Read Online Lady Anne and the Howl in the Dark by Donna Lea Simpson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna Lea Simpson
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approve?” Anne wondered whether it was the man’s color Mrs. Hailey objected to or his status as secretary to the marquess—that position put him well above a lady’s maid—or Cecilia herself. That was answered by the housekeeper’s next words.
“Not my place to say, but no maid ought to behave as she did. She an’ some of the other maids… pure silly they are, ’bout men.”
“The last person to see Cecilia alive was whoever killed her, Mrs. Hailey, and that person would likely not come forward with that information. Mr. Boatin openly stated that he and Cecilia had been out walking. Do you know of anyone else with whom she may have been?” Anne asked.
“No. If you’ll excuse me, milady, I’ve got work to do if your maid and her boy are coming tomorrow. They’ll have to share with the other servants.”
***
Darkefell strode down the long hill toward Ivy Lodge, troubled by his talk with Osei. It had been evident, even to him, that Osei and Cecilia had some kind of relationship, but whether it was merely friendship or something deeper, his secretary was not willing to divulge. Osei was often lonely, Darkefell knew, and Cecilia was a pretty girl who may have been lonely too, coming into an insular family like theirs, with closed-mouth Yorkshire servants. Any man with eyes would have noticed the young woman’s lovely face and form; even he had when she accompanied Lydia to dinner at the castle. What had occurred between his secretary and Cecilia during their off hours, he didn’t know, beyond the fact that they had walked and talked, on occasion, when both had free time. But Darkefell knew Osei as well as he knew anyone and couldn’t imagine his secretary hurting anyone, least of all a woman.
Nothing made sense at the moment. He trudged on down the green, sloping lawn, barely aware of the light spring breeze and birdsong around him. Every tragedy that befell his family increased his uneasiness, he reflected; it was as if a shadow hovered over the Darkefell name. But this… this was worse than thievery, sheep slaughter, and filthy gossip about him circulating in the village. This tragedy, Cecilia Wainwright’s brutal murder, cut him to the quick. Was it related to the other torments, or was this an isolated incident?
He would find the perpetrator, but Lady Anne Addison’s involvement was an unwanted complication. As grateful as he was that she had found the girl so soon after the attack, and as much as he admired her calmness in the wake of such a terrible experience, he wished her back in London or wherever she belonged. Even John didn’t know why his wife had invited her friend without telling him. Lydia had given him some mumbled excuse that the lady was intelligent and would find out what was going on with the sheep killings and werewolf sightings.
But she would become a thorn in his paw, he sensed, unless he could convince her to leave. He reluctantly admitted her intelligence and courage—how many women would have been as steadfast as she in the face of murder? Still, she was too tenacious. He needed to get rid of Lady Anne and quickly find out who had done this most terrible deed; only then could he go on and figure out the rest of the mysteries that had lately plagued Darkefell estate.
He strode around the lodge toward the back garden. Though he had already sent a servant to warn his mother’s gardener to stop blasting for her cursed rockery, the command had not been heeded. He stopped and looked around; where was Pincher, his mother’s gardener? The man would listen to him or be expelled from the estate. The explosions were upsetting people. With everything else going on, he didn’t want to cause any more anxiety than was already being experienced. Just an hour ago Dandy Lincoln, his home farm manager, had visited to complain that the ewes were upset and holding back on birth, a phenomenon the experienced farmer directly related to the explosions that echoed through the valley.
Dandy
“Not my place to say, but no maid ought to behave as she did. She an’ some of the other maids… pure silly they are, ’bout men.”
“The last person to see Cecilia alive was whoever killed her, Mrs. Hailey, and that person would likely not come forward with that information. Mr. Boatin openly stated that he and Cecilia had been out walking. Do you know of anyone else with whom she may have been?” Anne asked.
“No. If you’ll excuse me, milady, I’ve got work to do if your maid and her boy are coming tomorrow. They’ll have to share with the other servants.”
***
Darkefell strode down the long hill toward Ivy Lodge, troubled by his talk with Osei. It had been evident, even to him, that Osei and Cecilia had some kind of relationship, but whether it was merely friendship or something deeper, his secretary was not willing to divulge. Osei was often lonely, Darkefell knew, and Cecilia was a pretty girl who may have been lonely too, coming into an insular family like theirs, with closed-mouth Yorkshire servants. Any man with eyes would have noticed the young woman’s lovely face and form; even he had when she accompanied Lydia to dinner at the castle. What had occurred between his secretary and Cecilia during their off hours, he didn’t know, beyond the fact that they had walked and talked, on occasion, when both had free time. But Darkefell knew Osei as well as he knew anyone and couldn’t imagine his secretary hurting anyone, least of all a woman.
Nothing made sense at the moment. He trudged on down the green, sloping lawn, barely aware of the light spring breeze and birdsong around him. Every tragedy that befell his family increased his uneasiness, he reflected; it was as if a shadow hovered over the Darkefell name. But this… this was worse than thievery, sheep slaughter, and filthy gossip about him circulating in the village. This tragedy, Cecilia Wainwright’s brutal murder, cut him to the quick. Was it related to the other torments, or was this an isolated incident?
He would find the perpetrator, but Lady Anne Addison’s involvement was an unwanted complication. As grateful as he was that she had found the girl so soon after the attack, and as much as he admired her calmness in the wake of such a terrible experience, he wished her back in London or wherever she belonged. Even John didn’t know why his wife had invited her friend without telling him. Lydia had given him some mumbled excuse that the lady was intelligent and would find out what was going on with the sheep killings and werewolf sightings.
But she would become a thorn in his paw, he sensed, unless he could convince her to leave. He reluctantly admitted her intelligence and courage—how many women would have been as steadfast as she in the face of murder? Still, she was too tenacious. He needed to get rid of Lady Anne and quickly find out who had done this most terrible deed; only then could he go on and figure out the rest of the mysteries that had lately plagued Darkefell estate.
He strode around the lodge toward the back garden. Though he had already sent a servant to warn his mother’s gardener to stop blasting for her cursed rockery, the command had not been heeded. He stopped and looked around; where was Pincher, his mother’s gardener? The man would listen to him or be expelled from the estate. The explosions were upsetting people. With everything else going on, he didn’t want to cause any more anxiety than was already being experienced. Just an hour ago Dandy Lincoln, his home farm manager, had visited to complain that the ewes were upset and holding back on birth, a phenomenon the experienced farmer directly related to the explosions that echoed through the valley.
Dandy
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