Page 103 of A Devilish Element
For Eliza, he’d endure whatever ostracism society threw at him.
Bell’s black wing eyebrows perked meaningfully. God damn him, the doctor was right. Maybe he couldn’t undo the hurt he’d caused, but he could put Eliza’s wishes before his own and help her, and believe in her, when no one else was ready to do so.
“Bell,” he turned to say on reaching the surgery door. “It wasn’t her. I don’t care for you suggesting it was. Dammit, she’s the only one among us who would never stoop to such measures, and I include both you and I in that judgement.”
His friend snorted. “Go. Away with you. Go and earn your knightly spurs.”
~?~
The kitchens were deserted. Jem knew there was a dearth of servants at Cedarton, but he couldn’t account for the absence of them all. Someone ought to have been about below stairs. He poked his head into both the butler’s pantry and the housekeeper’s office. The former was home to a pair of black-eyed rats, the latter a few shabby cushions and some dried flowers in a vase. A little dish on the windowsill housed a few small amber stones, which he prodded with a fingertip. There was no sign of the Kunckel’s pills Eliza insisted were the source of the phosphorous Linfield had somehow ingested, but nor had he expected to find them so obviously situated.
Thence, he headed up to the parlour, stopped by the study and library and the rest of the furnished rooms without stumbling on any signs of life.
Jem turned one of the little rocks he’d picked up between his fingers, perturbed by the quiet. Even with the pall of death looming over the property, he expected more evidence of habitation. It was too quiet. As if the house itself were holding its breath in expectation of trouble.
On the ground floor, only one of the mirrors had been covered, the largest one in the hall that reflected the main entrance. Unsure where to look next, Jem took to the stairs.
A distinct nip in the air set him rubbing warmth into his arms when he reached the third-floor landing. When he turned the corner onto the corridor that led to Eliza’s room, the reason became apparent. The great iron-pinned door at the end of the corridor which had once connected this portion of the house to the Lady’s Tower stood open onto the night sky. In its frame were a gaggle of four or five squat figures. Men with swaddled faces and hoods pulled low.
A small figure flew at him, sending him skittering back into the gloom. Betsy, the garrulous maid who’d openly spied on him and Eliza stuck her oval face right into his and growled. “Where’s tha gawping at? Ain’t nowt to see along here.”
“Is that right?”
“Oh, just leave it be, will ya. Away ta ya room and stay outta sight like a nice fella. It’ll be better for us all that way. Ya ain’t been seen yet, and you ain’t seen nowt either. That’s reet ain’t it, mister?”
It was, but he didn’t think theft was something he ought to turn a blind eye to. He did, however, allow the maid to hound him back towards the stairs, so that they were entirely out of sight of the figures in the looming maw.
“What’s going on—”
“Don’t,” she insisted, raising her fingers as if to silence him. “Like ah already said, tha ain’t seen owt ’cept some folks moving some things what belongs t’ them.”
An unlikely story. He was sure his scepticism showed.
“Mister—I’m sorry, I forget ya name. This place’s been empty for years. Nee one came here, due t’ stories. How was we supposed t’ know ’is lordship would show up reet afore Christmas when it were too late t’ make other arrangements? Even a wee bit a notice would’ve done. We’d a up and shifted things, no harm done, like, but no, he just rides up unannounced, and says t’ Gordy t’ start seeing off anyone who’s not invited wi’ a gun. I mean who does that? Lordlings ah suppose. So, we’ve been waitin’ for the reet time, an’ t’night… I can see t’ gettin’ ya summat nice, if ya keep ya trap shut.”
Jem frowned, not entirely sure what to make of the tale he was being spun. It was serving the purpose of keeping him out of sight and inactive, so on that score it was presumably working. Then again, he wasn’t sure what the alternative would have been. He wasn’t dumb enough to see off four grown men and a wily maid single-handedly. He did not possess a pistol, and he suspected the tallest fellow he’d seen was in fact the footman he’d been looking for to assist him in detaining Mrs Honeyfield, and whom he’d then intended to send for the magistrate. All in all, his options were thin.
“What is it they’re collecting?” he asked.
Betsy’s mouth twisted into a conflicted pucker.
“I’m going to assume they’re making off with the silver if you don’t convince me otherwise,” he added reasonably.
“Fine. Victuals,” she spat. “Victuals what folk hereabouts depend on, especially at turn o’ year.”
“Victuals,” Jem repeated, beginning to see the lay of things. “But we’re miles from the coast.”
Her deadly glare continued.
Ah, that was the point. Cedarton was being used as a stopover point for smuggled goods shipped in from Holland to coves along the coast and then sent inland to York. Much easier to avoid the revenue men if you crossed the moors instead of taking the more established roads.
“Brandy,” he said. “I’ll be delighted to find a bottle in my room.”
Betsy grumbled. “Why not just take one of ’is lordships? It’s not like he’ll be needing it any longer, and Lady Linfield dun’t know if there’s four or forty in’t cellar.”
He couldn’t fault her logic, even if she was advocating theft.
“Where’s your mistress?”
