3
Mary
Three days after her father's death, Mary was lounging in her father's library, reading whatever trash books that Davis could find for her at the chemist's. They were lurid and dramatic and had little of substance to distract from it. She looked for all the world like she was unaware of the death.
That was how she had hoped for it to look.
She laid there at awkward angles that were only possible thanks to having left off her corset. It had seemed like an intriguing notion at the time. She wanted to look disinterested and lazy, as well, so she'd gone along with it, and when Rebecca suggested that she put her corset on, Mary had told her to leave it off. The look on Rebecca's face alone had made the entire idea worth it.
Still, hours later, her dress fit poorly and she was endlessly adjusting herself to try to get a pinched bit of fabric out of her side. Suddenly she sat up with a start. What time was it?
She looked over to the clock, softly ticking at the front of the room. Past noon.
"Davis," she called out, hoping he was nearby. He was, as he always was.
"Ma'am?" He stepped through the door and waited for her to instruct him.
"Do you think it might be time for lunch?"
"Certainly, ma'am. I'll have the cooks prepare something immediately."
"Thank you," she answered, but she had already gone back to her novel. There was a stack of them, and she bet that she could be halfway through the second by the time she went to bed in the evening if she were quick.
There was one thing she was certain of. Her father's death was no accident, and he hadn't been suffering pneumonia. He was the picture of health, and he had always been careful to keep himself bundled up heavily. Lord Geis was a man who preferred warmth, did not engage in parties, and since her mother had died, he had largely kept to himself.
The notion that he might have become ill over the winter and died, without seeing a single doctor…
It was unthinkable. And that meant that whoever had concluded his death to have been caused by pneumonia was either incompetent or lying. It would have been comforting to believe it may have been incompetence. Mary didn't have that luxury. She needed to act on the assumption that there had been foul play involved.
Whatever someone might kill her father over would be an equally convincing reason to see her off along with him. The charade of a disinterested, lazy girl provided a wonderful mask.
Davis came back, announcing himself with a knock before pushing the door in and setting the platter on the desk Mary had set aside for herself. She thanked him and poured a glass of water from the pitcher he had brought in earlier that morning.
The food was lovely. A cut of beef steak and parsnips, and truffles set aside for a dessert. Mary smiled and for a moment she nearly felt herself again. There was reason for concern; she was certain of that. But more than that, she knew that things would go on. She would go on, even if it felt painful.
She'd devised the entire charade of her own incompetence to hide from the outside world while she dealt with her grief, and then with the threat that her family was facing, and that was enough for now.
She cut a bit of the steak and speared it with her fork. The cut was delicious-looking: thick, juicy, charred just so. Yet, when she put it in her mouth it tasted like ash. She closed her eyes and swallowed. The cook was not at fault, she knew. Rather, her mood was affecting her more than she had thought. Some day, things would be perfectly alright again. Until then, she ate to deal with the hunger, and drank to quench her thirst, and that was enough because it had to be enough.
When a knock came at the door, she waited for a moment. Only Davis knew where she was, and he would come in if he needed to speak to her for some reason. As expected, the door opened just enough to permit him to step through.
"Ah, ma'am, there is a Mr. James Poole here. He's asking after the head of the house."
"What on earth for? Send him away. I'm not receiving guests; it's not proper, Davis."
"Very good, ma'am. I would have done so immediately, of course, but he says that he is not here to visit, but was hired by your father before his passing."
Mary sat back against her chair and thought for a moment. Whoever had murdered her father would have an agent in the house. She was certain of that. She had guessed as much before, but she had assumed that they were already in the household staff. Very possibly, they had even been involved in the assassination themselves.
The notion that the spy might be an outside agent hadn't even occurred to her. If, indeed, this Mr. Poole might be a spy working for her father's assassins, then it would be a worrying sign to his handlers if he were sent away without a thought.
Further, she thought, if he were not a spy, and truly was hired by her father…he could prove an interesting entrant into the situation, as well.
Mary thought through the line of logic again, making sure that she hadn't missed anything important. Then she opened her eyes again and cut a bit of steak.
"Send him in, Davis. I'll need to make sure that everything is in order before I make a decision."
Davis paused before answering, but Mary didn't notice. "Yes, ma'am."
With that, he left the room silently. Mary listened to his steps grow quieter as he walked away. She swallowed another bite, and another. It was a mechanical action, and one she needed to keep up appearances with.
There was a knock at the door again.
"Come in."
The door opened and a man stepped through. Mary looked up and watched him. He was a big, strong man. She wondered what sort of job he might be here to do. With such broad shoulders, he looked like he was better suited to soldiering than he was to any genteel work.
With the war on, she wondered at it until she saw the pin on his lapel. She'd seen it before. A silver circle set around the King's cipher. Around the edge was the text: "For King and Country. Services Rendered."
He stepped through the door and looked up, seeming to take her measure in the same way that she had been taking his. And then, all of a sudden, he went stiff and turned immediately on his heel, facing the wall.
"I'm sorry, Miss Geis. I didn't realize—"
"How can I help you, Mr. Poole?"
"I was hired by a representative of your father, to act as a steward?"
"And so soon before his death?" Mary set her utensils down. "That seems suspicious, don't you think?"
"I couldn't say, Ma'am. I only know that I was contacted a month prior, with the offer of work, by a solicitor named Roy Stump. He claimed to work for the Geis estate, who wished to retain the services of a steward for his estate."
"My father is dead, sir, and whatever he's offered to pay you is not available."
"Surely I can work until the title is resolved, and then I can petition the new Lord…or Lady Geis for wage."
He was too young for a proper steward, Mary thought. He might have only just gotten out of university. What on earth would her father be thinking to hire such a person, even if he hired him through a representative?
"I presume you have some proof of your claims?"
Mr. Poole turned back to face her, keeping his eyes decidedly downcast. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a folded piece of paper, which he held at arm's length. Davis, who had been standing off to the side, took the paper and walked it over to her.
She opened it and started to skim over the text. Indeed, she was vaguely aware of Mr. Stump. Her father had mentioned him before. Here was her father's signature, and the signature of a James Poole. It seemed as if everything was in order, and he was offering to work without pay until someone with authority could address things.
He sounded positively desperate to work. She looked it over. A spy might be able to get such a piece of paper. The desperation was too obvious to ignore, as well. Whatever his intention was, she was certain that he would be playing into her enemies' hands somehow.
But the saying goes, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. She had no friends that she could be certain of. So she set the letter down.
"You know we won't be able to pay you, Mr. Poole."
"Yes, ma'am. Until someone else comes, I will have to wait. I understand, but please don't send me away."
"Very well." Mary took another bite, as if she had already moved on. The reality was that her mind was racing with possibilities. "Davis, see him to one of the guest bedrooms, will you? Our new steward has come all the way from London, and I'm sure he's very tired."