When It Rained at Hembry Castle Chapter 26

Meanwhile, Downstairs at Hembry Castle

D

inner in the servants’ hall was a sight to behold. Miss Rowland, Mr. Feesbury, Pamela, Miss Escott now to the staff, along with Ruth, Jemima, and Colin watched the solo ballet of Henry Horrocks as he landed pirouettes on each leg in its turn while his hands circled arrondi. The elegance of his movements was a stark contrast to the vexation in his voice. Henry pointed at Colin, his feet battu as though the second footman’s head were centered on the floorboards and Henry would kick some sense into him with the point of his toes.

“I know you’ve been in my things. You nicked my letters. From my family, those were.”

Colin continued his dinner, nodding after each bite of stew as though it were the greatest meal ever cooked. Henry slammed his fists onto the table on either side of Colin’s plate.

“Henry.” Miss Rowland dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Don’t make a fuss. If Colin has been stealing tell Mr. Ellis.”

Henry scoffed. “If he’s been stealing. He nicked my letters. He knows he did. Colin is the only one in my room.”

“When is the last time you saw the letters?” Miss Rowland asked.

“I took them with me to London when we went for Lady Daphne’s ball.”

“Lady Daphne’s ball was weeks ago.” Mr. Feesbury shook his balding head. “If the letters were so important you’d think you’d have checked whether or not you had them before now.”

Henry slumped forward. He looked like he had been pricked by a pin and the others watched him deflate. “I kept them safe in my book and I brought my book to London and back. I didn’t look inside to see if anyone had taken the letters. How would anyone else know they were there?”

“If you had the book at Staton House during the ball anyone could have taken them,” said Mr. Feesbury. “It could have been one of those hired hands. I thought one or two of them were on the dodgy side.”

“It was Colin!” Henry jumped up and down, an adult-sized child throwing a temper tantrum.

Everyone stood when the Ellises entered. Mr. Ellis pressed his round-rimmed glasses against his nose.

“What, may I ask, is happening? Henry, I can hear you shouting from Mrs. Ellis’ sitting room.” When no one offered any information, Mr. Ellis tried again. “Ruth, what has happened?”

“Henry thinks Colin stole some letters of his, Mr. Ellis. Henry hasn’t seen the letters since London.”

The butler and the housekeeper exchanged a curious look. Mrs. Ellis stayed silent, hovering near her husband’s shoulder, scanning the faces of the servants standing around the table.

“Henry, Colin, you will join Mrs. Ellis and myself in her sitting room. The rest of you, finish your meal and attend to your duties. Quickly.”

In the housekeeper’s sitting room, Mr. and Mrs. Ellis sat in the wing chairs before the hearth while Henry and Colin remained standing.

“Well?” said Mr. Ellis. “Henry, explain yourself.”

Henry stared at an Ellis family photograph on the hearth—a sepia-toned picture of their grandson Edward—as he considered his words. He worked his facial muscles, contorting them up and down and side to side, as though searching for some tears to squeeze out from somewhere. “I had letters from home. They’re from my pa before he died. I went to look for them today, and they were gone.”

“Ruth said you think the letters have been gone since London?” said Mrs. Ellis.

“I didn’t think I had to look for them. I thought I knew where they were. They were my personal letters, in my personal book.”

“And you’re certain you had them in London?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Ellis and his wife shared that look again. “I see.” The butler’s fingers formed a triangle under his chin while he studied the young men before him. “And you, Colin? You have not seen these letters?”

“I have not. What would I want with some of Henry’s family letters?”

“You’re certain?” asked Mr. Ellis.

“You can check my room if you don’t believe me.”

Mr. Ellis said nothing, his fingers moving from the triangle under his chin to the arm of his chair where they tapped an impatient tune. “Thank you. You both may go.” The young men rushed toward the door. “However, Henry.” The footman turned back. “I will have no more of these outbursts in the servants’ hall, in the kitchen, in the laundry shed, or in the stables with only the horses to hear. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Ellis.”

Mrs. Ellis watched the footmen escape down the hallway. She slammed the door shut behind them. “Oh, Gussie. How I wanted to tell them we have the letters just to see their faces.”

“It’s best to keep that quiet for now, Mary.”

“I agree.” Mrs. Ellis picked up a photograph, this one of Richard, taken a year before his father, the 8th Earl, died. “That dear, sweet boy, trying to live his life the best he could. I can’t imagine how he felt once he realized his letters were gone. I wish I could have done more to help him.”

“We shielded him as best we could, but once he became Earl he had a destiny bigger than either of us could protect him from.”

Augustus Ellis kissed the top of his wife’s faded hair, nearly albino white now. He opened the top drawer in her writing desk and pulled out the packet of letters. “Do you think Henry or Colin guessed the author of the love letter?”

“They wouldn’t have been able to keep it to themselves if they knew. They could have sold that story for a pretty pound or two, that’s for certain.” She picked up the letter from the 8th Earl of Staton and spread it on her desk. “It’s such a lovely letter. His lordship telling his son and heir that he was proud of him no matter what. What a lovely sentiment for a father to say to his son. I wish…”

“What do you wish, Mary?”

“I wish I had said as much to George. Perhaps things would have turned out differently. Perhaps George would have turned out differently. Now it’s too late.”

“As long as we have breath in our body we can make the decision to do things differently. George is a grown man, and he’s made his way. He never seemed too eager to find a different path. And look at Edward. He’s done so well for himself.”

“I’m glad he didn’t let George get in his way.”

“I think George was Edward’s reason for wanting to do more with his life. Edward didn’t want to be like his father, and he isn’t.”

Mr. Ellis sighed. He poured himself some tea from the pot on the round table near the window. He poured a cup for his wife, and they sipped in silence, watching the dark night spread across the sky.

“Do you think his lordship knew?” Mr. Ellis asked. “Richard’s father, I mean. Do you think he knew and that’s why he told Richard he was proud of him no matter what?”

“That’s my guess. And when Richard realized his letters were gone, it must have driven him mad. What would have happened to him, or to the family, if the truth was known?” Mrs. Ellis finished her tea and set the cup and saucer on the table. “I think Henry, or Colin, or both, made a connection between the love letter and the message about the baby.”

“That would be a logical conclusion, certainly. Then why didn’t they sell the letters from that angle? Surely a story about the Earl of Staton’s illegitimate child would be worth something.”

“Would it? What earl or marquess or duke doesn’t have an illegitimate child somewhere? I think the story wasn’t worth as much as they thought it would be and that’s why they haven’t done anything.”

Mr. Ellis shook his head. “And Mr. Jerrold?”

“Mr. Jerrold gets clean away with everything as he always has. But he has to live with that crone of a wife, and that’s punishment enough for any man.” Mrs. Ellis pointed at her husband. “Nothing from you, Augustus Ellis.”

“My wife is the very opposite of a crone. I’m the most fortunate man in the world, as I have been for more than 50 years.” The butler kissed his wife’s cheek. “So why was Henry so upset about the missing letters suddenly? Why look for them now when he obviously hadn’t thought much about them for weeks?”

“I wonder.” Mrs. Ellis looked into the hearth flames like a conjuring fortune teller. “Perhaps he realized the letters were worth something after all.” Mrs. Ellis poked the dwindling fire awake. “That man who’s been spotted loitering around the grounds. Has he been found?”

“Not yet. I admit, I’m baffled. The entire outdoor staff is on alert, so someone should have caught him by now. Why do you ask?”

“I thought maybe he had something to do with Henry’s sudden change of heart about the letters.”

Mr. Ellis put his hands on his knees and leaned toward his wife. “The fact remains, I must do something. Henry and Colin must go. Whether they stole the letters together, or whether one stole the letters and the other stole the letters from the first one, they both must be gone from this house.”

“When will you do it?”

“As soon as I’ve spoken to his lordship.”

“I wish it hadn’t come to this, Augustus.”

“I know, but what could we have done?”

“There’s always something to be done, some way to help.”

“I worry, Mary. I worry that his lordship, Richard, I mean, was so upset over the loss of his letters that he…” Mr. Ellis studied the 9th Earl’s photograph. “I know he had a hard time after he inherited the title, but I cannot accept that that bright-eyed little boy, with such a keen disposition and so quick to laugh, who used to race through these halls with all joy and abandon, could ever do something so terrible or deliberate.”

“There’s no reason to think ill thoughts, Augustus. His lordship believes his brother’s death was an accident. Everyone else should believe that too.”

A knock at the door startled them, and Ruth appeared. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ellis, but you’re needed upstairs.”

Mrs. Ellis looked back at her husband as she followed the maid out the door.

The footmen’s

room was empty. Cramped, windowless, and stale smelling, as though every kitchen odor rose upward, sending only the pleasing odors toward the green baize door and releasing everything else to the attics. There were three beds cramped into a space hardly large enough for two, but since Gregory, the third footman, had left to tend his father’s flocks in Aberdeen, there was one less body in the way. The door creaked open, and there was a pause. Yes, it was empty, Henry and Colin were about their tasks in the dining room under Mr. Ellis’ watchful eye. Soft shoes shuffled across the wooden floor, a faint jingle with each step like wind chimes in an easy breeze. The room was sparse, the whitewash nearly faded, leaving the walls with a dull sheen. Family photographs lined the chest of drawers shared between the two footmen—parents, brothers, sisters, and one coquette, a young dark-haired beauty, most likely a sweetheart. First one drawer was opened and rummaged through, then the next, then the next. Mattresses were lifted. The jingling stopped. There was nothing to find here. The letters uncovered from the loose floorboard in the attic of Staton House appeared to be all they had. All right then. If there was nothing left to find, then Augustus was right. It was time for action. It was now or never, and never wouldn’t do.