The Stanforth Secrets (26 page)

“I think we’ll work in teams,” said Justin. “Perhaps, Macy and Randal, you could do the ground floor, with Belinda to assist, since she is familiar with the house. The Duchess has agreed to descend to the nether regions and supervise the search there. Mrs. Pickering and the kitchen maid will do most of the searching, with Matthew to help in any heavy work. I feel there is little likelihood of Uncle George having hidden anything there, however.”

“Who’s to do the bedrooms?” asked Randal.

“Chloe and I,” said Justin smoothly. Randal flashed a look which made her blush. “With Margaret, the upstairs maid, of course,” Justin added.

Miss Forbes made so bold as to speak. “I wonder if perhaps
I
could search dear Sophronia’s rooms,” she said anxiously. “She is so easily upset.”

“No, I am not,” said the Dowager clearly. “I am never upset. You shouldn’t say such things, Lady Hertford.”

Miss Forbes looked flustered. “Of course, my dear—”

The Dowager was paying no attention. “You!” she said explosively, pointing at Belinda. “Miss Massinger. Thank you for the
potpourri.
Very kind to put the jar back. I like that jar. Clever . . . I would like some brandy.”

Miss Forbes rose quickly to her feet. “Oh dear. Perhaps up in your room, Sophronia. I could make you a posset. Come along.”

The Dowager allowed herself to be raised from her chair. “Yes, that would be nice,” she said dreamily.

“Perhaps, Miss Forbes,” said Justin, “Chloe could come up now and search the rooms with you. There would be no need to disturb you again.”

“Yes, that would be best,” said the lady distractedly, concentrating on her charge. Chloe went with them.

The Dowager hummed a little tune as they walked up the stairs, and once she curtsied to the wall. Chloe hoped she wasn’t going to deteriorate.

“She heard about the attack on the gardener,” Miss Forbes whispered. “Belinda mentioned it to me, and she overheard. Her hearing gets better some days, worse on others. It has upset her.”

Once in the room, the Dowager said, “Show the queen that lovely
potpourri
jar. All fresh today. All fresh.”

As the companion was busy settling her charge into her chair, Chloe went herself to the mantelpiece and obediently admired the pot again. She lifted the lid, and fresh fragrance wafted out—a touch of pine and lemon this time, she thought. The business of
potpourri
was beginning to interest her. The straight sides of the white jar were smooth and cool beneath her hand. The delicate glazed design was slightly raised. When she looked over to comment, she saw the Dowager was humming and had obviously drifted off into a world of her own.

“Let us do the search,” she said.

“Of course,” agreed the companion. “How shall we go about it?”

Chloe looked around, daunted. The Dowager had surrounded herself with all sorts of furniture and knickknacks. “We have to be systematic,” she said at last. “If we’re looking for something the size of a deck of cards, we don’t have to search every inch. If we start at this corner, and work our way around, it will not take long.” She reminded herself that they were really looking for an object secreted since the morning.

“Has anyone visited you this morning, Miss Forbes?”

“Just Lady George when she collected the jar, then returned with it freshened.”

“And she just came and put the jar down?”

Miss Forbes looked puzzled at these questions, as well she might, but she was not the kind to protest. “Yes. Sophronia and I were on the balcony in the sun. Well wrapped up, of course, against the wind.”

Chloe didn’t feel able to pursue the questions, but Belinda had been gone this morning long enough to hide something if she had been unobserved. She had to assume the girl had some time here alone. They would have to search the whole place. She had hoped to eliminate the bedrooms, at least.

Chloe sighed. If there was to be any purpose to the search, it must be thorough. It was remotely possible, after all, that the companion was their evil spy. If Miss Forbes had left the Dowager alone on the balcony, the odds were the lady would never have noticed.

Chloe looked at her. “Did you go outside this morning, Miss Forbes?”

“On the balcony, yes.”

“No, in the garden. I wondered if you were there when we had all the excitement with Budsworth.”

“Good heavens, no. And if we were to be nearby, I would hurry Sophronia away. Disturbances are
very
bad for her.” This was said with a slightly reproving air.

Chloe told herself she really couldn’t suspect everyone. She decided to get the search over with as soon as possible, which proved not as difficult as it had first seemed. Surfaces were covered by vases and pictures, snuffboxes and shells; but a sweep of the eye assured her there were few boxes large enough to conceal a potato. What ones there were Chloe opened and found to be full of pins or beads, powder or dried flowers. The drawers, presumably because of Miss Forbes’ attentions, were orderly. They were quickly riffled through. For appearances’ sake, Chloe took care always to look in small boxes, but she was actually alert for a firm, rounded shape.

The Dowager’s dressing table presented the worst task. As usual, it was covered by bottles, jars, and pots. With a grimace, Chloe set herself to check each one. After all, the potato could have been pushed into the large ancient box of hair powder. She had only to lift it, however, to tell it was too light. Or it could possibly be in a jar of face cream. She poked her finger in to be sure, then wrinkled her nose. The stuff was old and rancid.

She came to the heavy earthenware jar that contained the lumbago embrocation, and sighed. The things one did for one’s country. The wide neck was certainly large enough to drop in a potato. She peered inside, but could only see the oily dark stuff. She shook the jar gently, but could not tell if there was a hard object inside. Still, she refused to put her hand in and grope.

Chloe looked around and found a shallow bowl. She poured the liquid out, almost gasping as the fumes assailed her. Her eyes began to tear. There was no solid object in the pot. Then she and Miss Forbes, who was regarding her very strangely, had the job of pouring the stuff back in. Some missed and slithered down the side. Chloe grabbed a towel and mopped it up.

“Dear Lady Stanforth, it is good of you to be so thorough,” said Miss Forbes, “but have you considered? The late Lord Stanforth’s will could not have been in there. That jar was only brought here three days ago, by Belinda.”

“Of course,” said Chloe, wondering how she would ever get rid of the smell from her hands. “How silly of me.”

She sighed, and brushed an errant lock of hair away from her eyes. She let out a cry.

“Lady Stanforth! What is it?”

“My eye! Oh! Water!”

Miss Forbes quickly brought a wet cloth, and Chloe dabbed at her smarting eye. That blasted stuff had been on her hands. After a moment, the eye stopped tearing and she looked in the mirror at the inflammation. Wonderful. Now not only did she stink, she looked dreadful too.

Chloe looked around once more. Was there anywhere in this room unsearched? The mantelshelf. It held two narrow vases, two candlesticks, a clock, and the
potpourri.
She conscientiously opened the back of the clock, just in case. The rest were clearly impossible.

She moved briskly to the bedroom, trailed by Miss Forbes. They checked through all the gowns, pressing lightly to be sure nothing was concealed. Chloe ignored the companion’s obvious amazement at the thoroughness of the search.

She couldn’t help lingering over some of the gowns—rich creations of an earlier age, and exquisitely beautiful. Heavy, embroidered satin and silk, froths of gilded lace. She had heard the Dowager had been a Toast at one time, and these gowns recalled those glorious days.

Chloe checked inside shoes and under the bed. She felt the pillows and the mattress, a soft feather one. Surely a potato would be obvious inside it. Besides, she told herself, having once encountered a feather mattress with a small rip in the ticking, any opening and the feathers started to seep all over the place. It would have been impossible for Belinda to slip a potato in there, particularly if she were in a hurry. Moreover, Chloe thought rebelliously, she refused to be part of a search which involved ripping open a dozen feather beds. She must also stop assuming that Belinda was the culprit. Who else might have been hiding the package?

“Has Matthew been up here recently?” Chloe asked Miss Forbes.

“Certainly not,” said that lady firmly. “We do not allow men into the rooms, except in extraordinary circumstances. I am so glad you have done this search, Lady Stanforth. I really did not like the thought of a gentleman, even Lord Stanforth, looking through our property.”

That reminded Chloe. “I will have to look through your room too, Miss Forbes. Just to be able to say I have been thorough.”

“Of course, Lady Stanforth.”

Miss Forbes had a very small room for her own. It was neat and sparsely furnished. It did not take long for Chloe to assure herself there was no potato there.

She gave the rooms a final glance. Had she overlooked anything?

The coal scuttles. Oh good Lord, she’d be black.

As she went over and tipped the sitting room scuttle out onto the hearth. Miss Forbes gave a squeak. “Lady Stanforth. That was empty this morning, and has only been filled again just before lunch. The will cannot possible be there!”

Chloe feared she’d have a reputation to match the Dowager’s soon, but resolutely made her search of two scuttles, grateful for her own sake that the companion did not have a fireplace. When she had finished and neatly swept up all the coal dust, she had found nothing. She went to wash her hands in the bowl on the washstand.

“There,” she said. “You can vouch for the fact that I have searched these rooms most thoroughly, Miss Forbes.”

“I certainly can,” said the lady, wide-eyed. “Why, I half expected you to climb the chimney, Lady Stanforth.”

With horror, Chloe looked at the wide chimney. Then she relaxed. If anyone had put the potato here, it had been Belinda, when she brought the
potpourri.
There had been no trace of dirt on her when she returned. It was possible she had sneaked something in here, and even that she had dropped it in the coal scuttle, but not that she had poked in the chimney with a fire lit below.

Chloe went back downstairs to report.

The dining room was deserted, as was the drawing room. Mr. Macy, the Duchess, and Belinda were conversing in the Sea Room. They inquired when the search was to begin.

Chloe finally ran the two younger gentlemen to earth in the study.

“Nothing. I’m sure of it,” she reported. “Belinda was the only person to visit there this morning, and she just dropped off a pot of
potpourri.
The poor Dowager is in a bad way, though. We should avoid disturbing her further.”

“I’m sure we can manage that,” said Justin. “I checked on Matthew. Unless something very tricky occurred, he can’t be the one who attacked Budsworth. He was in the kitchen. He went out to call the gardener, and that was when you saw him. Then he went to speak to his young lady, but being nervous because you’d seen him, he only stayed a moment before returning to the kitchen. It was a good ten minutes, with him sitting at the table drinking tea, before Mrs. Pickering poked her head out to remind Budsworth and discovered the body. I don’t think he would have been lying unconscious that long.”

“But where was he afterward? When you looked around for someone to help carry Budsworth, he was nowhere to be seen.”

“He went to the stables with the message. That fancy valet of Macy’s claimed not to know the way to the stables. He probably thought the task beneath him. Matthew went to do it and the valet made himself scarce.”

“Could the valet have been the attacker?”

“No. He was in the kitchen at the crucial time just like the rest of the staff.” Justin ran a hand over his face. “I must stop thinking of this as a puzzle. It’s too damn seductive. The only important thing is to get those papers.” He turned to Chloe. “I’ve just told Randal the entire story.”

“And I don’t appreciate having been kept in the dark,” said the young man in mock outrage. “Think what it implies about my reputation!”

“And mine,” said Chloe, looking at Justin. She hadn’t quite thought of it this way before. “Did you really think I was involved in treason?”

“Of course not,” he protested, looking uncomfortable. “But . . .”

“But what?” asked Chloe, frowning.

“The Duke of York and Lord Liverpool don’t have much opinion of women. In York’s case, he’s probably still smarting over the Clarke affair.”

Chloe considered that point of view and dismissed it. “Then explain why the Duchess was sent here.”

Justin glanced at Randal for help but received no assistance. Instead he got a teasing grin. “Go on. Explain. I’d like to hear it. My honor’s on the line too. It can’t be the
family
they don’t like.”

“They said nothing about you,” Justin said with irritation to Randal. “I invited you here, didn’t I? I must have been mad. And I had orders not to trust anyone.”

Chloe cleared her throat to get attention. “And me?”

Justin sighed. Randal stood and went to the door. “Excuse me. I’ll just go ready the troops for the search.” Before either could protest, if they wanted to, he was gone. For her part, Chloe was too angry to be concerned about being alone with Justin.

He spoke resignedly. “Your reputation, of course. They thought you’d had the opportunity to meet and be influenced by some disreputable people.”

“They were right,” Chloe said, trying not to show just how hurt she was. Stephen had, after all, often filled the house with shifty individuals. “What I want to know, Justin, is did
you
have doubts of me?”