Mark glanced up. “Yes.”
“Excuse me, sir, but a trio of people are here to have a word with you. Servants by the looks of them. They say you asked them to come.” The butler’s raised eyebrows proved his skepticism.
A trio of servants? They had to be John’s cook and two footmen.
“Thank you, Abbott. Please show them in, one at a time.”
Abbott bowed and left, and not three minutes later, around, middle-aged woman with bright blue eyes and a mobcap on her head arrived at the study door.
Mark stood. “Come in,” he intoned.
The woman tentatively moved into the room. Her face was bright red and her eyes darted about nervously.
Mark gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Please take a seat. I am General Grimaldi. And you are?”
The woman scurried to the chair and slowly lowered herself into it while keeping her eyes on Mark’s face. “I’m Mrs. Whately. I’m Lord John’s cook, er, I was his cook. Now I suppose I’m no one’s cook.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Mark’s felt a pang of regret for the poor woman. “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Whately. I have a few important questions for you.”
“Of course, sir,” the woman replied, swallowing hard. “Go ahead.” She nodded.
“You prepared the meal the night Lord John died. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.” The woman nodded more. “It were a terrible tragedy, ta be sure.”
Mark pressed his lips together and nodded back at her. “Who served the meal?”
“Timothy and Matthew.” Her voice wavered. “They both came wit me today but yer butler asked me to come in first.”
“Yes, thank you,” Mark replied. He cleared his throat. “Who prepared and served the wine?”
“The wine?” Mrs. Whately scratched at her mobcap, a frown on her face. “The wine usually comes from the cellar, sir. I remember seeing Timothy sneak a sip o’ itbefore he took it up to the dining room. He’s a bit o’ a drinker, but otherwise, a fine footman, sir.”
Mark leaned back and steepled his fingers over his chest, watching the older woman. “And Matthew? Did you ever see him with the wine?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, sir. At the start o’ the meal, Matthew was helping me because like a fool, I had knocked over the soup tureen and had ta clean it up.”
“Matthew was with you the entire time then?”
“Yes, sir.” More nodding.
“What did you think of Lord John?” Mark asked.
Mrs. Whately’s eyes filled with more tears and she dabbed at them with a handkerchief she extracted from her sleeve. “He was a fine man and a fair employer, sir. We’ll certainly miss him.”
Mark bit the inside of his cheek. His experience told him John’s cook, at least, truly liked him. “What do you know of Mr. Cartwright?”
“Mr. Cartwright, sir?” The cook blinked at him.
“Yes. He was at the dinner, was he not? The man rumored to be the next in line to the marquisate?”
The cook’s eyes widened. “Oh, Mr. Cartwright, o’ course. He seems like a right nice young man. He gave us each some coin.”
“How much?”
“One pound each, sir.”
“That much? Did he say why?”
