Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [76]
“Of course,” Emily said quietly. “I’ll have a tisane sent up. And a little food. Even if it is only bread and butter, you should eat.”
She withdrew and left them together.
The men were conferring again. Jack would be in charge, trying to get them to some kind of agreement. As she was coming down the stairs she saw the butler carrying a tray into the withdrawing room, and as he opened the door she heard the sound of raised voices. Then the door closed and cut them off. One of them in there had murdered Ainsley Greville, whether he had accomplices outside or not. Why was Pitt sitting and comforting Eudora? Compassion was all very well, but it was not his task. Charlotte should be doing that. Why wasn’t she?
Emily went the rest of the way down to the hall and was crossing it towards the conservatory when she almost bumped into Charlotte coming in from the garden.
“What are you doing?” Emily said sharply.
Charlotte closed the door behind her. Her hair was ruffled, as if she had been in the wind, and there was a flush in her cheeks.
“I went for a walk,” she answered. “Why?”
“Alone?”
“Yes. Why?”
Emily’s temper snapped. “Greville has been murdered by God knows who, but someone in the house, Jack’s life is in danger and Thomas is sitting upstairs comforting the widow instead of looking after him, or even trying to find who murdered Greville. The Irish are all at each others’ throats while I am trying to keep some kind of peace, the servants are fainting, weeping, quarreling or hiding under the stairs—and you are out in the garden walking! And you ask me why! Where are your wits?”
Charlotte paled, then two spots of color burned up in her cheeks.
“I was thinking,” she said coldly. “Sometimes a little thought is a great deal more beneficial than simply rushing around to give the appearance of doing something—”
“I have not been rushing around!” Emily snapped back. “I thought that the past would have taught you, if the present does not, that running a house this size, with guests, takes a great deal of skill and organization. I relied on you at least to keep Kezia and Iona in a civil conversation.”
“Justine was doing that—”
“And Thomas to try to guard Jack, as much as it can be done, and he’s up there”—she jabbed her finger towards the stairs—“comforting Eudora!”
“He’s probably questioning her,” Charlotte said icily.
“For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t a domestic murder!” Emily made an effort to control her voice. “If she knew anything she’d have told him in the beginning. It’s one of these men in there.”
“We all know that,” Charlotte agreed. “But which one? Maybe Padraig Doyle, have you thought of that?”
Emily had not thought of it, she did not think it now.
“Well, at least go and talk to Kezia. She’s by herself in the morning room. Perhaps you can persuade her to stop this ridiculous rage against Fergal. It doesn’t help anyone.” And with that Emily straightened her shoulders and marched back to the baize door and the servants’ quarters, although she had forgotten what she was going for.
Gracie was also extremely busy that morning, not essentially on Charlotte’s affairs. The dresses she had brought were in little need of attention, and those which had been lent her needed only a slight press here or there with a flatiron. There was personal linen to launder, but that was all. She collected it and took it downstairs and through the corridors of the servants’ wing out to the laundry house.
She found Doll already there, looking unhappily at the dull surface of a flatiron and muttering under her breath.
“How is poor Mrs. Greville?” Gracie asked sympathetically.
Doll glanced at her. “Poor soul,” she said with a sigh. “Doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going at the moment. But I daresay it’ll get worse before it gets better. Have you seen the beeswax and bath brick?”
“What?”
“Beeswax and bath brick,” Doll repeated. “There’s plenty o’ salt right there. Need to clean this iron before I put it anywhere near a white camisole.” She held up the iron critically. The other