Page 11 of Word of the Wicked (Murder in Moonlight #5)
M iss Mortimer, the lady of the manor, welcomed Constance and Solomon to her drawing room. Although it was not a particularly large house, it was well maintained and decorated and looked to be a very comfortable home.
Her companion, Miss Jenson, set aside her needlework and gave the visitors several long, assessing looks. Almost like a bodyguard, Constance thought. Or perhaps she was guarding her own position.
“I’m so glad you found the time to join us,” Miss Mortimer said with her sweet smile. “Tea will just be a few moments. How do you find our village?”
“Most charming,” Solomon said.
“And your commission from the good doctor prospers?”
Solomon did not blink. “We have not yet accomplished our goals.”
“How foolish of me! You have only just arrived. You must tell us if we can help in any way.”
“Actually, you can,” Constance said. “By telling us your impressions of Sutton May and its inhabitants. Have you always lived here?”
“Yes, by and large. Apart from a few forays to school and Town, and travels abroad. This has always been my home.”
“And yours, Miss Jenson?” Solomon asked politely.
“Oh, no. I grew up somewhere quite different. I only came here after Jessica’s—Miss Mortimer’s—mother died. As her companion.”
“That was over thirty years ago,” Miss Mortimer said. “I think we can call it your home.”
“How did you meet?” Constance asked. “Are you related?”
“Only by interests,” Miss Mortimer said.
“Hannah was my teacher when I was sent away to school, and we became friends. Naturally, when my father said I should have a female companion, I thought of her.” Her eyes twinkled.
“I can see you are thinking it is unusual to have a lady of the manor without her lord. I never chose to marry, but I believe I have been as good a squire as my father. The estate was never entailed, you see, so I was his heir. Shocking, is it not? Would you care for a quick turn in the garden now that the sun has come out?”
Since it was February, there was not a great deal to see in the garden, apart from a few clumps of early daffodils and crocuses.
Miss Jenson brought shawls, dropping one around Miss Mortimer’s shoulders and offering another to Constance, who accepted it gracefully.
She had the feeling the lady of the manor wished to talk to her, a notion proved right when Miss Mortimer took her arm and, with the aid of her walking stick, all but galloped around the path until a low hedge separated them from Solomon and Miss Jenson.
The old lady began without preamble. “I know you are you looking into the matter of the nasty letter Mrs. Chadwick received, so I shall tell you at once that I received one too. Here. We don’t have long.” She thrust an envelope into Constance’s hand. “Hide it. I don’t want Hannah to know.”
“Why not?” Constance asked, tucking the letter into her substantial handbag.
“She worries enough. And is likely to blame the wrong person. This is between you and me.”
“I will share it with Mr. Grey,” Constance warned.
“But not Dr. Chadwick?”
“Not if you don’t wish it.”
“I don’t.”
“Who do you think sent it?” Constance asked.
“If I knew that, I could put a stop to it. I am placing my trust in you to find out.”
“I shall try to earn that trust. When did you receive it?”
“About a month ago. I thought I was the only one until Dr. Chadwick told me about his wife and the others, and I realized something must be done.”
“Do you have any idea what inspired your letter?” Constance asked.
“It’s somewhat vague, as you will see. But I have not evicted anyone, held any recent orgies, or committed any crimes. I haven’t even put up rents for several years, though I fear I will have to very soon. I am at a loss.”
“Could the ill feeling be aimed at someone acting on your behalf? A steward?”
“I would doubt it, but again, I don’t know.
If you have specific question once you’ve read and investigated, feel free to call again.
In fact, come tomorrow evening, and we shall find time to speak alone.
I am holding a little card party—they remind me of my youth, and we only play for halfpennies—so I hope you and Mr. Grey will come. ”
“Thank you,” said Constance, who had hoped for Solomon’s sake to be back in London by tomorrow evening.
“It is not warm, is it? Shall we go back inside?”
Miss Mortimer performed a military-style right wheel, and they came face to face with Solomon and Miss Jenson marching toward them. Solomon’s lip twitched with amusement, but he too turned with good grace, Miss Jenson on his arm, and they all returned together to the drawing room.
Tea was being laid out by the servants.
“Oh good,” said Miss Mortimer. “Tell Mr. Mortimer, if you please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the footman, bowing.
“Mr. Mortimer is your nephew?” Constance asked. “Does he live with you?”
“No, but he stays frequently, I am glad to say. He is my heir, you see, and will make a much more dashing squire.”
In what was clearly a long-established habit, the teapot was set before Miss Mortimer and the servants departed. While the lady of the house poured, Miss Jenson conveyed cups and saucers to the guests, along with plates and offerings of dainty sandwiches, pastries, and cakes.
“So, tell us about Sutton May,” Constance said brightly. “Is Mrs. Chadwick as kind as she seems?”
“Unfailingly,” said Miss Mortimer.
“And just as tired,” Miss Jenson added, dryly.
“Because of her work among the sick?” Solomon asked.
“And with the doctor. It is she who organizes him while keeping the house, dealing with her unruly son and her stubborn daughter. No wonder she is exhausted.”
“Her son is unruly?” Solomon asked. “He is only fourteen, is he not?”
“Oh, it’s just mischief,” Miss Mortimer said. “Boys will be boys, and there is no spite in Edgar Chadwick. He has just been a little overindulged.”
“And Miss Sophie Chadwick is stubborn?” Constance said. “In what way?”
Miss Jenson shrugged. “She makes her own friends, goes her own way. Which is admirable, in my view—up to a point.”
“What point?” Solomon asked.
“The point where her path veers from that of her parents,” Miss Mortimer said.
“But she seemed so willing to please and run errands for her mother.”
“Oh, yes. She is a kind girl, and very bright,” said Miss Jenson, no doubt with her old teacher’s hat on. “Very bright indeed.”
The drawing room door opened, and the footman announced, “Miss Chadwick and Mr. Ogden, ma’am.”
Dr. Chadwick’s daughter swept into the room ahead of a tall, gangly young man who appeared to be all legs and awkwardness.
The girl’s eyes widened in surprise when she saw Constance and Solomon, but she greeted her hostess first with a curtsey and a kiss on the cheek, a greeting she repeated with Miss Jenson, who patted her shoulder in a pleased sort of way.
To Constance, it looked very natural, a long-standing fondness between all concerned. Could Sophie’s “stubbornness” be to do with the awkward youth now standing with his arms hanging by his sides, fingers flexing, as though unsure what to do with himself?
He was not an ill-looking young man, for he had bright, inquisitive eyes beneath a high, intelligent brow, a rather long nose, and a pointed chin.
His mouth, with its full lower lip, might have been sulky or passionate, or just indicative of the fact that he did not want to be there.
His clothes, which could not ever have been fine, were past their poor best and did not fit well, being both too loose, and slightly too short in the arms and legs.
“I brought Mr. Ogden,” Sophie said cheerfully, “since I know you are always pleased to see him and hear about the children.”
With all eyes now on him, the young man made a jerky bow.
“Of course we are delighted, Mr. Ogden,” Miss Mortimer said. “How do you do?”
“Well, ma’am,” he got out. “I trust you are both also in good health?”
“Indeed we are. And you must meet our other guests,” Miss Mortimer said. “Mrs. Silver and Mr. Grey.”
Ogden swiveled on his feet and bowed again. His gaze was peculiarly penetrating while he muttered, “How do you do?”
Had Sophie told him why they were in Sutton May?
“Mr. Ogden is the village schoolmaster,” Miss Jenson said.
“We consider the school very fortunate to have him,” Miss Mortimer added. “Do sit down, sir.”
For a moment Constance thought he would insist on standing, but he did lower himself into the place next to Sophie on the chaise longue, and Miss Jenson brought him a cup of tea. While she offered the sandwiches, the door opened again and a very different young man swaggered in.
It was clear at once that he was Miss Mortimer’s nephew. His coat was of the finest cloth and best cut, his posture both graceful and arrogant.
“Am I in time for tea, Auntie?” he drawled.
“And how delightful! We have visitors. Miss Sophie, your devoted servant!” He bowed elaborately, his eyes dancing and crinkling at the corners in a way that might have been attractive if it had not been quite so studied.
He was a handsome, charming man—and he knew it.
Clearly, he was used to making the most of it.
“Mr. Mortimer,” Sophie said carelessly, “I thought you were leaving us.”
“Oh, Aunt Jessica persuaded me to stay for her card party—which I am happy to do, since you will be there.” Mortimer’s eyes gleamed with rather more malice as he turned to the schoolmaster. “Why, Oggie, is it you? I thought you had to work for your crusts?”
Ogden barely looked at him, though some of his tea slopped into his saucer. Mortimer undoubtedly saw this sign of discomfort or annoyance for his mocking smile widened.
“I don’t suppose you will be imperiling your soul—or said stipend—at my aunt’s devilish gaming tables.”
“I shall be busy,” Ogden muttered.
“Perry, our other guests,” Miss Mortimer intervened gently.