‘I remember it well,’ said Fletcher, his manner darkening again. He had been incensed, Thea remembered, that anyone would speak of his employer in that manner, never mind print accusations of sapphism in a newspaper. He was of the old-fashioned sort and all for propriety in public – never mind what the truth may be. Since then, he had been a staunch support to Thea, and she appreciated him for it.
‘Well, Lady Foxmore has also received letters. Letters which seem to be in my hand, and yet these are most certainly letters which I did not pen. Additionally, it seems I did not receive some of the letters and associated plant samples sent to me by the countess. There is something devious afoot and I havebeen wondering if they are linked in any way to the Town and Country… rumours. Not that there is any truth in them, of course,’ she added, quickly.
‘Of course not,’ said Fletcher with admirable sincerity.
‘Indeed,’ said Martha, a little awkwardly. They all knew they were lying to one another, but the truth, out loud, was not appropriate.
‘You have no idea why James may have sent Lady Foxmore away?’ asked Thea. ‘None of the staff were behaving suspiciously about that time?’
Fletcher shook his head and looked like he would like to sit down, not that he would dare with the both of them in the room. ‘None, Your Grace.’
‘Who would have been able to send and intercept letters?’ asked Thea, wondering if she could draw out any clue.
‘I manage the mail,’ he said, staring at a spot in the corner of the room. ‘So, if letters were being intercepted or sent out of the house, they must have somehow managed to avoid coming through me. Sadly, this proves nothing. If it was within this house, the mail was taken in from the boy by either of the footmen and could have been intercepted by James with little effort. If it was outside the house,’ he pursed his lips. ‘Letters in your hand could have come from anywhere.’
‘Yes,’ said Thea, sagging a little. ‘They could.’ This was absolutely confounding.
Fletcher looked back at her. ‘Did you say that the letters to Lady Foxmore appeared to be in your hand, Your Grace?’ he asked.
Thea nodded. ‘An extremely good imitation of it,’ she said. ‘That, itself, proves nothing other than the writer had access to my handwriting. But the fact that Lady Foxmore was sent away suggests it must have been someone in this house or that someone here was, at least, involved. That is, if James was notacting alone, and I have no idea why he would be. Or who could have penned the letters.’
‘Hmm,’ said Fletcher, tapping a finger at his waist. It looked like he was reaching far into the depths of his mind. ‘Or if it was nobody in this house, then there must have been an accomplice on the outside?’
‘Did James socialise with anyone?’ asked Martha. ‘What did he do on his days off?’
Fletcher shrugged. ‘He never said, but he did leave the house. I am sure he must have had links, but I am not sure he left his prior employer on good terms.’
‘Then why did we take him on?’ asked Thea.
Fletcher’s eyebrows rose. ‘I was not for it, Your Grace, but The duke had a hand in James’s appointment. He said he would have been concerned had the reference been favourable.’
‘Who was it?’ asked Thea.
Fletcher shook his head, indicating that he did not remember. ‘I did not note it at the time, but I will still have the reference.’ He sprung to life and pulled open one of the drawers of the dresser in his butler’s pantry. A stack of parchment was drawn out and he leafed through, flicking up the corners to see the sender. ‘Here we are,’ he said, extracting one. He passed it to Thea.
Thea opened it with slightly trembling fingers. She knew few people who George thought so poorly of, but desperately hoped that it wasn’t who she thought. But as she leafed the parchment folds aside, there it was. The bottom of the brief note displayed an ostentatious flourish that crept across the page after the signature which clearly said, N. Knatchbull.
‘Bastard,’ she said. Martha and Fletcher both stared at her. ‘It was Knatchbull,’ she said, gripping the parchment so tightly it creased. ‘James’s former employer was Neville Knatchbull.’
Fletcher’s trimmed eyebrows rose, and Martha looked uncertain. ‘Cecily’s husband,’ said Thea as realisation began todawn on Martha’s face. ‘The one with some sort of queer rivalry with The duke and who always manages to outdo everyone in his cultivation. Everyone, including me.’ She sighed. ‘That must have been where James found his interest in plants, and this reference is dated 1761 – a year after Knatchbull started growing.’
‘Are you saying Knatchbull planted him in the household?’ Martha asked. Thea just shrugged. She wasn’t sure what she was saying. James had always seemed so nice and so interested. But was he only interested as he had been sent to be?
‘Why would Knatchbull give him a bad reference if he wanted him here?’ asked Fletcher, eyebrows knitting in consternation.
‘Because he knew the duke would take him on in that case,’ said Martha. ‘Cleverer than I gave him credit for.’
‘Yes,’ said Thea. ‘That must be it.’
Fletcher put his hands on his hips. ‘You taught him to draw the plants, Your Grace.’
‘I taught him to capture the details as he was already so good at painting.’ Thea threw the reference down on the table. ‘Knatchbull must have known that. And I taught him to…’ She broke off, and then gripped Martha’s arm. Martha stared at her in alarm.
‘What is it?’
‘Come with me,’ said Thea, heading towards the door and dragging Martha behind her. ‘Both of you.’ They followed her out of the pantry, up the back stairs and onto the second floor. She marched to the cabinet corridor and flung open a cupboard at the base, retrieving a stack of paintings. She studied one and then another carefully, and then passed them to Martha, resigned.
‘I taught him to write,’ she said quietly, leaning against the tall cupboard. Somehow the revelation seemed exhausting. ‘So he could clearly annotate the plant names.’
