If Georges was gloating, it was impossible to detect because he was surrounded by his crew. Mrs. Foot wheeled the trolley forward and Mr. Plunket and Boris assisted her in handing around cups of tea and setting down plates of fabulous-looking sandwiches, scones, and cakes on available surfaces. I was pleased and proud to see that Mrs. Malloy had come out of her sulks to join Livonia in comforting Molly.
“Now come on,” she held a teacup to the rigid lips, “it’s all over. And a poor excuse for a ghost she was-no wailing or icy chill. I’d be ashamed if it was me not to make more of an effort, but there you are; like I always say, there’s some as put their best foot forward and others as do the minimum. How about one of Mr. H’s nice ham rolls?”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Not on me, you’re not.”
“Just a bite, Molly,” Livonia urged. “I can’t believe I wasn’t terrified. This morning I would have bolted for my car.”
“We all knew coming here,” Wanda drank her tea with pinky raised, “that adjusting to whatever Mucklesfeld offered was key. Being a romantic, though, I have to admit I’m a little disappointed that there aren’t more of the usual type of reality show moments of alone time with his lordship, walks in the rose garden under the moonlight, intimate dinners for two in the gazebo.”
“The gazebo is in ruins along with the gardens,” Judy pointed out practically.
“Whatever the state of his property,” Alice again poked at her abundant hair, and spread a hand caressingly over her flowing skirt, “Lord Belfrey is more of a dreamboat than I dared to hope for. Even his Christian name, Aubrey, it couldn’t be more right! So distinguished. Not the forgettable sort like Jim or Tom.”
“I think Tom is a lovely name.” This from Livonia, but I stopped listening. Something had clicked into place for me… what it was Nora Burton had said that had afterwards niggled. When standing in the hall at Witch Haven, I mentioned that Here Comes the Bride was getting under way at Mucklesfeld and if sufficient drama wasn’t produced, Georges would have a tantrum. Her response had been to ask if I was talking about Lord Belfrey. At the time it had seemed understandable, seeing that she was new to Witch Haven, but was it? Moments later, Celia Belfrey had spoken of her cousin as Aubrey. Wasn’t it likely she had done so previously? Could it be that Nora Burton had been overplaying her role of discreet paid companion? If so, why? A thrill coursed through me. Who was Nora Burton? Could it possibly be…? I recalled his lordship asking me on the night of arrival if Ellie was short for Eleanor. I needed to get away and think. Georges provided the opportunity. He beckoned to me and informed me that I was free to leave.
“The next segment will be his lordship joining the contestants for a group chat, and you, my dear, would be de trop. Help yourself to whatever you wish from the tea trolley on your way out. No cause to mope, Mrs. Haskell, your services will be required again.” He swung the wheelchair away with all the aplomb of a Roman charioteer prepared to mow down lions and Christians alike.
I prepared to make good my escape by piling a plate high with goodies but deciding against a cup of tea. That I could get in the kitchen from Ben, which would be preferable to a solitary ponder. I was within a foot of the door when a scream even louder than the one hurled from Molly Duggan rent the air. Turning, I beheld all the contestants on their feet, but it was Wanda who appeared to be doing some sort of tribal dance while still emitting that dreadful sound to a grim chorus of the word Rat!
“No need to carry on so!” Mrs. Foot’s voice conveyed both contempt and annoyance. “You’re all frightening the little precious! Isn’t that right, Mr. Plunket and Boris?”
“They are at that, Mrs. Foot.” Mr. Plunket nodded.
“I’ll get him for you, Mrs. Foot.” Boris made a move toward Wanda, who was now clutching at the bust of which she was so justifiably proud.
“It came down my neck. I’ll never get past the feel of its vile fur and horrible raw tail.” Gone-perhaps never to return-was the bubbly woman flush with her own charms. Clearly she had missed landing on Lady Annabel or she would have fled.
Despite Judy Nunn’s efforts to calm her down, she was out the door, to be heard racing up the stairs, alternately sobbing and swearing. Alas, the library was not to be left in relative peace. Molly began weeping, and Mrs. Malloy overrode all other voices to state that her George had once asked if he could have a pet rat and she’d told him over his dead body! Meanwhile, Mrs. Foot, Mr. Plunket, and Boris had all dropped to their knees and were crawling around the floor making crooning noises. A pink nose twitched a whiskered peek out from under a chair, and before anyone else started screaming, Mrs. Foot was staggering to her feet with the little darling in her hands. Her cooing voice with accompaniment by Mr. Plunket and Boris followed me out of the library.
Let Georges restore order in there, not that Wanda didn’t have my utmost sympathy. I made for the kitchen, plate in hand, and to my delighted relief Ben was there in his temporary kingdom. His face lit up at seeing me. My heart sang, but rushing into his arms might have caused the loss of my spoils, so I just stood smiling at him as I said: “Alone at last!”
“Sweetheart!” He removed the plate, set it on the table, and gathered me to him, kissing me with tender passion, before asking my forgiveness for earlier. “I was completely out of line; don’t know what got into me going off on you like that.”
“It’s this house, darling! For the past thirty years or so it has been steeped in misery, haunted by whatever emotions-venomous anger or grief-that Sir Giles Belfrey felt, coupled with the spite of his daughter, Celia, toward his wife.” I reached for a cucumber sandwich. “Do you have time now to talk about all that? I’d like to get your thoughts…”
Life at Mucklesfeld was a series of interruptions. Lord Belfrey came through the kitchen door, his presence as it must always do transforming the most mundane of surroundings into something grand.
“Am I intruding?” His smile extended to both of us, but his dark eyes appeared intent only upon my face. Fortunately, if Ben noticed, he gave no sign.
“Not at all,” we both said together.
“I wanted to thank you, Mr. Has… Ben… for the wonderful meals you are providing, and,” a hesitation, “no offense intended, to stress the necessity of making sure any alcohol is put where Mr. Plunket is unlikely to find it. He’s done so well over recent months and for his sake I’d like to prevent a relapse.”
“Of course,” Ben responded with equal seriousness. “I found a couple of old metal bread boxes that from the dust on them hadn’t been touched in years way to the back of the top pantry shelf. They’re back up there, considerably heavier.”
“I appreciate it.” His lordship nodded. “Better safe than sorry. Mr. Plunket admitted to me that he was a violent drunk. Terrible thing, alcoholism-an illness, no doubt about that. Could be the fate of any of us. Sorry to put you to the trouble climbing stepladders.”
“There was a bonus.” Ben smiled. “When getting down the bread boxes, I found a torch I needed to look into the cooker.”
“If it’s not strong enough, there’s one in my desk with a really powerful beam.”