Page 63 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
“Sounds like a dastardly plan. Harmony tells me you’ve made considerable progress.”
“It doesn’t feel like it, sometimes, but I suppose we have.”
“‘We’, eh?” He smirked. “Armitage muscled his way in again, has he?”
“I asked him to help.”
“Why? You can do it without him.”
I tried to think of a way to answer without admitting the reason was because I simply enjoyed Harry’s company.
Victor was too perceptive, however. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“There’s no secret regarding Harry.” The kiss we’d shared in St. James’s Park several months ago flashed in my mind. I shook my head in an attempt to dislodge it, then changed the topic. “Speaking of Harmony.” I kept my voice low and glanced around. While I didn’t think Mrs. Poole would forbid relationships between staff, I didn’t want to put my theory to the test, either. “You two are being careful, aren’t you?”
“I know how to avoid getting caught. It would be easier if we didn’t have to avoid anyone, though. Harmony’s worried.”
“I’m sure she is.” Out of the two of them, she had more to lose. If she had to leave the hotel, she’d only get another job as a maid, whereas at the Mayfair she was promised further administrative roles if they came up. Victor could walk into any kitchen and start work immediately. “I know she tried speaking to my uncle about it, as have I, but he thinks the rule has merit. I doubt he’ll change his mind unless he’s forced to.”
The junior cook brought over the tea tray and handed it to me with a smile. He’d added a small vase of daisies for decoration and seemed keen for my approval. I asked him his name then thanked him. By the time I turned around, Victor had gone.
I caught the service lift up to the fourth floor and carried the tray to Lady Kershaw’s room. She opened the door upon my knock and blinked at me in surprise. “Miss Fox!”
“Good afternoon. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. May I come in? The tray is growing heavy.”
As if she were an automaton and I’d flipped her switch, she stepped aside. I placed the tray on a low table in the sitting room.
“This is an unexpected delight,” she said, not looking at all delighted.
“I’m glad to hear it. I was worried I’d be intruding.”
Her lips thinned in a humorless smile. “Not at all. Please, sit. You’ve gone to so much effort.” As hostess in her own room, she poured the tea, proving once and for all that manners were ingrained as deeply within a lady as a sense of honor was in a gentleman.
I accepted the cup and waited until she’d taken her first sip before I began my interrogation. “You are aware I’m investigating the death of Esmond Shepherd.”
“Your uncle informed my husband that you’re attempting to prove the poacher did it.”
I didn’t correct her. For the sake of my aunt and uncle’s friendship with the Kershaws, I’d let her continue to believe I was following that particular thread. “Did you know that Reverend Pritchard isn’t from Cornwall?”
Her eyes momentarily flared with surprise. “He has been open about his former post with me.”
“But not with Lord Kershaw?”
She chose her next words carefully. “Reverend Pritchard asked me not to discuss it. He was worried my husband wouldn’t understand, although I assured him Lord Kershaw wouldn’t want the good reverend persecuted for love any more than I do.”
Love? So, he wasn’t a thief. He hadn’t been moved on from his former parish because he stole from the church. Or so Lady Kershaw believed. It was possible the vicar had lied to her because the truth was less palatable.
I kept my features schooled so as not to reveal my surprise at her revelation. If Lady Kershaw suspected I didn’t already know, she might close up. “I quite agree. I’m glad you see it that way, too. Love, in all its facets, should be encouraged. It’s a shame the bishop doesn’t think so and forced Reverend Pritchard to move to another diocese altogether, away from his love.”
“At least Morcombe isn’t far from London, and they can be together sometimes. Although, naturally he’s reluctant to continue now that they’ve been discovered.”
“That’s a shame. Have you tried encouraging Reverend Pritchard not to give up? Perhaps he’d listen to you.”
“Oh, no, it’s not Pritchard who is reluctant. It’s his lover.” She lowered her gaze to her lap and all but whispered the next sentence. “Hismalelover.”
A man! I thought it would be either a man or a married woman. Either would be scandalous, but the former was also illegal.
“I couldn’t possibly talk to Pritchard about it,” Lady Kershaw went on. “The conversation would be much too awkward.”
