“You know?”
“Does it happen often, child?” Cordelia said at the same time.
Louisa looked from one to the other as if not sure which one to answer first.
“Do not talk over me, Mother,” Winston said, raising his voice slightly and regretting it.
“I will talk over the drunken oaf who claims the title of Duke,” Cordelia said, archly, not reducing the volume of her voice and producing a deeper wince from Winston.
“I have an herbal solution to the problem ofmal de tete,” Adeline said, suddenly. “I even have a supply of it made up. I will fetch it from my room.”
“Do not bother,” Winston said.
“It is no bother, Your Grace,” Adeline replied.
“I mean, I don’t…” Winston raised his voice again and could not continue speaking.
Adeline smiled, and he met her eyes. The smile seemed genuine. Empathic and compassionate.
“Very well. Thank you,” Winston sighed.
As Adeline rose, there was a sharp knock at the door, and it was opened to reveal the butler, Mr. Lavender. He was a tall, thin man with a weak chin and dark hair desperately combed toconceal a bald patch. His nose was raised, and his lips pursed as though he moved in a perpetual fog of unpleasant smells.
“What is it, Lavender?” Winston asked.
“A man has presented himself, Your Grace. He seeks a position as a valet. He was, he claims, previously employed at Harston Manor.”
There was a crash of crockery, and Adeline screamed, shooting to her feet and furiously wiping at her dress. Louisa jumped. Winston’s eyes darted to Adeline, who had managed to upend a cup of tea over herself in her haste to get to her feet.
“I am so sorry!” she blurted, as tea dribbled off the edge of the table to the floor. “That was clumsy of me.”
“You must change your dress and give that one to your chambermaid. It will need to be attended to immediately to avoid a stain,” Cordelia said.
“Does the name Harston Manor mean anything to you?” Winston said quietly as he carefully watched Adeline’s reaction.
He thought he had caught something in her face. A flash of emotion.
But what? Shock? Recognition? Guilt?
It had been swiftly masked, and she denied his question with an emphatic shake of her head.
“I know nothing of Harston Manor,” she said.
“Where is it that you come from?” Winston asked.
“This is no time for an inquisition, Winston,” Cordelia chided, “and I have told you the answer to that already. She hails from Clifford-Edge. She is the daughter of a Viscount. Go, my dear, and get out of those clothes.”
Suspicion coiled tighter in Winston.
Head full of brandy fumes or not. I did see a reaction to that name. But even I do not know who lives at Harston Manor. Or even where it is. Nowhere in this district.
He knew he could consult DeBretts, a copy of which was in the library. It would tell him everything he needed to know about the family living at Harston Manor. But then so could this man who had come seeking work.
“Very well,” Winston said. “I shall see him.”
Adeline hurried through the door, almost running, wiping her dress with a napkin. Winston excused himself and went to the small receiving room where the man waited. Robert Grebe was thin and sharp-eyed, with the hungry air of a fox at thehenhouse. He bowed, introduced himself, and launched into his history.
“I served at Harston many years,” he said, “but I could no longer endure my master’s…habits. A drunkard, Your Grace. The household crumbled under it. I kept things as best I could, but, well, a man of my ability deserves better.”
