“Is Mr. Anstruther at home?” I asked.
“Yes, milady,” the footman replied, lowering his voice instinctively. “He’s in the steward’s office.”
“Fetch him, please. Tell him I’d appreciate a word. In private.”
The young man bowed and disappeared down the corridor.
Moments later, Mr. Anstruther appeared, his step brisk despite the weight of mourning that hung in the house. His expression registered surprise, then something gentler—recognition, perhaps, or quiet approval.
“My lady,” he said with a respectful nod. “I trust Lady Walsh is ... managing?”
“She’s resting. I’ve come on her behalf,” I said softly. “And I need your help.”
He hesitated only a moment before nodding. “This way, if you please.”
He led me through a narrow passage and into a small sitting room off the servants’ hall, modest but tidy, with the faint scent of polish and pipe smoke still lingering in the air. He closed the door behind us.
“Before we begin,” I said, lowering my voice, “who is currently in the house?”
“Only the household staff, my lady,” he replied without hesitation. “The family solicitor departed earlier this afternoon, and the physician has already seen Lady Lucretia. She’s taken to her chambers and hasn’t spoken with anyone beyond her maid.”
“No other visitors? No one calling under false pretenses?”
“None,” he said with quiet certainty. “No one’s crossed the threshold who doesn’t belong.”
I nodded. “Good. Then we may speak freely.”
He waited, hands clasped behind his back, patient and ready.
“I need to know what happened yesterday after the tea packet arrived,” I said. “Who received it? Who handled it? Was it opened or moved? And most importantly, who brewed the tea and who was in this house between the time it was delivered and the moment it was served?”
Mr. Anstruther gave a slow nod, clearly sorting through the sequence of events.
“The parcel arrived just after noon,” he began. “I had just brought brandy to the study for Lord Walsh and Mr. Heller when the doorbell rang. I answered it myself. A footman dressed in Rosehaven livery handed me a small brown-paper parcel, addressed to Lord Walsh in Lady Julia’s hand.”
Of course, he would recognize it—he’d served her long enough to know.
“I took it straight to the study. Mr. Heller was seated near the hearth; Lord Walsh behind his desk. I placed the parcel before him and mentioned it was from Her Ladyship. He thanked me and set it aside without opening it.”
“Did either of them touch it?”
“Not that I saw. I left the room shortly after.”
“And then?”
“That’s less certain,” he admitted. “I didn’t return to the study again until just before four, when Lord Walsh retired to his chambers. By then, the parcel was gone. I assumed he’d taken it upstairs or passed it along to the staff.”
“Who found it next?”
“Cook told me it was brought to her by Elsie—the second housemaid—just after six.”
“And did Lord Walsh give it to her directly?”
“No, my lady. She found it in the morning room, sitting on a side table. It had been unwrapped but was still sealed. A note was pinned to it: ‘To be used exclusively for Lord Walsh’s tea.’”
“Did you recognize the handwriting?”
“No, milady. I’m not familiar with His Lordship’s hand.”
