Page 17 of Miss Morton and the Missing Heir (A Miss Morton Mystery #4)

T wo days later, Caroline joined Mrs. Frogerton in the breakfast room.

“There you are, lass.” Mrs. Frogerton refilled her coffee cup. “Mrs. Scutton feels well enough to visit Morton House to see how the renovations are coming along. I said that you would accompany her.”

“Yes, of course. What time does she wish to leave? I’ll go order the carriage.”

“There’s no particular rush.” Mrs. Frogerton pointed at the chair opposite hers. “And you have a letter from Mr. Lewis to read.”

Caroline sat down and took the letter. It was relatively short, which was a blessing. “Mr. Lewis says that my father was very careful to list the shares and land in our names and not his, which means they are not considered part of the Morton estate.”

“Excellent news.” Mrs. Frogerton smiled. “I did think of one benefit of you selling that land, dear. You’ll have to inform Susan of her good fortune, and if that doesn’t raise Mabel’s interest, nothing will.”

“Yes, I’d have to insist on her giving me a proper home address and the name of a reputable financial institution in Maryland where the money could be deposited in Susan’s name.” Caroline folded the note and placed it back on the silver salver.

“And if she is unwilling to provide such information, you should ask Mr. Lewis to hold on to any money until she does.”

There was a steely note in Mrs. Frogerton’s voice, reminding Caroline that beneath her pleasant exterior, her employer was a shrewd negotiator and successful business owner.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that the Scuttons haven’t put a notice in the newspaper about Mary’s death?

” Mrs. Frogerton asked. “One has to wonder if they’ve told anyone at all, because they certainly haven’t received any letters of condolence and none of their acquaintances were invited to the funeral. ”

“That is odd, isn’t it?” Caroline said slowly. “Perhaps Mr. Scutton is waiting for his mother to recover sufficiently to deal with such matters.”

“What matters would those be, Lady Caroline?” Mr. Scutton said from the doorway. He entered the room and loomed over the table. He wore black, as befitted his current state of mourning, and had the somber expression to match.

“We were wondering whether Mrs. Scutton needed our assistance to share the news of her daughter’s death,” Caroline said. “It appears there has been no formal announcement in the newspapers yet.”

He visibly stiffened. “My mother is quite capable of dealing with our family affairs.”

Caroline smiled. “Then we shall leave everything in her capable hands. Are you accompanying her to Morton House this morning, sir?”

“I wasn’t aware that she felt well enough to go out.”

For a moment, Caroline regretted engaging him in conversation.

Everything she said made him poker up even more, and she was tired of being conciliatory.

She poured herself a cup of tea from the pot the butler placed in front of her and mentally rearranged the tasks she had to deal with for the rest of the day to accommodate her outing with Mrs. Scutton.

“Any news from Scotland Yard?” Mr. Scutton asked after helping himself to a substantial breakfast. He took a seat beside Mrs. Frogerton.

“Not so far,” Mrs. Frogerton answered him. “But I’m sure they’ll apprehend the culprits soon.”

“That would be nice,” Mr. Scutton said drily. “As we are all forced to pay for this ridiculous policing service, the least they could do is attempt to catch the odd murderer.”

Caroline set her cup down rather hard in the saucer and abruptly stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to Mrs. Scutton and send a message to the mews about our departure time.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Mrs. Frogerton smiled sunnily up at her. “I have a few letters to write this morning, so I will see you when you return.”

Caroline took her time ascending the stairs.

The last thing she wanted was to bring her annoyance with Mr. Scutton into her dealings with his mother.

She knocked on the bedroom door and went in to find Mrs. Scutton sitting in the chair beside the bed.

She wore one of Mrs. Frogerton’s black gowns, and her hair was arranged in a neat, low bun at the back of her neck.

“Good morning, ma’am.” Caroline smiled at her. “I under stand that you wish to visit Morton House?”

“Yes, I need to leave this room.” Mrs. Scutton looked toward the windows. “Or else I fear I will go mad.”

“Have you had your breakfast, ma’am?” Caroline asked gently.

“I have, and I wish to leave as soon as possible.”

“Then I will send a message to the coachman and ask him to bring the carriage around.”

“Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.” Caroline inclined her head. “I will return to escort you down the stairs when the coach has drawn up outside the front door.”

It seemed Mr. Scutton had decided not to accompany them to Morton House, for which Caroline was grateful. Mrs. Scutton was silent on the way to Cavendish Square, her gaze on the busy streets beyond the carriage, her gloved hands clasped tightly in her lap.

After they alighted, Caroline produced the key, but as they approached the front door, it opened to reveal a workman.

“Morning, miss, ma’am.” The man beckoned them inside. “Be careful now, won’t you? We’ve been fixing that hole in the roof, and we’ve stirred up a lot of dust.”

“We will endeavor to keep out of the way of your workers, Mr. Murphy,” Caroline said. She regularly communicated with the Irishman whom Mrs. Frogerton had hired to repair Morton House. “This is Mrs. Scutton. She will be living in the house when it is completed.”

“Good morning, ma’am.” Mr. Murphy touched his cap to Mrs. Scutton, who was looking around the entrance hall. “It will be lovely when it’s finished.”

“I’m sure it will.” Mrs. Scutton offered him a brief smile.

“Would you care to come down to the kitchen, ma’am?” Caroline asked. “Mrs. Frogerton wanted your opinion on which stove to put in.”

Mrs. Frogerton had said no such thing, being a woman who made quick decisions and stood by them. Caroline had a sense that Mrs. Scutton desperately needed something to engage her interest, and a discussion about the merits of various stoves might animate her.

Mrs. Scutton set off down the corridor and paused at the top of the stairs, her hand going to the inconspicuous door that led to the narrower servants’ staircase.

“I think we can use the main stairs now, ma’am.” Caroline said. “Mr. Murphy assures me that the banister has been strengthened.”

“It was rather wobbly last time we came,” Mrs. Scutton agreed. “I felt safer on the back stairs.”

They went down into the basement. The light immediately diminished, and Caroline opened all the doors and followed Mrs. Scutton into the kitchen.

Mrs. Scutton looked around the large room with its stone-flagged floor.

Light entered through two barred half-windows at either end of the room.

A pine table occupied a third of the space, and one wall contained the immense hearth, the old bread oven, and the mechanism used to turn a joint of meat over the fire.

“Mrs. Frogerton was insistent that the kitchen was the first place that needed restoring,” Caroline said. “She had the maids from Half Moon Street in here scrubbing all yesterday.”

“She is very kind.” Mrs. Scutton trailed her fingertips over the surface of the table; her expression was hard to read. “I remember visiting this house, once.” She smiled. “Not the kitchens, obviously, but I was rather overawed.”

“I came down here quite a lot when I was a child,” Caroline said. “Cook was always willing to feed me little treats.”

“It must seem strange that you have no claim to the house you grew up in.”

“Not really, ma’am,” Caroline said. “I grew up knowing that, as a female, I wouldn’t inherit the earldom or this house. I confidently expected to be managing my own home.”

“And yet you ended up with nothing.”

Caroline smiled, determined not to take offense. “My sister said I should’ve hurried up and married during my first Season and then none of my misfortunes would have happened.”

“She was right.” Mrs. Scutton paused to look at her. “Is your sister at school? You rarely speak about her.”

“After finishing her education, Susan decided that she wished to live in America with our cousin, Mabel,” Caroline said.

“I suppose she thought there was no place for her while you were employed in another woman’s house.”

“Mrs. Frogerton was more than happy to have her and pay her school fees until I could reimburse them,” Caroline said. “But Susan made her own choices.”

“That must have been … difficult for you.”

“Yes, I would’ve preferred it if she had chosen to stay with me, but she had her own inheritance and decided otherwise. She grew up with Mabel at Greenwood Hall and considered her a sister.”

“Thomas would’ve done anything for his sister, but his efforts to appease her simply made things worse.” Mrs. Scutton moved her attention to the chimney breast.

Caroline’s instinctive urge to defend her decisions about Susan made her want to reply.

She reminded herself that Mrs. Scutton was speaking about her own family and that there was no need to take offense.

“It is rare that we understand the ramifications of our decisions until it is too late.” Caroline said eventually.

“All we can do is make them in good faith and hope for the best.”

Mrs. Scutton didn’t reply and walked through the interior door into the butler’s pantry where the silverware had been kept.

The glass cabinets were empty now, as everything not entailed had been sold at auction to pay the last earl’s debts.

Caroline wondered how the new earl would fill those cupboards again.

Mr. Scutton wasn’t a fool, but he didn’t strike her as a man equipped to deal with the intricate problems of maintaining an earldom.