Page 51 of The Earl's Forbidden Governess
Mrs. Potts looked at her with a strange understanding, then nodded. “Yes,” she said at last. “Mr. Simmons. Runs the local pub right here in the village. He was the groundskeeper.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Potts,” Catherine muttered before setting off to the pub at once, hardly feeling the cold as she rushed forth.
The Three Feathers tavern was quiet in the early morning hours. A grizzled man with a limp was sweeping the floor as Catherine entered.
“Mr. Simmons?” she called softly.
He looked up, surprise evident on his weathered face. “Aye, that’s me. We’re not open yet, miss.”
“I’m not here for a drink,” Catherine explained quickly. “I need to talk to you about Wessex Manor. About the night Lord and Lady Wessex died.”
Mr. Simmons’ face hardened. “That’s not a night I like to remember, miss. Why are you asking?”
Catherine took a deep breath. “I… I am worried about the earl,” she explained. “And Lady Emily. I just… I want to know what happened. Please, Mr. Simmons. Anything you remember could be crucial.”
The old groundskeeper studied her for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Alright. But not here. Come round the back.”
In the small garden behind the pub, Mr. Simmons lit a pipe and settled onto a bench. “What do you want to know?”
“Did you notice anything unusual that night? Anyone behaving strangely?”
Mr. Simmons puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. “Can’t say as I did. But in the weeks leading up to it... there was something off about Samuel Harper. The butler,” he said thoughtfully, and Catherine looked down at her hands, her heart racing.
“Off how?” she pressed, fear threatening to consume her.
“He was skulking about at odd hours. I’d see him leaving the house late at night, returning just before dawn. And he was meeting with someone. A woman, I think. Couldn’t make out who she was, but she seemed... fancy. Not from around here.”
Catherine’s mind raced. Could this mysterious woman be connected to the letter she’d found? “Did you ever confront Mr. Harper about these meetings?”
Mr. Simmons shook his head. “Wasn’t my place. But I did mention it to old Lord Wessex. He thanked me, said he’d look into it. That was just days before...” He trailed off, his eyes growing distant. “Actually, the stable master might know something too. Old Tom—he has a cottage on the edge of the village.”
Catherine closed her eyes as gratitude coursed through her. She could not help but wonder if Edward had never considered doing exactly this: asking some of the former staff about his parents’ death. She supposed he did not—if Mr. Harper was truly involved, she was certain that he would have made sure Edward mistrusted everyone who could point a finger at him.
“Thank you, Mr. Simmons,” she muttered, stifling a yawn before setting off to find Old Tom.
The elderly man was tending to a small vegetable garden when Catherine approached. “Excuse me,” she called as shedrew closer to him. “Are you Tom? The old stable master at Wessex manor?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Who might be askin’, lassie?”
“My name is Catherine Winslow,” she explained as she approached him. “I am the… was… the governess for Lady Emily Montague.”
At once, his expression softened. “Lady Emily, you say? I hope she’s well. She was a lovely child. But it’s been a long time since I thought about that place. What’s your interest, girl?”
“I… I want to know who killed them. The Lord and Lady Wessex,” she explained quickly. “And I think that the butler—Sam Harper—may have been involved.”
Old Tom listened silently, his gnarled hands never ceasing their work in the soil.
“Aye, there was something not right about Sam,” he said finally. “Always had a mean streak, that one. Treated the horses poorly when he thought no one was looking.”
“Did you ever see him do anything suspicious?” Catherine asked.
Old Tom straightened up with a groan. “Matter of fact, I did. Night before it happened, I was up late with a foaling mare. Saw Sammy sneaking out to the old gamekeeper’s cottage. Thought it was odd, that place had been abandoned for years. Came back hours later, skulking about again.”
Catherine’s pulse quickened. “Did you tell anyone about this?”
Old Tom shook his head. “Next morning, all hell broke loose with the deaths. In the chaos, I... I forgot about it. Until now.”
As Catherine prepared to leave, Old Tom called after her. “Be careful, lass. If Sammy had something to do with those deaths... well, he’s had years to cover his tracks. And he won’t take kindly to someone digging them up.”
