“Is London so dangerous?” Winnie said, with some alarm.
“Oh, no, no, no! I should not wish you to think we live amongst savages here. It is true that there are pickpockets and worse in these streets, and in the parks, too. Anywhere with crowds, like the theatres and other places of entertainment. But during the day, if one is careful, it is safe enough. No, the greatest danger is to your reputation. An unmarried woman cannot walk about unescorted, and a man is better protection than another woman. I myself always take Percival with me whenever I go out without Edmund’s company, and you must do the same. You will not encounter any trouble when he is with you.”
“I can imagine! He is the tallest man I have ever seen, and the darkest of skin.”
“Have you never seen a Negro before?”
“No, never.”
“Well, goodness me! One sees them everywhere here. Percival was brought to England as a boy to be a page to the Duchess of— Well, better not to name her, perhaps. But when he grew so tall, she tired of him and turned him out. Edmund’s brother found him scraping a living as a prize fighter and offered him a more respectable job, then he came to us when we married, as a sort of wedding present. I must say, he is far more use to us than all the silver and plate we were given, although more expensive to maintain. Quite apart from his exorbitant wages, almost twice the usual, he eats a mountain of food every day. But worth every last farthing.”
“The indispensable Percival,” Winnie said, smiling.
“He is that. Anyone may have a footman of the ordinary sort, but few have one like Percival. Sadly for us, he is saving up his wages to open his own boxing academy, like GentlemanJackson, so we shall lose him eventually, and then we shall be reduced to taking on an ordinary footman again. Ah, Martha has found her way up here, so I shall leave you to wash and change, and rest after the travails of the journey. Whenever you are ready for company again, I shall be in the drawing room, two floors down. We dine late, at seven, so there is no need to rush.”
Impulsively, Winnie crossed the floor and wrapped her aunt in a tight hug. “Oh, I am so glad to be here, Aunt! I am going to enjoy myself prodigiously.”
“That you may depend upon,” her aunt said, with a wide smile.
16: The General Post Office
For Captain Michael Edgerton, breakfast always set the tone for the day. A snatched meal at an inn or, even worse, under a hedge somewhere, and the day was bound to be difficult. A proper meal with white linen on the table, silver spoons and his wife sitting opposite him, and the hours were bound to unfold smoothly. That was how it was supposed to be, anyway. But today, he felt, was not going to plan.
Miss Peach was there, for one thing, and that was by no means usual. Being a lady of a certain age, she tended to keep to her bed until a late hour, enjoying a tray in her room and the attentions of a maid to help her dress, for a retired governess was by no means accustomed to such ministrations. Lately, she had seldom been seen in the castle at all.
But today, there she was, and all of a flutter. “Two days before the murder, Captain —twodays! It cannot be a coincidence, can it?”
“Peachy, dear, we have understood that part very clearly,” Luce said, in her calmest tones. “You have said it several timesnow, after all. But you will need to explain a little more clearly what it was that happened two days before the murder.”
“Why, the meeting at the White Horse, my dear. Did I not say so? All the men of the village — the working men, that is, not Mr Dewar, naturally, or any of thegentlemenof Birchall. No man of principle would involve himself in such an enterprise, would he? I mean, it stands to reason.”
“What sort of enterprise, Peachy?”
“I have told you… have I not? Well, I am not terribly clear what precisely they planned to do, but Mr Nicholson’s name was mentioned… I am sure Mrs Haslet said Mr Nicholson, although sometimes she speaks very fast and the accent, you know… But I am quite sure Mr Nicholson came into it somehow, and they were very angry about it… whatever it was. But then Mr Oakes… the curate, if you remember… came in with a message for Mrs Haslet, and so I heard no more about it. Or was it for Miss Mary Haslet… I cannot quite recall. A message for someone, anyway, and so the subject was dropped and I did not feel I could ask directly about it. But I wanted you to know at once, Captain. This is why I go to Birchall and sit with my sewing in Mrs Dewar’s parlour, to hear the gossip, you see. I hope it is helpful?”
“Very helpful, Miss Peach,” Michael said at once, as he knew he was expected to do. But after Miss Peach had drunk her tea and departed for the village, he said to his wife, “Should I stop her from all this creeping about listening to gossip, do you think?”
“Why spoil her enjoyment?” Luce said, with her lovely smile. “She was bored here, and it brings a little excitement into her otherwise very dull life. Chatting with the ladies of Birchall village is a harmless enough occupation, and she is making garments for the poor at the same time.”
“Very well, my dear. It shall be so.”
But it set him all on edge for the day, nevertheless, and he was obliged to abandon his unproductive work in the castle and go for a long ride on the moors to clear his head.
***
Winnie’s desire to enjoy herself was fulfilled in every respect. For several days, Aunt Sofia swept her off to the draperies and modistes and milliners and haberdashers that London offered in abundance, and her room began to fill up with hat boxes and interestingly shaped packages, and the delicious difficulty in choosing which new gown or spencer or bonnet to wear for which occasion. There were long walks in the park with her aunt, catching up on three years of news, with the indispensable Percival following them. There were cheerful breakfasts and lively dinners, sometimes with friends of Uncle Edmund and Aunt Sofia, invited to meet the visitors, and sometimes just themselves. Even the hours spent in the library acting as secretary to Uncle Alfred were delightful, because Walter was there. And although she missed her family, and wrote a long letter home every day, it was pleasant not to have Mama’s admonishments ringing in her ears, and to be treated as a valued and most welcome guest.
One of the advantages of her new situation was having Martha’s undivided attention when she was dressing for dinner. Instead of rushing in at the last minute, so that she had to scramble into a gown to avoid being late, she had the maid for a whole hour, if she wanted, with time to try a new style to her hair, or different ornaments. And Martha liked it too, for she became very chatty, asking about things she had seen on the journey, or explanations for remarks by the other servants. And sometimes, she talked about the other members of the household.
“Poor Mr Atherton,” she said one evening, with a heavy sigh. She never mentioned him now except as‘poor Mr Atherton’.“To be all set to be an earl, an’ then find you’re nobbut but a bastard. It’s hard, that is. Yet he seems very cheerful. Mr Rashleigh, his man, says he’s always cheerful, never gets down about it.”
Winnie disagreed with Rashleigh, but she was not about to gossip about Walter so she let Martha rattle on, her fingers busily arranging Winnie’s hair as she chattered.
“Has his father thrown him out, then, bein’ as how the poor man’s a bastard now?”
“The earl? No, he has not thrown Mr Atherton out, as you put it. He is still a part of the family, but he will have to earn his own living now that he is not to inherit. He is to see if my uncle’s line of work in the Treasury might suit him. If it does… well, I suppose he will live in London, most of the time.” A pang of grief at the prospect — never to see Walter again! Never to meet him at the tree house… a horrible thought. But she must not give way… “If it does not suit him, then he will go home and look about him for something else, but his father will never repudiate him. No man of his standing would do so. It is a matter of honour to take care of all their children, even the illegitimate ones. That is how a gentleman behaves.”
“Not all of ’em,” Martha muttered.
