the small one that was very empty?
I searched out Mrs. Redbreast, the Lyndhurst housekeeper for certainly more
years than I’d been on this earth. I found her in her charming suite of rooms in
the east wing. If she was surprised or discomfited in any way to see me, she
didn’t let on. She invited me into her lovely sitting room, furnished with very
old pieces from two centuries ago. A softly warm fire glowed in the fireplace.
All the draperies were drawn against the deepening autumn chill. It looked like
it would begin raining any minute, but when I mentioned it, Mrs. Redbreast shook
her head, smiled, and said, no, Brantley said not before three o’clock in the
afternoon.
“My lady, a cup of tea?”
I accepted. I complimented her on the delicious India tea, told her in all
seriousness that I was counting on her to guide me, since Devbridge Manor was
such a very large house. When it was necessary, I could lie better than one of
those damned weasel-tongued Whigs, as Grandfather had told me more than once. In
truth, I had managed Grandfather’s various houses since I had turned fifteen,
including Deerfield Hall, larger than Devbridge Manor by a good dozen
bedchambers and a ballroom the size of a London block. I had made a hash of many
things in those early years. However, by the time I was eighteen, I was as at
ease discussing the mending of an old washtub with copper bands with a butler
and the blacksmith as I was deciding upon baking a buttock of beef in the French
fashion with the cook.
I asked her about her family and was told that she was one of the Hildon Dale
Redbreasts, and her family had been in Yorkshire since the Vikings came from the
sea, to rape, pillage, and settle. Yes, she said, it was likely her ancestors
had some of that raping and pillaging blood in their veins.
I moved ever so slowly, planning to steer her eventually to what I wanted to
talk about. When I handed her my teacup for a refill, I said, “Have you ever
experienced any unpleasantness in The Blue Room, Mrs. Redbreast? Recognized,
perhaps, that something was different in that room?”
She dropped her cup she was so startled. Fast as a snake, I managed to snag it
in the air just before it hit her shiny oak floor. Thank God it was empty. I set
the cup down and said calmly, “Do tell me about it, Mrs. Redbreast. I am the
mistress here now, not Lady Caroline or her ghost. Tell me what you have seen or
heard or experienced in that room or in other rooms, like the one where Mrs.
Thomas was found napping on the floor.”
Mrs. Redbreast was a very large woman, on the shadowy side of middle age, but
still handsome. Her black hair was streaked with white, but it was thick and
well styled. It was her face, though, that held me, her eyes. They were as dark
as her hair and, at the moment, frightened.
Of all things, she began wringing her hands. I was swimming into very deep
waters here.
I merely smiled at her. “Mrs. Redbreast, I am new here. My husband has given me
something of a history of the family, but not nearly enough. I ask you to help
me understand.”
“My lady,” she said slowly, “what happened yesterday was a shock to all of us.”
“A greater shock to Mrs. Thomas.”
“Oh, yes, the poor lady. But she fell asleep, that was all there was to it, just
a nap, in the middle of the day, and door wasn’t locked.”
“I’m very sure it wasn’t by the time the gentlemen of the house were there to
try it. But that isn’t the point, is it? I am now the Countess of Devbridge, Mrs.
Redbreast. There’s no going back from that. This is now my home. Doubtless you’ve
also heard all about what I reported happening to me last night.”
Oh, yes, she had heard, and I could imagine all the speculation going on below
stairs. Very possibly all the servants were beginning to wonder if the earl hadn’t