Page 50 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

But perhaps that was all owing to her head injury? Perhaps she’d misunderstood things? Was even now misremembering them?

She couldn’t rule it out.

“I suppose a rational person might feel the urge to stop at the manor to hear Lord Eversleigh’s side of the story,” she said as she packed up some bread and butter.

Mrs. Goodenough’s face tightened with outrage. “Side? What side? There’s only one version of the story and that’s the truth, which I told you.”

“Has he ever attempted to defend himself?” Charlotte wondered.

“There’s no defense for what he done.” The housekeeper folded her dish cloth with a harsh snap of her hands. “So you’d best not go looking for one. If you’ve any idea of stopping at the Manor⁠—”

“I haven’t.” Charlotte closed her basket. There was nothing to gain by arguing with the woman. “I’m only passing through the crossroads.”

Mrs. Goodenough responded with a doubtful harrumph.

“Dr. Calthrop did say I was fit to resume my normal activities,” Charlotte reminded her. “So long as I refrain from riding horses, climbing walls, or anything else that might induce another fall.”

“Walking might induce one,” Mrs. Goodenough said. “Should think that was obvious, miss. Last thing Miss Champion needs is for you to disappear again. She was in a right state the last time. Had me and Frog racing around the village like a pair of headless chickens. First to the market, then to the butcher’s, then to the post office, and back again. And poor Frog with his legs and me with the house to look after.”

Charlotte felt a distinct pang of conscience to have put them to so much trouble. She touched the housekeeper’s sleeve with a conciliatory hand. “I am sorry for that.”

Mrs. Goodenough gave a mollified snuffle. “Well. Not like you did it on purpose now, did you?”

“No, indeed.” Charlotte gave Mrs. Goodenough a final pat. “This time will be different,” she promised. “You and Mr. Frog may rest assured.”

“I trust it will be, miss. You can’t be courting scandal at your age. Not anymore than you already have done.”

“I’ve no intention of doing so.” Sliding the handle of her basket over her arm, Charlotte crossed to the door. “I’ll be back before Miss Champion wakes up.”

“And if you’re not? What time shall I tell her⁠—”

“Two at the latest.”

“Two!”

Charlotte exited the kitchen with a spring in her step. She was well enough to walk to the crossroads, that much was the truth. Though even five days later she still had a vague ache in her head. And she still couldn’t remember everything about her past—or about herself. There were several bits that were shrouded in fog. Dr. Calthrop had said it was normal after a concussion. The brain’s way of protecting itself.

“It will all come right with time and patience,” he’d said.

Charlotte was confident it would. She’d never had poor health before. And she was possessed of strong spirits and an optimistic outlook.

She was also quite determined to visit her dog, and to question Magnus.

Just who was Arabella Farr to him really? What had Magnus done to make her brother come to Moorcross Manor to call him to account? And exactly how had both Miss Farr and her brother been killed during the ensuing altercation?

One of them shot, Mrs. Goodenough had said, and the other dead from sepsis. Bullet wounds, Charlotte suspected, if it had indeed been some manner of duel.

And Magnus was fond of a pistol.

Charlotte walked on, her bright mood gradually dimming as she went, consumed as she was by her endless stream of questions. About Magnus, about the Farrs, and about that parting kiss that Magnus had given her too—an incident that needled at Charlotte’s mind as persistently as any thoughts of past murders and mayhem.

A left turn at the crossroads brought her to the road that led to Magnus’s estate. This time she paid attention as she went, noticing the emptiness, the desolation, the way the Manor seemed to have been cut off from all existence.

The unsettling quiet didn’t help to put her at her ease. There were no near neighbors in these parts. No sound of man or beast to break the silence.

Lucy had compared Moorcross Manor to Hades. Charlotte didn’t know about that, but it was definitely a world apart, if not exactly an otherworld.

“Everything is perfectly explainable, I’m sure,” Charlotte said as she approached. “Nothing a candid conversation won’t solve. As for the atmosphere…” She squinted up at the strangely empty sky. “I don’t wonder there isn’t any birdsong. Nothing on the estate has been tended, and everything is dead or dying. The birds have understandably gone elsewhere to eat.”