Free Black Gold by Charles O'Brien Page B

cook. She knew Miss Campbell better than anyone. I’ll bring you to her.”
    He opened the door to the basement and let her into the hallway. They were immediately embraced by scents and sounds from the kitchen and bake house, mixed with those from the laundry, the beer cellar and the wine vault. Jeffery peered into the kitchen, exchanged a few words with someone inside, smiled, and beckoned Anne.
    â€œMiss Cartier, this is Combe Park’s cook, Mrs. Martha Powell.” Jeffery stepped aside while the two women shook hands. “You’ve been here hardly a day, Miss Cartier, but I’ve already noticed a change in Charlie. He’s a much happier boy since you arrived.”
    The cook was as tall as Anne but heavy-boned. Her face was round and red, her hair dark brown streaked with gray. She spoke with a heavy west country accent that Anne found difficult at first. At a glance Anne could tell that the woman was lord in her own kitchen but appeared friendly as well.
    She wiped her hands with her apron and greeted Anne. “You may call me Martha. Join me for tea.” She sat her visitors at a small wooden table by a window and directed a kitchen maid to make the tea.
    â€œCould we speak about Mary Campbell?” asked Anne cautiously, when tea had been served and the maid had joined others in the scullery next door.
    Martha glanced at Jeffery, who nodded ever so slightly. She cocked her head. “What would you want to know?”
    Anne explained Mr. Braidwood’s interest in the matter, then asked, “Why was Mary in the stairway so early in the morning?”
    â€œShe was taking care of Charlie. His asthma flared up.” The cook spoke emphatically, as if to counter the rumor of a tryst. “For several days, he had been waking up early in the morning, gasping for breath. It helped when he sat up in bed, drank hot herbal tea, inhaled its vapors. I always prepared a pot for him and set it in the hearth. I’m sure she was coming to fetch it when she fell.”
    The cook’s voice hesitated on the word “fell,” prompting Anne to wonder if she suspected foul play. “So, someone else could have known she might be using the stairway at that time of night,” Anne remarked.
    â€œThe kitchen maids knew, so did Jeffery. Perhaps others.” She glanced at the footman. “But it wasn’t broadcast upstairs.”
    â€œWas there someone ‘upstairs’ who shouldn’t know?”
    Martha hesitated to reply.
    Anne pressed on. “Did anyone in the house wish to harm her?”
    The cook sighed. “Captain Fitzroy had been courting her ever since he arrived from London. She was a very pretty girl and wonderfully light on her feet. Loved to dance. For a time, she was flattered by his attention and pleased to be his partner in the ballroom upstairs. Later, she grew to dislike him. A vain, brutal man. He took offense at her attempts to avoid him.”
    She glanced over her shoulder before continuing. “The day before she died, he found her alone in the kitchen gathering dried crumbs for the geese in the pond. I was in the scullery. Suddenly, I heard raised voices and a loud slap. I stepped into the kitchen to see what had happened. He had tried to kiss her and she had hit him smartly. He stalked out without a word.”
    She paused for a sip of her tea. “I could tell by the set of his jaw he was angry. So I called Jeffery and asked him to look after Mary on her way to and from the pond. The captain might try to hurt her.”
    â€œI went after her right away.” A hard expression had settled on the footman’s face.
    â€œIt’s a good thing he did,” continued Martha. “On Mary’s way back, about half-way up the path to the house, Fitzroy suddenly came out of the woods. In an instant, Jeffery was there. The captain took one look at him, mumbled an excuse and left. Jeffery walked Mary back to the house.”
    Martha