Startled by the usually silent major actually speaking, much less giving orders, no one moved—except for Kate. The Calhoun sisters were intrepid, Rafe knew, even this well-mannered widow. Wiping hastily at tears, she designated one of the maids to find the housekeeper.
Preferring to tread lightly under the manor roof, uncomfortable with weeping women, Rafe was grateful for any aid. He wanted to send Kate to her sister for comfort, but as the late squire’s daughter, she was the only sensible head he could rely on, other than Fletch.
Short, round, brown and resembling a wren, Meera Walker finally rushed in, bringing in a nippy spring breeze. A trained apothecary with a physician’s knowledge but no license, she served the village well. Rafe blocked the doorway with his bulk so she could examine the fallen maid without gawkers.
“Broken neck, I’m so sorry.” Meera sat back on her heels to take in the maid’s position on the stairs. “Perhaps she had a stroke or aneurysm that caused her to fall, although headfirst is a little odd. She should have grabbed at the rail. . .”
Dirty linen scattered on the steps indicated she’d had her hands full, but wouldn’t one drop the load if dizzy?
Rafe didn’t want to invent trouble. He wanted to hear it was an accident brought on by a physical condition. One more murder in this quiet little village and he would quit. As a former mess sergeant, he was only equipped to deal with drunks and brawls and mischief, no more.
“I only just met her and don’t know her family,” Kate murmured apologetically, scrubbing at her eyes with her sodden handkerchief. “Might I look in her room for correspondence so we may notify them? My sister and I will arrange her funeral. I wish we’d had more of a chance to know her.”
Ah, a little sense, at last. Before Rafe could react, Fletch stepped up. Again.
“Good thought. You shouldn’t go alone.” Fletch took her arm and steered the weeping widow away from the crowd.
Rafe tried not to gape. Surly, cynical Fletch never offered his aid. Ever.
“If you’ll have her carried to the infirmary, I’ll take a closer look,” Meera volunteered. “But I don’t see anything unusual except that she strongly resembles Mrs. Morgan.”
If that was a warning, Rafe wanted to ignore it, too, but Kate and her family had been an immense help to him and his. He didn’t see how he could do more here, beyond spreading the word. “I’ll send someone to tell Kate’s sister and go up to the schoolroom—” where his wife taught “—to check on the young ones. They must have heard the commotion.” He turned to the gawking footman. “Have Mrs. Upton handle any other details.”
A former clergyman’s wife, descendant of the earl’s family, the housekeeper was efficient and knowledgeable, but the manor had few bells to summon her. She was most likely with her daughter and new grandchild. The maid Kate sent would have had to run to the opposite end of the house.
Quincy, the butler, had no doubt gone to inform the Huntleys of the accident. At his stately pace, that could take half the day.
In lieu of butler or housekeeper, Rafe had to unclutter this hallway from weeping, chattering maids and seamstresses. He raised up to his full intimidating height and breadth and pointed down the hall. “Back to work, all of you. There is nothing else to be done.”
Thankfully, the imperious Miss Marlowe agreed with him and chased her sewing ladies back to the ballroom. The head footman scattered the rest of the servants to their rightful positions, except for two young lads to carry the body. Rafe could have done that, but he was learning the manor had its pecking order, and a bailiff was apparently above hauling corpses.
He didn’t mind. He wanted to see his schoolteacher wife and reassure the children. Once the stairs were cleared, he appropriated a lantern and headed up to the attic floor, examining the treads along the way. He saw nothing unusual. He’d uncovered trip wires before, but he found no sign of one here. The poor woman had simply fallen.
In the attic hallway, he met his beautiful wife, wrapped in one of her colorful shawls, waiting for him. Lifting Verity into a hug, Rafe kissed her uncapped caramel hair, then set her down. “One of the maids fell and snapped her neck. She is apparently a relation to the Calhouns, and Kate is distraught. What do I do?”
“Look after the children. It’s all we can do. I heard there are bunnies? We can call a recess and give them a pleasant distraction. We all heard the screams.” Verity glanced anxiously to the schoolroom door where her students tried to pretend they were working and not watching them.
Daniel and Daphne, their wards, didn’t even pretend. They’d lost everything and everyone they knew and loved at Christmas. They watched Rafe and Verity, their new parents, with wide, fear-filled eyes. Definitely time for a bunny break.
Rafe nodded. “I’ll check with Mr. Birdwhistle, see if he’ll join you. But take the tower stairs, please. I need to keep the service stairs locked until Meera verifies this was an unfortunate accident.”
His wife looked more resigned than alarmed. “It’s sad we have to think like that.”
“It’s sadder still that most places don’t even consider the possibility and murders may be more commonplace than anyone knows. Fortunately, or not, the manor folk are too smart to let killers get away.” Rafe had spent a lot of time thinking about that. He didn’t think Gravesyde had an abnormal number of murders, just an abnormal number of intelligent people concerned enough to investigate.
And possibly a history of lawlessness over the past decades of no authority.
He stopped by the schoolroom overseen by Mr. Birdwhistle, the class Daniel aspired to join as soon as he caught up on his schoolwork. The tutor taught the earl’s eight-year-old descendants, who were socially awkward but brilliant. Kate’s boy was there simply because, at twelve, his education exceeded Verity’s very basic schoolroom. More outgoing than the heirs, Rob was teaching the younger boys to socialize. All three glanced up eagerly at Rafe’s appearance.
“If you want to see the bunnies, Mrs. Russell is taking the classroom out through the tower to the yard. I assume they’ve been crated by now.” Rafe didn’t know what to make of the elegantly dressed young tutor, but Mr. Birdwhistle had an excellent understanding of his students. He nodded approval and directed them to don outerwear.
While the boys struggled with their coats, the tutor stepped into the hall with Rafe. “What happened?”
“A maid tripped and broke her neck. She is some relation to Mrs. Morgan, who found her.” Rafe didn’t generally feel awkward about his bulk, just his position in a household of aristocrats. There was no reason the slender tutor should make him uncomfortable, but he did. The elegant young man carried himself with more authority than a humble tutor.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Thank you for giving the boys a learning opportunity while relieving their fears.” Birdwhistle turned away to look after his charges, behaving like one of the manor gentlemen and not an employee.
Rafe had to quit looking at everyone as a suspect.
