A Dangerous Collaboration (Veronica Speedwell #4)(90)

“It seems to have affected Malcolm quite badly,” Stoker offered.

At the mention of her brother, her face shuttered. She pushed gently out of Stoker’s embrace and picked up her pestle. “I am certain Veronica has better things to do than listen to me moan about my family,” she said with a forced smile.

“Not at all,” I replied. “I am persuaded that Malcolm’s disappearance is connected to Rosamund’s. If we discover the truth about her whereabouts, no doubt we can do the same for him.”

“I hope you are right,” she said. She said nothing more and that seemed our cue to leave. As we made our way from the stillroom, I saw the corner of the scarlet handkerchief peeping from her pocket. Her finger reached out to stroke it as we closed the door behind us.



* * *



? ? ?

“Well, that might have gone better,” I said in some irritation.

Stoker shrugged. “We learnt a little of Rosamund’s ability to manipulate thanks to that scrap of letter. And we confirmed there was a quarrel. Whether Mertensia is telling the truth about the fact that it ended remains to be seen, but I am inclined to believe her. She is a simple, forthright woman. I think she has no talent for deceit.”

“And with only herself and the missing Rosamund to witness it, we shall never know.”

His expression was reproving. “Can you find no charity in your heart for her? Mertensia is a sterling character.”

I made no reply to this. I started off down the corridor, the tiny heels of my slippers ringing irritably on the stones. Stoker caught up to me, his hands thrust deeply into his pockets. “Where are we going now?”

“To find Mrs. Trengrouse,” I told him. “She saw Mertensia after the quarrel with Rosamund. Perhaps she can shed some light on the matter.”

“Excellent,” he said, patting his flat belly. “I could do with a bite of something.”

“If you’re hungry, you needn’t have come with me,” I told him irritably. “Go and stuff yourself like a Michaelmas goose for all I care.”

“Because you can do this all on your own,” he replied, stopping short in the corridor.

I turned to face him.

“Forgive me. I quite forgot your refusal to accept anyone else’s help, your insistence upon never needing anyone, ever, for any purpose. Very well. I have a few things to investigate on my own.”

“Such as?” I demanded.

“Do not concern yourself about it,” he instructed, the muscle of his jaw tight as he ground the words through clenched teeth. “But I think it is time we held my brother’s elegant feet to the fire.”

With that, he turned smartly on his heel and left me staring after. “Whatever has got into him?” I muttered.

Just then Daisy turned the corner, her arms full of freshly laundered sheets, smelling—one thanked the Almighty—not at all of chicken manure. “Oh, I beg pardon, miss. Was there something you needed?”

“I was looking for Mrs. Trengrouse,” I told her. “I had a question about Miss Rosamund.”

“She is about somewhere, no doubt,” Daisy assured me. “Probably looking in on the dinner preparations.” She paused, giving me a close look. “I hear as you went to the village proper today, miss, besides Polglase cottage. And had your palm read.”

“How did you—” I broke off, suddenly seeing the resemblance to the village witch and remembering how she had scolded young Peter with an air of familiarity. “You are related to Mother Nance. Granddaughter?”

“Great-niece,” she said with a grin.

“And I suppose that is how she gets her intelligence of everything that happens at the castle? You keep your ear to the ground and feed her information so when the Romilly guests come, she seems omniscient?”

“Aw, ’tis just a bit of fun, miss! She earns a little extra coin and she always sends a few coppers my way for it.”

Her look was puckish and I could not hold a grudge against this enterprising pair. “You told her that Mrs. Helen was afraid of ghosts, didn’t you? And that’s how she knew to offer her a protection charm?”

She grinned. “It weren’t no protection charm, miss. Just a bit of old coin Mother Nance has had banging around since God were in leading strings. But Mrs. Helen feels ever so much better for having it, don’t she?”

I thought of Helen’s desperate clutching of the charm. “I suppose so.” I glanced down the corridor, making certain we were alone. “Daisy, did you ever tell Mother Nance anything about Miss Rosamund? Was there anything you observed about the lady that you found curious?”

Her mouth tightened. “I don’t like to say, miss. ’Tisn’t fit for proper ladies to speak of.”

“I am no proper lady,” I assured her. “Now, tell me. Your master’s life may depend upon it.”

Her eyes rounded. “The master? I can’t see how that may be, but all right, miss. Yes. I did note something.” She glanced down at the pristine sheets in her arms. “I changed her sheets every day, I did. I washed all her linen myself, bath and personal. And in the three months that she were here, she only had her monthlies once.”

I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Her monthlies, miss. She bled the first month she came, but never after that.”