“What isn’t? Aquinas has informed me that none of the staff from the village will be able to make it in today, so we are lacking two footmen, four maids, and a boot boy. Dear brother Benedick trudged from the Home Farm to shout the news that the telegraph line at Blessingstoke has collapsed under the snow, so I cannot send to London for anything we should require. And, no great surprise, Cook is threatening to quit because there is a dead man in the game larder. As an interesting side note, Violante has packed her bags and is demanding to be taken to the station at once and put on the first ship back to Italy.”
“Pressing problems indeed,” I agreed.
“And one of the cats has given birth, quite nastily, in the linen cupboard.”
“How sweet! Which one?”
She gave me an arch look. “Christopher Sly. Which is all rather odd, as Father was quite certain he was a tom.”
“Hmm. Well, I suppose the most immediate concern is Violante. Is she still upset?”
Portia shrugged. “How the devil should I know? I coaxed her back to her room and sent for Lysander to manage her, but she kept babbling on about dead men in the game larder and how such things aren’t done in Italy.”
I tipped my head, musing. “I wonder where they house their murder victims then? In the scullery? Or perhaps the laundry? No, altogether too hot there, I should think.”
“There is no cause for flippancy, Julia. I have a headache that has begun at my knees and gone right over the top of my head and back down again. I do not look for improvements as the day goes on.”
As we reached the bottom of the stairs, I patted her arm. “I shouldn’t worry about the staff. They will be snug enough in the village, and heaven knows we’ve plenty of hands to keep this place running without them. And don’t mind too much about Violante. I have no doubt it’s her pregnancy making her hysterical.”
Portia sighed heavily. “I suspected she was breeding. I have never seen anyone eat so many pickled chestnuts. Her fingers were quite shrivelled from them. I suppose I had best go speak to Cook and make certain we’ve plenty more of them.”
“While you’re about it, assure her the body will be removed as soon as possible. And tell Aquinas to make certain the staff are given black armbands to wear as a token of respect for Mr. Snow.”
Portia put her hands on her hips, giving a perfect impression of one of the maids in a pet. “Any more instructions, missus?”
“Do make certain the linen cupboard door is kept shut. I shouldn’t like Florence to get a taste for kittens.”
She put out her tongue at me and moved to turn away.
“One last thing, dearest. Do you know where Aunt Hermia keeps that funny little jade monkey Uncle Leonato brought her from China?”
Portia threw up her hands in exasperation. “Really, Julia, of all the impossibly stupid things to wonder about.” She paused and thought, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “Oh, very well. The last time I saw it, she kept it on her night table.”
“And the amber beads from Russia?”
“In a box next to the monkey.” She started to tap her toe on the carpet.
“And the coral bracelet from the Java Sea?” I pressed.
“In her knickers.”
I gave her a sour look. “You might be a little more helpful, Portia.”
“Well, honestly. She isn’t even here. Why you would ask about her little trinkets is beyond me. If you are so keen on them, have a look for yourself. You know she would not mind. Now, I really must go and find something for my head.”
“Ask Brisbane,” I called after her sweetly. “He has a new cure I think would suit you perfectly.”
* * *
In the end, I had no time and little stomach for breakfast. I had thought to make a dash into the dining room for a bit of toast, but the notion of Lucian Snow, lying cold and possibly bloated in the game larder put me firmly off the idea.
The game larder itself had been fashioned into a crude sort of laboratory. A stone counter ran the length of the room. On it, propped against the walls, was a quantity of mirrors, from tiny things fit for a lady’s reticule to enormous looking-glasses taken from the dressing rooms. In front of these were as many lamps as the counter could hold. The effect was dazzling, so bright I blinked as I entered the room.
Brisbane was already there, dressed in shirtsleeves and making an adjustment to one of the lamps. He grunted when I came in but did not look up. I turned my gaze firmly away from the sheet-draped figure on the table. I noticed a small table had been brought in and laid with a clean white cloth. Brisbane’s leather case was there, and a book with a mouldy green cover. A few instruments such as tweezers and scissors had been arranged neatly on the cloth. I did not look further to see what else might lurk there.
“There are aprons on the hook behind the door,” Brisbane said finally. “Put yours on and bring the other for me.”
I put out my tongue behind his back and went to the door. The aprons were not the dainty pinafores the maids wore, but the thick white canvas affairs the footmen donned for the most menial chores. It was not until I was halfway back, aprons in hand, that I realised what he had said.