As there was nothing to be found in the gallery, they entered the wing’s north end, Katherine looked around. “There were times when I ached to see the inside of this house,” she said, “so much so that I would sneak through the bushes and peek into the windows.”
“Why? Didn’t Robbie ever bring you inside?”
Katherine’s expression became grim. “Sir Robert had little tolerance for me. Charles used to tell me how he hated children, especially me. I recall how Charles and Brice would visit mother and ramble on and on about how wonderful Lady Edythe, Robert’s wife, had been.”
“Could it be,” May-Jewel interjected, “and I’m just thinking out loud, that it was Charles who hated children and you? I mean did Robbie ever harm you? Did he ever say he hated you? Perhaps Charles’ loyalty to Lady Edythe had something to do with his words to you. Maybe he said that to keep you away from the manor, and it wasn’t Robbie talking at all.”
Shaking her head in disagreement, Katherine retorted, “But what about Sir Robert himself? If he did like…” she couldn’t bring herself to say the word ‘love’, “if he did like me, why wasn’t he ever around? Why did he always send Charles to us? I can’t remember more than a few times I ever saw him even near the cottage.”
“Well, it could be because Robbie was the Laird and had an image to maintain. He had no such image in Boston with me, and he was so different from the man you’ve described to me. He was always loving, bringing me presents and playing with me.”
These admissions did nothing to soothe Katherine’s feelings of neglect. How could Robert ignore one daughter while doting on another? She decided she would have to think more on this later and then confront Charles about the truth. “Well… yes,” she finally said, her lips pursed and a frown on her face, “let’s forget about Sir Robert for the moment and move on.”
With a sigh of resignation she made her way to the next room. Two large swivel chairs sat before two massive oak desks while before one wall was a floor to ceiling book shelf, empty except for the cobwebs that hung in the corners. “This appears to be the estate office or… it was. I wonder what became of the books, charts, and all the papers.” She moved to wipe a finger across the desk top which revealed a thick layer of dust.
“Why not ask that old servant,” May-Jewel suggested. “He must know something about what goes on here.”
“There’s a lot I’d like to ask him. But I doubt if he’ll remember much. I was then very young, and he is now very old. Babies’ and ancients’ memories are apt to be on the same level and both have been known to be faulty.”
“Well it can’t hurt to ask him. That is if we can find him.”
Katherine nodded in agreement.
They left the office and followed the hallway along the back of the manor to find themselves suddenly in the kitchen. Like most kitchens it was cluttered, hot, and delightfully aromatic. A stone slab jetted out from the front of the huge fireplace creating a shelf on which an array of pots were stored. From the rafters hung an assortment of dried herbs and chunks of meat encased in yellowed cloth. A few loaves of just baked bread were cooling on the window sill, their yeasty fragrance filtering back into the kitchen on the breath of a gentle breeze. As they entered, the white-haired cook turned with a greeting.
“Can I be gettin’ ye somethin’?” she asked, wiping flour from her hands.
“No, thank you,” Katherine answered. “We were looking for Charles.”
“Me name be Molly, mum. Charles be on an errand for Master Fleming.”
Turning to May-Jewel, Katherine whispered, “Well, there goes any chance of questioning him, at least for the moment.”
May-Jewel whispered back, “Why don’t you ask her about Selina?”
Katherine nodded. She hadn’t thought about the maid since the event at the cottage. But if anyone was going to know about Selina, she hoped it would be the cook. “How long have you been employed at Wistmere, Molly?”
“I were brought back aboot two weeks ago. I came an’ went as the Master came and went, on an’ off for aboot twenty years now.”
“And the others? How long have they been here?”
“Oh, Charles an’ Brice were here afore me. Charles were here even afore the late Master were born, an’ Brice, I dunna know but I think he were a wee one here, raised in the barn, he were, as his Da worked here also.”
Her heart racing with anticipation, Katherine drew in a silent breath and asked, “And what about the maid, Selina?”
Molly’s eyebrows rose in question, “Mum?”
“The maid, the small dark-haired one,” May-Jewel prodded further.
“There be no other woman workin’ here,” the cook replied. “Nay since the Master left for India. He let all of us go, except Charles and Brice. An’ tis more the shame as they had to fend for themselves as the Master didna see fit to leave me to cook for them. But the Stag and the Hare found plenty of coin with them filling their bellies there every night.”
Hearing this, Katherine was filled with dismay. She refused to believe that Selina was a product of her imagination and that Alex was right, that she was losing her mind. The denial of the existence of the maid and the idea that Alex might be right raised her ire.
“Now that we’re here, Molly,” she snapped, “you’ll call Alexander Fleming, Mister Fleming. There’s no Master of Wistmere. And it’s Mistress Katherine and Mistress May-Jewel.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the old cook
