The Deathly Portent (30 page)

“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.

M
uch 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 until 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.

“We must next tackle the kitchens, Patty.”

“For why?” asked the girl, her initial apprehension utterly past.

“To see if anything has been burned in the fire.”

It was plain to Ottilia that the girl now thought she had taken leave of her senses, but she said nothing.

“Shall I put all back first?”

“No, you may do that later.”

As they passed through the parlour, Ottilia took a moment to reassure the landlady. “Don’t despair, Hannah. I promise you I will do all in my power to dissuade those who may believe you were involved in Molly’s death.”

Hannah sighed gustily. “Better me than that poor Mrs. Dale. None ain’t going to try and burn me.”

“I should hope not,” snapped Ottilia. “There will be no nonsense of that sort if I can prevent it, my dear. Now then, Patty.”

Descending the stairs with the girl close behind, Ottilia stopped abruptly at the top of the last flight. “Patty, had there been a key missing, do you know?”

The girl’s jaw dropped open. “How be you a-knowing?”

Ottilia smiled. “A lucky guess. The back door to the yard?”

“Aye.”

“When did it go missing?”

Patty started. “It be only last night, m’am.”

“Dear me.”

“Aye, just last night. The door be already locked when Master went to lock it, but there bain’t no key. Master said as the stable boy must have turned it, and he being clumsy, could be as the key fell through the grate and be lost in the cellar.”

“Indeed? Which grate?”

“Top of cellar stairs. It be kept on the window ledge above.”

Where anyone might have noticed it. How very careless.

“Master be a-going to look for it this morning, only …”

“Indeed, one could scarcely expect anyone to remember under the circumstances,” Ottilia soothed, but her mind was working swiftly. Someone familiar with the Blue Pig, then. Did that narrow the field?

She was still weighing the personnel of the village in her mind when she and Patty entered the kitchen where the cook was found to have recovered sufficiently to be able to begin her preparations for dinner.

A stout woman with a broad red face, she paused in her work of chopping the fat off a joint and looked up. At the sight of Ottilia, her eyes popped. Ottilia summoned her most soothing manner.

“Pardon me, if you please. I am very sorry to be invading your kitchen.”

The woman laid down her chopper and wiped her hands on her well-used apron. “You be welcome, m’am. What be you wanting?”

“To find out if anything was burned in your fire this morning,” said Ottilia promptly, noting Patty’s eyes trained upon the bloodstained apron.

The cook’s glance went directly to the big open range where a blaze was making the room uncomfortably hot. “Only lit the fire nor an hour since, m’am. Nowt be burning in there, for I’ve still to put the meat on the spit.”

“Well, that is a relief,” said Ottilia pleasantly. “I don’t
suppose there is any outside fire? A wood-burning stove, perhaps?”

Both Patty and the cook eyed Ottilia with unmixed astonishment, and the latter expressed it. “In summer, m’am?”

“To heat water for washing?”

Patty crossed to the open range and pointed out a huge kettle sitting on a makeshift hob. “Cook has it going all day.”

“Aye, and keep it filled and all.”

Which conveniently disposed of any possibility of Hannah ridding herself of bloodstained clothing. Feeling absurdly pleased, Ottilia thanked the cook and informed Patty she had no further need of her services. The maid bobbed a curtsy, electing to remain in the kitchen, no doubt to regale the cook with an account of her activities.

At the door, Ottilia paused and turned back, fixing the maid with a bright smile. “I almost forgot. I know it is your usual practise, Patty, to pass on anything you may hear to Will at the Cock and Bottle, but did you do so last night?”

A tide of red suffused the girl’s freckled cheeks, and she cast her eyes to the floor. The cook’s glance went from the maid to Ottilia, dawning respect in her eyes.

“Come, Patty, let me have the truth,” said Ottilia gently. “You had your ear to the keyhole when I was talking to Lady Ferrensby, did you not?”

Patty burst into tears. Satisfied, Ottilia watched the cook envelop the girl in a comforting embrace.

“You have been very helpful, Patty, and I thank you,” Ottilia pursued in the same soft tone. “But you need to understand that when you betray what has been said in secrecy, there are always consequences.”