A Dreadful Splendor (64)

The home was humble, but cozy and clean. Tiny paintings of village scenes were hung in homemade frames. Across from the table where Flora and I sat were a hutch and buffet of simple design with blue-and-white dishes displayed neatly. Everything was in its place, and everything was practical. Not unlike my first home with Maman and Mrs. Rinaldo.

“Auntie Lil knows everything about gardening,” Flora explained. Bundles of herbs dried from an exposed wooden beam above us. The aroma was intense.

“She even makes her own pipe mixture,” Flora continued. There was a sense of pride to her tone.

“I gots bad hips,” Auntie Lil explained. “I find me pipe takes care of the aches better than anything that young doctor could give me.” She squinted as she spoke, creating a starburst of wrinkles on either side of her eyes.

I took a bite of cake, letting it melt on my tongue. Flora must come by her cooking skills honestly. The basket had been filled with jars of mint jelly, made especially for the pork that would be served tomorrow night. “The cake is perfection,” I told her.

She smiled, deepening the wrinkles.

“I understand you used to work at Somerset Park,” I said, eager to hear her version of its history.

Leaning forward in her rocking chair, Auntie Lil said, “Be careful up there. Flora doesn’t heed my warnings, but that place is cursed.”

Flora reached for another piece of cake. “Auntie, please. Jenny is our guest.”

“I don’t like you workin’ there,” she said, pointing her pipe at Flora.

“But there’s good people at Somerset Park now.” A blush came to her cheeks. “And who knows,” she added, “maybe I won’t be a kitchen maid much longer.”

Auntie Lil chuckled. “Is that why you asked for the love bundle from my pantry? Oh, don’t be red in the face now, you can have it.” Then she winked at me. “Don’t know why she needs it—Flora’s a mighty lovely girl. Any boy who’s worth marryin’ will know it without my herbal interference.”

Huffing, Flora added more hot tea to both our cups. I thought about Joseph and what specifically she was worried about him lying to her about. “What do you think of Mrs. Donovan’s attack?” she asked her aunt. I presumed it was to take the attention off her love life.

“Pfft,” she answered. “Doesn’t take a genius to recognize the curse is at work. That grandfather was a cruel bastard, and now his family and all who were loyal to him are payin’ the price. Mark me word, girls, Somerset Park will crumble into the ocean before another heir is born.”

Flora grumbled something into her teacup.

I, however, was intrigued by her theory about Mrs. Donovan, especially since I still couldn’t explain my muddy boots the next morning. Maybe it was easier to believe in a curse when the alternative was admitting my own guilt in the matter. “Are you saying Mrs. Donovan was a victim of the curse as well?” I asked.

“I sees her come into the village now and then, thinking she’s one of them, all right.” Then her expression softened. “Not like that lawyer, Mr. Lockhart. He treats me with respect and always pays a little extra for me herbs and such.”

I wondered if he used her pipe mixture for his own ailments. A dying man will leave no remedy untried, I suspected.

“He’s not one to put on airs,” she continued. “He even made a generous donation to the church. Wouldn’t be no roof if he hadn’t helped pay for repairs.”

“Yes.” Flora sighed tiredly. “He’s humble.”

“Mr. Lockhart is a saint, I tells ya. What he’s still doin’ around Somerset is beyond me.”

“He’s the estate trustee, Auntie,” Flora said, reaching for another piece of cake. “And with Lady Audra’s death, he has a lot of paperwork to sort through. It’s not as simple as handin’ over the keys to the new Lord Chadwick. And who knows? There might be another legitimate Linwood out there.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised by Flora’s knowledge of estate planning.

Auntie Lil rocked herself a few times, gently pushing the toe of her shoe against the floor. The creaking was a gentle backdrop to our conversation.

“What about Mr. Sutterly?” I asked, wondering what other tidbits she knew.

Flora choked on a piece of cake. She took a quick sip of tea. Maybe I was being too intrusive, but her wealth of knowledge was too tempting to ignore.

“Ah,” Auntie Lil said, letting the one word linger in the air. “There’s plenty o’ rumors about the blacksmith’s demise. Curious how a man finds death on the road to Somerset, then lickety-split, the lord of the manor takes his adopted son as his ward.” She raised her white eyebrows. “Another finger of the curse, I’d reckon.”

I wondered if Auntie Lil had heard rumors about William’s secret lineage. “How did the curse start?” I asked, ignoring Flora nudging me under the table.

Her eyes got bigger. “Servants would go missin’, usually the young, pretty ones. A few times their bodies were found, washed up on shore weeks later, beaten by the rocks and bloated from the sea. But I’ll tell ya one thing, ain’t no mystery who’d done it.” She lifted her chin and focused on the door. “Lord Chadwick the third.”

“Audra’s grandfather?” I clarified, thinking of his leering portrait in the library, the blaze of his eyes, his white-knuckled grip.