Home > Death at the Crystal Palace (Kat Holloway Mysteries #5)(2)

Death at the Crystal Palace (Kat Holloway Mysteries #5)(2)
Author: Jennifer Ashley

   A cook did not call upon a rich baron’s widow to sip tea in her parlor, but I could see that Lady Covington was in some distress. She might be imagining things, in spite of her protests, but then again, she might not. I had observed men and women of all walks of life cruel enough to kill another for even trivial reasons.

   “I could pay a visit to your cook, if you like,” I suggested. “Or your gardener—do you grow many vegetables or herbs?”

   She blinked her pale eyes. “Yes, an excellent excuse. Do come to the garden, tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. I will speak to you then. But I must—”

   “Your ladyship.” A stern female voice cut through Lady Covington’s breathless words. A rather stout woman wound her way around the columns and sightseers to the bench. She had a severe face and hard brown eyes, her gray hair pinned into a tightly twisted bun. “I have been searching everywhere for you.”

   The newcomer pinned me with a glare, as though certain I’d waylaid Lady Covington for nefarious purposes.

   “Never mind, Jepson.” Lady Covington rose, tone brisk, and I and Grace hopped up beside her. “I was asking Mrs. Holloway about one of her recipes. I’ve told her to bring it to Cook tomorrow.”

   A plausible reason for me to enter the house. Apparently, she’d dispensed with my idea of approaching the gardener.

   Jepson folded her arms in a fair imitation of one of the Egyptian statues behind her. “They are waiting for you, your ladyship.”

   Jepson was a lady’s maid, I surmised. They were usually called by their surnames only, and a lady’s maid was the one servant of the household likely to accompany its mistress on an outing. She would look after Lady Covington’s things and make certain her ladyship was where she needed to be.

   “Let them wait,” Lady Covington snapped. “I’ll not come to heel for that pack of hounds. They depend on me, not the other way about.”

   “Yes, your ladyship.” Jepson’s pursed mouth told me she’d heard this rant from her mistress many a time.

   Lady Covington gave me a stiff nod. “Thank you for speaking with me, Mrs. Holloway. Please greet Mrs. Bywater for me. I am looking forward to your recipe.”

   Jepson’s eyes narrowed, and she switched her gaze to me. “Recipe for what?”

   Lady’s maids could be less censured for impertinence than other servants, if they had an understanding with their mistress, but this was rude even so. Lady Covington flushed.

   “Lemon cake,” she said quickly. “I fancied some. Come along, Jepson. As you say, I should not keep my stepson waiting. George is foul when he’s cross.”

   Without further farewell to me, Lady Covington stepped past Jepson and headed from the exhibit toward the nave. Sunlight through the glass above us caught on the brown satin ribbon around her hat. Jepson, with another suspicious glare at me, followed her mistress.

   “Poor lady,” Grace said, watching the pair go with sympathy. “She is very frightened.”

   “Yes, I believe she is.” I took my daughter’s hand. “You were very good to say nothing. You are a well-behaved young lady.”

   Grace didn’t smile or preen—she regarded me solemnly. “Mrs. Millburn says it’s ridiculous to believe that children should be seen and not heard. But even so, she says it’s polite to remain quiet when meeting ladies and gentlemen until they speak to me first.”

   “Mrs. Millburn is quite right.” Joanna Millburn, my greatest friend, had kindly taken in Grace and looked after her so I could earn my living. “You are a credit to her.”

   Grace blushed but accepted the praise with modesty. “Will you help Lady Covington?”

   She stated the words without pleading, but I could see that Grace was worried for the woman. As was I.

   “Of course I will,” I said. “I will visit her tomorrow, as she requests. But first, I must invent a recipe for lemon cake to take to her.”

 

* * *

 


* * *

       There you are, Mrs. H.” The voice of Lady Cynthia Shires echoed to me as Grace and I wound our way to the transept, as the aisle intersecting the main one was called.

   Lady Cynthia was dressed in a gown today that was not much different in cut from Lady Covington’s. This was worth remarking upon, because Lady Cynthia much preferred men’s suits to wearing frocks. She had conceded to the gown because Mr. Thanos, the dark-haired gentleman hovering behind her, had invited her and Miss Townsend on this outing to meet his benefactor, and Cynthia had not wanted to embarrass him with her eccentricities.

   “Time for that tea,” Cynthia continued as I reached her. “Won’t hold a candle to your teas, Mrs. H., but it might be jolly.”

   I was happy to partake. Today, Thursday, was my one full day out a week, a condition of my employment, and I wanted to make it last as long as I could. Grace lived with the Millburns, and I resided in the house of my employer, so Thursdays and Monday afternoons were all I had with her.

   The tea shop was situated near the indoor garden, enabling us to sit at a table and enjoy the beauty of exotic flowers and Egyptian palms amid the sound of burbling fountains.

   The five of us enjoyed tea brought by a harried waitress, my three friends chattering about the exhibits, especially liking the medieval court with its statuary. Miss Townsend, who was an artist, discussed with candor the merits—of lack thereof—of the picture gallery.

   As they conversed, I debated whether to tell them about my strange encounter with Lady Covington—my friends had been in the thick of problems I had faced in the past.

   But I wasn’t certain I should break Lady Covington’s confidence. The poison might be nothing but her imagination, that of an overwrought woman surrounded by a family who perhaps preyed on her fortune. The lady’s maid, Jepson, had certainly been a dragon. Lady Covington hadn’t been at ease with her brother or children, I recalled. She’d stood stiffly next to Sir Arthur when she’d been introduced to us, speaking polite phrases with no warmth behind them.

   Whether she was being poisoned in truth or only worried she had been, would Lady Covington thank me for spreading the tale? She might be horribly embarrassed if Lady Cynthia and Miss Townsend charged around to visit her, demanding the entire story.

   Well, I would meet Lady Covington tomorrow and assess the situation. I firmly drank tea and kept silent.

   “What did you think of Sir Arthur, Mrs. Holloway?” Mr. Thanos regarded me with eager brown eyes. His dark hair, courtesy of his Greek ancestry, was brushed back from his face, exposing sharp cheekbones and the few lines about his eyes inscribed from squinting. Mr. Thanos needed spectacles but was loath to wear them.

   “Very . . . zealous.” I chose my words carefully. I had no business forming opinions of my betters, but I knew Mr. Thanos truly wanted my impression. Sir Arthur, who looked much like his sister, had spoken at length and with vigor about the new Polytechnic. The younger members of the family had striven not to appear bored.

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