickery.

Under the child’s awestruck eye, Nell opened the window and scattered the contents of the glass into the cool night air. Then she set the empty glass down and bade Henrietta settle back under the covers. To her surprise, she was obeyed without question. Nell perched on the edge of the bed and tucked the covers up around the little girl’s chin.

‘Now, my dear, listen to me. If your mama—or anyone else—should again ask you to drink the milk when it tastes nasty, you must come to me at once. Do you understand?’

Hetty nodded solemnly. Then an unholy gleam entered the black eyes. ‘Then will you throw it out the window, Miss Fallyday?’

‘I should not be at all surprised,’ agreed Nell, although she would be more inclined to take it directly to Lord Jarrow. But she would not trouble Hetty with that threat.

There could be little doubt that someone was tampering with the little girl’s milk, with a result that might well be the cause of the child’s temper tantrums—and a good deal else besides. She would dearly like to have been able to alert his lordship instantly. But without positive proof, she dared not even whisper it. Already she could not but fear that she had alerted Duggan—if the woman was party to the trick. Nell could not be sure that her dislike was not responsible for her conviction that the nurse was involved. Her fear of it kept her on tenterhooks, however, knowing the ease of access the woman had to her charge. So much so that she determined to remain in the bedchamber—despite setting a foolish precedent—until Henrietta should have fallen asleep.

She awoke to silence and a guttering candle. At first she could not understand why she was lying half across
Henrietta’s bed. She felt cold and found her limbs were ice. Had she lain here half the night? Memory swept back. The milk! Rising, she leaned over the child in the dim light. Hetty was sleeping peacefully, one plump cheek pillowed on her hand. She looked a very babe, and Nell’s heart contracted. At least the child was safe.

Moving with stealth, Nell crept to the door and closed it with care behind her. Then she hurried down the unlit corridor towards her own room. As she reached the corner by the tower, a murmuring of voices ahead made her check. Nell crept forward and dared a peek. From the doorway to the next room—Duggan’s bedchamber!—light spilled around two figures, lewdly entwined.

The man’s back was to Nell, and she could see that his hair was loose and disarranged. He was in a nightshirt, a dressing robe flung carelessly over one shoulder. Beyond him, Nell recognised the woman Duggan. A thin shift did little to conceal the outline of her figure beneath. Light-coloured hair, hitherto confined under a cap, was tousled about her head and falling around her shoulders. She was looking up at the man with an expression of voluptuous languor, and, as Nell watched, she leaned in to kiss him.

For one hideous moment, Nell thought that the slim figure of the man was that of Lord Jarrow. Her pulse skidded out of kilter and she had all to do to refrain from bursting out of concealment. She pressed back instead, into the shadows, but her eyes remained glued upon the couple. She could hear whispers, but her straining ears could not recognise the man’s low tones, nor make out what was said. Then Duggan said something that amused him, and at once Nell knew who he was. There was only one man in Castle Jarrow who had a laugh like that.

Relief and sickening realisation warred in Nell’s breast
for supremacy. The nurse was the mistress of Toly Beresford. Recalling certain odd looks and instances of cryptic commentary, Nell felt immediately certain that Lord Jarrow was aware of this liaison. But he could have no suspicion that Mr Beresford wanted Nell out of the castle. For herself, everything fell into place. With Nell gone, the man could pursue his game unchecked, whatever it was he wanted with the child. But no trick could be played upon Henrietta without Duggan noticing. Therefore Duggan must be herself involved.

Could she have been the man’s spy? Nell’s flesh crawled at the thought of those distressingly intimate moments with his lordship being heard and seen by the supercilious nurse. Of one thing there was no doubt. Whatever their purpose, Mr Beresford and Duggan were in it together.

The commotion broke out in the corridor beyond Nell’s chamber, catching her in the act of unbuttoning the front fastenings to her gown. She paused as her quick ear detected Henrietta’s low grumble as well as the scolding tones of her nurse.

‘Come back here, you naughty girl!’

‘Won’t!’

‘Come here! I’ll teach you to defy me, I will!’

Swift wrath kindled in Nell’s breast, and she stepped at once to the rescue, forgetting in her haste the undone flap at the neck of her calico gown that fell away to expose the swell of her breasts above her white stays. She wrenched open the door.

It was only just turning to dusk, and in the fading light she could clearly see her charge a little way down the corridor. Clad only in her nightgown, Henrietta was struggling in Duggan’s grip, trying to pull away. The
nurse, with equal determination, was attempting to drag the child in the opposite direction. Hetty was hampered, Nell saw, by her clutch on a half-full glass of milk.

Obedient to her instructions, the child had brought it to her. How long had it been, a matter of days only? Heavens, had they no discretion? She let it pass for the moment, for Hetty was in need.

Assuming an authoritative tone, she intervened. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

Henrietta’s head turned. ‘Miss Fallyday! Miss Fallyday!’

Nell could not be sure, but she thought Duggan cursed under her breath. Aloud, she snapped her fury.

‘Nothing to concern you, miss. Miss Hetty, we’ll stop this wriggling now, or it’ll be the worse for you!’

But the child paid no heed. ‘I brung the milk, Miss Fallyday. It nasty.’

The implication shot through Nell’s brain as she reached them and took hold of Henrietta’s shoulders. The nurse must have seen something in her face, for she suddenly let go of the little girl, instead grabbing at the glass she held.

‘Give me that, you little devil, you!’

‘Leave her alone!’ ordered Nell sharply.

It was evident that Hetty was not going to give up the glass without a fight. The liquid within it sloshed over the rim as she struggled with Duggan for possession. For a second or two, Nell could not think what to do. While she badly wanted to find out why the milk tasted nasty to Hetty, she was loath to demonstrate this to the nurse. Instinct dictated caution.