CHAPTER 44 - The servants tell all
THE INFORMATION THEbutler and housekeeper provided, if not plentiful, proved to be crucial. They categorically denied any knowledge or even suspicion of any affair the late duchess might have been having and were in fact as shocked as Dale had been.
They said she had not corresponded with anyone unusual, just some friends and family and such, nor did she have any male visitors. But when questioned about the maid, they said she went to the village every week and would sometimes return with a letter.
It was obvious the maid, Ninette, was not popular among the servants. Mrs Simmonds said she put on airs and considered herself above the rest.
“She would never take her meals with us, Your Grace,” Mrs Simmonds said. “She preferred to eat with the duchess or alone, and she spoke to the rest of the servants as if she were their superior.”
Eloise, on the other hand, had been well liked.
“She was a gentle soul. Very kind and caring. She was always asking about my arthritis and even recommended a poultice,” Mr Harris said, his eyes shining with emotion. For a man whose position required perfect decorum and solemnity at all times, this was indeed a great outburst.
Olivia liked Mr. Harris and Mrs. Simmonds. They were honest, loyal and hardworking people. But she found herself a little peeved at all this praise for the late duchess. From hearing them talk, the lady had been virtue personified. And yet she had obviously been no saint. She may have been having an affair right under her husband’s nose. Olivia chastised herself for the unworthy sentiment. After all, the poor woman was dead, but she couldn’t help it. Was she jealous?
“Do you know who this person is with whom Ninette was corresponding?” Olivia asked to change the subject away from Eloise’s many virtues and also because that was the best possible thread they could follow to find out more about the affair.
“She never said, of course,” Mrs. Simmonds replied. “but she always visited the milliner’s shop when she went to the village. Maybe that’s where she received her letters. As for who and where they were from, l don’t know. She was very private about all things, and downright secretive about these letters.”
Dale sprung from the chair where he sat, taking Olivia’s hand. “Let’s go visit the milliner right now. Mr. Harris, have the coach brought around.”
***
THEY WERE HEADING TOWARDSthe village fifteen minutes later. As expected, the shop had closed for the day, but the owner, Mrs. Rossington, lived above the shop, so Dale knocked and a young girl leaned out the upstairs window to see who was at their door. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw them on their doorstep. “Ma! Hurry, open the door. The duke is downstairs.”
A moment later, the front door opened and a flustered Mrs Rossington greeted them.
“Your Graces,” she said, curtsying to both of them. “To what do I owe this unexpected honor?” She stepped to the side and waved them inside..
“We are hoping you could be of help on a delicate matter.” Dale said, inclining his head.
“Of course. I would be honored.”
They followed Mrs. Rossington up the stairs, where she invited them to a small and cozy parlor.
“I’d be happy to help any way I can. Could I offer you some tea?” She looked from Dale to Olivia, no doubt wondering what kind of assistance she could provide.
“No, thank you, Mrs. Rossington,” Dale said. “Our visit will be brief. Do you remember my late wife’s maid, Ninette?”
Mrs. Rossington’s face shuttered at the mention of the name.
“Vaguely, Your Grace. She used to come to my store sometimes, but it was such a long time ago.”
“I have been informed the reason she frequented your store was to retrieve letters.”
Mrs Rossington picked at her skirts, avoiding their gazes. She obviously didn’t expect him to know this information. Something was definitely suspicious here.
“Letters, milord? I guess she might have received a letter or two. Sometimes I provide that service. I don’t remember anymore. It was such a long time ago.”
Dale was losing patience with the woman. She knew something and was trying to hide it. Why? And how to get her to spill what she knew? Thankfully, Olivia intervened.
“Madam, do you keep a register of the correspondence that passes through your hands?” Olivia asked gently.
