The strangled servant, p.20
The Strangled Servant, page 20
“Yes.” She laughed.
“And before that, how Julia Sanders had too much to drink, spilled wine down her dress and fell onto Mrs. Piggot?”
Poppy couldn’t hide her smile. Mrs. Piggot was about eighty and had shown more animation in her berating of Julia than she’d shown in years. Julia had fled and her parents had made apologies, but still earned harsh glares from the octogenarian.
“So you see, those instances never stopped them from all showing their faces again. What’s to stop you from having a good time?”
“None of their mistakes ended in murder.”
“Do we know for certain it was murder? What’s to say the girl didn’t die in the accident?”
“She was strangled.” Poppy said.
“Balderdash. We won’t go saying it. If anyone brings it up then it was a tragic accident but it’s got nothing to do with you.”
“But Aunt…”
“I’m serious, Poppy. The sooner you rid yourself of this awful business the better. The way you keep moping about the house, it’s as if you did the deed yourself.”
Poppy stared at her aunt. “Mary’s my friend. I want to know what happened to her.” Even those words sounded false to her ears.
Her aunt’s expression softened. “I know, dear heart. But you must put this behind you, even just for appearance’s sake. Else no one will talk of anything else when you are present, and at the moment you are acting like a leper.”
Poppy sat on the chair by her writing desk and watched as her aunt held up one dress to her and then another. Once her aunt had finished, she had chosen a dress and decided to lend Poppy a string of pearls and a pearl hairpiece. “Even if you feel low, you will look very fetching,” her aunt said.
Poppy deemed this to be good advice. Perhaps if those attending were distracted by her appearance, they might not notice how very low and nervous she felt. She heard no more from Tom or the constable, and not even Betsey had news to share.
Friday evening came, and after a quiet supper, Betsey and her aunt helped dress Poppy. They pulled her stays tight and Poppy held her arms up as they pulled a short-sleeved, faded dancing dress over her head and thin chest. Betsey arranged her hair and as Poppy smoothed the dress’s folds over her shift, her aunt artfully draped the long string of pearls around her neck twice so it hung against her cleavage. Their work done, Poppy looked in her small looking glass and emitted a little gasp.
Her face looked pale and pretty. Betsey had skillfully pinned the front so it was in a sort of wave, while the rest of her hair was tucked into a smart tousled bun. With the addition of her aunt’s pearl hairpiece, the effect was pretty.
“You look very well, Miss Morton.” Betsey said.
“Thank you.”
“Ooh! One more thing,” her aunt left the room and returned a minute later. In her hand she held a little pot.
“What’s that?” Poppy asked.
“Rouge. I make my own,” Aunt Rachel said. Giving a conspiratorial look to Poppy and Betsey, she added, “Don’t tell your uncle.”
Poppy grinned.
“Now hold still.” She dipped a finger in the red paste and touched Poppy’s lips.
“What are you doing?”
“Shush,” her aunt said. She dipped the finger in again, dabbing at Poppy’s lips and cheeks, rubbing them in. “There.” She surveyed her handiwork. “I’ve done my best, and if you do not catch the eye of that constable, it is not my fault.” She nodded and left the room to attend her own toilette.
Betsey said, “Don’t think you need much help there.”
“Betsey,” Poppy laughed.
They rode to the assembly rooms in the reverend’s cart. Once they paid the entrance fee and hung up their cloaks, there was a little hush as they entered the main room. Poppy took a deep breath and she followed her aunt and uncle, looking around.
Within a minute, their neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Phillips approached. “Mr. Greene, Mrs. Greene, how good to see you.”
Mrs. Phillips noticed, “And Poppy, we’ve not seen you for some time. How nice you look.”
Poppy stood by to the side as her aunt and uncle moved to speak with the Phillips, and tried to look harmless.
Music was playing and the noise was steady, with the whisper of women’s dresses brushing the floor and male dancers reeling with their partners. The air smelled like perfume, wine, and tobacco smoke with a hint of animal tallow from the candles burning.
At that moment her fight with Mary hit home, and she felt more than one person’s eyes on her. She missed Mary dearly, even with the knowledge that she wasn’t the kindest, and perhaps not a true friend.
Mary was fair, spritely, with a pert nose, a small chest, a petite figure and shapely hips, who with a toss of her head could turn heads. She was also vain, rude, arrogant and selfish. But she had been Poppy’s only friend, and she had loved her for it.
As she accepted a little glass of wine from a manservant, she recognized a man dancing toward her. He had short brown hair, a thick face and tanned skin. When he saw Poppy his eyes narrowed, and as he whirled away in the dance she took that opportunity to switch her place and move farther down the room. With any luck, he’d lose track of her. Tom Maddox’s cousin was one of the last people she wanted to see.
A man asked a woman next to her to dance and they pushed past Poppy to join in the line. Poppy smiled and missed Mary, who would no doubt have some deliciously catty remark to make about the girl’s hemline or the cut of the man’s trousers.
Poppy saw Mr. Turnbull enter the hall with the Grants, and their eyes met across the room. He gave her a sharp nod in greeting. She wove her way around the sidelines of young men and ladies to find him. “Mr. Turnbull,” she said.
They bowed and he said, “Hello, Miss Morton. You are looking very well this evening.”
“Thank you.” On another occasion, she might have hoped it was a sign of his regard for her but knew him too well to believe such a flight of fancy. His manner was curt, his face pinched and his eyebrows knit in worry.
“Does something trouble you, Mr. Turnbull? You look preoccupied.”
“I have received disturbing news today. Were it not my aunt’s wish, I never would have come tonight,” he said.
“Oh. I hope it is nothing too terrible,” she said.
“It is.” His expression was kind. “You recall the young woman I told you about? The dean’s daughter?”
“I remember. Have you heard from her family?”
“Yes. I wrote to her father and asked if he had heard any news. He wrote back to say her mother looked through her personal keepsakes and found a note, refusing to acknowledge her or her child as his.” His frown was ugly. “She would not have given her heart to anyone so lightly. She is not the sort of woman who—”
“I understand. How horrible.” Poppy’s hand few to her mouth. “Did they know who it was from?”
“They would wonder who but her sister confirmed it, apparently her sister told her to keep her lover a secret but now in death, she has broken her silence. The man’s name is Neville Conn.”
“Oh, God.” She stared at him. “He is the nephew of Lady Cameron, my uncle’s patron. Indeed, you saw him when I found Mrs. Markham that day. He was the one who stood by to wait for the constable to arrive.”
“The foul-tempered gentleman? In the red coat?”
“Yes. That is he.”
His face was grim. “I will keep you out of this, but I must find him.”
Poppy nodded. “If I see him I will tell you. I am sorry I cannot be of more use.”
He bowed and left her to seek the company of others. Poppy was dismayed. A poor girl, ruined and dead because of Neville!
A man grunted behind her. There stood Mr. Jenkins, stuffed into a claret colored waistcoat and dark-brown overcoat and matching breeches, he did not offer her a bow but instead peered down at her with piggish eyes. “Miss Morton.”
“Mr. Jenkins.” She refused to offer him a curtsey. He had caused her no end of trouble and did not deserve such a civil greeting.
“Surprised you’re here. Didn’t think your uncle would let you out of the house.” He smirked.
“I have nothing to hide. There is no harm in my attending a dance.” And with more rudeness than she’d intended, she turned her back on him.
He coughed when a light fluttery voice said, “Oh Miss Morton! I am so glad you are here.”
Mrs. Markham bore down on her, waving a lacy handkerchief. People made way for the gossipy matron, and she smiled at the attention. She waved to Poppy and once face to face, curtseyed and put a hand on her arm. “I am monstrously happy to see you, girl. I knew a clergyman’s niece had a touch of the angel!”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Jenkins interrupted.
Mrs. Markham shot him a dirty look. “I mean, it is thanks to this young lady here that I am in good health. The doctor said were it not for you calling for help, my girl, I might have suffered more than a bump to the head.”
More than one person nearby murmured at her words.
Delighted to be the center of attention, Mrs. Markham said, “Mark my words, you are an angel, Miss Morton. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
She was giving her reputation a boost, Poppy realized. Thanks to Mrs. Markham she was being fully exonerated before the assembly which was just as good as a trial.
“I am glad to have been there, Mrs. Markham,” she said.
The older woman’s smile could have lit up the room, when Jenkins butted in, “But what about that walking stick? That was hers, weren’t it?”
“Yes, it was mine. But I had lost it some days ago and anyone could have picked it up.” As Poppy said the words, her mind flew. Who had been there that evening in the pub when she had questioned the footman?
Neville.
“I can hazard a guess as to who did it,” she said.
“Oh? I am all ears.” Mrs. Markham said. “Do tell us.”
Poppy started, “I think it was—”
“Now don’t go wasting your breath trying to do my job again, girl, that’s a man’s job,” Jenkins interrupted.
“But I—”
“’Nough of that if you please.” He cut her off.
“Well, I am just glad I am back in good health. I am grateful to you, Miss Morton.” She looked pointedly at the deputy. “My good man, I have no charges to level at this young woman. She is innocent of any crime.”
His face pinched as if he’d eaten a lemon. “But I—”
“She has done nothing wrong, sir. I trust there will be no unpleasantness toward her in the future.”
“No ma’am,” Mr. Jenkins said, frowning. “Not as long as she obeys the law.” He walked away.
Poppy stood beside Mrs. Markham, watching him go. “It is I who should be grateful, Mrs. Markham.”
“Nonsense. You are the one who found me,” she said.
“Do you remember anything about what happened?” Poppy asked.
“No. I was walking from the market and I thought I saw a cat wander down the alley. I thought it might be a stray so I went to see and then…Nothing. When I woke up I was in the doctor’s surgery and my head hurt something terrible.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. It was him who told me you had found me and called the others to help. He said you did a smart thing staying with me, Miss Morton.” She shivered. “To think I might have died if you hadn’t found me.”
“Don’t think such things.” Poppy said. “I am glad you are well. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Hah! And nor would anyone, I expect. But I am made of stronger stuff than that and I wanted to put any rumors of my impending death to rest.” She chuckled. “Now there I spy Mrs. Forrester. If you would excuse me, my dear, I must speak to her.”
The ladies curtseyed and Poppy stepped aside to let her pass. For a minute or two she watched the dance and wished for a partner but despite her finery that evening, no young man took notice of her. She, however, spotted a familiar face amongst those gathered there.
She took care to follow him, tracking his movements around dancers here and there, stepping around pairs of men and women chatting, toward the back of the room when she stepped hard on the back of his heel.
“Ow! Blast! Who the devil—” he whipped around. “Oh, it’s you.” He sneered at the sight of her.
“Mr. Conn.”
“Funny to see you here. I didn’t expect you’d show your face. Or do you often dance after beating defenseless old women?”
“I did no such thing. Mrs. Markham herself came over just now to thank me for looking after her. The deputy agreed there are to be no charges held against me,” she said.
“Hah. What does a deputy know?” he said.
“He knows more than he lets on. And I think you beat Mrs. Markham.”
That caught his attention. His gaze was snakelike. “Choose your words carefully, Miss Morton. I think you are grasping at fancies. Perhaps you read too many novels.”
“You were in the pub that night when I left my walking stick. It would have been an easy thing to pick it up and wait for the right moment to use it against me.”
He clapped twice. “Well done, Miss Morton. What a pity that no one will believe you.”
“Why did you attack Mrs. Markham? She was just an old woman.”
“Thought she knew too much for her own good. She needed to be put in her place.”
“Once I tell the deputy, he’ll take you in,” Poppy said.
“He should know not to trust a girl like you. Especially when I tell him how we know each other. Innocent girls don’t go around snooping in men’s bedrooms.” He began walking off to the side, away from people.
Poppy followed him. “I want to know your relationship with my friend, Mary. I gather you knew her from the note I found.”
He chortled. “Is that what you were up to in my room? Bloody hell. And I suppose you’ve come after me for the same reason she has, eh?” He moved farther away from the assembly, against the wall and behind a pedestal.
She followed him. Hidden by shadow, she said, “I know you spoke to her the night she died.”
He shot her a wary look. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told her. Forget it. I’m not paying you too. Understand?”
Poppy stared. “She was blackmailing you. She found out about you and the dean’s daughter.”
“Christ, does everyone know? Jesus. How was I supposed to know she’d be in Cambridge at the time?” He ran a hand through his hair. “What do you want?”
“You saw a play together, didn’t you? Lover’s Vows, perhaps?”
“How did you know?”
“Mary was an actress. Her troupe performs around the country. It would have been easy for her to see you from the stage. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize her.”
He shrugged. “I had other things on my mind.”
“What happened that night? At the dance?” she asked.
“Why? You seem to know everything already.”
“I want to know. My reputation depends on it.”
Half of his mouth quirked into a smile. “Ah. Your noble constable could only do so much to redeem your good name, but you know the truth of it. You’ll always be the clergyman’s wayward niece, suspected of murder.”
“Tell me what happened that night between you and Mary,” she said.
“You don’t want money?”
“I want to know what happened to her. Please tell me what she said.”
“You’re keen.” He scratched his head. “She gave me a note at the dance, telling me to pay her fifty pounds or she’d tell my aunt of my indiscretion. If I didn’t, I’d be ruined. She said to meet her at midnight at the Potters’ house in town.”
“Then you killed her on the main road.”
“Jesus, no. I rode to the Potters’ and she was already outside waiting for me. She took the money and told me to clear off. I made her swear she wouldn’t breathe a word of this to anyone. I know her type, though. She’s a leech, that one. She may have promised to hold her tongue, but I know she would have demanded ten times the amount soon. I’m glad she’s dead.”
“So she and her maid were still alive when you saw them?”
“What maid? I didn’t see a maid when I paid her.”
“What did you do after you paid Mary the money?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “What any man would do. I went to the pub.”
Poppy smiled despite herself.
“I had too much to drink. I spent most of the night there, plenty of men saw me. When I came out, someone had taken my horse, so I had to walk home. Didn’t get back until the early hours.”
“Then you don’t know what happened to her.”
“Not after she took my fifty pounds. I did look for it during the search party but couldn’t find a single pence.”
“Then you didn’t dig up Margie’s grave looking for it?”
He shuddered. “Perish the thought. I have enough money without needing to sully my hands gravedigging. But Miss Morton, now that you know my secret, I’m going to have to shut that pretty mouth of yours.”
She edged back against the podium. “Don’t come any closer.” She looked for a way to attract attention, but most people were too far away, scattered in groups watching the dance or talking. To any casual observer, she and Neville would seem like an ordinary pair at the dance, and nothing about them looked extraordinary enough to excite comment.
“Anyone watching would think you came seeking my attention, girl. You should be so lucky. No man in his right mind would think I came looking for you.” He sneered.
She looked around and started to shift away.
“Don’t even think about it.” He pulled a small dagger from his sleeve and held the blade toward her.
“You are impertinent.”
He laughed. “And you are a fool. You shouldn’t have snooped around, Miss Morton.”
Poppy wracked her brains. What would a young woman do in a moment of distress? When the answer hit her, she bit her lip, for it was unlike her. She felt it was the action taken by females who wanted attention, which at this very moment would suit her perfectly.
