Page 33 of The Missing Maid
After finishing his cigarette, he pulled open the door and ushered her into the dining room. Warm air embraced Harry as she made for the drawing room but before she could push the door back, it was pulled open and Oliver was there. ‘Harry,’ he said, frowning in surprise. His eyes took in the dinner jacket hanging from her shoulders and his frown deepened. ‘I was just coming to look for you.’
She was suddenly conscious of Percy’s solicitous hand on her back. ‘Here I am,’ she said. ‘No need to launch a search party.’
Oliver’s gaze narrowed a little as he glanced at Percy, who offered a nonchalant smirk. ‘Wasn’t there a mention of poker? Something tells me Fortescue here is a card sharp on the sly.’
Harry saw Oliver’s expression darken and his dourness made her tired and cross at the same time. Shrugging off Percy’s jacket, she handed it over. ‘Oliver never gambles,’ she said. ‘Goodnight, all.’
She didn’t look back as she climbed the stairs, unable to decide who she was avoiding most – Oliver and his evident disapproval, or Percy and his undisguised interest. Perhaps it was both, she decided as she closed the door to her bedroom and let out a long slow breath. For very different reasons.
Harry woke early on Sunday morning, after a restless night full of unsettling dreams. She lay still for a minute or so, listening to the birds outside her window, and then rose to throw open the curtains, gasping a little at the cold against her feet. The fire in the small hearth had been lit, so the room was not as chilly as it might have been. Making a mental note to thank Lucinda the maid for her soundless efficiency, Harry pulled on her dressing gown and returned to the window. Outside, the lawn was whitewith frost, sparkling in the first rays of the freshly risen sun, and Harry felt a sudden urge to feel the grass crunch beneath her feet, to watch her breath plume against the peaches-and-cream sky. It was not yet eight o’clock – she doubted any of the house guests would have risen at this hour, especially not if the threatened card games had materialised. It should be safe enough for her to venture downstairs without any danger of bumping into anyone.
She dressed quickly, rummaging in her wardrobe for jodhpurs and riding boots. The stable hands would have been up for hours, she thought, feeding the horses and mucking out. She was sure no one would object if she took one of her aunt’s horses for a crisp morning ride.
‘I recommend Duchess, Miss White,’ Caleb the stable boy said, when Harry asked which horse she might take. ‘She’s steady but enjoys a gallop if you fancy it.’
‘Perfect,’ Harry replied appreciatively. ‘Exactly what I need this morning.’
She knew as soon as they left the yard that she had chosen well. When she’d lived at the hall she’d had her own horse but Duchess was a pleasure to ride. She was a dappled grey mare of around four or five, placid but responsive when Harry urged her into a canter. It wasn’t long before they had left Abinger Hall behind and were deep into the woodlands on the western estate. Autumn was in the last of her glory – the trees wore magnificent shades of gold and russet and bronze, but many had shed their treasure onto the woodland floor to create a carpet that glimmered in the speckled morning light. Harry gave Duchess her head and marvelled at the power the horse exuded. The exhilaration of the ride, together with the rush of wind across her cheeks, combined to scour her restlessness away. Last night’s encounter with Percy in the garden felt tame bycomparison and even Oliver’s po-faced disapproval had lost its power to irk her.
She returned Duchess to the stables some two hours later, refreshed in spirit and ravenously hungry, with a plan for the rest of the morning. If Oliver wouldn’t tell her what was happening with Mildred, perhaps the Longstaff family would.
Once Harry had rubbed Duchess down and thanked her for a most enjoyable ride, she went inside to wash and change. Obeying her rumbling stomach, she found Sebastian alone at the dining room table, nursing a tall glass of tomato juice and a plate of poached eggs. ‘Just the person I was looking for,’ she said cheerfully, helping herself to a thick slice of toast.
Her brother winced. ‘Not so loud, please.’
Harry eyed him sympathetically. ‘Late night?’
‘Early morning,’ he replied, grimacing. ‘Do you know, I think I was hustled by Maud Goldsworthy. The girl has a poker face that could break the bank at Monte Carlo.’
‘Oh dear.’ Harry tried not to laugh.
‘The other one wants to play me at tennis and I can only imagine she’ll win.’ Seb let out a morose sigh. ‘They’re monsters.’
‘Don’t let Mama hear you say that; she’s got high hopes for wedding bells,’ Harry said. ‘Do you mind if I borrow your car?’
Instantly, he perked up. ‘Going anywhere exciting? Give me half an hour and I’ll come with you.’
She glanced at the clock and shook her head. The last thing she wanted was a companion. ‘I’m only going to Foxley. But I’m heading there now, I’m afraid.’
Sebastian cocked his head. ‘What are you up to? Don’t tell me you’ve gone all Lady Chatterley and have a lover stashed away in the village.’
‘Of course not. It’s a lovely morning, I just feel like taking the MG for a spin, blowing the cobwebs away.’
‘You were in bed by ten – you shouldn’t have any cobwebs,’ her brother observed, subsiding back into his slumped position. ‘In point of fact, you look disgustingly well, if a little overdressed for a drive. Are you sure there isn’t a man involved?’
‘Positive,’ Harry said firmly. ‘Now, where are your keys?’
‘On the dresser in my room.’ He eyed her curiously once more. ‘There’s more to this than you’re letting on but luckily for you, I’m too hungover to pursue it.’
Thank goodness for late-night poker games, Harry thought, even as she summoned up another sympathetic smile. ‘Get Mrs Pilbeam to mix a raw egg into that Bloody Mary,’ she advised as she left the room. ‘Good luck with the match.’
It wasn’t until Harry reached Foxley that she thought to wonder whether the Longstaffs might be churchgoers. The service appeared to have ended; villagers stood in clusters in the churchyard and on the pavement outside, passing the time of day. The grass verges were all taken up with cars and Harry was obliged to circle round three times looking for somewhere to park. The MG garnered plenty of admiring looks as she drove, its cherry-red paintwork vibrant in the sunshine, and she cursed her stupidity. Why hadn’t she realised the villagers would be at church? It would only take one person to observe her walking from the car to the Longstaffs and her cover might be blown. At least she’d had the sense to wrap a scarf around her hair.
The fear of discovery was so great that, in the end, Harry parked by the side of the road three-quarters of a mile from the village. Patting the gleaming bonnet and whispering a prayer that it would still be there, undamaged, when she returned, she set off back the way she had come. The crowds had thinned by the time she reached the row of cottages where the Longstaffs lived. Pausing to compose herself, and checking right and left to make sure she was not observed, Harry knocked at the door of number 5.
It took a moment or two for Esme Longstaff to answer. As Harry waited, she couldn’t help noticing that the roses framing the door were in need of serious pruning; the flowers had long since shed their petals and rosehips hung from the too tall stems. Vicious-looking thorns drooped over the lintel, putting Harry in mind of Sleeping Beauty’s castle. If she’d had a pair of secateurs on her, she might have been tempted to do the job there and then but as she had no such tools, she simply waited.
When at last the door was opened, Esme was still wearing what Harry guessed to be her smart coat and best hat, and her expression was one of perfect surprise. ‘Miss Moss! We hardly dared hope – that is to say, my letter can barely have reached you.’
