Helen widened tip-tilted gray eyes very much like her mother’s. “Why, Mama? Have you learned something more?”
Lady Kinsey explained Jason’s connection to Bart while Lady Helen’s eyes continued to coolly assess him. Lady Kinsey placed a hand on her daughter’s arm. “You had best come too, Helen. You’ve had more to do with Bartholomew. Diana and Toby are not to learn of this.”
“You cannot speak of this to anyone, Lady Helen,” Jason warned. He considered her being drawn into this was ill judged, but her mother had obviously come to entrust her with matters that should be dealt with by someone far older. He found himself intrigued enough to want to discover more about Lady Helen. She was like a calm millpond, but he sensed a strong current flowing beneath the surface. And she was frowning at him.
She glanced at her mother and then gave a nod of consent. “I understand.”
The kitchen noises and aromas reached them as they climbed the narrow wooden servants’ staircase to the attics. Lady Helen gathered up her skirts to follow in her mother’s wake.
Jason observed the young lady’s neat ankles, her narrow back, and the pleasing curve of her hip revealed by the taut fabric while he trailed behind her. Again, he wondered why she was not yet married. Might she be engaged? He had not heard of it. But then that wasn’t surprising since he didn’t read the society gossip columns in the newspapers and he seldom attended balls or soirées. He glanced at her hand on the banister. No ring. That was not conclusive, but somehow, he knew he was right. It would take a determined man to break through that wall of reserve and suspicion, and he was patently aware that, in this instance, he was the cause of it.
Jason looked away from a glossy chestnut curl resting on her delicate nape, which seemed somehow vulnerable and intimate and at odds with her stoic, standoffish manner. His interest surprised him. He wasn’t in the business of seeking a bride. There was no urgency to produce an heir. If he failed, Charlie would become earl after him. And even if Lizzie didn’t marry the baron, she would remarry and produce appealing offspring. Apart from that pleasant avuncular role, no one would make any claim on him.
Bart’s attic room was as he’d expected, simply furnished with an iron bed beneath the sloping roof. Evidence of his efforts to make it homelier were in the cheerful picture of a dog on the wall and a bright rug covering the boards. A comfortable chair sat in one corner. The mattress had been stripped and the bedding folded. On the table were a candlestick, matches, and, incongruously, several blank sheets of superior quality vellum, an inkpot, blotter, and a pen. The door to the small empty cupboard stood open.
“Bartholomew’s effects have been returned to his family,” Lady Kinsey said.
“A pity. Was it only his clothes?”
“I don’t know what was sent. My housekeeper, Mrs. Chance, saw to it.”
“I shall need to speak to her.”
Jason pulled open the curtains. A dismal ray of sunlight crept in beneath the eaves to fall upon the floor. He lifted the mattress and found nothing beneath it then knelt and peered under the bed. Straightening, he went to the small fireplace.
“The housemaids have yet to clean the room,” Lady Kinsey said.
Jason stirred the embers in the grate with the iron poker. He leaned in and picked up a wedge of paper, burned around the edges. The same quality bond as those on the table, written on in an untidy manner, badly smeared, and scorched by the fire. “I gather Bart could read and write.”
“Yes. His grandmother taught him when he was a boy. He wished to better himself and was hoping to find clerical work,” Lady Helen said with a catch in her voice. “He managed very well with one arm. I’ve been helping him to write to various businesses.”
He held the paper out to her. “Do you think this might have been such a letter?”
As she took it, her fingers brushed against his. A feather-light touch and yet, he was very much aware of it. She was, too, he guessed because her cheeks colored up and she stepped away.
She studied the fragment in her hands. “This isn’t anything we worked on together.” She looked skeptical. “Surely it isn’t of importance? The words are mostly indecipherable.”
“We shouldn’t dismiss it out of hand.” He resisted taking it from her, watching as she lowered her head over it again.
“This word could be ‘threat’ or ‘thread.’” She gazed up at him, her eyebrows drawing closer, clearly wondering why he bothered to examine it. “The rest of that line is too badly smudged to make out.” She held it out to him.
He shook his head. “You’re doing well. Please continue.”
She looked again at the fragment. “Could this be ‘truth’? But two words on the lower line are most odd, ‘electric fish’? Her gaze darted to his. “Might Bart refer to an electric eel? I’ve heard of those in South America. Although why…?” She shook her head. “It cannot be of interest surely.” She handed the fragment back to him.
“One does not delve into a servant’s personal life,” Lady Kinsey said, obviously losing patience. “They are entitled to their privacy as much as we are.”
“Jeremy, our other footman, might be able to help,” Lady Helen said, paying her mother no heed. “Or Eloise, Mama’s French maid. Bart enjoyed their conversations in her language. He had picked up a smattering of French during his time on the Continent.”
He almost smiled at her sudden reluctance to drop the matter.
“I’ll speak to them after I’ve seen the doctor.” Jason crouched down to rake the ashes. “There’s nothing more here.” He straightened. “This letter was destroyed for a reason. I find that surprising. Why would Bart waste good vellum by writing something he did not intend to post? That’s expensive paper for a footman to have. I assume you supplied it, Lady Helen?”
She flushed and darted a look at her mother. “Yes.”
At Lady Kinsey’s expression, Jason suspected more would be said on the matter, once he’d left them.
“I’ll examine this more closely.” He took out his wallet and placed the paper carefully inside before tucking it back into his pocket.
