Mrs. Cantle and Cook exchanged glances. Mrs. Cantle answered. “Ferdinand, my lord. He knew what Lady Francesca was describing-he took great care-felt quite chuffed, he did-to be making it for her.”
“Ferdinand?”
Gyles looked at Francesca. He could see in her eyes her wish to deny all he was thinking.
Cook shuffled her feet. “If you don’t mind, m’lord, I’ll get rid of this wicked stuff.”
Gyles nodded. Cook picked up the bottle and left.
Wallace cleared his throat. “If you?
?ll pardon the comment, my lord, I would argue that Ferdinand is the least likely person to have used the dressing to poison Lady Francesca. He’s devoted to her ladyship, and despite his histrionics he’s been unfailingly good at his job; he’s ultimately done all we’ve asked of him. Ever since her ladyship arrived, he’s got on a great deal better with Cook, which was really the only odd kick in his gallop.”
Mrs. Cantle nodded in agreement. Gyles turned to find Irving nodding, too.
“And,” Wallace went on, “if Ferdinand wanted to poison anyone, he could do so, very easily and with a great deal less chance of being detected, by introducing poison into the more highly flavored dishes he prepares than by putting bitter almonds into her ladyship’s dressing.”
Gyles looked at them all. Given what he was feeling, it was difficult to incline his head and accept their argument. Eventually, he did so. “Very well. But then who put the poison in that bottle? Who has access to bitter almonds?”
Mrs. Cantle grimaced. “All you need is a kernal, my lord, and the trees are common-there’s three on the south lawn.”
Gyles stared at her.
A knock sounded on the door. Cook looked in. “Your pardon, m’lord, but I thought you’d want to know.” She came in, closed the door, then, drawing a deep breath, faced them all. “I was tipping the stuff down the drain when Ferdinand came up. He saw what I was doing and asked why. Well, he was about to fly into one of his Italian pelters, so I told him. He was shocked-well and truly shocked. Couldn’t say a word, at first. Then he said, ‘oh-but wait.’ Seems he used the last of an old bottle of almond oil-I do remember he hadn’t enough of the olive last time he made the dressing, and I told him where to find the almond. I use it in my sweet crusts, you see. And I remember him telling me he’d had to use the last bit.” Cook clasped her hands tightly. “So you see, it might have been the almond oil going bad that you all smelled.”
Gyles looked at Wallace, then at Mrs. Cantle. She nodded. “Could be.”
Gyles grimaced. “Bring the stuff back…”
Cook blanched. “Can’t, m’lord.” She wrung her hands. “I tipped it all down the drain and put the bottle to soak.”
Francesca was glad to spend the rest of the day quietly, catching up with the myriad decisions necessary to keep a house the size of Lambourn Castle functioning smoothly-decisions set aside while preparations for the Festival were under way. She and Wallace, Irving and Mrs. Cantle met late in the afternoon to make notes on what had worked well, and detail suggestions for next year. Gyles didn’t join them, but retired to the library; Francesca assumed he was sunk in his research.
She woke the next day to discover the sun shining weakly. She summoned Millie and dressed in her riding habit, mourning the loss of her cap but determined to let the matter lie. On reaching the breakfast parlor, she learned Gyles had already gone out riding, as she’d supposed. Finishing her toast, she headed for the stables.
“Aye-she’ll be eager for a run,” Jacobs said when she inquired after Regina. “I’ll have her saddled in a trice.”
He was as good as his word, leading the mare out and holding her steady while Francesca climbed into the saddle. She was settling her feet when she heard the clop of other hooves. Two grooms, mounted on two of Gyles’s hunters, ambled out of the stable.
She smiled, nodded, then, gathering Regina’s reins turned the mare toward the stable arch.
“The lads’ll hang back twenty yards or so, ma’am.”
Francesca halted. She blinked at Jacobs. “I’m sorry… I don’t understand.” She glanced past him to the grooms; they were clearly intending to follow her.
She looked back at Jacobs. The head stableman had flushed. “Master’s orders, ma’am.” He stepped closer so only she could hear. “He said as how you was not allowed out alone. If you wasn’t with him, I was to send two grooms with you.”
“Two?” Francesca forced her lips to relax. Whatever was going on wasn’t Jacobs’s fault. She glanced again at the grooms, then nodded. “As he wishes.”
With that, she tapped the mare’s side. Regina clattered out of the yard.
Francesca heard the grooms following. She’d intended to go up to the downs, to ride free and fast until she met Gyles. He’d be up there somewhere. They could have ridden together…
Frowning, she turned onto the track through the park.
She needed to think.
Gyles joined her at the luncheon table. Francesca smiled and chatted; he answered, but didn’t smile. Not that he frowned, but his eyes remained hooded, difficult to read. His expression said nothing at all.