“Unlike you, old boy, right?” Eddie said. “A fair prince of the drawing room, conversation to dazzle and delight.”
“Lydia, you’re looking well,” said Charlotte.
“Thank you. I am feeling on the mend.”
“Perhaps your nurse, Mrs. Hatchet, is to be praised?” Charlotte asked slyly. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning.”
Silence hung over the table, stronger than the aroma of the just-cooked sausages still sizzling on the sideboard.
Miss Gardenside did not look up as she said, “Mrs. Hatchet is no longer with us.”
Charlotte gasped. “What?”
Now all eyes were on Charlotte. Perhaps she’d voiced her shock a little dramatically.
“I sent her home,” said Miss Gardenside. “Since I was feeling better.”
“Oh. Right.”
After breakfast they put on boots and went outside, sloshing through the swampy grass and along the muddied path, breathing in the wet air. As it turned out, the sky is blue in England, from time to time. The rain-scented air, the sunshine, Mr. Mallery on her arm—there was a deliciousness to the moment she could almost appreciate.
“I can see your freckles,” said Mr. Mallery, staring straight ahead.
“You cannot,” she said.
“You taunt me with them constantly.” He snapped a rosebud off a bush. “Come riding with me today. Just the two of us.”
“Um …” Danger, danger! She couldn’t be alone with this man. She’d have to let go and figure out what to feel and think and wasn’t there something she needed to do? “There’s something I need to do.”
As the group meandered through the rose garden, Charlotte made her way over to Eddie.
“The hidden room is part of Colonel Andrew’s mystery,” she said.
“Is it?”
“Yes—it’s his clue on the second floor. The body was a fake, and I wouldn’t wonder if this second mystery will tie into the Mary Francis story somehow. Did he tell you who was supposed to be the new murder victim?”
“I would not tell you if he had,” said Eddie. “That would spoil the fun.”
“I think it’s Mrs. Hatchet or Mr. Wattlesbrook. Colonel Andrews would pick someone obvious. I need to figure out if they’ve really gone or disappeared under mysterious circumstances, that sort of thing.”
“Have you been reading Gothic novels, Charlotte? You know what Mother would say. Women should not indulge in dark fantasies. It disrupts the proper workings of the womb.”
Charlotte snorted and coughed at once, she was so surprised. “The proper workings of the womb?”
Eddie was trying very hard not to laugh. “Indeed.”
“Never fear, protecting my womb from Gothic novels is my first priority.”
“I am much relieved.”
“So, how do you propose we figure out if Mrs. Hatchet or Mr. Wattlesbrook was done in?”
“You are morbid. I never knew. Well, the eyes of Pembrook Park belong to Neville the butler.”
Charlotte gave Eddie a scheming smile and headed back to the house. Mr. Mallery’s gaze followed her, and she almost regretted her quick departure, but Colonel Andrews was going to be so impressed when she solved his mystery!
She found Neville in the dining room, setting the grand table for dinner. She peered through the inch of open door, observing how carefully he placed the utensils, measuring the distance between each fork. As carefully as if he were building a bomb.
“Excuse me,” she said as she entered.
“Oh! Is something the matter with Mrs. Wattlesbrook?” he asked.
“No, um, not that I’m aware of. She didn’t send me. I just wanted to ask you something.”
He straightened up, his hands held behind his back as he waited for her to speak. His whole attention seemed directed toward her, but a slight fidget made her wonder if he wasn’t dying to get back to his table. Maybe he lived for a neat place setting, she considered. Maybe if she gave tidy tableware a fair shot, her life would be complete.
“I understand Mrs. Hatchet has left Pembrook Park?” Charlotte hesitated before speaking on, but reminded herself that lying wasn’t really lying here. “I lent her my handkerchief one day, and I never got it back. She probably didn’t realize it was my grandmother’s and has sentimental value. Do you know if she took all her things with her?”
“I believe so, madam.”
“Oh.” Charlotte fiddled with a fork at the nearest place setting before catching herself. Neville sniffed almost imperceptibly. He’d have to remeasure that one now.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to mess up your work.”
“You may do as you please, madam.”
“Well, I might just check her room, in case she left it for me.”
“I will send Mary to look for you.”
“Don’t bother. I can go. Um, where was she staying?” she asked innocently.
“Just west of Miss Gardenside’s chamber,” he said with some reluctance.
“Thanks. And thanks for making my stay so nice here. It’s a really beautiful house, and you all keep it up so well.”
“It is my pleasure to do so,” said Neville, sounding as if he meant it.
She paused before the doorway and asked, as if it were no more than an afterthought, “Do you expect Mr. Wattlesbrook to come back?”
Now Neville’s cool exterior cracked. The slightest emotion dominated his face, just as any action above a slow walk made his skinny frame look like a crazed marionette.
He composed himself, but not before Charlotte understood Neville’s opinion of the man Wattlesbrook.
“I never expect him to return, Mrs. Cordial,” he said. “Yet he always does.”
Well. “Did you see him leave?” asked Charlotte.
“I did not.”
“So you don’t know what time he left yesterday or if he stayed the night?”
“I do not believe he stayed the night. When Mr. Wattlesbrook is in the house, he generally makes himself known.”
Neville’s voice was becoming strained. He was going to bottle up. Charlotte decided to apply some well-timed truth.
“I was just wondering because … well, he makes me uncomfortable.”
This Neville could easily believe. “Mrs. Wattlesbrook would want to know of any discomfort you have during your stay, madam.”