Page 29 of A Moveable Feast
“My, my,” Mary said after James had hefted a few crates outside. “Ain’t he a one?”
Her tone was admiring, which told me her attachment to Lord Alfred had been little more than a passing infatuation.
Jane said nothing at all, but the way her gaze fixed on James showed genuine interest. James was a free spirit, I wanted to tell them, not ready to walk out with a young lady, but I held my tongue. Let them have this one refreshing moment in a bleak day.
While Tess continued to supervise the packing, I prepared a fresh pot of tea, added pastries that would not survive the journey back to Mount Street, and once more ascended through the house. When I paused on the first floor, I saw Mrs. Seabrook issuing stentorian commands to two maids who rushed about, trying to obey her.
Lady Babcock, Miss Jordan, Cynthia, and Lady Magaret had remained in Lady Babcock’s chamber.
Lady Margaret was crying fresh tears, wiping them copiously on an already wet handkerchief. Her eyes were redder than before, and she morosely regarded the tea I set before her.
When I carried tea to Lady Babcock, she gazed up at me with more resolution than she’d had when I’d left her.
“I’ve made up my mind,” she said quietly. “I’m going to live with my aunt for a bit. She needs looking after, and I will welcome the change.”
“Perhaps that is the best thing, your ladyship,” I agreed.
I was not horrified or disapproving that she’d abandon her husband while he grieved for his son. If Lord Babcock had wanted her comfort, she’d already be shut in the study with him.
I had the feeling I was witnessing the shattering of a marriage. The Babcocks might not shock the world with a divorce, but I wagered they’d begin living separate lives. It was too bad, but I’d experienced a difficult marriage myself, and being on one’s own was infinitely preferable to that.
Cynthia encouraged Lady Margaret to sip some tea. Margaret coughed as it went down, but she managed to swallow then fell limply against the settee’s pillows once more.
I sent Cynthia an inquiring glance, wondering if she needed me to stay, but Cynthia nodded for me to go.
I hoped she’d persuade Lady Margaret to bed and to take something to make her sleep, though not the morphine that was floating about this house. I wondered if Sergeant Scott would search for it, or if he and Inspector McGregor would be satisfied that they’d caught the killer and not bother.
Desmond couldn’t possibly have laced Mrs. Morgan’s tea, I was certain. He hadn’t arrived at the house until shortly before dinner was served today.
Why Mrs. Morgan’s tea had been dosed was still a mystery. Had Mrs. Morgan guessed that Lord Alfred would be murdered, and the murderer wanted to shut her up? But if so, Mrs. Morgan could have passed that information on, either to me when I’d taken her the broth, or later, when she’d felt better.
The effect of Mrs. Morgan’s illness was that she hadn’t been in the kitchen. The morphine might have been intended to make certain she stayed abed.
Had the person thought to poison Lord Alfred and blame the kitchen staff, or whoever took over for Mrs. Morgan, for serving him bad food? Was Mrs. Morgan the sort of cook who’d never let anyone near her dishes?
If so, the poisoner must have been dismayed at my diligence. I too let no one near the food except those I trusted, and as I’d told Mrs. Seabrook, I tasted everything myself.
Was that why they’d risked stabbing Lord Alfred?
In any case, Third Cousin Desmond had not been here to dollop morphine into Mrs. Morgan’s tea.
That left Mrs. Seabrook, Lady Babcock, Lord Babcock, Lady Margaret, Alfred himself, Armitage, and the maids and footmen. I’d think only a physician would be able to get hold of morphine, but I acknowledged that anything could be stolen from anywhere.
I gave Lady Babcock and Miss Jordan one last glance of reassurance and left the room, breathing a sigh of relief when I closed the door behind me. Cynthia would guard the ladies well. I told myself there would be no more murder or attempted murder if we all remained diligent.
By the time I reached the kitchen once more, James and the three maids had finished loading the cart. I snatched up my coat and hat and ascended the outside stairs to find Tess climbing to the seat next to James for the ride home.
Mary leaned on the railings, gazing at James, her expression forlorn.
Jane faced me belligerently. “If ye had any heart, ye wouldn’t go.”
I regarded her with surprise. “My dear Jane, this house already has a cook. I cannot remain where I’m not employed.”
“Then take me with ya.”
I felt sorry for her, but there was little I could offer. “Hiring another kitchen assistant is not up to me,” I said gently. “But I can put in a word for you at my agency if you wish to seek a better place.”
Jane considered this, then softened. “That’d be good of you. Thank you, Mrs. Holloway.”
