Page 7

A s 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.”

“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?”

“Yes, it can alleviate pain, but too much is quite deadly. Mixing it with alcohol or something like laudanum will speed up its effects, but one can die in a few minutes from having even a small dose.”

Cold flashed through me. “A mercy I only had a swallow, then.”

His eyes widened. “You drank some? Good heavens, yes, it is a mercy. Also, the tea diluted it a good bit, according to my friend. I am happy to see you alive and well, Mrs. Holloway.”

My knees were shaky, and I put my hand on the wall to steady myself. “Thank you for finding out, Mr. Thanos.”

“Not at all. Are you well?” He regarded me with concern in his kindly dark eyes.

“Yes, I will be.” I hadn’t drunk more of the tea, and I was quite fine, after all. No need to break down.

The question remained, who had dosed the tea for Mrs. Morgan and why? Had her initial illness been true, or also caused by a dollop of morphine?

I drew a breath, remembering my errand. “Come downstairs with me. Lady Cynthia is there, and I know you haven’t had enough to eat.”

Mr. Thanos gave me another concerned glance but followed me to the backstairs door, reaching to open it for me before I could. He could not help always being the gentleman, even to a cook.