The Deathly Portent (16 page)

“I vowed I wasn’t going to leave him to reduce himself to skin and bone again like he did in that nasty heathen place he insisted on going to. As if he didn’t know already, for I’d no more approval of that than had his mama.”

“Which heathen place?”

“Africa, ma’am. Flying in the face of his family’s wishes, but would he listen?”

Cassie rose from her chair and crossed to look out of the window, staring over the stream towards the distant spire of the church across the green, as if she might see into the vicarage and look upon Aidan Kinnerton himself.

“I think it is admirable in him to have taken such a step.”

“Admirable? To go off into little better than a jungle and nearly get himself killed by a pack of savages?”

Cassie turned, startled. “Surely not.”

“Oh yes, ma’am. Spears and all is what he faced, for he wrote as much in the one letter that came. Then we heard nothing more, and his poor mama was convinced he was dead. Which he nigh all was. It was like a skeleton walked into the house!”

Cassie recalled the image she had seen, superimposed on the parson’s present features. She looked at the housekeeper, and a stray thought intruded into her head, together with an image of a small boy held in this woman’s arms. A younger version, but there was no doubt it was Mrs. Winkleigh.

“You were his nurse.”

The housekeeper blinked. “That’s right, ma’am. But how did you—?” Realisation sparked in her face. “Oh.”

Cassie smiled tightly. “Yes, that is why they call me a witch.”

“Witch? Fiddle-faddle, ma’am, if you’ll pardon me,” said Mrs. Winkleigh, reviving fast. “You ain’t no more a witch than Master Aidan is an angel come down to earth, and that’s a fact. But you’re right, ma’am. I was his nurse, and I promised her ladyship as I’d take care of him, and take care of him I will. Or I’ll answer to his family and the Almighty himself.”

“Her ladyship?” echoed Cassie, fastening on the salient point in this diatribe.

“Lady Kinnerton, ma’am. She’s Master Aidan’s mother.”

“He is titled?”

“Not he. There’s three older brothers, and his lordship is a viscount.” Consternation entered the woman’s features. “Now don’t you go saying I told you, ma’am, for he don’t like it known.”

Cassie’s head was reeling. If this was so, her suspicion of her patroness’s intentions concerning the vicar must be unfounded. Not even Lady Ferrensby could suppose the son of a viscount might stoop so low.

“Does Lady Ferrensby know?” she blurted before she could stop herself. “No, that is foolish, of course she must know.”

“Oh, she knows all right. She and my lady fixed it up between them to my way of thinking. My Lady Kinnerton being wishful to stop any thought of Master Aidan going away again, and this being a small parish which wouldn’t put no undue strain on his health.”

“Except that circumstances have so arranged themselves that he will be lucky not to suffer an instant relapse,” said Cassie, feeling the bitterness of her curse all over again. How many people was she destined to destroy?

“Be that as it may,” came in a bustling tone from the housekeeper, “it wouldn’t suit Master Aidan to be idle, no matter his mama’s wishes. Not that me and Croy won’t have our work cut out, neither.”

“Croy?”

“Master Aidan’s groom, ma’am. He’s away, fetching more of the master’s trunks. And some of her ladyship’s unwanted curtains and such, for the vicarage is bare as a mousehole. Hasn’t been inhabited for months, by the state of it. But Croy and me’ll soon set all to rights. And find some work for the locals into the bargain. I fancy I could use a couple of helpful village girls, and Croy might do with a lad, too.”

“Then you could give work to Duggleby’s daughter,” said Cassie eagerly, seizing on this. “The boy is too young yet, I think, but they are bound to need employment. Tabby says Mr. Uddington is taking up a collection, but that will scarcely last them.”

Mrs. Winkleigh pursed her lips. “Is the girl any good, do you know, ma’am?”

Incurably truthful, Cassie shook her head. “I hardly know her. But you may teach her, may you not, Mrs. Winkleigh?”

The housekeeper looked dubious, but as Tabby came in at that moment with the tea, she was not obliged to answer. Cassie thanked her maid and took her own seat with a new determination. Here was an opportunity to make amends, if in a small way, and she would not lightly let it go. She sipped the tea, which had, as it always did, the effect of reviving her spirits.

“Let me take you to see the Duggleby girl, Mrs. Winkleigh. Then you may judge for yourself.”

I
t did not take many minutes to traverse the narrow pathway that ran along the little row of cottages. As they reached the bridge, Cassie pointed to the ruined smithy.

“The house lies just beyond. We must go around the back, for I fear the lane on this side by the river is blocked with debris.”

Accordingly, both women crossed the lane and went to one side of the forge’s courtyard, at which point Cassie advised Mrs. Winkleigh to lift her skirts. But before they could
step onto the overlong grass, another female came around the corner, and Cassie recognised under a straw bonnet the sharp-angled features of Molly Tisbury.

Cassie halted, her heart sinking, for she knew the landlady of the Cock and Bottle to be one of her severest critics. Beside her, the vicar’s housekeeper stopped, too. She had evidently seen the woman.

“Seems as we aren’t the first visitors this morning.”

The Tisbury dame was already within hailing distance, and she glared as she looked up. “What be you wanting here? Come to gloat, have you?”

Coming up, she paused before them, taking in Mrs. Winkleigh from her head to her heels. Cassie backed a step but saw the housekeeper stand her ground, her back stiffening.

“And who might you be, my fine lady?” came rudely from Molly Tisbury.

“I might ask you the same question, madam,” returned the other, her tone arctic. “Since you ask, my name is Winkleigh, and I am housekeeper to the Reverend Kinnerton.”

This piece of information was received with a snort. “Him, eh? And I see as you be as hoodwinked as he, seeing as you be hand in glove with the witch.”

Mrs. Winkleigh, to Cassie’s admiration, did not rise to this. Instead, she pulled herself up to her full height and looked down at the other woman with disdain.

“Will you be good enough to let us pass, madam?”

Molly Tisbury put her hands to her hips and remained squarely in front of them, a pointing finger snaking towards Cassie.

“I’ll not let her pass, not if her’ve thought to badger poor Bertha Duggleby.”

“You are insolent, woman. Don’t think as you can browbeat me, for I won’t stand for it. Now get out of my way!”

Molly Tisbury’s jaw dropped open, and Cassie moved in closer, hurt lending vibrancy to her voice.

“Pray don’t quarrel on my account. Molly, I am trying to help. Mrs. Winkleigh has work for a maid, and I thought—”

“You thought!” cut in Molly, her tone vicious. “It be you thinking as killed Duggleby. No one don’t need your thoughts round here. Better nor far as her ladyship bain’t brung you next or nigh Witherley. Who be next, eh? Who be you seeing in yon visions next?”

The woman was spitting foam, and Cassie shrank back, only half aware that Mrs. Winkleigh’s hands were out flat against the creature’s shoulders, holding her off.

“That’s enough, you hear me? Get back or, so help me, I’ll slap your ugly face for you!”

Cassie heard a growl issuing from the other woman’s throat as she seized Mrs. Winkleigh’s wrists, trying to wrench those restraining hands away. Her heart was hammering as Cassie felt the first swirling fog of a picture forming in her mind. She lifted her hands to her head, desperate and afraid.

“No,” she muttered breathlessly. “Please, no.”

From somewhere outside her immediate concentration, she heard a calm voice drive into the hubbub.

“What in the world is the matter here?”

Turning automatically, Cassie discovered the strange female who had spoken to her in the smithy on the previous day.

“Is it the invariable custom of this village for females to quarrel in the open street?” pursued this lady, a laugh in her voice that did more to pour oil on these troubled waters than might another raised voice. “Come, come, ladies. I must beg you to release one another. There can surely be no occasion for such violence.”

These words acted powerfully on Mrs. Winkleigh at least, for she let go of Molly and pulled back, dusting off her hands. The Tisbury woman was slower to react, but she ceased her struggles upon being released, and her gaze shifted towards the newcomer.

“Are you quite well, Mrs. Dale?” said the latter, reaching out a hand.

Cassie took it and held it, relieved to feel the fog in her brain dissipating.

“Thank you,” she gasped, and a memory stirred. “You are Lady Fan.”

The other woman smiled. “I am indeed.” Then her gaze shifted back to the erstwhile antagonists.

Molly’s frown reappeared. “Lady Fan, is it? You be her as seen the body. You be asking all manner of questions.”

Lady Francis inclined her head, and Cassie noted the keen glance that raked Molly’s face.

“That is so. And you, I think, are Mrs. Tisbury. Am I right?”

Molly gaped. “Aye, but how you knowed it I can’t tell. Be you another witch?”

A light laugh escaped the newcomer. “I am merely observant, Mrs. Tisbury. And I have yet to learn that there are any witches in Witherley.”

Cassie’s heart leapt, but Molly scowled.

“Like that, is it? You be on her’s side.”

“I am on no one’s side,” came tartly from Lady Fan, “unless it be the side of truth.”

She turned her attention to Mrs. Winkleigh, who was, Cassie realised, appraising Lady Fan with a critical eye.

“You, I fear, have the advantage of me.”

Cassie made haste to make the housekeeper known, but Mrs. Winkleigh’s slightly suspicious air did not abate one jot.

“I’ve heard about you from the master, ma’am,” she said bluntly. “I’ll not deny I was hard put to believe any lady’d poke her nose into such matters.”

“Poke her nose, aye,” burst from Molly Tisbury. “Poking into my life her be, making the likes of Pilton tell on me.”

Lady Fan’s bland gaze turned on the woman. “Is there something of import to tell, Mrs. Tisbury?”

To Cassie’s amazement, Molly blenched a trifle, closing her lips tight shut. Lady Fan eyed her levelly for a moment and then turned back to Mrs. Winkleigh.

“I take it you disapprove of my interesting myself in these matters?”

“Ain’t my place to do so, ma’am,” said the housekeeper. “Nor I didn’t say that.”

“True, but you implied it. Never mind. I shall hope to prove myself in due course.”

“Prove? What be you a-going to prove, as if’n it bain’t known?” Molly had recovered herself more swiftly than Cassie could have wished, for the woman pointed a bony finger at her. “Her it be as done for Duggleby. Bain’t need of no questions.”

Once more the woman came under the beam of Lady Fan’s level regard. “I’m afraid I disagree, Mrs. Tisbury. But you need not suppose my interest is solely in you. I am questioning everyone who may have had a grudge against this man Duggleby, and I gather there are a number of persons in this category besides yourself.”

Molly’s black eyes snapped fire. “Who telled you as I’ve a grudge agin him?”

Lady Fan merely smiled and refocused her attention on Cassie. “I was coming to visit you, Mrs. Dale.”

Cassie stared. “Me?”

“Why not?”

“Because people don’t.” Then she remembered Mrs. Winkleigh and put out an apologetic hand. “You came for your master, though you have been kind.”

Molly Tisbury exploded again. “Kind! Foolhardy more like.” She turned on the stranger. “Be it Hannah who telled agin me? You be staying at Pig, bain’t you? It be Hannah, bain’t it?”

Lady Fan’s brows rose. “Dear me, Mrs. Tisbury, you will make me believe there is certainly something to be found out. In which case, I hope you will be willing to talk with me in the not too distant future.”

“Talk with you? So as you can poke that nose of yourn more deep? Not I, Lady Fan. Nor it bain’t no use talking, seeing as you be sided with her.”

A toss of her head in Cassie’s direction made the latter wince.

“I hope you will think better of that decision, Mrs. Tisbury,” said Lady Fan, her tone perfectly calm. “I should hate to be obliged to call upon young Pilton to bring you to me for questioning.”

A gasp from Mrs. Winkleigh hardly took Cassie’s attention, her eyes fully taken up with the staggered expression in Molly’s face. She could not help a rise of satisfaction to see the woman confounded.

For a full minute the look held, and then with a grunt, Molly wrenched her eyes away and pushed past Lady Fan, heading for the bridge.

Mrs. Winkleigh looked after her and then gave a grunt of her own. “Good riddance! Ask who’s next, would she? Wouldn’t surprise me if she was, horrid creature.”

Lady Fan made no comment on this, instead looking at Cassie. “I don’t wish to detain you. Were you perhaps on your way to visit Bertha Duggleby?”

Cassie blinked at her. “How did you know?”

The other smiled. “As I told the delightful Mrs. Tisbury, it is merely a trick of looking. Your position here and your encounter with Molly leads me to suppose it, that is all.”

Mrs. Winkleigh gave a gruff laugh. “That’s what the master said. You look and listen. He said he noticed it particular, for he has to do the same himself.”

“Then I am sure he is very good at his job,” returned Lady Fan.

Cassie had made a deduction on her own account. “You wish to see Bertha Duggleby yourself.”

Lady Fan’s clear gaze had something of a tease in it. “We may yet make a true witch of you, Mrs. Dale.”

No one ever teased Cassie. It gave her an odd feeling of
companionship—something to which she was almost a stranger. On impulse, she gave a rare smile.

“Come with us, pray.”

T
he blacksmith’s widow looked gaunt and ill, and her greeting was lacklustre. It did not seem to Ottilia that she showed any hostility towards Mrs. Dale, which was surprising. When she was asked whether the house had suffered in the fire, she looked blank.