Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the quick look that passed between the siblings. Was it fear?
Chapter Nine
Obadiah Bennet took the cup proffered by Mrs. Fletcher, the housekeeper, and stretched out his legs. He had been invited to take a chair beside the fire, which burned due to the unseasonable cool of the evening, and here he was taking tea with Mrs. Fletcher and Mr. Pierce.
It had not taken batman and valet long to settle their differences. At the age of seventy-five, Pierce told Bennet he would be pleased to teach the younger man the fine art of being a ‘gentleman’s gentleman’ and Bennet had agreed with alacrity.
‘That’s a fine cuppa,’ Bennet told the housekeeper, who acknowledged the praise with a small bob of her head.
‘It is such a relief to have Lord Somerton here at last, isn’t it, Mr. Pierce?’ she said. ‘He seems like a steady sort of man.’ She leaned forward. ‘So tell me, Mr. Bennet, is he a single gentleman?’
Bennet hesitated. ‘He is, Mrs. Fletcher.’
‘Oh, but he’s a fine-looking man,’ she persisted. ‘Surely there’s been a woman in his life?’
Before Bennet could respond, Pierce cleared his throat. ‘My dear Bennet, you hear and see things as a valet. The first lessonis: discretion.’ He tapped his nose. ‘One does not question or gossip about one’s master.’
‘Of course,’ Bennet agreed.
The terrible fate of Mrs. Alder, as he liked to think of her, was no one’s business but his captain’s, and he, Bennet, would carry it to his grave.
Mrs. Fletcher sat back in her chair, clearly disappointed.
‘The late Lord Somerton was not easy,’ she said with a heavy sigh. ‘Never knew his comings and goings.’
‘Not a happy man,’ Pierce conceded, apparently contravening his own first rule. ‘Lovely wife, estates, money and still not content.’ He shrugged.
‘It was the child’s death,’ Mrs. Fletcher said.
‘Child?’ Bennet asked.
Mrs. Fletcher sighed. ‘Aye, such a bonny boy he was too. Nursemaid found him dead in his cradle just over a year ago. Broke her ladyship’s heart. She’s worn mourning ever since. And then his lordship went only a few months later. That’s enough sadness for anybody to have in their life.’
Bennet, born in the slums of London, had seen too many children die to take anything more than a pragmatic view of such events.
‘Drove his lordship back to his wicked ways in London,’ Pierce said with a shake of his head.
‘Still, he didn’t deserve to die the way he did.’ Mrs. Fletcher took a delicate sip of her tea.
‘’How did he die?’ Bennet enquired.
‘It was a riding accident. The girth on his saddle snapped when he was taking a hedge. He broke his neck in the fall and they found him cold and dead in the morning,’ Mrs. Fletcher said. ‘Of course, what he was doing out at that hour of the night, and visiting a lady no less...’
Bennet pricked up his ears. ‘A lady?’
Mrs. Fletcher’s lips tightened. ‘That Lady Kendall. Threehusbands she’s had, they do say.’ Her lips pursed. ‘For all her fine ways, she isn’t any better than she ought to be.’
‘Now, now, Mrs. Fletcher. That’s enough,’ Mr. Pierce chided.
The door of the servant’s hall opened, and a man and a woman entered. The staff around Bennet immediately stiffened. The man, a big fellow with a round, unformed face like a bowl of dough, looked at Bennet. His companion, a young woman with a crooked eye, gave him a humourless smile.
‘This ’ere must be the new lord’s man,’ she said.
Bennet stood up and held out his hand. ‘Bennet, pleased to meet you ...’
Neither the man nor the woman moved or responded.
‘This is MMr.Jenkins and his sister, Sally,’ Mrs. Fletcher said. ‘They serve Mr. and Miss Lynch.’
