Read Online A Death at Fountains Abbey by Antonia Hodgson - Free Book Online

not sense it?’ She lifted her hand, bending her wrist to show her veins, dark lines vivid against her pale skin. ‘If I cut myself now, I think my blood would run black with it.’
    I could think of nothing to say.
    And then she whispered, so quietly I could scarce hear the words. ‘It is not safe here. And I am so afraid, sir. So afraid of him.’
    I stared at her in alarm. ‘You’re afraid of Mr Aislabie?’
    ‘No. No.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I do not feel well. The wine.’
    She had barely touched her glass. ‘Mrs Fairwood—’
    ‘Please. I’m not myself. I must retire.’ She rose suddenly, and hurried to the door.
    ‘Perhaps you should leave, madam,’ I called after her. ‘Why not go home to Lincoln?’
    She paused at the door, a gleam of longing in her eyes. She blinked, and it was gone. ‘I can’t leave. Not until I know for certain who I am.’
    ‘You doubt it?’
    ‘My head tells me that I am Elizabeth Aislabie. But my heart, Mr Hawkins . . . my heart still dares to hope that I am not.’

Chapter Five
    It was past two o’clock when we sat down for dinner. Mrs Fairwood did not join us. Nor did the mysterious Metcalfe. I discovered this much about him – that he was Mr Aislabie’s nephew, that he was heir to a baronetcy, and that he kept the most peculiar hours. He had scarce left his room for the last three days.
    ‘Is he unwell?’
    ‘Yes,’ Lady Judith replied, at the exact moment her husband said, ‘No.’
    ‘I think the weather will hold,’ Lady Judith said, after an awkward pause. ‘We shall have our ride this afternoon, Mr Hawkins.’
    Mr Aislabie frowned, and helped himself to some boiled goose.
    There was no servant to attend us, which I preferred. I find the hovering uncomfortable, having not grown up with it. The dining room was in the west wing, behind Mr Aislabie’s study. It was long and narrow, and there was a cold draught about my ankles, but the food was very welcome. I was used to frequenting unpredictable chophouses, and had just spent six long weeks in a freezing Newgate cell. Luxury remained a pleasing novelty.
    Sneaton was dining with us: another sign of his trusted position within the family. He was drinking soup from a silver porringer, his claw-like right hand struggling with the dainty handle. I had never seen so much silver tableware. I was quite tempted to steal a fork.
    ‘Your boy has been causing trouble,’ he said.
    ‘You’ve brought a servant with you?’ Lady Judith called down the table. A strong wind had chased off the clouds and the sun was pouring through the windows to her right. A beam of burning white light caught the lid of the soup tureen.
    I blinked, dazzled. ‘Master Fleet is a gentleman’s son.’ Now there was a lie of extraordinary depth. I could almost hear James Fleet pissing himself with laughter from here. ‘I’m his guardian.’
    ‘He’s moved you to the east wing,’ Sneaton said, slurping his soup. ‘Insisted.’
    ‘The east wing?’ Lady Judith looked irritated. ‘It’s half-abandoned! Metcalfe has taken the only decent apartments on that side of the house.’
    Sneaton shrugged, acknowledging the truth of it.
    I took a piece of gammon and a spoonful of pickles. I should probably add a scattering of salad. Kitty was convinced it was an aid to the stomach. She was full of such questionable fancies. She served up so many leaves at our table it was a wonder I hadn’t transmogrified into a rabbit. Which reminded me of the fricasseed rabbit by Mr Sneaton’s elbow. He pushed it over, at my request.
    ‘I’ve spoken with Mrs Fairwood,’ I said to Aislabie, tucking my napkin into my cravat. ‘An extraordinary story.’
    Aislabie sawed at his goose. ‘It is no story.’
    ‘A figure of speech. Is it true that she has refused any gifts or settlement?’
    ‘Hardly a suitable topic for the table,’ he admonished. ‘But yes – Mrs Fairwood asked Mr Sneaton to draw up a contract. She sought to