“So Edward could have had an assignation with one of the maids.Which could explain the bumping and moaning, you know.”
Sometimes, April seemed to have the oldest eyes he had ever seen on a young person.“I can tell the difference, you know.”
“Even when distorted by floorboards, muffling walls, and chimney echoes?”
April sniffed.
“If that is what Aunt Hortensia has taught you, I shall forbid you from seeing her,” Piers said.
“I’m sure she’ll forbid me first.Her marginal softening won’t last forever.Actually, I don’t know about the noises.Am I making a fuss about nothing?”
“Perhaps,” Piers said.“Thereisthe oddity of the locked door.”
Consideringly, April regarded the door in question.She sighed.“The Temperleys should be able to secure what they like without us poking our noses in.We are only borrowing their house.”
“Although if Edward was in there...”
“He and the maid Peggy are flirting at the very least.But then Peggy is a born flirt.She likes you too.”
“And Fosterson,” said Piers, not remotely flattered.“Let’s leave the locked doors secure, for now.Instead, I believe I shall have a word with Ed—”
He broke off as April suddenly dragged him back through the maidservants’ door, pressing her lips to his ear.“Someone in the passage below...”
Piers heard the door to the attic stairs open and heavy breathing as someone laboured to ascend.They were rather trapped here with no idea which rooms were occupied.It would, of course, be merely embarrassing to be caught poking around.There was nothing any servant could do to prevent it.Which did not make him feel better.He wished he’d let April pick the locked door instead.
“Mrs.Riley,” April breathed.And indeed, the door on the half-landing opened.Rustling followed and then the door closed and the footsteps descended.“She came for her coat.She’ll be going to the village to recruit temporary staff.”
They gave her time.Piers didn’t mind.He was quite happy to stand in the gloom, holding April, her newly rounded stomach resting against him.But at last, they went down and sought refuge in their own room, where Piers changed into riding breeches and boots.
“Make sure you rest,” he instructed April.“Especially since your sleep was disturbed by drunken pigs and bumps in the night.”
“And moans,” she reminded him.“But I will rest, I promise.After everyone has breakfasted, I shall practice my writing and have some quiet time.”
She was conscientious about her writing and reading practice.Since he had begun to teach her little more than a year ago, when she had been completely illiterate, she had made impressive progress by means of will and hard work.She could write quite easily now, but she disliked the childish form of her penmanship and aimed for a more ladylike style, mostly, he knew, so that she did not let him down.
So he kissed her before he departed in search of Hale and Fosterson.His head being still a little thick, he was actually striding toward the stables before he realized what the odd expression in her eyes had been.A sort of waiting, mixed up with hope and patience.He scratched his head, both metaphorically and in reality, but whatever it was he should have done eluded him.
***
APRIL WAS SO PLEASEDwith her morning’s efforts at handwriting that she took out her other notebook—the one she kept for puzzles and mysteries—and wrote down all the odd things that had happened since their arrival.The lack of servants in the numbers promised, the arrogance of a mere footman, the strange noises she had heard in the night, the nocturnal encounter with the same footman, the locked doors.
When she glanced over what she had written, she was again rather pleased with herself.The first time she had made notes on a mystery, they had been very brief words, the lettering of different sizes, sloping erratically across the page.Now she could keep her writing straight and neat, the letters joined and tailed with just a little flourish.
After a moment’s thought, she added the disappearance of Mrs.Hubble’s reticule.
Closing the notebook, she put it in the desk drawer with the other one and stood up.It was probably time to play hostess, at least to the length of making sure everyone was comfortable.
As she left her own room, she heard sounds of activity further along the passage.On impulse she walked in that direction.Through the open door of Grant Fosterson’s room, came heavy breathing and the grunts of considerable effort, interspersed with too many sniffs.
April glanced in to see the maid Becky wrestling with bed sheets, tucking them tightly under the heavy mattress.Glad to see some work was in progress, she would have passed on, only Becky dashed the back of one hand over her plump cheek before straightening.
The girl was weeping.
April walked in.“What is the matter?”
Becky jumped.“Oh, nothing, my lady.Must have a cold.”
“Nonsense.Something has upset you.”
