“Where is he?”
“I am not entirely sure. We know his rough route home, however. I shall have messages sent to all the points along the way. And you, dear heart, could do worse than to have a good look at the running of this place and see if you can’t bring a little order to it.”
“As well as joining the committee for the ball, working out what is ailing Felicia, and finding a husband for Lady Agnes?”
He smiled at her. “You know you are happier when you are busy. Come now. To work!”
Five
Adelia could not grumble at Theodore’s comment that she was happier when she was busy, and she did not even pretend to. She ordered all of the servants back into the house and insisted that they go about their allocated tasks for the day. Sunday was a day of rest, but in any kind of household that was impossible to actually implement for the whole place. You either had to compromise and be happy with cold cuts of meat for the meals or do as many houses did, and simply refuse to see the staff as real people – therefore they didn’t count and did not need the time off. They were always allowed a few hours of Bible study, of course. At least they got to sit down for a while then.
As for the servants at Tavy Castle, they were somewhat adrift without Hartley Knight to rule them and Mrs Rush, who ought to have been overseeing the female half of the household, was still fretting about what had happened. As far as Adelia could tell from Mrs Rush’s half-hints, the housekeeper and the now-deceased house steward had been having an affair. The problem was not that Mrs Rush was married; she probably wasn’t. The “Mrs” was a mere courtesy title commonly given to housekeepers. The problem was that relationships between the servants were expressly forbidden in most houses for just this very reason – it caused friction in the smooth running of things.
So the relationship between the pair had gone sour, and that would account for the argument that Adelia had witnessed. Now Mrs Rush was convinced she would be blamed for the death of her ex-lover. It was vaguely plausible but Adelia thought the woman had probably been reading too many crime novels. Mrs Rush killing Hartley Knight might have been believable – but it was deeply unlikely – and she was a poor sort of murderer since she had started shouting about her possible guilt in front of the police as they unearthed the corpse.
Nevertheless, as there was no smoke without fire, Adelia did wander down to the kitchens. Theodore had gone off to write his letters to Percy, and she decided to speak to some of the servants and check that everything was running smoothly for the Sunday dinner that evening. The cook had prepared the pea soup the day before, and the small joint of mutton was coming along nicely behind the screen at the fire, roasted slowly in the old way, and when Adelia peeped she saw it was the perfect size for a small family to dine upon. Adelia nodded at the cook, a strong-armed woman who nodded back with the utter confidence of one who knew exactly what they were done. Adelia could see it, and did not interfere.
She passed through the kitchen and found two maids in the scullery amid a mountain of vegetables, though they were giggling and gossiping more than they were scrubbing and chopping. They nudged one another and straightened up when Adelia swept in. They were standing on wooden boards to keep them off the cold tiled floor, and both were tall, fit young women. Clearly they ate well from the “scraps” from the table here.
Adelia remembered one name. “Ah, Clara Jenkins – and, er...”
“Mary Jenkins, my lady. Cousins.”
“Ah, I do see the resemblance. I should like to ask you about Mrs Rush.”
Their mouths opened in surprise. “She didn’t do it, my lady!” Clara burst out. “You mean about the murder, don’t you? Begging your pardon – but that’s what you mean – I heard what she said and she’s full of sh... full of ... wrong.”
“Full of wrong,” Adelia repeated with a half-smile. “I like that. And it is better than what you nearly said. So why is she wrong? Why did she say what she said?”
Clara and Mary slid sideways glances at one another. Clara was obviously the talkative one because she spoke again. “Well, my lady, can I speak, um, freely?” She went very red.
“You may. Indeed, people’s lives depend upon it. Although do try not to swear; it is the Lord’s Day, after all.”
“Shouldn’t dream of it, my lady!” Clara said with an exaggerated horror which made Mary giggle. “Well, then. Mrs Rush, see, she’s a woman of ...” Clara had to chew her lip for a good few seconds. “She’s a woman of appetites. She likes ... company. Male company, that is. She’s known for her ... ahh...”
“Lovers?”
Clara and Mary were both beet red by this point. “Yes, yes, my lady. Sorry, my lady. But she is. Problem is, though, the gossip says ... and I know I ought to pay no heed to gossip but there ain’t nothing else to do really ... so the gossip is that not one of her, um, lovers, survives. Dead, they are. All dead. Somehow.”
Saying the word dead made all of them grow serious and stop giggling, Adelia included.
“And her latest lover was Hartley Knight?”
“Yes, my lady. And now he’s dead too.”
“Who ended the relationship?”
“Not sure. They say that she did, when she found out about him and Eliza. And him and Polly. And him and that barmaid in the village.”
Adelia winced. “Well, she does indeed
