“To the third floor.”
“Where on the third floor?” North asked in that same soft, dangerous voice.
“Just beneath the attic, charming chamber, really, so warm during the winter.”
To North’s surprise, Caroline laughed. “It was a good try, Tregeagle, but surely you couldn’t have believed you’d get away with it.”
“One only hoped that they would take a disgust of us and leave without saying a word.” Tregeagle sighed deeply, staring over Caroline’s right shoulder. “The oldest one, Mrs. Mayhew, she threatened to speak to you and thus I thought it would be more prudent if I gave you my words first.”
Caroline just shook her head at him. “Do see them all in the original chambers, Tregeagle. Do try to be patient. I know this is difficult, but you see, his lordship is now a married man and in the normal course of events, when this happens, females have to appear in the house.”
“No more nonsense, Tregeagle,” North said. “Do you quite understand me?”
“You are speaking so quietly, so grimly and darkly, it is impossible not to understand you, my lord. It is time for dinner. That is, Polgrain has prepared your dinner and her dinner. As for the rest of these people, I don’t know.”
North said in a perfectly pleasant voice, “Why don’t you come with me, Tregeagle, and we will discuss it. Also, I want to talk about strange faces pressed against windowpanes.” He winked at Caroline and took his housekeeper firmly by his arm and pulled him into the house. It occurred to Caroline that she should have been the one to pull Tregeagle’s arm with his body hopefully following, into the house. She should be the one to curtail his male cronyism. She was now the mistress and she had ensured that breakfast this morning was delicious, not North. Ah, but there was lots and lots of time for that. Instead, she saw to her three new female servants, soothing upset nerves, trying to explain to them about this male household.
Whatever North said to his minion, it appeared to have been successful, for dinner was served to six of them, four ladies and two gentlemen, a wonderful diversity of concoctions, from chicken in cream of curry sauce to ducks boiled in the French fashion, that was to say, covered in a rich Bordeaux, to flounder dressed with garlic and mustard.
Owen said, “I wish I could have seen you bargaining with that sod Bennett. At least he’s gone now, just like my father. You’re sure he signed everything, Caroline?”
“Mr. Brogan stood over him, watching his every move,” North said. “Don’t worry, Owen.”
“You see,” Owen said to Alice, “I told you everything would be taken care of. There’s no reason for you to ever be afraid again.”
“Amen,” Evelyn said. “Damned bloody sod.”
“Now, now,” Miss Mary Patricia said, “that isn’t what ladies say, Evelyn, even when truly moved by a male’s unpleasant behavior.”
Evelyn grinned impudently. “Very well. Bennett Penrose isn’t a very sterling human being.”
“Sterling,” Miss Mary Patricia said. “That’s an excellent word, Evelyn.”
“I heard his lordship say it to Miss Caroline. It had something to do with some performance of hers and his lordship sounded pleased, so I decided it must be something quite good.”
“Oh?” Owen said. “I didn’t know you played an instrument, Caroline.”
Everything continued along quite nicely until Tregeagle glided across the dining room, chin high, eyes straight ahead, stopping only when he reached North. He leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Dr. Treath is here, my lord. It seems that another Female Person has been killed.”
“What!” North reared out of his chair. “That’s bloody impossible, Tregeagle, you’re making it up.”
24
MRS. NORA PELFORTH was lying facedown on the beach at St. Agnes Head, her body rolled in by the tide. Her hair was matted ropes of dark red, one wrapped around the knife sticking out of her back. Most of her clothing had been torn off by the sea and rocks, and the large patches of bloated white flesh were scored raw and deep.
North knelt beside Benjamin Treath. “Can you tell how long she’s been in the water, sir?” There was no immediate answer, and North looked up at him. Dr. Treath’s head was bowed, his eyes closed, and his mouth was a thin line of pain.
“She was my friend,” Dr. Treath said, his voice as bowed as his shoulders. “Damn, North, she was my friend. She was so very kind to me after Eleanor was killed, listened to me, always welcomed me. She was always there whenever I couldn’t bear the pain. Damnation, North, I’m so tired of death, so very tired of it. And now more violent death. It’s too much, North, it’s simply too much.”
“Let’s get her out of here, sir. Give me the blanket so we may wrap her in it.”
It was as if he’d been in a trance. Dr. Treath raised his head and stared at North, then shook his head. “Forgive me. Yes, you’re right. She shouldn’t have to lie here any longer. Such beautiful red hair she had, and she was so proud of her hair, and now it’s all tangled in seaweed.”
Caroline was standing at the cliff edge with Owen and a good half dozen men from Goonbell and St. Agnes when North came up the winding path, the dead woman over his shoulder, Dr. Treath following at his heels.
“Aye,” a miner said, kicking his boot toe against a clod of earth. “Another one of our women, kilt dead.”
“Fer wot?”