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Authors: Janet Gleeson
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me to discuss the matter further.”
“Naturally I would not wish to compromise you,” said Bradfield a trifle indignantly. “Indeed I strongly suspect I know the reason. It was only your corroboration I was after.”
Wallace licked his lips but did not respond. An awkward hush descended. The only sounds in the room were a small gurgle as each man refilled his glass from the decanter, the crackling of the fire, and a series of complaining growls emitting from Bradfield’s stomach. “Can you think of nothing but food?” demanded his wife crossly. It was that admonition that spurred me, in an effort to provide some distraction, to pick up the platter of oranges. I had half-crossed the room with the fruit when the deafening gun blast exploded.
I went flying with my platter. Oranges cannoned across the floor. I cursed myself and dived beneath the table to retrieve them just as the general commotion began.
From my vantage beneath the table I saw the shoe buckles and stockings of Foley and Robert burst into the room, closely followed by the crimson petticoat hem of Lady Montfort. A few seconds later and I was returning to my position by the sideboard when the servants’ door to the kitchen opened and Miss Alleyn flew in like a leaf in a gale. “What on God’s earth was that? Did you not hear it?” she screeched.
“We heard but are no wiser than it seems you are, my dear lady,” responded Foley smoothly. He gave a cursory glance in the direction of Elizabeth, who was now seated at the table, quivering, and clearly incapable of taking charge. Robert was similarly frozen with inertia. “May I suggest you send the servants to inspect both the downstairs and upstairs rooms, and that they ascertain the whereabouts of your brother, who has now been absent for over half an hour.”
Relieved to be told what to do in such a masterful manner, Miss Alleyn bustled back the way she had entered. The footman followed her. Uncertain whether to stay or go—was I a servant? did I belong here? no on both counts—I remained on the spot. Foley meanwhile paced thoughtfully about the room until his gaze came to rest upon me. Now he’d clapped his eyes on my figure they seemed to stick there. He made a disapproving tutting noise while glaring at me crossly as if waiting for me to speak. At length, realizing I would remain silent, he coughed. “You,” he said loftily.
“Yes, my lord?” I responded.
“Are you asleep or idle?” He was standing only a foot away from me, and his voice was far louder than necessary.
“My lord?”
“Why do you not respond to my instruction when you plainly heard me direct Miss Alleyn to send all servants to discover the source of that shot?”
I felt myself redden with embarrassment. I was unused to such interrogation from the upper orders and alarmed to find myself suspected of indolence. “Forgive me, my lord, I was unsure whether or not I should stay in case anything further was required.”
“Well, now you are certain. You now have directions. From me. Go. ” The last admonition was shouted so loudly I fancied I felt Foley’s breath upon my face. With what I hoped appeared a deferential nod of assent, I stepped swiftly round him and retreated through the servants’ door down the corridor.
“Where are you going?” he shouted after my departing back.
“To the library, my lord,” I replied without diminishing my pace.
“Why there with such determination?”
I stopped dead in my tracks and pivoted back towards him. Lord Foley only narrowly escaped colliding with me. I was several inches taller than he and looked awkwardly down at the top of his elaborately curled white wig to explain my logic. “Because I judged, from the echo, that the shot originated there.”
Without waiting to see if this response would elicit more questions or a further reprimand for boldness, I sped to the door and turned the handle. The brass knob rotated in my hand, but the door stuck fast.
“Locked
“Naturally I would not wish to compromise you,” said Bradfield a trifle indignantly. “Indeed I strongly suspect I know the reason. It was only your corroboration I was after.”
Wallace licked his lips but did not respond. An awkward hush descended. The only sounds in the room were a small gurgle as each man refilled his glass from the decanter, the crackling of the fire, and a series of complaining growls emitting from Bradfield’s stomach. “Can you think of nothing but food?” demanded his wife crossly. It was that admonition that spurred me, in an effort to provide some distraction, to pick up the platter of oranges. I had half-crossed the room with the fruit when the deafening gun blast exploded.
I went flying with my platter. Oranges cannoned across the floor. I cursed myself and dived beneath the table to retrieve them just as the general commotion began.
From my vantage beneath the table I saw the shoe buckles and stockings of Foley and Robert burst into the room, closely followed by the crimson petticoat hem of Lady Montfort. A few seconds later and I was returning to my position by the sideboard when the servants’ door to the kitchen opened and Miss Alleyn flew in like a leaf in a gale. “What on God’s earth was that? Did you not hear it?” she screeched.
“We heard but are no wiser than it seems you are, my dear lady,” responded Foley smoothly. He gave a cursory glance in the direction of Elizabeth, who was now seated at the table, quivering, and clearly incapable of taking charge. Robert was similarly frozen with inertia. “May I suggest you send the servants to inspect both the downstairs and upstairs rooms, and that they ascertain the whereabouts of your brother, who has now been absent for over half an hour.”
Relieved to be told what to do in such a masterful manner, Miss Alleyn bustled back the way she had entered. The footman followed her. Uncertain whether to stay or go—was I a servant? did I belong here? no on both counts—I remained on the spot. Foley meanwhile paced thoughtfully about the room until his gaze came to rest upon me. Now he’d clapped his eyes on my figure they seemed to stick there. He made a disapproving tutting noise while glaring at me crossly as if waiting for me to speak. At length, realizing I would remain silent, he coughed. “You,” he said loftily.
“Yes, my lord?” I responded.
“Are you asleep or idle?” He was standing only a foot away from me, and his voice was far louder than necessary.
“My lord?”
“Why do you not respond to my instruction when you plainly heard me direct Miss Alleyn to send all servants to discover the source of that shot?”
I felt myself redden with embarrassment. I was unused to such interrogation from the upper orders and alarmed to find myself suspected of indolence. “Forgive me, my lord, I was unsure whether or not I should stay in case anything further was required.”
“Well, now you are certain. You now have directions. From me. Go. ” The last admonition was shouted so loudly I fancied I felt Foley’s breath upon my face. With what I hoped appeared a deferential nod of assent, I stepped swiftly round him and retreated through the servants’ door down the corridor.
“Where are you going?” he shouted after my departing back.
“To the library, my lord,” I replied without diminishing my pace.
“Why there with such determination?”
I stopped dead in my tracks and pivoted back towards him. Lord Foley only narrowly escaped colliding with me. I was several inches taller than he and looked awkwardly down at the top of his elaborately curled white wig to explain my logic. “Because I judged, from the echo, that the shot originated there.”
Without waiting to see if this response would elicit more questions or a further reprimand for boldness, I sped to the door and turned the handle. The brass knob rotated in my hand, but the door stuck fast.
“Locked
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