Death at Dawn - Caro Peacock [93]
‘Where?’
‘In the travelling coach.’
‘Just sitting in it all the time?’
‘No, or we’d all’ve seen her. You know how gentlemen’s travelling coaches usually have a place under the floorboards, nice and convenient for anything they might need on a day’s journey without having the trunks unstrapped? Quite a tidy space in some of them, big enough to take a woman, if she didn’t mind curling up a bit.’
‘The boy says he saw a woman under the floorboards in the travelling coach?’
‘Not saw, heard. He reckons he heard a moithering voice calling for help and for somebody to bring her a glass of water.’
‘Didn’t he tell anybody at the time?’
‘They was all too busy running around in circles with the coach and the gentlemen to take any notice of him. Afterwards, they thought he was just hearing ghosts again. He’s a great lad for ghosts, they say.’
‘But you believe him?’
‘Can’t say whether I believe him or not. But it seemed to me somebody here ought to know about it.’
A groom came into the yard and gave us a curious look.
‘I must go,’ I said. ‘I expect you must, too. Thank you for telling me.’
When I looked back through the archway from the courtyard, I saw him mounting a useful-looking cob, property of the livery stables, presumably. I’d assumed that he’d come on foot and once again marvelled at the resourcefulness of Amos Legge. But how seriously should I take his information? Very seriously, I thought. Gawby or not, the lad had impressed Amos. And if Lord Kilkeel and Brighton had a woman imprisoned in the well of the travelling coach, that explained why they’d refused to leave it at the stables and finish their journey in another vehicle. Could this be the woman from my father’s letter? If so, I’d been no more than a few yards away from her in the stableyard without knowing it.
I looked up from the courtyard at the back of Mandeville Hall, a great brick cliff with hundreds of windows. She might well be in there somewhere, among dozens of guests, plus nearly a hundred servants counting the extra ones brought in, so many rooms that a person might spend months there without seeing them all. I might as well try to search an entire town.
As soon as I stepped inside the house, one of the footmen said Mrs Quivering wanted me. I found her in her room.
‘There’s a note for you from Miss Mandeville.’
She handed me a folded lilac sheet.
Dear Miss Lock,
If you would care to come to my room when you are free, we may plan what you are to wear this evening. There may be some things which I should be happy to lend you.
Signed with her initials in a flourish like the tendrils of sweet peas.
‘Miss Mandeville is very kind,’ I said.
I didn’t think for one moment that Celia wanted to talk about clothes. It was an entirely different plan she had in mind. Still, she’d been clever, even leaving the note unsealed so that Mrs Quivering could read it if she were curious.
I went back to the schoolroom to tell Betty where I was going. She was wide-eyed at my luck.
‘Miss Mandeville lending you one of her own dresses! You must be careful not to drop any food on it. Perhaps you should only pretend to eat. I’ll try to keep you something back from supper for later.’
‘Thank you, Betty, but I’ll do well enough.’
‘You might even be sitting next to a lord who will fall in love with you. Stranger things have happened.’
‘In fairy tales. But no, I’m not. I’ve looked at the table plan.’
‘So who are you sitting next to.’
‘Not a lord. Not even a sir or an MP. I have a cathedral canon on my left hand and a Mr Disraeli on my right.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘A writer, I believe. I’m nearly sure I read one of his novels once.’
‘Well, I suppose it takes all sorts.’
Betty was clearly disappointed for me. Upstairs in my room, I put on my lavender dress and fichu pelerine and went as confidently as I could manage downstairs and through the door into the family’s bedroom corridor. Compared to the last time I’d been there, it was as busy as a beehive on a sunny afternoon. Bells tinkled, maids