Danger at Thatcham Hall Page 3

  “Lord Thatcham asked me to investigate the unfortunate affair of the cattle.” Mayhew’s eyebrows lifted. Nelson watched, alert. The butler of such an establishment would know the under-servants well, but how readily would he share that knowledge?

  Nelson took a step closer, taking advantage of a few inches of superior height. His voice echoed, authoritative, in the confines of the parlour. “Lord Thatcham wishes you to help by telling what you know about James, the footman. Is he likely to harm cattle?”

  Mayhew’s gaze met Nelson’s once, then looked down. “I am afraid,” the butler told the ledger, “James is one of the stupidest boys ever to have the good fortune to find himself in the employ of Lord Thatcham. All the same, there is not a cruel or dishonest bone in his body.” Mayhew paused, occupying himself by cleaning a pen with meticulous care, examining it and, finally, placing it upright in its stand. “Unfortunately, James was not in his quarters last Tuesday when the event occurred. He was unable to furnish any sensible reason for his absence.”

  Nelson waited, sure the butler had more to say. His patient silence was rewarded. “Violet, one of the maids, has been walking out with James for many months—indeed, years. I had to speak to James quite severely about his intentions only the other day. The girl was distressed. Her work has been slapdash. James has now proposed marriage and, as soon as he’s in a position to support a wife, their wedding will take place.”

  Mayhew removed the ledger from the table and placed it on a shelf that held several similar tomes. “Violet believes he may have been—ah—amusing himself in the village with another woman last Tuesday. She has broken off their engagement as a result of his behaviour.” He glanced at a point just above Nelson’s head. “It is a most unsatisfactory state of affairs, you understand. The staff is unsettled, most unsettled, by it.”

  “What do you think happened?” Nelson was suspicious. Was the butler telling the whole truth?

  “I am sure I could not say, sir. I am most reluctant to think ill of James in any way. You may have heard that he is a favourite of Lady Thatcham and, therefore, of Lord Thatcham.”

  “Come, man. You must have some idea. I’m sure you are aware of everything of importance that happens to your staff, whether in the servants hall or outside.”

  The butler coughed. “I would prefer this to go no further, sir, but I have my suspicions about James’ behaviour. He has a sister who lives in the next village. She has appeared to me to have grown a little plump of late.” Nelson was nonplussed. Why was James’ sister’s plumpness of importance? The butler leaned forward, emphasising every word. “In the last few months, sir.”

  Nelson breathed out. “You suspect she may be in…ah, a delicate situation?”

  “I do, sir. However, I have not broadcast the fact. To me, it appears that such an event would give James a reason to steal cattle, in a foolish attempt to provide for his feckless sister. Incompetent as he is, it’s quite likely he muffed the job and instead of killing the beast, merely injured it and then panicked and ran away.”

  “Was there any other proof? Blood on James’ clothes, for example?”

  “None, sir.”

  “Hmm. It’s pretty thin evidence. I can’t see a jury convicting, just on a lack of alibi. Has anyone inquired further, to see if there’s a more likely culprit?”

  “No, sir. I believe Lord Thatcham hopes you will take on that role. The local constable, Stephens by name, is hardly likely to search for anyone else now that James is in custody.”

  Nelson spent an hour in his room, aching leg resting on a stool, coffee at his side, deep in thought as he pondered the mysteries of Thatcham Hall: cow-maiming and a foolish accident with tragic consequences. Was the farmhand Daniel’s death truly an accident, or was someone else involved? Two different events. Was there a link between them?

  He rose from the chair and stretched. Maybe a short walk in the fresh air of the afternoon would clear his head. He would visit the water meadows and watch the cattle. It would help him to think.

  Chapter Four

  The afternoon sun still shone with sufficient strength to allow for a stroll before Olivia needed to change for dinner. She left Miss Dainty closeted with Lady Thatcham, planning styles for the new Season. Olivia wouldn’t be in London for the season―far too busy finding work as a governess. Depressed at the prospect and with no reason to share her cousin’s delight in this year’s fashions, Olivia slipped out of the Hall, spirits further subdued by the death of the farmhand. She needed space to think. Something seemed odd about the discovery of the body but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  The meadows around Thatcham smelled rich. An abundance of late spring buds burst forth through clouds of elegant magnolias and bright jungles of yellow forsythia. Olivia trod a well-worn footpath, choosing the opposite direction from the field where they had discovered poor Daniel.

  The scene replayed in Olivia’s head. Both hands flew to suddenly hot cheeks. Had Mr. Roberts noticed the way her wet dress clung to every inch of her body? His appearance had certainly been timely. If she hadn’t slipped into the stream, how long would it have taken for someone to discover the body?

  Her back had been turned as she fell. That meant Mr. Roberts was facing Daniel. That was the strange thing. Surely, he would have seen the body long before she tumbled into the water. Perhaps he’d been too busy laughing at her predicament. The grass was long by the stream. Perhaps it had hidden Daniel from view.

  Olivia shrugged. She shouldn’t let imagination run riot. It was a bad habit. Why, in a moment she would be pinning the blame on someone else for Daniel’s accident, when everyone knew how easy it was to cut yourself with a scythe. Mrs Rivers had said Daniel was a simple man, a hard enough worker but without much sense. There was nothing sinister about the accident.

  “Looking for more cattle?” Startled, Olivia turned. Mr. Roberts loomed close. He had a most unnerving way of appearing without notice. It was almost as though the man had followed her. “Be careful. Cows will come close to you. They’ll want to know if you’re a dog.”

  “I beg your pardon? A dog? What nonsense.”

  “Yes. If you’re a dog, they’ll chase you.” Mr. Roberts was deliberately teasing her.

  Olivia snapped, “You’re trying to frighten me, but it won’t work. I see you like to ridicule me for my lack of knowledge of the countryside, but I can assure you I am not in the mood for laughter after the dreadful accident to that poor man. What’s more, I’ve heard that some of the cattle on Lord Thatcham’s land have been attacked.”

  Mr. Roberts’ smile faded. “I can’t imagine why anyone would seek to hurt such charming animals. The full force of the law, however, will teach him a lesson.” A frown furrowed his brow. He spoke as though forgetting Olivia was present. “I wonder how the culprit was able to get close,” he murmured.

  She considered his words. “It’s strange, is it not? I know very little of cattle, for I have lived up until now in the town, but surely any creature as large as a cow would be able to kick or bite an assailant?”

  “Hmm. They’re usually gentle, it’s true, though they kick when they’re scared. It’s more likely the cow would move away from a stranger. The animal was perhaps already subdued, in some way.”

  “Oh. You mean made drowsy with laudanum, or intoxicated?”

  He nodded. “Stranger things have happened.”

  She shook her head. “Mr. Roberts, I hardly know whether or not to believe what you say. Are you trying to frighten me?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  He was very tall. Olivia had to stretch to see his face. She could just make out that intriguing scar on his face, although he’d trimmed his beard and side hair very cleverly to disguise it. She was tempted to ask him about himself, try to discover what had happened, but suddenly it was hard to breathe. His dark eyes watched, their expression unreadable. A shiver ran down her spine.

  Olivia wasn’t accustomed to feeling at a disadvantage with men. Papa ofte
n brought friends and acquaintances to hear her play in London, but they were either old married men or callow youths who blushed when she spoke. Mr. Roberts was neither. One eyebrow seemed permanently raised, as though something amused him. Everything Olivia said suddenly sounded naive and foolish.

  She swallowed and changed the subject. “I see you’re accustomed to dealing with animals, sir.”

  He chuckled. “I have no pretensions to skill with anything more dangerous than domestic cattle, dogs, and horses of a reasonable disposition, but I must confess I find horses easier to manage than many a human being. Do you ride?”

  “A little. That is, I learned to ride when I was small.” Papa had insisted she master the art of horsemanship. She had been keen to learn until she discovered she must ride side-saddle. Then, she’d refused to ride again unless she could ride like a man. She was not about to admit to that. “I found very little need to ride in London. There are cabs and omnibuses enough there.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find many opportunities to improve while living in the country.”

  “I don’t expect to be long in Berkshire. I must find employment as a governess, before many months have passed.” She bit her lip. Her tongue had run away again. It hurt to speak of her future. Until Papa’s death, she’d refused to contemplate the idea. He was so proud of her musical ability. He’d encouraged her to believe she could make a living as a composer and pianist. Dear Papa. His head was so often in the clouds.

  Perhaps he had been blinded by idealism and love for his only child, as Mama suggested, and had exaggerated Olivia’s abilities. What a choice: either a dull marriage or a miserable life as a governess. One hand slipped into a pocket, feeling for the comforting presence of the precious letter. Mr. Mellow, the music publisher, had invited her to play her own work for him, and she was determined to meet him. Papa would not have forbidden her, if he were alive. Mama was ridiculously old-fashioned, insisting that young ladies should not follow a profession. Olivia gasped as her fingers closed on thin air. The letter was gone.

  Mr. Roberts had drawn closer. He took her elbow. “Are you unwell?”

  “No. No, I remembered something I left behind.” She swallowed, withdrew her arm and took a step back. She’d left the letter at the Manor when she changed her clothes. It didn’t matter; every word was imprinted on her memory.

  “Ah, if I had a sovereign for everything I’ve left behind me…” The fire in Mr. Roberts’ eyes had faded.

  Olivia, confused, wished he would go. He smiled too much, and those brown eyes glittered. It was unsettling. “Please allow me to continue with my walk.” She winced at her own ill humour. Good manners seemed to desert Olivia every time she saw this man.

  Mr. Roberts’ mouth turned down in mock despair. “Oh, dear, and I did so want to accompany you. Just in case we should encounter more fearsome animals. You may perhaps find a sheep or two, or a flock of geese.”

  “There’s no need to be impertinent.”

  Mr. Roberts’ eyes were hooded. He changed the subject. “I was surprised to find you staying here at Thatcham Hall.”

  “And I, you. I am staying for a few days, until the dance. Miss Dainty and I are cousins.”

  Olivia could bear it no longer. The loss of the home she loved and the enforced move to Berkshire had been exhausting. Then, she’d found poor Daniel. Unnerved, she yearned for the old London life, dull and respectable though it had been. If only Papa were still here. He’d smoothed over Mama’s foolishness, calmed Olivia’s temper, and encouraged her long practise hours at the piano.

  Olivia faced Mr. Roberts, arms folded. His raised eyebrows seemed to invite her to join battle. She took a shaky breath. “I would like to be alone.” The words hovered in the air. What would Mama say at such rudeness?

  Mr. Roberts blinked. For a moment that seemed to last for an eternity, he made no comment. At last, he bowed and turned away. “Good day.”

  Olivia bit her lip. There she was again, behaving like a girl in the schoolroom. Mr. Roberts began the walk back toward the Hall. He strolled, unhurried, but with the odd, distinctive gait she’d noticed before. He didn’t turn round. Not that she wished him to.

  Olivia clicked her tongue. There was no need to take any further interest in the man. A few days holiday at Thatcham Hall with distant cousin Miss Dainty, a most amusing companion if a little inclined to incessant chatter, would be a relief. After the annual dance, it would be easy enough to find an excuse to visit London for a day. If all went well, perhaps that would be a stepping-stone to a life in music. It was worth a try, rather than slip without protest into the horrors of a life devoted to teaching spoiled children.

  Olivia was alone, just as she wished. Odd, then, that no glow of contentment calmed her twitching nerves. A quick glance towards the Hall confirmed Mr. Roberts had disappeared. She would take a quiet walk and forget all about him.

  The breeze had dropped and the sun shone brightly. Olivia would be glad to find shade. To the right, trees straggled close to the field. Set apart from each other at the margins of a denser woodland, most were gnarled elms. The woodland shade beckoned.

  Olivia stepped beneath the trees and took the narrow path, enjoying the transition into cool tranquillity. Soon, the boughs grew closer, tangled together, shrouded in the fresh green of late spring. The path was soft underfoot, cushioned by mould from years of decaying leaves. In the quiet of the afternoon a blackbird sang from the highest branch. The trilling beauty of its call filled the air. Another answered. Here, at last, was the peace Olivia sought. Her shoulders relaxed and tension seeped away from her jaw.

  Losing track of time she strolled through the cool of the wood. The last vestige of annoyance with Mr. Roberts subsided. It wasn’t as though she had any right to his friendship. Perhaps she had felt a little pique at his interest in Miss Dainty, but he couldn’t be blamed for that. Any man would admire Miss Dainty, even if her brother were not the earl.

  His words had been perfectly correct and polite, but the mockery in Mr. Roberts’ eyes and his crooked grin belied his words. Well, she didn’t need approval.

  Olivia stopped. The path forked just ahead. Which way to go? The path sloped downward a little to the right, turning into even thicker vegetation. The left fork led up a slight incline. Perhaps it would be best to return to Thatcham Hall. She had no idea how much time had passed or how far she had travelled.

  Olivia drew a sharp breath and turned in a slow circle. Which route had led this far? The water meadows could not be far away. No convenient hollow tree or dramatic blasted oak marked the entrance to the wood. Olivia was lost.

  Chapter Five

  The silence of the woodland had welcomed Olivia into its cool embrace only moments ago. Now, oppressive and suffocating, it enveloped her like a heavy woollen blanket. The blackbird’s song died away. Even the wind failed to reach in here, where the wood was darkest. Branches interlocked high above in dense cages. The air hung heavy and still, as though waiting.

  “This is ridiculous. Stop imagining things.” Olivia’s words dropped, leaden, swallowed by the stillness. A pulse throbbed in her ears. Summoning the last dregs of courage, she took a long, slow breath. This was no time for foolish terrors. Thatcham Hall couldn’t be far away. There was still time to get there before the dinner gong.

  If only Mr. Roberts had come. He would surely never get lost. A gentle stroll together and a timely return to the Hall; nothing wrong with that. Would Olivia never learn to control that hot temper?

  The wood was still quiet. At least—what was that? Olivia’s back tingled as though someone was watching. A twig snapped. She gasped, a hand at her throat. “Who’s there?” It was a shaky whisper.

  Standing rooted to the spot would not help. Olivia clenched both fists and spun round to deal with whatever lurked behind. But no one was there, only the same trees, watching and waiting. Heart racing, Olivia spun in circles. It was no good.

  Nonsense. Hands on hips, she breathed out. Thatcham Hall was only
just hidden from sight, beyond the trees over there—or perhaps there? She rubbed a hand across suspiciously damp eyes and prepared to shout for help.

  Still, something held her back. What if Mr. Roberts found her here, lost and helpless? No, this was no time to worry about dignity. In any case, he must have reached the Hall by now—much too far away to hear.

  There must be others nearby who could help.

  She drew a deep breath. “Hello.” The word died away, lost among the trees. “Is anyone there?” She walked on a few paces and tried again, louder. “Hello!”

  What was that—a whistle? Thank heaven. Weak with relief, Olivia took a step towards the sound, then stopped. Wait. It could be anyone. Daniel’s dead body flashed before her eyes.

  A figure emerged from the shadow of a dense clump of trees and stepped into a sudden shaft of late afternoon sunlight that lit the copse. It was just a boy. Nothing to be frightened of at all. “Oh. I’m so glad to see you.” The blackbird clucked nearby. A gentle breeze found its way through the trees.

  The boy came close. “You from the ‘all, then?”

  It was hard to tell how old he was. Twelve, perhaps thirteen. A thatch of tangled hair hung over a wide brow. The linen smock was worn and patched but a wide smile lit up the child’s face.

  “Can you show me the way back? I’ve been walking and I appear to have lost my way.”

  His laugh was a shout of pure joy. “Lost your way? In this little wood? Cor, Miss, ’ow did you manage that? You wait ’til I tell ’em in the village.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Olivia resisted the urge to stamp a foot. Here was yet another mocking stranger. Really, Thatcham Hall was the most unfriendly place.

  The boy snorted. “Nah. I was just ’aving a bit of fun, that’s all. It’s not easy to find your way around, not when you’re new to the place. Come on, this way.” He turned down a pathway, far shadier than any Olivia had yet travelled.