Nooks & Crannies by Jessica Lawson Page B

Countess, but if nothing else, she might use the time with her parents to discover why, exactly, she had been adopted by two people who seemed to shun the very idea of children. That was a mystery she’d like to solve.

If you want to know the true personality of a person, Tibbs, never go by how they treat you. Go by how they treat the butler and the maid. In every single case, whether the crime took place in a palace or a pauper’s alley box, by God, find yourself a maid to speak with.
    â€”Inspector Percival Pensive,
    The Case of the Loitering Lord
    T abitha patted her hands dry on a lavender towel. “It’s a lovely home,” she told Pemberley, in what she hoped was a soothing sort of voice. She sensed that her mouse friend was feeling a bit apprehensive about the coming chat with the Crums and that he could use a burst of possibility. “And a grandmother is family. Perhaps I’m actually a lost DeMoss, and that’s why my life has seemed like a dress that I simply can’t fit into properly. Perhaps I’m to inherit a trust fund and I can buy you a cheese palace and—”
    Squeakity-squeak.
    â€œYes, well, as I was saying to myself earlier, if that’s the way of things, then perhaps I can clean floors here instead of at Augustus Home. Let’s go.”
    The electric lighting in the hallway made Tabitha feel shadowed as they walked hesitantly down the carpet, passing more evidence of the wealth that would soon be shared by one of the children. Silver-framed paintings and gold-set mirrors crowded the walls, making it seem as though the manor was about to close tightly upon them, like a clever plant that had trapped a missing jewel in a Pensive novel Tabitha had read.
    When she returned to the dining hall, it was empty, save for Mary Pettigrew and a server taking the uneaten desserts away. Mary did not look well. Slumping forward against the table, her eyes faced the painting on the opposite wall. Tabitha got the impression that Mary was far away, looking at a much different picture in her mind. The server looked up at Tabitha’s footsteps.
    â€œIs someone coming to get Mary?” Tabitha asked.
    The server blushed. “I would think so, miss. The others have gone to the drawing room or the library or the foyer.”
    Sure enough, Tabitha found tight circles of parents and children scattered from the large entrance hall to the expansive library and the drawing room. The Trundles were grouped near a suit of armor, Mr. Trundle’s hand gripping Barnaby’s shoulder as he whispered with intensity. Mr. Wellington was just visible near the doorway of the drawing room, puffing at a thick, deep-brown cigar.
    Tabitha wandered until she saw Mr. and Mrs. Crum at the base of the main staircase. They were quite huddled together, and there was a decided look about them as she approached.
    â€œMum. Daddy.”
    They turned and glared at her in unison. When it was clear that neither of her parents would be starting a conversation, Tabitha took a deep breath. According to Inspector Pensive, it was common sense that whenever you were in a fix or at a crossroads in an investigation, there were always two choices: to do nothing and worry, or to take some sort of action and deal with its associated risks.
    â€œI don’t know if you’ve anything to tell me,” she began softly. She paused, wondering whether to clarify her meaning by adding other than why you decided to abandon me and poor, sensitive Pemberley to an orphanage. Or why you adopted me in the first place if you were just going to throw me away . “But I am to be called into the Countess’s study tomorrow. Is there anything you remember about the day you got me from Basil House? Anything at all?”
    â€œWhat’s to remember?” Mrs. Crum said. “The only thing that chafes my memory is that you had a frightful shriek and I couldn’t get you to shut up and you gave your father an