Good Lord! The old lady had the thought processes of a damned efficient general, Joe decided. “The Old Nursery?” he questioned, mystified.
“Yes. That is where Lavinia had chosen to put her guest. Another little calculated cruelty. She showed the girl to her room herself. I can imagine why and I’m sure you can imagine why …‘This is the room James and I had decorated last week in anticipation of a joyful and long-awaited event … Yes! We are to have our happiness completed, though I must swear you to secrecy, my dear …’ I’m pretty sure she deliberately leaked news of her supposed condition. The servants were openly gossiping about it. Even my son Alexander managed to rouse himself from his stupor to ask me if I’d heard his brother’s good news. But the autopsy which James had the sense to insist on showed that it was all in her imagination or calculatedly misleading.”
“Did your footman follow her to the stables?”
“He did. Sadly not with any sense of urgency, however—Ben calculated that as she was in riding habit and heading for the horses, she was about to take her early morning ride a little earlier than usual and that his responsibility was at an end.”
Joe understood. A footman’s territory did not extend into the grounds. Their polished shoes venture no further than the tiled floor of the dairy.
“Ben knew he’d been posted to protect a guest from her ladyship. He had no instruction to protect her ladyship from her own folly. He was merely doing what I’d told him to do, staying out of sight whilst ensuring that she didn’t double back and become again a threat to her guest. I have not blamed him. Nor should you. He stopped to have a chat with a kitchen maid who was lighting the fires. However, when he heard the commotion he ran to investigate. Too late. He stayed at the scene, although in terror of the horse, and sent the two stable lads she’d coerced into accompanying her back to the house to raise the alarm. The vet and the doctor were instantly called while Ben stayed on guard over the body.”
“Brave chap,” Joe murmured. “What a scene!”
“But why, Sandilands? Why? And why am I so certain that her death was no accident? It was all so out of character. Visiting the farm horses before breakfast without notifying the head horseman? Madness!”
“I can explain all that,” said Joe. “But I agree with you that she was put up to it, her foray into the stable of an injured and aggressive horse calculatedly risky.”
She listened quietly as he told her of his interview with the vet’s daughter, her evidence and theories, and the conclusion he and Hunnyton, pooling their knowledge of horse-craft, had arrived at.
“Horse witchery? How very medieval!” Cecily had listened entranced, entertained, aghast. “Not sure that I can accept all you tell me, but … it does make a certain awful sense,” she said finally. “And I would always listen with attention to your two advisers. Hunnyton is shrewd and sound and the best authority I know on the handling of horses. His father Hunnybun, whom I knew, was deeply involved with ‘gentling,’ as they call breaking-in horses down here, and I’m sure the son absorbed his knowledge. I have met Doctor Hartest. A sensible young woman with her wits about her. Attractive and personable too. I’d rather marked her down for my Alex.” She sighed. “I’ve given up hope of his ever securing a rich, well-bred girl so he might as well have a competent woman who’ll understand his condition and care for him.”
Joe managed to reply affably, “Splendid idea! We men all dream of marrying our nurse.” He resolved to find out—but not from the boy’s own mother—exactly what condition was so dire the suffering Alex was thought to need a lifetime’s care from a physician.
Cecily’s hostess’s mind was still running on matchmaking. “We shall be a lady short for dinner tomorrow night. I wonder … Do you think Adelaide Hartest would be insulted if I sent her a last-minute invitation? Do you suppose she has evening dress down here in the country? I’ve met her once or twice in church and observed her to be neatly dressed and well spoken. Though I note she stomps around the village in dungarees and gumboots. The question is: is she a lady?”
Joe should not have been surprised or irritated by her snobbery. He reminded himself that Cecily’s attitudes had been formed in the Victorian Age and her perspective must always have been that of the minor aristocracy, constantly aware of status and class and seeking to improve or at least uphold what she saw as her family’s place in society.
“Doctor Hartest is an intelligent, professional woman who has lived her life until recently in London. She is articulate and humorous and would adorn any Mayfair soirée.” The firmness of his judgement based on one encounter surprised even Joe.