tried to use it to extort money from the gang.”
Extort money! Beryl exclaimed excitedly. Now, there’s an idea, Kate. What if “More speculation, I admit,” Charles said. “But if that’s what happened, they may have decided that she knew too much and-”
“And disposed of her,” Kate said aloud, finishing the sentence for him.
“Perhaps,” Charles said. “I hate to think that’s what might have happened, but it’s a possibility.”
Kate pulled her gown tighter around her. The whole thing was beginning to sound like one of Beryl’s penny dreadfuls, the kind they used to write years before, filled with criminal intrigues and skulduggery.
“And Winston has come up with something that seems to support this line of reasoning,” Charles went on. “He asked Stevens to show him the wage book, so he could see who’s been hired in the past several weeks-since Alfred and Kitty arrived.”
“And?” Kate pushed the other chair closer to the fire and sat down, pulling her bare feet under her. “What did he learn?”
Charles chuckled. “That servants come and go here with an amazing rapidity. In the last few weeks, they seem to have hired two new scullery maids, a laundry maid, a gardener, and a porter’s assistant, as well as Ned Lawrence, of course. More to the point, the housekeeper hired a maid several weeks ago, from the same agency that sent Kitty and Alfred. And what’s even more curious, when Winston took a look at the character references supplied by the applicants, he saw that all three had been written in the same hand, even though they were signed by different people.”
Kate frowned. “In the same hand? I should have thought that the housekeeper or the butler would have caught that.” It was widely known that many character references were forged, which was an important reason to hire only servants who came recommended by friends-although, of course, that was not always possible. Friends were not usually willing to part with servants they liked, if only because they didn’t want their family secrets being carried off to another household. Even a trusted servant was likely to gossip.
“I gather,” Charles said dryly, “that the situation below-stairs is chaotic. Mrs. Raleigh does not appear to be up to the task of managing the house, and Stevens is getting rather past it, too-at least, that’s what Winston thinks. There’s quite a rapid changeover in staff here.”
“All of which,” Kate said pensively, “would make it easier to arrange a burglary, I suppose-especially at a time when the house is full of visiting servants.” She looked at Charles. “This third person, the one who comes from the same agency as Alfred and Kitty. Who is it?”
“Her name is Bess,” Charles replied. “She’s a housemaid. I’m planning to talk to her first thing tomorrow.”
“Bess!” Kate said, sitting bolt upright, astonished. “Why, Charles, she’s the maid who is looking after Miss Deacon! The one who told me about the missing trousers and jacket!”
The maid with the keys, Beryl said darkly. The one who turned wary at the mention of a jewel theft at Welbeck Abbey.
Charles’s eyebrows went up. “You’ve talked to her, then,” he said mildly. “What was your impression of her?”
Kate hesitated, analyzing exactly what she had felt. “That she’s intelligent and observant. I think,” she added, “that she may already have made free with Mrs. Raleigh’s keys. She jingled as she walked.”
“Jingled!” Charles chuckled. “How like you, Kate, to notice the jingle of keys.”
Kate made a rueful face. “Perhaps. But I’m afraid I rather liked Bess, Charles. She seemed like the sort of person who could be given a great deal of responsibility, and she’d handle it very well.”
“I imagine that she’s all of those things,” Charles said dryly. “She’s probably been brought in to sort out the problems created by Kitty’s absence.” He frowned. “No, that can’t be accurate; the timing is wrong. As I understand it, Kitty disappeared only last Friday night, while Bess has been here for longer than that. I wonder if-” He broke off, frowning. “There are too many tangled threads here, Kate.”
“All we need is one,” Kate said rather incoherently, thinking of the golden thread that Eleanor had followed that led her to the heart of the labyrinth. “If only-”
She was interrupted by a loud, excited rapping at the door, and Winston’s booming voice, echoing in the corridor. “Sheridan! Sheridan, get up! You’re needed, immediately.”
With a muttered “What now?” Charles rose and went to the door. Kate heard a low-voiced exchange in the hallway and got up to see for herself what was going on.
As she reached the door, Charles came back into the room, a grave expression on his face. “I must go downstairs,” he said. He put his hand to her cheek, then kissed her gently. “Your friend Badger has fished a body out of the lake, I’m sorry to say. A woman’s body. She’s been put in the game larder.”
An image of Gladys Deacon, laughing and gay, rose unbidden into Kate’s mind, and she put her hand to her mouth. “Charles! It’s not-”
“The body has not yet been identified,” Charles said quietly. “That’s the next step, Kate. Now, go to bed.”
Go to bed! Beryl exclaimed.
“But I’m coming with you,” Kate protested. “I want to see her. I want-”
“No, you don’t.” Charles’s voice was firm. “The fish have been at her, Winston says, and it’s an ugly sight. You’re to go to bed, Kate, and stay there. I’ll tell you whatever I am able to learn-later.”
Then he was gone. Kate went back to her chair, staring at the fire and thinking resentfully that sometimes it was very hard to be a woman.
And then she thought of the dead woman-drowned? — who had been taken up out of the lake, and her resentment dissolved into something else. Sadness, regret, pain… and the thought of death, the end of all things.
Death, that cancels everything but truth.
Robin Paige
Death at Blenheim Palace
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown.
The woman’s body was laid out in the game larder, a small, stone-floored, stone-walled room off Blenheim’s East Court, with wide slate shelves, several long rows of ceiling hooks for hanging game, and a huge zinc-lined ice box. The rain-washed air blew in through the pierced metal of fly-proof windows, which were designed to keep the room cool. There were no gas or electric lights in this part of the palace, and Stevens-in pajamas, robe, and slippers, as was Winston-had brought in a paraffin lamp.
“I trust your lordship will pardon me for sending Badger home,” he said apologetically. “The poor man was wet through, and over-warm with the exertion of getting the body here. He trundled it up from the boathouse in a barrow.”
“It’s just as well,” Charles said. “I’ll speak with him tomorrow.”
“Said he found her in a net down by the dam,” Winston growled. “Didn’t want to explain what he was doing out on the lake at this time of night, and in a storm, too. Poaching, no doubt.”
“Don’t be too harsh with him, Winston,” Charles said. “Whatever he was up to, he’s done us a great service. And a service to the poor soul he found.” He knelt down beside the body, which lay flat on the cold stone floor. “Hold the lamp higher, please, Stevens.”
“Yes, m’lord,” the butler muttered. He did as he was bid, but turned his face away from the sight, and the
