“Do you need me to take notes, Sir?” he enquired.
“Yes,” Lucy said.
“No,” Ashmore said simultaneously.
“This is a very important matter, so taking notes can’t harm.” Lucy rummaged about in her reticule and drew out a crumpled piece of paper covered in scribbles, which she set on the table, flattening it with her palm. “I’ve had to take some notes myself. So I don’t forget anything, you see.”
“I see.” The duke leaned back in his chair and looked at Lucy with a glint in his eyes. “Well, Miss Bell. Reveal us the purpose of your, er, business visit. We’re fairly agog with curiosity.”
“Yes, and so you shouldbe. It is a vexing affair.” She frowned and turned the paper over, looking for the beginning of her notes. “Ah, here it is.” She cleared her throat. “It’s about Ophelia.”
The duke sighed. “No, I do not see. Nor does Mr Brown.”
Mr Brown looked apologetic. “Who is this Ophelia, Miss Bell? I daresay you are not referring to the Shakespearean one?”
“How old are you, Your Grace?”
“And what does that have to do with anything?”
Lucy was irked by his cool, aloof manner.
“Approaching thirty-four, Miss Bell,” Mr Brown responded. “And I am twenty-eight. In case that is relevant.” He pushed up his spectacles.
“Thank you, Brown,” Ashmore said. “Naturally, I would not know my ownage. Now Miss Bell will no doubt enlighten us what my age has to do with this Ophelia.”
“Thirty-four, really? Well. That is positively ancient. Anyway. I was just going to say that considering the fact you have lived in this house for thirty-four years, and Mr Brown, who has been in your employ for how long?”
“Nine years and three months, Miss Bell.”
“Nine years and three months, and neither of you know Ophelia. That is reallyincredible.”
Both men looked at her, flummoxed.
“Ophelia is the local midwife,” she explained slowly, as if talking to a pair of dunces. “She was there the night you were born. Thirty-four years ago. It is understandable if you don’t remember that incident. I also don’t remember the night I was born. But what isn’t so understandable is why that woman, who also was there the night your sister Arabella was born, and every other single member of the household born on these premises—to whom you owe the fact that you are nowthriving and healthy—for I gather you are healthy, are you not?”
The duke choked, which Lucy took as a yes.
“So, given all this, it is quite a mystery why Ophelia would live alone and in poverty at the edge of Somersbrooke village. She’s had to resort to begging. That isn’t so understandable to me. So, I thought you’d want to look into that matter. You might not be here today, healthy and thriving, if it hadn’t been for Ophelia.”
Mr Brown scribbled officiously.
“How did you come by this kind of information?” the duke asked.
“Oh.” She shrugged. “I talk to people.”
“With people you do not mean my house guests but—?”
“George the stable boy, Joseph the chimney sweep. Speaking of Joseph—”
He lifted a hand. “Brown, you will see to the matter.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“That was it, then?”
“Oh no, that’s only the beginning. I have an entire list here. Let’s see—”
“You will give the list to Brown.”
