Page 51 of Winterset

She had forgotten how much she enjoyed Reed’s conversation, how witty he could be, the way his gray eyes danced with amusement. In quiet moments, she found herself turning to look at him, her eyes drawn to the full curve of his lower lip, the firm line of his jaw. Once, feeling her eyes on him as he read, Reed glanced up, and a slow smile spread across his face. Anna could not keep from smiling back, and she ducked her head quickly, returning her eyes to the pages she had been reading.

In every moment that they spent together, there was always the subtle running undercurrent of attraction between them. When he smiled, heat curled within her abdomen, and when he laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling up, she felt a visceral tug. Anna could not look at his hands without thinking of the way his fingers had felt on her skin. When they looked together at a piece of paper, they leaned closer in, and his scent, his warmth, stirred her, making it hard for her to concentrate.

She wanted him, wanted him perhaps more than she had three years ago. He had never kissed her three years ago in that raw, desperate way in which he had kissed her at Kyria’s party, and that kiss had awakened something within her that was strong and primal, a hunger she had not felt before, even when she had been most in love with him. He was older and harder, and the changes in him drew her. He no longer treated her, she noticed, as if she were made of glass, and she enjoyed it.

After examining the doctor’s notes, Reed and Anna decided the best course would be to try to locate someone who might have had more immediate knowledge of the case. Since Susan Emmett had been a servant at Winterset, they set out to find another servant who had worked there. Reed started with his butler, who informed him a little haughtily that he was not a local, having been hired from an agency, and his last posting had been in Brighton. It turned out that the housekeeper, too, had been hired in the same way and was, in fact, from Devonshire.

“I remember Uncle Charles’ butler,” Anna told him. “His name was Merriman—although he was one of the sourest men I have ever seen. I believe he retired when Uncle Charles left, but I cannot remember where he went. I suppose he could have been the butler during that time, as well. He looked as if he might have been here since the house was built, frankly. But I don’t remember anyone else. I’m sorry.”

In the end, they turned to Anna’s housekeeper, Mrs. Michaels. Anna was surprised to see that formidable woman all but gush at being asked to sit down in the presence of the son of a duke and talk to him.

“Oh, yes, I remember Merriman,” she said, nodding. “Always had his nose up in the air because he’d once worked for an earl—as if the de Winters hadn’t come over with William the Conqueror himself. But I’m sorry, miss, he wasn’t the one who was the butler back when they had those other awful killings.” She gave an expressive shudder. “That was Cunningham. But he died several years ago. That was why his lordship took on Merriman.”

“Oh,” Anna said, disappointed. “What about the housekeeper back then?”

“Well, that was before my time, you understand,” Mrs. Michaels told her. “But when I came here to the Manor, I remember that it was a woman named—oh, what was it?” She frowned. “It will come to me in a moment, I’m sure. A regular tyrant, she was. That’s what all the girls who worked for her said.”

Anna wondered what the woman must have been like for Mrs. Michaels, who now made a bed check of all the servant girls every night at ten, to find her too dictatorial.

“Hart?” Mrs. Michaels said tentatively. “No…Hartwell! That was it. Mrs. Hartwell. I believe that she was there until your uncle left for that heathen island. And where did she go after that?”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Michaels,” Anna assured her. “We can find her whereabouts, I think. It just occurred to me that my uncle would have given her a stipend.” Though he might not remember, it was a certainty that her father would have. “Mr. Norton would be the one sending it, I imagine.”

Reed nodded. “Yes, of course. We’ll ask Norton.”

It took no more than a note to the solicitor, delivered by one of Reed’s grooms, and within an hour they had a missive in return, stating that Mrs. Hartwell resided with her son in the nearby village of Sedgewick. This seemed to them a hopeful development, and they set out the next morning in good spirits to visit the housekeeper.

They rode, rather than taking a carriage, and Anna could not help but enjoy the morning. When Reed had courted her three years ago, they had often gone riding, and simply being out with him this way again was enough to make her feel the way she had then—at least a little.

The cottage to which Mr. Norton had directed them was a pleasant half-timbered house of Tudor construction, well kept up, with a small, fragrant garden in front. When Reed knocked on the door, it was opened by an apple-cheeked young girl, who stared at them a little shyly and bobbed them a curtsey, then called for her mother.

A middle-aged woman appeared next, and when Reed explained that they were there to see the Mrs. Hartwell who had once been the housekeeper at Winterset, she gave them a puzzled look but invited them inside.

“It’s John’s mum you’re wanting to see, then?” she asked, leading them into a small but pleasant parlor.

“Yes. I am Lord Moreland. I live at Winterset now. And this is Miss Holcomb. We were—I had some questions regarding Winterset that I wished to ask Mrs. Hartwell.”

“Well, I—of course you can see her, if you wish, but I doubt there’ll be much you can get from her. Please, sit down, and I’ll get you some tea. Lizzie!” She bustled out of the room, and Reed and Anna exchanged a look.

The apple-cheeked girl returned not long afterward with a tea service on a tray, and a few moments after that, Mrs. Hartwell came in, her steps slowed to accommodate the old woman who leaned heavily on her arm.

The girl, who had been uneasily waiting, shifting from foot to foot, sprang forward to help her mother lower the old woman into a chair.

“Mother Hartwell,” the middle-aged woman said loudly, bending down and looking directly into the old woman’s face. “You have visitors.”

The elder Mrs. Hartwell turned to look blankly at her daughter-in-law, then swiveled her head to cast the same blank look at Reed and Anna, sitting on the couch across from her.

“Mrs. Hartwell, I am Lord Moreland. I own Winterset now, where I understand you used to be the housekeeper.”

The old woman blinked and turned back to the other woman, opening her mouth and making a few garbled noises. The middle-aged woman shot Reed and Anna an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry. It’s hard to understand what she says. She hasn’t been the same for the past few years, ever since she had the apoplexy. The doctor said it was a miracle she lived, but she hasn’t been able to walk or talk right since then.”

“No, it is we who should apologize for intruding upon you like this,” Reed replied. “We did not realize…”

“If you want to go ahead and ask her, I can tell you what she says,” the woman offered.

“We were going to ask her about some of the other servants who worked at Winterset while Mrs. Hartwell was housekeeper there,” Anna began.