Free Death at the Abbey by Christine Trent Page B

that this was the result of his backward fall against the rock. The only conclusion Violet could make was that Spencer had been struck—perhaps repeatedly?—shortly before he died.
    Her thoughts were interrupted by Hudock announcing Ellery Reed into the room. Violet was immediately on edge, but in a sign of humility, Reed swept his dusty, brimmed cap from his head as Hudock departed, a sign of humility. All of his hubris and disdain from the previous evening were gone.
    â€œMrs. Harper,” Mr. Reed began awkwardly, “I’ve come to apologize. I—” His glance darted to where Spencer lay, shirtless. “I was unspeakably rude last night. I don’t know what came over me. I was—May I see him?”
    Violet nodded and stepped aside as Reed approached the table. Reed stood gazing down at Spencer for several minutes, lost in either thought or prayer. Finally, he stepped away from Spencer and looked up, his eyes moist.
    â€œAs I was saying, ma’am, I wasn’t myself last night. When they came to fetch me, I thought they were either playing a prank on me or that Spencer here had just gotten himself into trouble. When they’re older you just have to contend with them drinking, but the younger ones get into all sorts of mischief. It’s a constant chore to keep your workers in line. When I saw that it really was one of my men, dead like that, I’m afraid I didn’t react very well.” Reed gazed at Violet. His eyes were a pale brown, almost as if their color were fading away from so much strenuous outdoor work. A tear gathered in the corner of one eye, and Violet turned away so that the estate manager was not unmanned in her presence.
    â€œThink nothing of it, Mr. Reed,” she assured him, picking up one of the cloths the maid had left and covering Spencer’s bruising with it.
    Reed continued, “I’ve not lost a worker in two years, you know. In fact, I’ve only lost three since coming to Welbeck Abbey five years ago, and those just to illness or an overabundance of liquor, never an accident. What happened to Spencer is . . . impossible.” He sniffed, and Violet knew he was still restraining tears behind her.
    â€œAccidents are an unfortunate part of life,” she said to console him, not ready to share her suspicions with anyone yet, particularly a man who was already distraught over the loss of a worker in his charge. “I don’t believe he suffered much.” A small lie, if Spencer had been attacked the way she believed he had, but it was an offer of comfort.
    Reed nodded. “Will there be a funeral here?”
    Violet turned back to face him. “Tomorrow the procession will go from here to Worksop Priory.”
    â€œI’ll make sure the men are ready.”
    â€œYou said that he has no family nearby,” she added.
    â€œNo, none.”
    â€œI could use something, Mr. Reed,” she said. “Another suit of clothes for Mr. Spencer. Is that something you can find for me?”
    Reed seemed happy to have a role to play, and his grizzled face broke into a smile. “Yes, I can send along something.” With that, Reed left and Violet returned her attentions to caring for Spencer. By the time she was done washing him, Hudock was once again tapping on the door, with a freshly laundered shirt and homespun trousers. “From Mr. Reed,” he said, avoiding any glance over at the dining room table.
    Violet redressed Spencer and tied a string around his left ear, brought it under his chin, and tied the other end around his right ear to keep his jaw shut. After a couple of drops of adhesive along his eyelids to keep his eyes shut, she pulled out her case of cosmetic massages.
    â€œYou are well weathered from the sun for someone so young, Mr. Spencer,” she said, examining her various color pots. “I think that Earth Number Two—no, Number Three—is the right one for you.”
    She applied the