Page 25 of A Moveable Feast
Mrs. Bywater, fortunately, was absent. She was not the sort of person one wanted close when needing comfort.
“I brought a repast, your ladyship,” I said when no one spoke.
I set the smaller tray on a table near the door and moved to help Tess with the large one, which we placed on the low table in front of the settee. Cynthia seated herself again and immediately began dispensing tea, as neither Lady Babcock nor Lady Margaret seemed able to take on the task.
Lady Margaret’s eyes were red-rimmed, her face blotchy. I noted that she smelled strongly of a floral perfume, possibly donned to entice her cousin Desmond, or perhaps it was something she wore for supper every day. Lady Cynthia never wore scent, not liking to smell like a chemist’s shop, she always jested.
“I don’t want anything,” Lady Margaret declared tearfully. “Take it all away.”
“Nonsense.” Cynthia finished pouring a cup and shoved it at Lady Margaret. “Best thing for shock is to take nourishment. Else you’ll waste away.”
As Lady Margaret possessed the artificial slenderness so popular these days, it wouldn’t take much for her to fade to nothing.
Lady Magaret grasped the teacup and saucer, either because she agreed with Cynthia or because Cynthia was a stubborn force.
I pushed the plate of pastries toward them. I’d worked hard on these, laminating the dough and brushing some with jam, others with chocolate and hazelnut cream.
Cynthia took up a jam pastry and bit off a large chunk while Lady Margaret regarded them listlessly.
“Perfect,” Cynthia stated after she chewed and swallowed. “Mrs. Holloway has a fine touch.”
I nodded my thanks as I fixed a cup of tea and carried it to Lady Babcock. “I’ve put a bit of sugar in this and a dollop of cream,” I told her as I held it out to her. “It will fortify you nicely.”
Lady Babcock took the cup, gazing at me as though she’d never seen me or anyone else in the room before. Of the three ladies, she seemed the most dazed.
“What has happened in my house?” Lady Babcock murmured to me, so softly I barely caught it.
I bent closer. “Lord Alfred’s death is a terrible thing, your ladyship, I know. We can only let ourselves grieve and then carry on.”
This is what I’d told myself after my mother had died. The words sounded as hollow now as they had then. I’d been fortunate to have Joanna to hug me until my weeping ceased, and not much longer after that, I’d borne Grace. Grace had done much to return happiness to my life.
“They don’t want me to carry on,” Lady Babcock said to me, sotto voce. “They want me to hang for murdering Alfred.”
I could not say, Of course, they don’t, because it had been made clear that most in this household did not want her here.
Would Lord Babcock’s lofty position protect Lady Babcock if she was accused? I dimly recalled some law or other from the past that said a husband was responsible for his wife’s wrongdoings, but I wasn’t certain if that was still the case.
The law might, at the very least, have Lady Babcock put into an asylum for the insane—one of those remote country places with thick walls and strong gates. Lady Margaret and the servants might be pleased by that outcome.
The question was, would any of them go so far as to sacrifice Lord Alfred to rid themselves of Lady Babcock? The idea seemed far-fetched. It was more likely that Lady Babcock’s enemies would take advantage of the situation to try to pin the crime on her.
That left the problem of who had actually crept up behind Lord Alfred and stabbed him.
“All will be well,” I said softly to Lady Babcock. “Drink your tea.”
She lifted the cup to her lips and took a long swallow. That she did so without hesitation, made me believe she hadn’t, in fact, dosed Mrs. Morgan’s tea. Lady Babcock would be more suspicious of a cup I handed her if she was used to manipulating people with dollops of morphine.
Once Lady Babcock seemed calmer, I carried tea to Miss Jordan. She took it with murmured thanks.
“Will you look out for her?” I whispered.
“Of course,” Miss Jordan said stoutly.
A dragon, I decided. One in simple gray broadcloth.
Would she have killed the son of the house to protect Lady Babcock from him? Perhaps Lord Alfred had gone beyond rudeness and had dealt the occasional blow to his disliked stepmother—it was not unheard of. Miss Jordan might have decided he needed to be taken from Lady Babcock’s life. An idea worth pondering.
Miss Jordan began sipping her tea, ignoring me, and I returned to the others. Tess had quietly served Lady Margaret some of the cakes, though the young woman only stared at the plate on the table.
