“Did he, indeed?”
“He did.” Lily bit her lip and Adelia knew she wanted to say more, but didn’t dare.
Adelia prodded her onwards. “Please, you may certainly speak ill of the dead if it is truth.”
“Well,” Lily said, hesitantly. “In truth, then, my lady, he took on rather too much above himself. He took on Mrs Rush’s role, when he should not have, and while my lord is away he took on more that ought to have fallen to my Lady Buckshaw. What will happen now, no one knows. No one is in charge. Mrs Rush is trying but she’s ... well, she’s mourning, sort of. I think she doesn’t want to miss Mr Knight but she does anyway.”
“How curious is the human heart.”
The train pulled in then, and any further conversation was lost in the flurry of boarding and seating and watching out for Plymouth, just a short distance away.
MRS CARSTAIRS WAS PRESIDING over her At Home with grace and wit and an absolute ocean of hot tea and delicate finger food, all designed to be eaten in a way so that visiting ladies need not remove their gloves. Hats remained on heads, too, as no one would be crass enough to stay for too long. Visiting times were a constant shuttle of bored ladies ferrying themselves from one house to another, nibbling politely on an endless stream of narrow sandwiches and delicate cakes held together with just the right amount of cream. Keeping such things fresh in the oppressive weather was an ongoing battle for the army of staff behind the scenes. But in the drawing rooms of Plymouth, there were no hints at what had gone on to bring such perfect food to the tables.
Adelia was drawn into the bosom of Mrs Carstairs’ home, and urged to sit by the window where there was just the tiniest hint of a breeze coming in off the sea. A tall lithe man with silvered hair, wearing a naval uniform, bowed low to them all and left, remarking on the quality of Mrs Carstairs’ pastries. A few ladies were also just leaving, a matriarch and her three daughters, and the older lady had heard of Adelia. She cooed and simpered and expressed admiration at Adelia’s success in marrying off all seven of her own daughters, and as they left Adelia caught the departing lady hiss to one of the girls, “If she can get all seven wed, why are you being so difficult? Captain Everard looked at you! It must mean something.”
Mrs Carstairs smiled until they had gone, then her face changed and Adelia realised the first smile was a polite one – this one now shining on Mrs Carstairs’ face was a genuine one. “How delightful to see you, Lady Calaway. Oh, Mrs Winstanley, do come and join us by the window, do! Now, Lady Calaway, come with me and join us both. I must say, what an honour it is that you have come. My dear husband told me all about your dear husband and I was privileged to meet him briefly last week. I don’t support he happened to mention a little party we are planning?”
Mrs Winstanley, a woman with three chins and bushy eyebrows and a decidedly wicked, throaty laugh, sat with them and they all leaned in to begin discussing the Floating Ball.
It was to be a late one, like the exclusive events in London. There would be a military band to provide music for the dancing, and a midnight supper, and champagne flowing as freely as a river. A marquee would be set up on the dockside so that people could alight and ladies would have a private section within it to attend to their dress. Concerns had been expressed about the arrival of coaches and where people would be dropped off, and Mrs Carstairs had begun planning one-way systems and even envisaging the closure of a road – “Oh, we shall see to that, don’t worry. I know people.” There would be strings of lights in many colours and she was hoping to use cannons to shower the waters with vibrant fireworks. “I am not entirely sure if that will work,” she ended, “but Captain Everard assures me he will look into it.”
“It sounds marvellous,” Adelia said with enthusiasm. “And it’s just what we need at Tavy Castle to take our mind away from recent events.”
Mrs Winstanley seized on the invitation to speak of the death. “We have heard of the most strange things! Is it really true that one of the servants was found dead in the garden?”
Adelia glanced at Mrs Carstairs for permission to speak of the unpleasant matter in her parlour. Mrs Carstairs was looking as eager as Mrs Winstanley for information, and she nodded enthusiastically, so Adelia went on. “Yes, the house steward, Hartley Knight, was dead though he was not found in the garden as such. He was actually in the ice house. The police seem to believe that he slipped.”
“You say that as if you don’t believe it. Is your husband investigating?” Mrs Carstairs asked.
Adelia’s role in the previous investigations were forever overlooked. But she didn’t mind; she had no desire to bring shame upon her family. She shook her head. “Lord Calaway is not involved as the police feel they have matters quite in hand without his help. However, there are doubts around the death.” She dropped her voice. “There was no reason for the victim to be in the ice house and my husband does not believe that he merely slipped accidentally. He does not think the blow to his head was enough to kill him.” She sat up again. “So, now we are wondering, who might have wanted to murder the house steward?”
Mrs Carstairs and Mrs Winstanley made a series of comments about how shocked and appalled they were, while lasciviously speculating on the prevalence of “the wrong sort” that were “more
