Page 84 of The Duke of Kisses
On the ride from Stour’s Edge, David had wondered if there were still retainers on the estate from that time. He was suddenly itching to interview whomever he could. If he could put this matter behind them once and for all, it would be best for everyone.
David picked up his glass of port and stood. “Uncle Walter will need to find a way to accept it—as will you. And you won’t breathe a word about the Duchess of Clare—Fanny told me of your outrageous threats. I’m ashamed of you, Mother, and I won’t hesitate to cut you off without a farthing if you disclose secrets that are best left buried. I won’t allow you to hurt my wife or her family.” He took a healthy drink of the port and set the glass back on the sideboard on his way out.
He immediately went in search of Arnold and found him downstairs, speaking with the housekeeper. Arnold was in his forties and had come to Huntwell as a footman about fifteen years ago.
David looked toward Mrs. Reid. “Pardon me for interrupting, Arnold, may I have a word?”
“Of course, my lord.” Arnold inclined his head.
“May we go to your office?” David asked.
“Certainly.” Arnold indicated for David to precede him to the office. “How can I help?” He closed the door and faced David.
“I’d like to know which retainers were employed at Huntwell thirty years ago.”
“I’ve a ledger.” He went to his desk and opened a drawer from which he removed a bound volume. “This goes back some fifty years.” He handed it to David.
Taking the book, David sat down in a chair situated at a small table in the corner. He opened the ledger on the table and scanned for entries in the 1780s.
“I seem to recall that a couple of the grooms were here at that time, including Scully,” Arnold said.
That was the head groom. David’s eyes landed on the man’s name. He’d started here as a groom in 1790. Two entries before that was George Snowden, who’d also been hired as a groom in 1789. “Excellent, thank you.” David located a third groom who’d started two years later.
Going back a bit further, David recognized another name. He looked up at Arnold. “I didn’t realize Mrs. Johnson had been here that long. Why isn’t she the head cook?”
“She’s never wanted to be,” Arnold said. “She’s quite content to be the primary assistant.”
Nodding, David went back to the ledger but didn’t recognize anyone else. Ah well, this gave him three people to interview at least. He closed the book and handed it back to Arnold. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. May I ask what this is about and if I can be of further assistance?”
“I’m investigating something that happened about thirty years ago. I’d like to speak with those three retainers as soon as possible.”
“Is this concerning Lady Catherine?”
Apparently, Arnold had heard of the tragedy. “You’re aware of what happened?”
“I’ve heard recollections from the retainers who were here at the time, some of whom are no longer in your employ.” His face creased briefly with concern, a rare display of emotion from the typically stoic man. “It affected many people, particularly because it involved one of us.” He glanced away.
“Do you have any sense as to what sort of man Snowden was?” David realized he was asking for rumor, but wanted to know what the staff had said about him.
“He was supposedly a friendly sort—always quick with a joke. People liked working with him. They were shocked when he disappeared with her ladyship.”
“They may have been in love.” David realized he was starting to share Fanny and Ivy’s hope—that his aunt and the footmanhadbeen in love. “Did anyone mention that?”
Arnold shook his head. “Not that I heard.”
Disappointment curdled in David’s chest. “Thank you, Arnold. I’ll just go speak with Mrs. Johnson.”
He left the butler’s office and made his way to the kitchen. As soon as he entered, he heard a gasp. When he turned his head, his gaze fell on a young scullery maid who was sweeping the floor. Her eyes were wide at seeing him, and it took her a moment to duck into a curtsey. “Beggin’ yer pardon, my lord.”
David gave her a warm smile. “Don’t concern yourself, please. I’m in search of Mrs. Johnson. Can you point me to her location?”
“She’s in the larder.” The maid tossed a glance toward the opposite corner of the kitchen.
“Thank you.” David inclined his head, then crossed the room to the larder.
Mrs. Johnson, a round-faced—and round-middled—woman turned from the shelves. She wiped her hands on her apron. “Good evening, Your Lordship.” She eyed him with a bit of apprehension.
