Page 16 of Blackmail at Beckwith Place

Constance answered in the same soft tone so we wouldn’t overpower the conversation at the other table. “My mother’s lady’s maid.”

“The one who left without giving notice a couple of months ago?”

Constance nodded. “Hughes asked me about her, too, when she arrived this afternoon. But of course I’ve been here at Beckwith since shortly after Morrison left. I told Hughes to ask Lady Marsden or Laetitia instead.”

Over at the other table, Lady Marsden had finished looking down the length of her nose at Hughes, and deigned to inform her that no, no one at Marsden-on-Crane had heard from Lydia Morrison since she’d left Lady Peckham’s employ in late April. The Countess’s tone indicated deep offense that Hughes had dared to address her.

“Thank you, Hughes,” Aunt Roz said pleasantly. “Go on inside and get your own tea, if you would. We’ll be fine here.”

Hughes murmured her thanks and withdrew, looking chastised, although I’m fairly certain that the tightness in Aunt Roz’s voice was in response to the Countess’s behavior and not Hughes’s. Aunt Roz is invariably polite to the staff.

“How does Aunt Charlotte’s maid from Sutherland know your late mother’s maid at the Dower House?” I wanted to know, as Lady Marsden returned her attention to Uncle Harold and to Crispin.

“It’s like I told you, Pipsqueak,” Francis said. “They switched places at one point.”

“Truly?”

Constance nodded. “Hughes worked for my mother at Marsden, and Morrison worked for your aunt at Sutherland Hall. And when one of them wanted a change, the other agreed to a swap.”

“Interesting.”

Constance shrugged. “It was a very long time ago. Morrison worked for Mother my whole life. I never saw Hughes until today. She told me Mother had promised to bring her back to the Dower House after the funerals, but…” She trailed off.

“But your mother died,” I nodded, and then winced, appalled at my own insensitivity. “Sorry.”

Constance didn’t respond, and I added, “And you haven’t heard from Morrison since she left?”

She shook her head. “But I didn’t expect to. Mother gave her her wages, and there’d be no other reason why she’d contact me.”

“Not even to offer her condolences after your mother’s and Johanna’s deaths?”

And there I went, stuffing my foot in my mouth again.

“Never mind,” I said, and it was at this point that Lady Laetitia lifted a cucumber sandwich to her mouth and stopped halfway.

“Who’sthat?”

We all turned in the direction she was staring, in time to see a slender figure in a sprigged rayon frock, with a fair-haired baby on her hip, stagger out of the bushes onto the croquet lawn and promptly crumple into a heap on the grass.

CHAPTERFIVE

There wasa moment when nothing happened, when no one moved or even breathed. Then Laetitia squealed, and slapped a hand to her mouth. Not the one with the cucumber sandwich, sadly; the other one.

Constance gasped. Francis swore, and the legs of his chair scraped on the flagstones as he pushed it back. Aunt Roz’s chair fell over with a clatter as she shot to her feet and started running with Francis right behind.

I met Christopher’s shocked stare across the table.

“Is that—?” He couldn’t seem to find the words to continue, so he just stared at me.

I nodded. And pushed to my feet, too, a little less violently than either Aunt Roz or Francis. “Excuse me, please. I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do.”

Christopher nodded.

“Who…?”

I glanced at Constance—she had turned pale and looked faint—and back at Christopher. “Stay with her. Explain.”

He nodded. “Be careful.”