Chapter Five
“I am in your debt, Mrs. Howell.”
Lady Harbury sat behind her elegant desk and gestured to the paperwork littering the surface. “I am eagerly anticipating the pleasures of arranging a Military Celebration for our Winter Ball, and honoring our fine fighting forces. But for the life of me I am lost when it comes to the inevitable smaller details.”
Charlotte laughed. “Those are the little things that are my meat and potatoes, my Lady. I’m very honored you invited me to assist with this wonderful project.” She glanced at the notes she’d taken during the last hour. “I believe I can locate Air Marshal Cardingham. My late husband attended university with Lawrence Cardingham and I think they were brothers.” She confirmed her supposition with a slight nod.
“Aha. So I was absolutely correct in requesting your help. What a fortuitous state of affairs.”
“Indeed.” Charlotte closed her notebook. “Well, I believe I should begin putting some lists together, my Lady.”
“We must have tea. Such a task requires sustenance.” She looked over Charlotte’s shoulder to the far end of her suite and beckoned. “Girl. Come here.”
Portia, who had watched the proceedings since she and Charlotte had arrived at Harbury Hall earlier that afternoon, hurried from her low stool near the door to join the ladies.
“Ma’am?” She curtseyed.
“Ring the bell for tea. Mrs. Howell and I need restoratives before we begin our great endeavor. And after it arrives, we shall enjoy some companionable time, so you may take yourself off to the kitchens until we summon you.”
“Very good, m’Lady.” She followed instructions and tugged on the bell rope, knowing from her brief experiences within the Harbury kitchens that a tray would even now be on its way, filled with teapots and cups and saucers, not to mention an assortment of the delicacies expected at a proper ladies’ afternoon tea with guests.
Within moments, she was proved correct and she found herself pouring for both ladies, ensuring they had everything they needed within reach. Charlotte glanced at her. “I believe we can manage from here. Thank you Mary.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Portia curtseyed and quietly left the room. She would be expected to stay close, and there were chairs positioned in the hall for just that purpose.
She ignored them as she gently shut the door. It was likely that the exchange of tea and biscuits would last no more than the customary half hour, but that was thirty minutes that Portia had to herself and she was determined to take advantage of it.
She walked down the hall toward the rear of the building.
“What are you doing here, Jones?”
The stern words made her jump and she turned to see Malcolm, the Harbury butler, frowning at her from a doorway.
Thinking quickly, she curtseyed. “Mr. Malcolm, sir. Good afternoon to you. I was lookin’ for the lady’s withdrawing room. I’m Mrs. Howell’s companion now, and she’s takin’ tea with my Lady Harbury.”
He huffed. “Down that corridor and take the stairs at the end. Turn right. Don’t you be making any messes either, girl.”
“Oh no, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” She curtseyed again.
“Well go on then. Don’t shilly shally.” He turned away, a gruff mumble sounding as he disappeared into the room.
Portia drew in a breath and then decided that being cautious was her best bet at this time. She followed his instructions to the letter and found the small room set aside for personal use. It was clearly designed for senior household staff and visiting attendants, and she spared a moment to appreciate the small bunch of fresh flowers, the attractive pitcher and ewer and the small clean towels.
Somebody still took care of the amenities in the Hall. It was a small thing, but Portia had learned that observing as many small things as possible sometimes filled in the bigger picture. A lesson from the Inspector.
Leaving the withdrawing room, she cursed silently, wishing she were more familiar with the layout of the house itself. She would have loved to take a few quick turns and end up in Lord Harbury’s office. But that was not only unlikely but also risky, so she contented herself with walking slowly back up the stairs and along the passage, noting the number of rooms and peering inside when an open door offered the opportunity.
One room toward the end intrigued her. There was music coming from it now, although it had been silent when she first passed. The door was ajar and the light of a fire flickered against dark green walls.
She peered around it, realizing it was a fully equipped music room, with a fine pianoforte beneath the windows, and music stands beneath other instruments nested in cases along wide shelves.
The music stopped. “Come in. I should enjoy an audience for a few moments.”
The voice was smooth and with a slight accent, and Portia peered further around the door to see an elegant gentleman with a full beard and magnificent moustache holding a cello.
“I mean it. Herkommen, come in.” He beckoned her with the hand holding the bow.
She inched her way in and dropped a deep curtsey. “I’m sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to be a bother…”
“Do you like music?” He gestured to a small chair near the pianoforte.
She sat. “Oh yes, sir. ‘‘Tis lovely. Especially the way you play.” She nodded at the instrument between his knees. “Like a song from someplace magical.”
He smiled, a gentle curve of his moustache accompanied by a crinkling of the skin around his eyes. Portia couldn’t help but smile back.
“A lovely compliment, Fraulein.” He drew the bow across the strings eliciting a smooth chord. “I am flattered that my humble attempts encourage even the least amongst us to think extraordinary thoughts.”
His accent was a little stronger as he spoke, and Portia recognized a Germanic edge; her father had entertained a party of Germans several years before and she’d been fascinated by some of their words. His invitation to enter had sounded familiar. Herkommen. She had heard it many times over that summer…come here.
Aware that she was in the presence of the mysterious German Baron, she carefully perched on the edge of a chair and straightened her cap, lowering her gaze in a typical gesture of maid to master.
“What is your name?” He continued to play, almost absently, letting a sweet melody fill the room.
She felt herself adrift on the music and the sound of his voice. “My name?” She glanced up at him and found his dark gaze fixed solidly on her face. It brought her out of her haze with a snap. “Jones, sir. Mary Jones. I’m here with Mrs. Howell as her companion.”
“Ah. The lady who is to assist our gracious Lady Alwynne in organizing this event for the military, yes?”
He bent his head and let his hands produce a lilting and buoyant arpeggio, full of life and energy. “It will be a special evening for so many, I understand.”
Once again, Portia found herself lost in the combination of his soothing voice and his haunting music. She did not recognize anything he’d played thus far, but everything she’d heard was melodious and appealing. Almost as if it had been composed just for her.
“And you, Mary Jones. What will you be doing? Will you manage to enjoy a waltz with some handsome young airman?”
The bow danced over the strings in three-four time, making Portia think of waltzes, silk gowns and the swirl of colors in a brilliant ballroom.
“I-I don’t know…” She held her breath as the music rose and fell, her mind unable to focus, her thoughts adrift. “Perhaps, although I don’t know how to waltz. I prefer a quadrille.” She smiled as she remembered the exasperation of her dancing master as he attempted to teach both her and her sister Miranda the correct way to waltz. Miranda had understood immediately. To the practical Portia, the free-flowing movements were less easily mastered. She liked a little more structure, even when dancing.
“You smile. A good memory, I hope.”
On a small gasp, she recalled where she was. “Oh goodness, sir. I beg your pardon. My lady will be needing me.” She eased from the chair and started to move to the door. “Thank you ever so much for the lovely music. ‘Twas really nice.”
She scurried from the room, her heart thundering. What the devil had happened in there? She’d sat and dreamed as if there was nothing more important to do than reminisce about her sister.
Well, Miranda was gone. She’d lost her and knew deep inside that she’d never see her again. Miranda’s disappearance had begun the vast adventure that now comprised Portia’s world. It was a time of danger and unexpected terrors and certainly not a time for daydreaming.
There was something about that German and his music. Her skin chilled as she realized how close she had been to leaning back in that chair and closing her eyes, luxuriating in the sound of a well-played cello. Not the sort of behavior for a lady’s companion.
Meanwhile, in the room she had just left, Baron von Landau stared into the fire and wondered what kind of companion preferred the quadrille to the waltz. And then tried to remember if he’d ever met a servant who could manage either of them.
There was something about that girl…
*~~*~~*
Inspector Burke watched Portia’s face as she related the episode over dinner that evening. They had gathered at Applewood Cottage, where Charlotte and Portia spent much of their time when they weren’t at Burke’s small residence. Charlotte had prepared a simple repast that they were all enjoying, as Portia told her tale.
“It was strange.” She pondered her green beans.
“In what way?” Devon, seated beside her at the small dining room table, turned his head as he asked the question.
She paused then shook her head slightly. “I wish I could say. He didn’t stare at me or make any gestures or anything. And yet when he played those soft chords and spoke to me about nothing in particular, it was as if I was suddenly calm. As if the world was a glowing place and I was part of it, relaxed and at ease with everything.” She glanced across the table. “I believe he may have some sort of skill at mesmerizing people.”
Charlotte chuckled. “Oh, Portia, no. Really…that is so hard to believe.”
“Well, now, wait a moment.” Burke frowned. “This is Baron von Landau we’re talking about. Apparently the man has a solid reputation as a doctor of the mind. He has more than a few tributes from people who have benefited from his attentions—enough that he has been mentioned in several common press articles. One has to assume he does have some solid qualifications.”
“He seems most pleasant.” Portia looked at Burke. “Truly, there was nothing menacing about him. It was rather unexpected, actually, given that he’s a guest of the Harburys.”
“And that’s the sticking point.” Devon gestured with his fork, ignoring the chunk of roast potato adorning the tines. “What is such a person doing at Harbury? And is he in any way part of the experiment that blew McCardle’s brains out through his nostrils?”
Charlotte stared at her plate and swallowed. “I think I just lost my appetite.”
“I’m sorry...” Devon looked distraught. “I didn’t think…”
“No, dear, that’s quite all right.” Charlotte pushed her plate aside. “I was almost finished and you asked a very valid question.”
Oblivious to the subtleties, Portia speedily disposed of what was left of her pork chop. “Well I can’t say for sure that the Baron was involved because he was very nice to me and didn’t ask me to turn around so that he could drill a hole in the back of my head.” She delicately dipped a small piece of bread in the remains of her gravy and chewed enthusiastically. “But he’s there, at Harbury. And that sort of puts him under an air of suspicion, doesn’t it?”
She became aware of the silence in the room as she placed her knife and fork on her now empty plate. “What?”
The three of them were staring at her.
Burke couldn’t help a grin. “Oh to be young again.”
“What did I do?”
Charlotte smiled as well. “Nothing Portia. You are, as always, unique.”
Devon merely put his arm around Portia’s shoulders and hugged her. “Ignore them. They are envious of your acuity. And your appetite.”
“Oh pooh.”
The laugh was general and everyone joined in. But even during the moment of good cheer, the Inspector’s mind was at work.
Why was the Baron at Harbury Hall? He had to have had Lord Harbury’s approval since he was the one holding the reins at the Hall. Certainly Lady Alwynne’s incapacitation rendered her ineffectual, at least for the time being.
“Did Lady Harbury mention him? The Baron?” He directed his question to Charlotte.
She thought for a moment. “I don’t believe so. But she did give me a preliminary list of invitees. We’re to work on the formal invitations for her, which I don’t mind doing. Firstly, I’ve done more than a few events like this before, and secondly it allows us to keep tabs on who exactly is on the list. Always good to know who is about to arrive and whether we should worry or not.”
Burke grimaced. “This is not the way life should be.”
“We’re all agreed on that point, James.” Devon’s voice was firm. “It is a terrible thing to be so suspicious. But we all know—from first-hand experience—that we are dealing with someone far beyond the pale of normality. Suspicion is to be expected. Encouraged even.”
“Only for now.” Portia rested her hand on Devon’s arm. “Only for now.”
He smiled at her. “Yes, love. Only for now.”
“Right.” Charlotte stood. “Portia, if you would give me a hand with the dishes, we’ll let the gentlemen pop into the parlor and check on the fire.” She glanced at them sternly. “You may pour each of us a small drop of that Scottish heaven you love, James. Then you and Devon will leave us to it. Portia will stay with me tonight since we must make a start on the project and can best do so without distraction.”
Burke smiled at her. “Are we that much of a distraction, love?”
“Yes, dammit.” She beamed at him as she ferried plates from the table into the little kitchen.
“Go away, Burke. You make a good door but a terrible window.” Portia nudged him aside.
“I am disconsolate.” He hung his head.
“We shall be disconsolate together,” added Devon. “There’s that excellent Scotch in the parlor. Old Disconsolate. Aged for decades.”
Charlotte threw a dishtowel at him.
Burke chuckled as he and Devon left the ladies to their chores. In truth he was not upset to get the chance to speak privately with the other man for a few moments.
“Do you know anything of von Landau?” He came straight to the point.
Devon shook his head. “Not a thing. Remember I’ve been out of circulation for a long time, James. I’m sure I missed a lot.”
“There are some rumors about him. He’s a well-known name in his field, certainly. But something less than pleasant occurred during his tenure in some smaller German facility—an above-average number of unexplained disappearances.”
Devon’s eyebrows drew together. “A connection?”
“Never proved.” Burke poured liquid amber into four small glasses. “But ‘twas said the wolves ate well that year. And the number of vanished villagers dropped significantly after the Baron’s departure.”
“And yet he’s well-known, you said.”
“Indeed he is. His papers and scholarly research on the human mind have been complimented and cited by more than a few prestigious educational institutions.”
“So what the devil is he up to here?”
“That, my dear Devon, is what I would very much like to know.”