Page 15 of A Moveable Feast
“Good for her.” Cynthia snatched up a fork with enthusiasm. “You don’t mind if Thanos comes down as well, do you? He’s hovering at the top of the stairs, uncertain of his welcome in the kitchen but not wanting to intrude on the family either. I had the excuse of Auntie to enter your sanctuary.”
This kitchen was hardly a sanctuary, but I knew what Cynthia meant. I sliced off a few more pieces of ham. “Of course he is welcome.”
“Excellent. I’ll fetch him.”
“No need,” I said quickly as she started to rise. “I will invite him down. You enjoy your meal.”
Cynthia settled in again and lifted her fork. “Don’t mind if I do. I feel terrible wanting to eat when someone has just killed poor Alfred, but for some reason I’m famished. Excellent ham, Mrs. H.”
Jane watched Lady Cynthia in some trepidation, Mary peeking in from the scullery to which she’d retreated.
I thanked Cynthia for her compliment then hastened to the backstairs and up them. I wanted to tow Mr. Thanos to the kitchen before Mrs. Seabrook or Armitage saw him and chivvied him somewhere, possibly out of the house.
When I opened the green baize door, I found Mr. Thanos near it. He stood still, peering toward the front of the house and the wide hall where I assumed Lord Alfred had met his demise.
The floor was polished walnut, dark with a fine sheen, no rug to mar its surface. The front door led into a foyer, which had another door between it and the main hall. The foyer’s door, with stained glass in its upper half, stood open, though the front door was now closed.
The hall flowed past one large set of closed double doors, which I assumed led to the drawing room. The staircase came next, rising gracefully to the next floor. Opposite the staircase was another set of doors. One of these was open, giving me a glimpse of the dining room, which was still filled with people in fine clothes. The gentlemen wore black suits and sharp white cravats, while the ladies were in gowns of light spring colors.
The inhabitants were extraordinarily silent, though I saw one gentleman pouring brandy at the sideboard. I presumed none of them knew exactly what to do.
Of Albert’s body, there was no sign. Nor did I see any blood staining the perfection of the floor.
Mr. Thanos too wore a black suit, though his cravat was crooked and one of his waistcoat buttons had come undone. I was used to seeing him in plainer suits of flannel or wool, but black broadcloth suited his slim figure, dark hair, and soft brown eyes.
“Mr. Thanos?”
At the sound of my voice, Mr. Thanos jumped, his feet nearly coming off the floor before he spun to face me.
“Oh, Mrs. Holloway.” He pressed a hand to his heart. “You startled me.”
I gestured to the front hall. “Is that where …?” I whispered the question, not wanting Mrs. Bywater, who I caught sight of in the dining room, to realize I was upstairs.
Mr. Thanos nodded. “Gave me quite a jolt to rush out here and see the poor chap crumpled to the floor. He’d greeted me in the drawing room not a half hour ago, and he was breezy and trying to be witty, though he said his stomach was troubling him. Stabbed, the housekeeper said. Front door was wide open. They’ve moved him into the drawing room.” He waved a hand at the closed doors.
“No one was stationed in the foyer?” Usually, in fine houses, a footman was assigned to stand at the front door so they could help guests from carriages and usher them inside. They also safeguarded the house from any would-be intruders.
“No, no, Lady Babcock had all the footmen in the dining room serving. Too many guests for her number of staff, Cyn mused to me in a whisper.”
“The front door was left unlocked while no one was there to stand guard?” I asked in wonderment.
“I suppose.” Mr. Thanos blinked. “I really have no idea.”
“I see no blood,” I remarked. Not that I wanted to gaze upon such a thing, but it was strange.
“Yes, I noticed that. He was lying on a rug, which the three footmen lifted and carried into the drawing room with Lord Alfred on it. He’s still in there, stretched across the sofa.”
Which meant Alfred hadn’t bled enough for it to seep through the rug to the boards beneath.
Mr. Thanos drew a breath. “Such a shock. Truth to tell, I am glad you have popped out, Mrs. Holloway. I meant to tell you, I discovered what was in the teacup. There were barely enough dregs to make a study, but one of my chums at the Polytechnic is a clever chap. He could isolate the various components of air itself if he could put it into a beaker. And I believe he can. You have to?—”
“What was in the tea, Mr. Thanos?” Sometimes rudely interrupting Mr. Thanos was the only way to gain information.
“Eh? Oh, yes. I beg your pardon. It wasn’t laudanum. It was morphine.”
He gazed at me in triumph, but I was no more enlightened.
“Morphine?” I repeated dubiously. “I’ve heard of it. It’s a sort of medicine, isn’t it?”
