Page 26 of A Moveable Feast
I signaled to Tess that we should leave. Tess curtsied to the room, eyes down, as though she was the most obedient maid in the history of maids. I lifted the tray I’d prepared for Mrs. Morgan, and Tess followed me out.
“Whew, I don’t envy our Lady Cynthia staying in there,” Tess murmured to me as we reached the door to the back stairs.
“Neither do I,” I agreed as Tess opened the door for me. “Back to the kitchen for you, Tess. And thank you. On a cheerful note, we should be home soon.”
“That’s the truth.” Tess grinned at me and then clattered down the stairs while I ascended them.
I found Mrs. Morgan sitting up in her bed, looking much better. She’d obviously drunk no more morphine-laced tea today.
“Ever so kind,” Mrs. Morgan said as I laid the tray on her bedside table. “What with all the goings-on here, I think I’ll give me notice.”
“Perhaps that would be for the best.” I poured out a cup of tea, added a bit of sugar, and handed it to her.
Mrs. Morgan’s eyes narrowed, though she readily took the cup. “Are you after my post, Mrs. Holloway?”
“No, indeed.” I’d have to be desperate to work for this family, I decided. “I only meant you might be happier elsewhere.”
“Could be. Course, if I leave, her ladyship will be thrown to the wolves.”
“You are afraid for her.” I’d finally settled on that interpretation of what she’d been trying to tell me before.
Mrs. Morgan took a noisy sip of tea. “Even her own husband can’t be bothered with her most of the time. Besotted at first, because she was once so lovely, but she don’t have much in the way of good sense. A man gets weary of that, don’t he?”
It occurred to me that in his time of loss, Lord Babcock hadn’t wanted his wife next to him. He might have ordered her to withdraw to her chamber with Lady Margaret and Cynthia, or perhaps it had been Cynthia’s suggestion.
“I don’t believe she killed Lord Alfred,” I said.
“Eh? Of course she didn’t. Her ladyship don’t have that sort of cunning. I tried to tell her to be careful in this house, what with how the family treats her, especially with young Desmond arriving.”
Third Cousin Desmond, whom Cynthia had told me about. “Would Cousin Desmond risk murdering Lord Alfred?” I wondered out loud. “His brother, Stephan, is the one who will inherit.” So Cynthia had indicated. “Does he dote on his brother so much that he’d sacrifice himself to ensure Stephan is the next marquess?”
Mrs. Morgan snorted a laugh. “Not young Desmond, that scrawny nuisance. I’ve known him since he was in short pants, and believe me, he has no love for his older brother. No, if he offed Lord Alfred, it would be in a fit of pique alone. Young Alfred used to poke fun at him something awful, and young Desmond was always a bit sensitive.”
“Lady Margaret wants to marry him?” I’d have thought the pampered young woman I’d observed downstairs would prefer a handsome, brawny, and very wealthy man to be her husband. Wouldn’t hurt if he was already a duke or some such.
“Those two have been thick as thieves since they were children. Lady Babcock believes Lady Margaret ought to marry a quiet man and go live in the country somewhere, instead of larking about the metropolis with her friends. Girls these days are bold as brass, ain’t they?”
Lady Margaret had seemed more lethargic than bold, but then, she’d suffered a shock from the loss of her brother this day. Her face had betrayed her weeping. Perhaps she ought to marry Desmond after all and try to find some happiness.
“Mark my words,” Mrs. Morgan went on darkly. “It were Seabrook what killed him, if it were anyone.”
I started. “Why do you say that?”
Mrs. Morgan shrugged. “She never liked Lord Alfred. Lord Alfred always ragged on her, just as he did to his stepmother. Lord Alfred was a cruel young man to his own family. Outside it, butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, as they say. Had much of polite society wrapped around his finger.”
I’d already wondered whether Mrs. Seabrook, upstairs in the drawing room once the diners had departed it, had done the deed, for whatever reason. She was a robust woman.
Other ideas poured through my head, distracting me as I nodded at Mrs. Morgan. “No doubt the police will find the culprit.”
“Those fools? Ha. Couldn’t find a piece of hay in a haystack.” Mrs. Morgan slurped her tea noisily and reached for the pastry.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I said, as Mrs. Morgan had fixed her attention on her repast. “I’m sure your kitchen maids will be happy to have you back again.”
Another snort told me what Mrs. Morgan thought of my platitudes.
I departed as she masticated the pastry, and descended once more below stairs.
By the time I reached the kitchen, Tess and Mary had made good headway on packing up our things. Jane was less downcast though still tense.
