“I’d like to see this cottage,” Cecilia said. “Can you take me there?”
Summer shook her head. “Oh, no, milady. We made a pact… I’ve got to get back to the bakery,” she said suddenly, her face now twisted with worry. She started to run toward the drive, then stopped and turned back. She curtsied. “Goodbye, milady,” she said, then turned and ran down the drive toward the village.
Cecilia watched after her. Likely, the group still met at the old cottage. She would have thought that with the loss of Miss Inglewood, the glue that had held them together, the group would have dissolved. She turned back to the house and pondered how she would approach her conversation with Miss Augusta Sandiford when she delivered the fabric.
At Cecilia’s request,Cook set a cold collation in the breakfast parlor for a nuncheon that could be partaken whenever she and James were available. It had been a practice started during their early days of the estate remodel two years ago. Now they frequently continued the practice when they did not know when they might be available to eat. They seldom came to nuncheon at the same time, so it was with surprise and delight that Cecilia entered the small parlor to find James ahead of her, choosing his food. She went to his side and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He obliged her efforts by bending his head down toward her, then he smiled at her.
“I have news for you,” he said.
“As I have for you,” Cecilia returned, “but you go first while I get my plate,” she said, looking across what the cook had spread out for them this day. It was never the same, depending on what Cook found in the larder that she thought they might enjoy.
“First, Romley told me Mrs. Jones’ horse did have painting supplies packed in a satchel slung over the pommel.”
“So she had gone to paint,” Cecilia said.
“It looks that way. And in another bit of news, Miss Hope Jones has come to Mertonhaugh for her mother’s services.”
“I’m so glad,” Cecilia returned. “Any word about her sister?”
“None as yet; however, I believe the earliest she could possibly arrive is this evening. But overall, I assume it depends on the tides and winds.”
Cecilia nodded. She set her plate down on the table. “Just lemonade for me,” she told Daniel as the attending footman poured a glass of wine for Sir James.
“I shall have to go to the rectory this afternoon to pay my respects,” she said as she cut her ham slice.
“She is not staying at the rectory,” James told her, one of his smirking smiles on his face.
“She’s not? Where is she staying? Certainly not at the tavern inn.”
“No. She is staying at Mortlake House.”
Cecilia’s eyes widened as she considered that. “Well, he is her father. But I’m sure that must hurt Mr. Jones’ heart.”
“I don’t know why she is staying there, so I caution you about making assumptions.”
“Yes, I know; however, if I am, you know what the biddies of Mertonhaugh will be saying. It is bad enough that talk insists Mrs. Jones committed suicide because she poisoned Miss Inglewood. I’ve only known Mrs. Jones for two years and know her to be a kind, strong woman who is strong in her beliefs and wouldn’t hurt anyone. These people have known her for over twenty years, and yet the minute something unsavory is presented as a possibility, they rush to condemnation. I do not understand it.” Cecilia’s voice had grown louder and more insistent as she talked. Sir James laid his hand atop hers.
“Easy, love,” he counseled in his even manner. “There is agency behind these gossips, I’m certain. We need to discoverwho and why. It will come out in due time. It always does with gossip such as this.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“But tell me of your news.”
“Summer Rutledge, the baker’s daughter, acted as Miss Inglewood’s courier to all her friends and swains in the village. She picked up the notes she was to deliver from an old henhouse.”
“An old henhouse!”
“Yes, and your reaction is the same as mine. An old henhouse associated with an abandoned cottage on the earl’s estate.”
“Hmm. Did you discover where this cottage is?”
“No, and the girl seemed sorry she had said as much as she did. Evidently, it is still in use by Miss Inglewood’s associates.”
“It should be fairly simple to discover its whereabouts after a discussion with the earl or his steward.”
“Yes, but I do not see the reason for haste to do so—unless you believe we might find pennyroyal there.”
“Possibly, however, I wouldn’t believe so. Their continued gatherings could be innocent gatherings to mourn another’s death.”
