Anne thought it wise to let Sir Harry know from the beginning what could be expected of her. Later on, she would offer to entertain occasionally. “I have come mainly to be helpful to your son, Charlie. When might I meet him?”
“At dinner. Mr. Critchley's looking after the boy temporarily. They're taking a walk in the garden.” Rogers put his hand at her elbow and guided her to the door. “Dinner will be in two hours. Lord Jeff's in the hall and will show you to your room.”
At the door, Anne turned to Sir Harry. “If I may be allowed to ask, sir, why do you call him Lord Jeff? It would seem an odd name for a slave.”
Rogers smiled, his eyes hooded, then beckoned the footman. “What is your Christian name?”
“Jeffery, sir.” The man spoke out clearly in a deep soft lilting voice.
“And who was your father?” Rogers affected a serious mien.
“A great warrior in Africa, a noble in the service of his king.” The footman appeared to raise his chin a little higher.
“So, Miss Cartier, there you have it: Lord Jeff!” Rogers burst out laughing.
Anne stared at the black man. His face was impossible to read. Was this some kind of cruel joke?
Rogers' mood turned serious. Pride flashed in his eyes. He stepped out into the hall and gestured to Anne's large trunk. Jeffery hoisted it effortlessly to his shoulder. Rogers patted the black man's upper arm, bulging in the sleeves of his coat. “Like his father, Jeff's also a great warrior, the best boxer in Britain. He'll soon prove it, too.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jeffery, his lips frozen in the hint of a smile.
***
Anne's room was located in the southwest corner of the chamber story. Jeffery went in first with the trunk, laid it down, and pulled the drapes aside. As Anne and Harriet entered, the sun broke through the clouds and flooded the room with light. The footman bowed and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
From the center of the room, arms crossed on her chest, Anne examined the furnishings with a critical eye. A few nondescript engravings hung on the cream-colored walls. A large sofa stood against a wall. There were a table and some upholstered chairs by the window. The furniture and rugs were worn and mismatched, though of decent quality. An ornate mirror stretched nearly from floor to ceiling.
Harriet, who had been observing Anne, remarked, “A curious mixture, isn't it. After the original owner died, the heirs took out whatever could be moved and sold.” She pointed to the mirror. “That's built right into the wall, or they would have taken it too. When Harry leased Combe Park a few years ago, he furnished the house with items from an estate sale. These chamber story rooms mean little to him. It's different downstairs where he meets the public.”
“The wealthy people he wants to impress,” Anne remarked, surprised again by her friend's knowledge of Sir Harry's affairs and her familiar use of his name.
Harriet shrugged. “I suppose that's true.” This line of thought seemed to carry Harriet into deeper, troubled waters. Creases of concern appeared on her brow. “Sometimes I think he puts a price on everything, even people. But that's how men are.”
***
While Harriet rested on the sofa, Anne lay restless on the bed, her mind preoccupied by Mary Campbell's fate. She roused her friend. “We have a little time before dinner, Harriet. I want to see where Mary fell to her death.”
“Then come with me.” Harriet led her down the hall into a narrow unlighted side corridor. A plain door opened to a small landing from which steep stairs ascended to the floor above and descended to the floor below. “She was found down there.” Harriet pointed to the landing below. “The doctor who examined Mary said the fall bruised her head and body, but she died of a broken neck.”
Anne stood silently staring at the stairway. “It's easy to see how she could have tripped on her skirts or caught her heel on a step.” She imagined servants hurrying up and down, often careless or distracted. “I'm amazed that the builder of this house thought so little of his servants' safety.” She shook her head. “What puzzles me most is why Mary was here in the middle of the night.”
Harriet appeared reluctant to reply. “Malicious gossips say she was hastening to a tryst with a lover. Captain Fitzroy is one of those mentioned.”
“That's hard to believe,” said Anne. “But I haven't seen the captain. Come, Harriet, this place depresses me. Let's go back to my room.”
***
A short while later, Jeffery announced dinner and led the way downstairs. The two women were waiting in the hall outside the dining room, when a tall thin man approached with little Charlie. Anne greeted the boy with a kiss. His eyes brightened but he remained silent and stiff, working the corners of his mouth as if about to cry. He seemed thinner and more withdrawn than when she had last seen him.
Mr. Critchley bowed slightly to Anne. “We've been out for a walk in the garden to work up Charlie's appetite for dinner. Sir Harry thinks the boy needs more meat on his bones.” Critchley was a middle-aged man, wizened-faced, as if life had drained out of him. Everything about him seemed long and thin: legs, arms, fingers, hair, head. He spoke with a cultivated tongue in nasal tones and in precise clipped phrases. His eyes were set deep and narrow. He looked down at Charlie and patted his head. Anne thought the boy shuddered.
“I'll leave him with you,” remarked the tutor, offering the semblance of a smile. Harriet also excused herself and followed him into the dining room. Anne was alone with the boy.
Tears filled Charlie's eyes. Trembling, he attempted to speak but could not form the words. “I'm so glad to see you,” he finally said. “I want to go back to Hackney. All my friends are there. I hate Bath, and especially this place.”
Anne hugged him, calmed him with the promise of a long talk after dinner.
The family had gathered near the table to meet Anne. The first person to approach her was Lady Margaret, a stunning beauty in a silk gown worked with gold on a green ground, a wheatsheaf of emeralds in her lustrous auburn hair. She inspected Anne with a cursory glance. “You have trained with the deaf in Paris, Miss Cartier. How interesting.” Her voice lacked even a trace of enthusiasm. “I'm sure Charlie will appreciate your instruction.” She glided toward her chair at the lower end of the table. Sir Harry gave Anne a broad smile and patted her on the arm. He sat himself at the opposite end of the table. Critchley mumbled something through tight lips and sat to the right of Sir Harry. Finally, William Rogers sauntered up to her and smirked. “We're an odd bunch, aren't we!”
“William!” exclaimed Lady Margaret.
The young man ignored her and took a chair to his uncle's left. Sir Harry seemed unperturbed by his ward's display of insolence. Anne and Harriet sat opposite one another in the middle of the table, and Charlie next to Anne and to his mother's right. The chair to her left remained empty.
“I thought your cousin said he was coming to dinner,” said Sir Harry, addressing his wife, a clear note of irritation in his voice.
“Business in the city has delayed him slightly. He is in his room, dressing, and will join us after the soup.” She gave an order to Jeffery at the sideboard. He began to ladle clear broth from a porcelain tureen, then helped a maid serve the table. Leaning around Anne, he placed a steaming bowl on her plate. For a moment, his musty scent enveloped her. His hand was huge, his fingers thick. She noticed scars on his knuckles. From the boxing, she supposed, though she knew little about the sport. She watched him serving the soup to the others, then later clearing away the bowls. He moved gracefully, light of foot and supple of body. Amazing for such a large man.
In the interval following the soup course, Captain Fitzroy entered the dining room. Lady Margaret gave him a sidelong glance, then touched the empty chair to her left. He stood, his hands gripping the back of the chair, while she introduced him to Anne. He stared at her quizzically for a moment, as if she were somehow familiar to him. “Mademoiselle Cartier from Paris,” he remarked in French. “Perhaps we've met in the Palais-Royal. Or, at the variety theater.”
“Perhaps.” Anne smiled with a shrug of her shoulders. She could not recall ever having seen him, but he might well have watched her performing on stage. She sat back and observed him speaking to his cousin. His hair was black and wavy, hers was rich auburn; his eyes soft blue, hers green. But there was also a likeness. Similar fine facial features: high forehead, aquiline nose, full sensuous mouth. His skin had browned and coarsened from years in the military. Hers was still clear, and as smooth as Dorset cream.
Anne glanced to her left at Charlie, who stared at Fitzroy across the table. She studied the boy's beautiful profile, his black wavy hair, then nudged him. He turned to her, his soft blue eyes expectant, a sweet smile on his fine featured face. Good God! It dawned on her, what Harriet had earlier insinuated. The captain was Charlie's father.
Surely not, Anne thought. Nature had merely played a trick among relatives. Persons hungry for scandal had leaped to an absurd conclusion.
At that moment, she sensed a hush had come over the room. All eyes had fixed on her, watching her reaction. Her throat tightened, rendering her speechless. She felt her face flush with embarrassment. Sir Harry sat back, his usually animated face now a rigid, unsmiling mask. His wife reclined in her chair, her chin thrust out as if defiant. Captain Fitzroy settled into his place, spread a napkin on his lap, seemingly oblivious to the conspiracy of silence around him. From across the table, Harriet winked, “I told you so.”
It was Harriet who broke the spell. “Sir Harry. Tell us about the boxing match you're arranging for next week.” She glanced at the black footman standing impassively at the sideboard. “Is Lord Jeff getting ready?”
Rogers forced a smile; he appeared to appreciate Harriet's intervention. “Yes, indeed. He trained all morning in the tennis hall, sparred with Sam the Bath butcher.” Conventional table conversation then took over. The tension in the air dropped to a bearable level. Anne carried on as if nothing untoward had happened. But she couldn't help thinking: something dreadful is going to happen here.
***
After dinner, Harriet left for the city and Anne returned to her room in the chamber story. She paced back and forth, reflecting on her meeting with the family. Their indifference to Charlie distressed her greatly. They had ignored him at the table. Even more troubling was the intimation of scandal concerning his parentage.
She approached the large wall mirror, removed the pins from her hair, and shook it loose. Her brow creased with concern. Behind the family's facade of polite manners, a crisis was building, though she couldn't see the shape of it clearly.
In front of the mirror she managed to unhook and untie herself from her clothing. She had just changed into a dressing gown when someone knocked on the door. She opened to Charlie Rogers, who stood uncertain in the antechamber between their rooms. At her beckoning he entered hesitantly. She guessed he had come to unburden himself.
He attempted to speak but was so upset that he slurred and garbled the words. His lips quivered and he cried. Anne put her arm over his shoulder and held him until he grew calm. Then, she faced him and encouraged him to tell her what was the matter.
“When I try to speak, people ignore me or make a face. At Braidwood's school I can talk to people and they listen.”
As he grew more composed, his eyes began to dart around the room, as if he were afraid someone would spy on him. His gaze seemed to catch on the wall mirror. Anne became suspicious. If he whispered in her ear, she assured him, he could safely tell her what was wrong.
He nodded, then warned her in his flat monotone, “Don't look. There are peep holes in the frame of that mirror.”
“Do you know if anyone is spying on us now?”
“I don't think so. Master Critchley and William have gone to Spring Gardens this evening.”
She studied the mirror closely and discovered holes in the deeply recessed eye sockets of a faun sculpted on the left side of the mirror's frame. She checked the matching faun on the right side and found two similar peep holes.
“How did you find out about these?” she asked.
“One day, when I was on the servants' stairway, I saw Master Critchley and William in front of the storeroom next to your room, trying to see if anyone was coming. They didn't see me, so they sneaked in. A few days later, I was in the storeroom getting a blanket when I saw the door handle move. I guessed it was them. I ducked under a table. They came in. I watched them open up the wall. When they left, I did what they had done and found the peep holes.”
“Show me.” Anne went into the hallway and looked up and down. No one in sight. She gestured to the boy. He took her by the hand and led her into the storeroom, a place for drapes and bedding. Charlie pulled a hidden lever in a tall case. It turned on a pivot, opening up a shallow windowless closet. Two stools stood against the opposite wall below two sets of peep holes, each concealed by thin sliding panels. Anne opened one of the panels and peered into her own room. With mounting anger, she imagined Miss Mary Campbell standing in front of that mirror, brushing her hair, disrobing.
She closed the panel and returned with the boy to her room. Were the men content merely to watch the young tutor? A suspicion began to dawn on Anne. Could this violation of the girl's privacy have had anything to do with her death?
“Did you ever see Master Critchley or William bother Miss Mary?”
“Yes, Mr. Critchley. One day I saw him sneak into her room. I told her, and she went in and caught him. He shut the door behind them. So I went into the storeroom to watch through the peep holes.”
“What did you see?”
“Miss Campbell had her back to me. I don't know what she said. She was shaking her finger at Mr. Critchley. Six silver spoons were on the table. Mr. Critchley was facing me up close, so I could read his lips. He said, don't tell anyone or he'd say she stole the spoons. Then she'd be hung. She threw the spoons at him and pointed to the door. His face looked angry. He picked up the spoons and left.”