The path grew narrow here, but as I’d noted yesterday, the trees were mature, with branches closing in overhead—well overhead. Mr. Gibbs was surely taller than I, but he’d have to be a good three feet taller to come into contact with any of these branches.
While we passed through the area, I looked around for any broken branches and gashes in the trees where a limb might have broken off. I don’t know what I expected to see. Did it matter whether Mr. Gibbs fell off his horse or was knocked off?
Then my gaze lighted on something that didn’t belong. A length of line tangled among some leaves. I urged my mount closer to the branch. It looked like a braided fishing line, tangled about shoulder height, but the branch sprouted from the tree about six inches lower. Try as I might, I could not disengage the hopelessly tangled mess.
“Would you like me to get that for you, my lady?”
The groom had stopped at my side, and my two companions waited patiently behind him, giving me curious looks. “What would this be doing here, I wonder?”
“Couldn’t say, my lady. Maybe someone swinging a fishing pole got the line caught. At least that’d be my guess.” The young man looked as if he couldn’t imagine what interest this bit of line could hold.
“I suppose that’s possible.” I set my horse back on the path. “No need to remove it. It just stuck out amid the greenery and caught my attention.” I smiled at Anne and Rose. “Excuse the delay. I expect you’re as hungry as I am. Shall we head in for breakfast?”
They agreed readily, and we headed past the stables and across the lawn bordering the maze. My stomach growled, pushing the thought of the fishing line from my mind. It might have been tangled there for years.
The three of us dismounted in the drive and headed to the house, leaving the horses in the care of the groom though Rose wanted to stay to help.
“Nanny will be waiting for you, dear,” I told her. Passing through the great hall, I sent her upstairs and turned to Anne. “Do you suppose if we take the time to change out of our riding gear and freshen up first, there will still be some breakfast left?”
She looked doubtful. “Lady Fiona planned an outing for this morning, and I suspect the group left early. I’ll go and check the breakfast room. If the chafing dishes are still out, I’ll ensure they stay there until you come back down.”
“Thank you, dear.” Anne was off, but before I could place a foot on the stairs, the housekeeper, Mrs. Ansel, pushed through the baize door at the end of the hall and called out to me. She rushed forward with some urgency.
“Yes, Mrs. Ansel? Is something wrong?”
“My lady, there’s a terrible ruckus below stairs, and I’m afraid I just can’t settle everyone down. Mr. Hazelton has been gone since dawn, and Lady Fiona took the rest of the guests on a jaunt early this morning, so there’s been no one about while all the staff is screaming bloody murder.”
How strange. The staff had seemed so disciplined, it must be quite a crisis to have set them all off. I turned and walked with her toward the service door. “Of course, I’ll do what I can, Mrs. Ansel. What exactly happened?”
She raised troubled eyes to mine and heaved a sigh. “One of our footmen died during the night, and some are saying it’s murder.”
Chapter 6
Murder? Good heavens!
Mrs. Ansel set a brisk pace through the gallery back to the north wing, and through the service door to the kitchen and the servants’ hall. It did indeed appear to be in chaos despite the sharp words from the butler who stood with his back to us. Two young maids, probably from the kitchen, huddled together in the corner, while tears streamed down their faces. An older woman sat at the table, her face buried in her hands, while two footmen argued over her head. Several of the other staff muttered among themselves. The butler looked on in horror, clapping his hands in a fruitless bid for order.
I raised my voice to speak above the din. “I understand you’ve suffered a tragedy.” The butler, Crocker, swung around, and upon recognizing me, a wave of relief cleared the displeasure from his expression. Everyone scrambled to their feet and silence fell on the room.
“Is it true one of your footmen has passed away?”
He nodded. “Yes, my lady. It appears he died in his room last night or early this morning.”
“Has someone sent for a doctor? And Mr. Hazelton?”
“We have sent for the doctor, but not Mr. Hazelton as yet. He did not leave word where the shoot was taking place today. I was just about to have someone inquire of Mr. Tuttle.”
One of the footmen who’d been in the shouting match approached us. “I heard one of the gentlemen at breakfast this morning say where they were shooting. Shall I run and fetch Mr. Hazelton?”
“Go to the stables and send one of the grooms for him,” Crocker said. “Make sure the groom tells him what has happened and that we are in need of his assistance.”
The young man bobbed his head and made off. I wondered how distorted the story would be by the time George received it. I motioned for Mr. Crocker and Mrs. Ansel to join me off to the side of the room. “Now tell me, why is the staff in such a state? Who called it murder and can it be true?”
Mrs. Ansel cast a worried glance at the butler. “Mr. Crocker,” I prompted. “Did the footman not die peacefully in his sleep?”
“No, ma’am.” The lines in his forehead deepened. “The lad was clearly ill, violently ill even. We are short one footman, so he did not share a room with anyone. Mores the pity, for then we could have called a doctor in sooner.”
“I see. This is a somber event. I can understand why the staff is so distressed, but why the uproar? Why did someone call it murder?”
Mrs. Ansel made a grunt of disgust. “They’re saying he must have eaten something that made him so sick. Some are pointing a finger at our cook, saying she poisoned his food.”
Her remark left me speechless. Someone dies, and members of the household are prepared to suspect one of their own of murder? I couldn’t imagine my staff acting in such a manner. “Have they any reason to believe she’d do such a thing? It sounds rather foolish to me since all evidence would point directly back to her.”
“No reason at all, ma’am.” Mrs. Ansel spoke up when the butler remained silent. “I don’t know why they’d make such foolish claims. It all seemed to grow out of nothing. First, three of the maids left the house, shouting about Russian influenza. The under-butler called that a convenient excuse, a way to cover poisoning.” She fluttered her hands helplessly. “Someone suggested one of the maids poisoned him. The next thing I know, everyone’s looking at the cook with a suspicious eye.”
What an odd group. “I’m sorry you’ve had to bear this burden. Once the doctor has arrived and given his verdict, send word to those maids that they should return to their duties.”
Crocker gasped and looked at me in horror. “After abandoning their posts, you’d bring them back?”
“Lady Fiona may feel differently, but once the doctor can assure them there’s no fear of contagion, we should allow them
