The Heir - Catherine Coulter [80]
19
Arabella quietly slipped through the door of the adjoining dressing room, her wrapper knotted loosely about her waist, her black hair streaming down her back. She ran noiselessly to the earl’s bed. “Justin, Justin, wake up.” She leaned over him and shook his shoulder.
His eyes flew open and he struggled up to a sitting position. “What? Arabella?” He was at once startled and alert. He could barely make out her pale features in the dim early light of dawn.
Arabella drew a deep breath. “It is Josette, Elsbeth’s maid. She is dead, Justin. I found her but a moment ago at the foot of the main staircase. I think her neck is broken.”
“Good God.” He threw back the bedcovers, insensible to the fact that he was quite naked, and added impatiently, “Come, Bella, hand me my dressing gown.”
As she handed him the rich brocade dressing gown, she looked at him, she couldn’t help it. He was utterly beautiful, all lean muscle, and big, his chest covered with black hair and his groin as well. She stepped back, appalled at herself, wondering if he had seen her staring at him.
The earl appeared quite oblivious of her panic, and said brusquely over his shoulder as he strode toward the door, “Well, don’t just stand there, come along, Bella. You did come to me first, did you not?”
“Of course,” she said simply. “Who else would I have gone to?” And it was the truth. She took a double step to catch up with him. “I couldn’t sleep and I was going to the library to fetch a bit of brandy.”
“Thank the good Lord the servants are not up and about yet.”
She stood back as he leaned over the twisted form of the old woman and made a brief examination. He rose after a moment and nodded. “You’re right. Her neck is broken. Also she feels cold and very stiff. She’d been dead for some time.” He was silent then, looking back up the stairs, then back to the shapeless body. A slow frown spread over his smooth brow, drawing his black brows together.
“What are you thinking, Justin?” Arabella asked, her eyes following his up the winding staircase.
“I am really not certain at this moment what I am thinking,” he said slowly. Suddenly efficient, he added briskly, “We must do first things first. Fetch a blanket to cover her while I carry her to the back parlor. I will send for Dr. Branyon.”
Dr. Branyon arrived within the hour, his face drawn with concern. He had imagined any number of frightful accidents, for the stable boy could tell him nothing.
As he gratefully accepted a cup of steaming coffee from Arabella later in the Velvet Room, he said, “There are several broken bones, but she died, as both of you supposed, from a broken neck in the fall down the stairs. It’s a pity.” He sighed. “Lord, it is hard to believe that she has been in England for more than twenty years. She was Magdalaine’s maid, you know. She has taken care of Elsbeth all her life. Elsbeth will be quite upset over her death.” He turned to Arabella. “You have waked your mother? I suggest that Ann inform your sister. I will remain and give her a drought to calm her, if necessary. Ah, poor Elsbeth.”
Lady Ann remained with Elsbeth for most of the day, emerging only briefly for luncheon.
“I had no idea that my cousin would be so concerned over a servant’s death,” the comte said as he took a goodly bite of baked ham, a hint of incredulity in his voice.
“Josette was like another mother to Elsbeth,” Lady Ann said quietly. “Elsbeth has been close to her all her life. I would be surprised were she not distraught. But she goes a bit better now, poor child.”
Arabella stared at the comte, wondering if he was totally without sensitivity. As if he felt the condemnation of everyone at the luncheon table, the comte spread his hands before him in apology and hastened to say, “Do forgive such an impertinent observation, Lady Ann. It must be that the English take such matters to heart more than we French do. Of course, you are correct. I applaud my cousin’s feelings. An unfortunate accident, to