Page 14 of A Moveable Feast
Mrs. Seabrook rounded on her as though she’d box Mary’s ears, but fortunately, she did no such thing. “It is not a mistake, you stupid girl. He is dead, and his lordship has canceled the meal.”
“Poor man.” Tess was the only one of us jarred out of our amazement to express sympathy. “Was he sickly? Or frail? Sometimes people just fall over, like, no matter how young.”
“He weren’t frail.” Mary scoffed. “His young lordship is robust and hearty. Rides every morning, don’t he? So handsome, always with a kind word for me. It must have been the fish.” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in her apron and began to weep.
“It was not the fish,” I said immediately. Cooks were prone to be the first blamed when someone grew peaky over their supper. “It was delivered fresh, and I checked it thoroughly. It was sweet as can be. I taste every dish before it’s plated, and I am right as rain.”
“He never ate the fish, you silly woman,” Mrs. Seabrook snapped. “He was wandering about the hall as they all went into dine, telling me his stomach was a bit achy and that the others should begin without him. I was clearing up in the drawing room when I heard the front door open, but no one was announced. When I came out to see who the footman had admitted, I found the door wide open and Lord Alfred dead on the floor.”
Mrs. Seabrook drew a sharp breath, as though the impact of finding him was just coming to her. She needed a strong cup of tea, though I was too dazed to pour her one at the moment.
Mary continued to sob, but Jane was utterly still, her face draining of color until it was nearly green.
“Did his heart give out?” Tess asked gently. “I had a cousin who swore he was only dyspeptic one day, but he died that evening, sleeping in a chair by the fire.”
“I doubt it,” Mrs. Seabrook retorted. “He was stabbed, wasn’t he? A tramp, who’d been skulking about outside all night, came right into our house and struck him with a knife. Now, take away all this food, Mrs. Holloway. We won’t be needing it.”
Chapter 6
As soon as Mrs. Seabrook marched out of the kitchen, the three kitchen maids began to babble simultaneously.
“Is it really true?” Mary scrubbed her face with her apron. “Should we run for a constable?”
“A constable, yes, if he were murdered,” Tess said. “I can go.” I knew she meant to seek Caleb, who would be on his beat around Mount Street today.
“It were never a tramp that killed him.” This last came from Jane, who still appeared rather sickly.
“Why do you say that, Jane?” I asked.
Jane shrugged, her sullenness returning. “Why should a tramp march inside and stick a knife into the first person he sees?”
“Because he’s a madman,” Mary wailed. “Poor Lord Alfred. We ain’t safe here, not if they could do that to the poor young master.” Her sobs continued.
“Mary.” I made my voice cut through her hysteria. “Take the rest of the rolls from the oven before they burn. Use the towels so you don’t scorch your hands and set the pan on top of the stove. Jane, carry the ham back to the table. We’ll divide up the vegetables among us staff, because they won’t last, and we’ll send up the aspic and slices of ham to put on the sideboard in the dining room. The family will be hungry, even through this tragedy. Tess, please go out and find Mr. McAdam and tell him what’s happened.”
I assumed the tramp Mrs. Seabrook claimed had been lurking all night was Daniel. Why he had nothing better to do than linger in Portman Square, I did not know, but I was grateful he’d remained.
“Who’s Mr. McAdam?” Jane asked in sudden suspicion.
“Someone who might be able to help. Take care with that tray, Jane. It is heavy.”
“I know that.” Jane’s lip curled as she carried the ham to the table, but she was cautious while crossing the floor. She set down the ham amid the pile of cakes and pastries we’d readied. “What’s going to become of it all? Mary ain’t wrong. We worked our fingers to the bone.”
I watched Tess remove her apron and scuttle out, wishing I could go with her. “It sometimes happens, unfortunately,” I said to Jane. “We will store what we can for the family to eat, though I’m certain my mistress will insist that anything we brought returns with us.”
“Sounds like your mistress is a right cow,” Jane declared.
A light female voice answered her. “That is possibly true.”
Jane swung around, her face going scarlet as Lady Cynthia walked briskly into the kitchen.
Cynthia surveyed our mess and shook her head in sympathy. “My, my, what a waste. You are quite right, Mrs. H. Auntie sent me down here to tell you we must pack up all the food and wine and take it home to Mount Street. Not one morsel to be missed, she said.”
Jane dropped a contrite curtsey. “Sorry, my lady.”
“Quite all right,” Lady Cynthia said. “That is Auntie all over, isn’t it? Also, I’m dying of hunger. The soup was tasty, but I barely had a bite before Lady Babcock lays down her spoon and tells the footmen to serve the fish. Had maybe two bites of that before Mrs. Seabrook raised the alarm about poor Alfred. I thought Lady Babcock would faint dead away, but the rest of the family and guests ignored her in their stampede to the hall. Lord Babcock is beside himself with grief, as you can imagine, but he’s resisting sending for the police, saying it will do no good.”
“Please sit down, my lady.” I gestured Cynthia to the least cluttered corner of the table and drew the best chair to it. I took up my knife and sliced a few pieces of ham for her and fetched one of the buns Mary had just removed from the oven. “Tuck into that,” I told her as I set the plate in front of her and spooned sauce over all. “Tess has gone to tell Daniel.”
