Page 4 of Lies in Little Sutherland
Francis and Constance had not been banished, and made no move to stand, so I told the latter, “A moment of your time, Constance?”
“Of course, Pippa.”She put her glass of sherry on the table.
“Don’t be long,” Francis told her, which indicated that he, certainly, had no plans of being sent to his room like a misbehaving child.
I tucked my hand through Constance’s elbow and pulled her towards the door to the hallway while Christopher ambled after us.In our wake, Lady Euphemia sank back down on the Chesterfield beside Aunt Roz and handed her the sherry.Crispin met my eyes for a second across the room, but only until his fiancée tugged on his sleeve, and then he turned his attention to her instead.I pulled Constance through the door Christopher caught on the backswing and then allowed to fall shut behind us.
ChapterTwo
“Where are we going?”Constance wanted to know as we reached the hallway, and I tugged her in the direction of the staff quarters.
I flicked her a glance.“I’d like a word with Shreve before we leave Sutherland Hall tomorrow.Just in the event that she knows something she didn’t mention to you earlier.”
Such as a better idea of exactly where Morrison might be found.
“I can’t imagine what that would be,” Constance said, but she allowed me to drag her down the hall towards the door to the ‘downstairs.’“We won’t be interrupting their supper, will we?”
Most likely we would do, but I’ve never let that stop me before.“Tidwell won’t mind.He likes me.”
Tidwell is the butler, and he does like me.So does Mrs.Mason, the housekeeper, I believe.And Cook, as well as both footmen.I’m not so sure about the chamber- and parlor-maids.
They were all gathered at table when we walked into the staff kitchen, and there was a moment of absolute silence before Tidwell surged to his feet.“Miss Darling.Miss Peckham.Mr.Astley.”He looked from one to the other of us.“Is there a problem in the parlor?”
Christopher shook his head.“At ease, Tidwell.Miss Darling wanted a word with Shreve.”
The visiting maid, a small dumpling of a woman—as different from the tall and elegant Lady Euphemia as it’s possible for one woman to be from another—looked startled under heavy brows.Her eyes fastened on Constance.“Miss Connie?”
“Just another question or two about Morrison,” Constance explained.“We plan to motor up to the Cotswolds tomorrow to see if we can find her.We wondered whether there was anything else you might know, that would help us in the search.”
Shreve looked nonplussed, as if she couldn’t quite imagine why finding Morrison was so important.And she might well be right.I wasn’t exactly sure why I wanted to take eight or ten hours out of my day to motor to the Cotswolds to look for a woman we now knew was alive and well.
But her departure from the Dower House had been both precipitous and downright suspicious, and I am, as Christopher had pointed out, curious by nature, and as tenacious as a dog with a bone.And not one of those cute, yappy, little breeds, either.Crispin called me a bulldog once, and unflattering though the comparison might be, I won’t say that he was wrong.
“I can’t imagine what that might be, Miss Connie,” Shreve said.“I saw her in Lower Slaughter, but she said it wasn’t where she lived.”
“Did she seem familiar with Lower Slaughter?”I interjected.“Did she greet anyone while you were there?Did anyone greet her?”
“The rummage sale was at the church,” Shreve said with a wrinkle of her nose.“She was speaking with the vicar’s wife when I saw her.”
“Did they seem friendly?”Or had it merely been a haggling session over an old chamber pot?
“Friendly enough,” Shreve said.“Or as friendly as Morrison ever is.She never was a friendly sort, if you ask me.”
There was a stir around the table, so perhaps some of the servants still remembered Morrison from when she had worked for Lady Charlotte.I met Tidwell’s eyes across the table, but he didn’t say anything.I didn’t, either.
“Did you get the impression that Morrison was one of the vicar’s parishioners?”I asked Shreve instead.“Did they seem to have that kind of relationship?”
But Shreve shook her head.“Morrison was a Primitive Methodist.She wouldn’t attend the Church of England.”
Her tone of voice made it sound as if Morrison had turned her nose up at the Anglican church in a way that had offended Shreve, and perhaps others among the staff.Unless Shreve was the strident believer, of course, and had a problem with anyone else having different views from her own.
I couldn’t imagine that it mattered either way, honestly, but it was a piece of factual information we might be able to use, especially if there was a Primitive Methodist church anywhere in the Cotswolds.
I flicked a glance at Constance, who said, “Thank you, Shreve,” in a polite voice.“We’ll let you get on with supper.”
“We’re sorry to have disturbed you,” I added, to the assembly in general.“We three and Francis will be leaving early tomorrow to drive to the Cotswolds.If anyone has a message for Morrison that you would like us to pass on, please get it to one of us by then.”
No one said anything to that, and I added, “We won’t be here for luncheon or for tea tomorrow.But would it be possible to get a picnic basket for the trip?”
