Hot tea hit the back of my throat. I gasped and fell straight into a coughing fit. More tea splashed over the rim of the cup, and Henry grabbed it from my hand, putting a linen napkin in its place.
I held the napkin to my mouth until the coughing subsided. Henry remained silent, watching me, and I dropped my gaze to the tray. “But you’ve already answered the questions I had from last night,” I babbled in a desperate attempt to avert any mention of our kiss. “I...I don’t believe we’ve anything more to discuss right now.”
There was a pause and Henry shifted his weight on the mattress. “Ben has inquired if you would like any more land cleared for next years’ planting. He had spoken with your father about adding five acres more, and didn’t know if you intended to proceed with the plan.”
Oh, thank heavens! Relieved, I dared to look up again. “Tell him to do whatever he thinks best.”
“As you wish.” Henry stood, and I saw that his mouth had grown tight at the corners. “Unless you need anything more, I am expected in the far field to discuss additional drainage.”
I hurriedly shook my head. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Then I bid you good day, Selah.”
“Good day,” I repeated.
He bowed and left the room.
Thankful for his tact, I stared at the closed door while wondering how long we could pretend that nothing had happened between us—unless of course, he was also trying to forget. Caught up in the moment, he may have just gotten carried away and now regretted his bold behavior. Or maybe he hadn’t liked it very much. Recalling how his arms had trembled and the surge of his own desire, I dismissed this idea as folly.
For the rest of the day, I did my utmost to remain focused on the witch’s bottle rather than Henry. Quite obviously, one of the servants had lied to Mrs. Ryan about making the vile thing. Now it was up to me to find out whom, and by late afternoon, I had devised a plan to help weed out the culprit. It might be easy enough to tell a fib, but emotions were more difficult to hide, much like Henry’s passion and Susanna’s anxiety.
A series of soft knocks interrupted my thoughts. “Come in,” I called crossly.
Mary entered the room, carrying another tray. “Good day, ma’am. I’ve brought ye a fresh pot of tea and some warm crumpets.”
“Please set them by the hearth and then help me to the chair.”
Relieved of the tray, Mary came back to the bed. With her support, I stood up and put an arm around her shoulder. In this manner, we started to slowly walk over to the chair.
I allowed just enough power to warm the hand that rested on her shoulder. “Mary, I am truly vexed about the witch bottle. Do you know who made it?”
She flinched slightly from my question. “‘Tis wickedness among us, ma’am, and it wrings me sorely to know someone is acting against my mistress. Mrs. Ryan talked to all the maids, even the washerwoman, but no one knows a thing. Might be that one of the field hands snuck into yer chamber when no one was watching.”
While she spoke, I focused solely on her emotions. In a matter of seconds, I discovered a jumble of feelings, but it was concern that came flooding back into me, above everything else.
I took my hand from her shoulder and sank down into the chair, immediately breaking the bond between us. Concern was the last thing my accuser would be feeling, especially while standing right next to me.
“Thank you, Mary. Now, will you please ask the other maids to come to my room? I’m determined to get to the bottom of this.”
One at a time, I repeated the same exercise with Karta, Alice, and Evie, placing a hand on each of their arms when they came in to speak with me.
From Karta I learned she felt overwhelmed, most likely from the responsibility of keeping so many people fed with no one but Evie to help her. I vowed right then to hire another scullery maid to help in the kitchen.
Alice was a bit trickier. She had a great deal of guilt over something, but no hostility or fear. If anything, I felt a strong sense of gratitude. Before leaving, she promised to be extra diligent in her continued search for the culprit.
Evie proved the trickiest of all as the little imp wouldn’t stand close enough for me to touch. Hoping to outwit her, I asked her to hand me a novel from my bedside table. The moment I touched her though, she jerked away and dropped the book on the floor at my feet. From anyone else this would have been cause for alarm, but not from Evie. The girl had been odd from the start, always jumping at her own shadow. Frustrated, I finally sent her back to the kitchen before her nerves were entirely undone.
Despite my attempts, I was no closer in discovering the identity of thieving gossipmonger. If only I could read thoughts rather than just emotions, then there would be no hiding the truth. Put out by this limitation, I huffed a sigh and picked up the novel from the floor