Page 2 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
Floyd rejoined the gentlemen reminiscing about the morning’s shooting, while I sat at a table with the elderly Lady Elizabeth Wentworth, Lord Kershaw’s aunt, and Mrs. Browning, his sister and Janet’s mother. Mrs. Browning had placed a full plate in front of her aunt, but Lady Elizabeth only poked the contents with her fork as she inspected the selection. The hand holding the fork trembled.
“Wouldn’t you prefer to sit with ladies your own age, Miss Fox?” she asked.
Just as she said it, Janet spilled a little claret on the tablecloth in her enthusiasm to signal to Floyd to join her and Flossy. Both girls giggled as a hovering footman swooped in and discreetly covered the spill with a cloth.
“I’d rather talk to you,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about Hambledon Hall. How old is it?”
Lady Elizabeth’s blue eyes lit up as she told me about the house she’d lived in since it was built fifty years ago, after the previous Tudor manor was torn down by her father. I’d not realized it was so new. The towers and battlements were purely for show, then. Hambledon Hall hadn’t begun life as a fortified structure, despite appearances. The only shots that would have been fired in its vicinity were for sport.
“Some of the villagers call it a Gothic monstrosity, but I’m fond of the pile of stones,” Lady Elizabeth said with a chuckle. “The old place was so drafty in comparison. Now it’s full of life with the two children tearing along its halls. I’m fortunate to have lovely memories of both houses.”
I placed her age at around eighty, so she would have well and truly been an adult when the current house was completed. She’d resided at either the previous or current Hambledon Hall her entire life. Having never married, she’d outlived her father and brother—the fourth and fifth earls of Kershaw—and was living with her nephew, the sixth, and his young wife. From what I could see, they doted on her.
Lord Kershaw’s sister, Mrs. Browning, sat on her aunt’s other side, her plate empty except for two slim ribbon sandwiches. “Did I overhear you mention oriel windows, Aunt Elizabeth? Miss Fox is a young lady. She doesn’t want to talk about the style of windows in the gloomy old place.”
Lady Elizabeth’s hand fluttered to her mouth with a birdlike flap. “Oh dear, Miss Fox, I am sorry. I’m boring you, aren’t I? I do tend to go on sometimes.”
“Not at all,” I said. “I asked about the Hall because I’m interested in architecture. In fact, a friend of mine will want to hear all about it when I return to London.” I stopped myself before I let slip that my friend was a man. I didn’t want to set tongues wagging.
From the way Lady Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled, I wondered if she realized.
Lady Kershaw sat beside Mrs. Browning. The sisters-in-law couldn’t look more different. The younger of the two, Lady Kershaw was short and full-figured whereas Mrs. Browning was tall and slim. Her ladyship’s dark, almond-shaped eyes often brightened when she spoke and her apple cheeks turned pink after minor exertion. Like her husband, she’d welcomed me warmly into her home.
Mrs. Browning, however, peered down her nose at me from her great height through frosty blue eyes. I would have assumed that was how she treated everyone and not been offended, except that I was theonlylady she looked at that way. Flossy suffered no such disdain. Given my father had been a mathematics professor of no particular lineage, and Flossy’s father was related to nobility, albeit distantly, I didn’t need to look hard for a reason for Mrs. Browning’s prejudice. She might be the daughter of the late earl, but she had married a commoner, so I’d expected a measure of empathy from her, but she was snobbier than the rest of her family put together.
“I hear the shooting party was such a success they won’t be continuing this afternoon,” Lady Kershaw said. “They have enough birds.”
Mrs. Browning made a scoffing noise. “There’s never enough, Marion. Even if they’d shot a mountain of partridge, they’d want more.” Her gaze slid to her husband, standing with some of the other gentlemen, a glass of beer in his hand. “That’s men for you. Always eager to destroy unnecessarily.”
Lady Kershaw looked uncomfortable at her sister-in-law’s brutal assessment. She may outrank Mrs. Browning, but she tended to shrink in her presence. Even though she was the hostess, and the Brownings didn’t reside at Hambledon Hall, she often deferred to Mrs. Browning before making a decision. Perhaps Lady Kershaw felt inferior because she’d come to the Hall only upon her marriage, whereas Mrs. Browning was born and raised here.
Lady Elizabeth asked to be excused. Lady Kershaw signaled to her husband to assist his aunt, but he was too intent on one of the outdoor servants emerging from the trees in the distance to notice. Instead, Uncle Ronald offered his arm. With him on her left side, and her walking stick in her right hand, Lady Elizabeth slowly made her way back to the house.
“I hope your aunt is all right,” I said to Mrs. Browning. “She left very suddenly.”
Mrs. Browning didn’t respond. Like her brother, she was watching the outdoor servant as he strode across the lawn then disappeared around the side of the house in the direction of the outbuildings. Mr. Browning’s hooded gaze also followed the figure. Once the servant was out of sight, Mr. Browning suddenly glanced at his wife.
With a regal jut of her chin, Mrs. Browning picked up her glass and pretended not to notice.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“Who?”
“That man you were looking at.”
“I saw no one. Excuse me, Miss Fox. I must speak to my daughter.” She took her glass with her but left behind the plate with the untouched sandwiches.
After luncheon, Lady Kershaw gave us a tour of the garden, ending in the fernery. Plants of all varieties, shapes and sizes filled the room, many of them ferns and palms, but not all. Some had leaves as big as me reaching to the glass ceiling. A paved path meandered through the indoor oasis, past moss-covered rockeries and ponds where the silver bellies of fish flashed in the sunlight. I decided to return later with a book and sit on the bench seat sheltered by palm fronds.
A game of croquet came next, then afternoon tea, followed by a lull during which I found time to read in the fernery while the other ladies wrote letters. When the gong to dress for dinner sounded, I found my way to my room where Harmony had already laid out my evening gown, gloves, shoes, hair pieces, and jewelry. Her efficiency was born from boredom. After a triumphant stint as assistant to Floyd, organizing an important wedding reception at the Mayfair Hotel, she’d returned to maid’s duties. Although she never complained, I sensed she missed the more interesting duties of the assistant’s role. Uncle Ronald had promised her she would be allowed to organize future events but, as yet, the hotel had none booked.
She’d accompanied us to Hambledon Hall as lady’s maid to Flossy and me. After I was ready, she’d go next door to help Flossy, but until then, we could talk. Of everyone at the Mayfair Hotel—my family and the rest of the staff—Harmony was the person with whom I felt most comfortable.
I remembered to warn her about my theory that a male member of staff could be causing the maids and nannies to leave prematurely. “I think someone is upsetting them, and I presume it’s a man. Have you seen any of the men behaving terribly?”
“No, but your instincts are sharp, Cleo. Lady Bainbridge’s maid and I were warned to stay away from the gamekeeper by Lady Kershaw’s maid.” She directed me to turn around with a wiggle of her finger, but I stood rooted to the spot.
I stared at her. “If the most senior female servant, aside from the housekeeper, thought the two visiting maids ought to be warned, why is the gamekeeper still working here? It’s unacceptable.”
