The voice and the frame did in no way match, and the old lady in the bed seemed to her so much older even than Great Aunt Belle. It was almost as if she might easily turn into dust at any moment and be carried away on the slightest breath of air as if she had never existed in the first place.
Despite the fact that the woman had undoubtedly shrunken with age, as old ladies are want to do, it was clear that she had never been particularly substantial. Georgina could tell that Beatrice had been of short stature in life, with a birdlike frame and somewhat angular features.
Her eyes were so dark in a face so grey that they looked almost black, and they darted this way and that constantly as if she was searching for something that she could not see.
Perhaps it was the better chance. Was that not what she had said in her letters? Always take the better chance, my brother will survive it I am sure. Was she still, even now, searching for the better chance? Surely a woman who thought as she had done would never be satisfied.
Georgina shivered inwardly and wished that she had not thought of that dreadful letter. She needed to keep a clear head and did not want either revulsion or fear to steer her off her course.
“Yes, this is Miss Georgina Jeffries, granddaughter of the late Baroness Elizabeth Jeffries,” the Countess said, making an unnecessarily formal introduction in Georgina’s opinion. “Anyway, I shall leave the two of you for a while, for I am sure that you have much to talk about.” Lady Wighton smiled demurely and seemed to Georgina to almost back out of the room.
“Come closer, girl,” the hearty voice demanded, and Georgina had to force herself to put one foot in front of the other and advance upon the enormous bed. “Let me have a look at you.”
And look at her she did! The elderly lady seemed to lift her head just an inch or so from her pillow as she squinted those dark eyes and held them steady for several moments as she surveyed Georgina’s face without blinking once.
She wondered if it was nothing more than her imagination running away with itself, but the steady stare unsettled her greatly, even made her a little afraid.
“I can see a look of my Lizzie now, that is true,” she said and let her head fall heavily back onto her pillows.
She breathed hard for a few moments as if the exertion had taken the very last ounce of energy she had left in that wasted old body. She remained silent for more than a minute leaving Georgina simply standing there wondering if she ought to speak or not.
“You are not quite the beauty that she was, though.” When Beatrice spoke again, it startled Georgina. “You are passably pretty, but no real beauty.”
Georgina kept as straight a countenance as she could manage. She was by no means offended, just amused that Lady Wighton’s words had come to pass. However, she had not imagined being insulted quite so early on in the conversation.
“Quite so, Lady Wighton.” Georgina kept her tone light and her address as formal as could be. “I must say that I am very pleased to finally meet you. My grandmother often spoke of you.”
“No, she did not,” the old lady said waspishly, and Georgina felt herself flush at being caught out in a lie.
How on earth could Beatrice have known that Elizabeth Jeffries never spoke of her at all? Certainly, Georgina had never heard of her until she had come to Winton House in the spring. But it was clear from her own mother’s letter that she knew of her, for she had claimed that Beatrice Ellington was the only person Elizabeth spoke fondly of when she talked of her life in Devonshire.
“Elizabeth Allencourt was not a girl who wasted her time in chitchat, child,” Beatrice said, and her use of her grandmother’s maiden name made Georgina shiver again. It made her think of the two foul-natured young women who had once been friends growing up in the little town of Rowley. “She knew better than that. How old were you when she died?”
“I was ten.”
“I hardly imagine that she spoke to you at all, about me or anybody else. Elizabeth did not like children.”
“I can quite believe that,” Georgina said with sudden harshness.
She remembered how Mirabelle had told her not to show any weakness. She had forgotten it until that moment, but it was clear that that shrewd and unsettling creature in the bed could find and exploit a weakness in anybody.
“That is more like it,” the old woman said, and her laugh sounded more like the cackle of a witch. “You have a little something of Elizabeth’s spirit in you, I perceive.”
“Perhaps I do,” Georgina said and felt already that she was flailing. “But I am not entirely sure that that is a good thing.”
“Do not go through this world in such a bending state, my dear. It will not serve you well. You need to remain alert to the intentions of others and to make your intentions match them or surpass them. My advice would be surpass, but each their own.” She paused and lifted her head again to study Georgina with the same thoroughness she had used initially. However, Georgina did not find it quite so unsettling; this time she felt a little stab of pride that she was finally finding her feet in this already dreadful conversation. “Always keep a lookout for the better chance, my dear. That is what I always told Lizzie, and it served her well. It served us both well.”
“Yes, I believe that looking for the better chance was exactly how my grandmother found my grandfather.”
“Advice well given and well received.” The old woman seemed to glow a little, basking in what she obviously thought of as praise where Georgina had merely meant it as a vague sort of insult.
“No matter the cost?” Georgina was not going to dance around the thing.
Mirabelle Allencourt’s advice was also well given and well received.
“What cost? There was no cost to Elizabeth.”
“But perhaps there was a cost to my grandfather. I believe they were very different in natures.”
“Oh, that is just marriage. For heaven’s sake, you are not one of those silly things who moons about this world thinking it is all about love, are you?”
“And what about the cost to David?” Georgina had no intention of answering Beatrice’s question and had found her comment flying from her mouth unedited as a means of hurting the woman instead.
“David,” Beatrice said, quite simply; it was a statement, not a question.
Georgina saw something in the old woman’s eyes and wondered if it was regret. But surely a woman who had lived without a care for others would not relent now.
“He was in love with my grandmother, was he not?”
“He was. What a fool,” she said, and her voice seemed to be weakening.
For a moment, Georgina’s guilt almost trapped her as she wondered if her harsh line of questioning had been responsible for the sudden lack of energy in her opponent. It was as if somebody had pierced Beatrice and let the life and soul right out of her.
“And my grandmother loved him?”
“For a little while. But Lizzie was no fool, and I soon tutored her in the ways of the world. And the world does not turn on such flighty notions.”
“And so, what does it turn on, Lady Wighton?”
“It just turns. It turns and turns and turns,” she said, and her voice seemed suddenly thin and reedy, a pale imitation of the former hearty tone.
“Lady Wighton? Are you quite well?”
“I am not sure. I do not think I am Lady Wighton. Not yet, at any rate. Not until I catch him in my net and marry him.”
“Catch him in your net? But who are you to marry?” Georgina said and felt suddenly confused.
“That lovely young Earl. Of course, he is not so young, not really. Old enough to be my father.” Beatrice was now whispering, and her eyes had closed.
“What is your name?” Georgina said gently.
“Why are you here if you do not know my name, you silly girl?”
“I would just like you to remind me.”
“I am Beatrice Ellington.”
“You are not Beatrice Montgomery then? You are not Lady Wighton?”<
br />
“I have already told you, not yet. I have seen the better chance, even if I do not like him very much. But what has that to do with it? Lizzie thinks it is a good idea, and Lizzie and I are always in perfect symmetry. That is why Lizzie and I have always been the best of friends, and we always shall. I do not know who you are. I do not know why you are here. I do not think I like you very much.”
“In that case, I shall leave you until tomorrow, Miss Ellington,” Georgina said with a heavy heart when she realized that Beatrice was drifting in her mind, just as Lord Wighton had said she would.
She knew she would get nothing further from her that day, but at least she had met her now. At least she had a better idea of how to approach the woman, and when she met with her again, she would not waste any time.
“Yes, come back again sometime. How nice it has been to see you,” Beatrice said, and with her eyes still closed, she peeled back her lips and smiled garishly at Georgina.
Chapter 25
“How are you bearing up in all of this, Sammy? I seem to be making little progress,” Georgina said and wandered further across the terrace beyond the morning room at Wighton Hall.
It was another fine summer’s day and already very warm. Georgina sat down on an ornate cast iron bench and was surprised when Emerson joined her. He sat at her side, foregoing the two matching seats opposite the bench.
There seemed to be a little freedom in their being in Cornwall. They were away from all they knew, and Georgina had none of the social fears she might have suffered had she been sitting on a bench with Emerson back at Winton House or even Calder Hall.
“I know that you have taken all the responsibility of this trip and these interviews with Beatrice entirely upon your own shoulders. But you must not do that. You must not feel as if the whole thing rests upon you.” He lifted his hand from his lap for a moment, and it seemed to hover uncertainly in mid-air.
Georgina held her breath for a moment, thinking that Emerson was about to lay a hand on her arm, or even take her hand in his. And it was not until then that she realized how much she longed for such a touch, such a simple thing.
She had remained vigilant to her thoughts of Emerson for many days, determined to put the search for the truth at the forefront of her mind. But there were times when the memory of their kiss inevitably came back to her, and as they sat side-by-side, as close as it was possible to be without touching, it came back to her again.
As suddenly as Emerson had raised his hand, he allowed it to drop down onto his lap once more. It was as if he had struggled briefly and then come to a conclusion, and Georgina could not help wishing that things were much simpler between them. Why should romance be so very difficult when their friendship was anything but?
“I know, and I thank you for your care,” Georgina said, bringing herself back to the present moment. “I just wish that things had progressed as we had hoped.”
“None of us could have foreseen the little illness that has waylaid Beatrice these last three days,” Emerson said encouragingly.
“Perhaps we could have foreseen it. Or perhaps I ought to have foreseen it after our first meeting.”
“What do you mean?”
“May God forgive me if I am wrong, but I do not believe for a moment that there is anything at all wrong with Beatrice Montgomery.”
“But you said yourself that her mind wandered.”
“No, that is not what I mean, Sammy. This extra little illness, this malady which has made it impossible for her to see me these last three days is something that I cannot quite trust. If only you had met with her too, although I would not wish it on you.” She paused for a moment and shuddered at the memory. “But if you had met her, you would have seen those eyes. You would have realized how perfectly plausible it is for an elderly lady, even one whose mind wanders from time to time, can contrive to make herself awkward and cause pain even now.”
“You think that she is toying with you? That she is making you wait for another interview?”
“I know that Aunt Belle’s words unsettled me, but there is something about Beatrice. There is something in those eyes that tells me she would stick at nothing, even to achieve very little more than her own way. And yes, I think she is toying with me. But I must admit that I think with a woman like that I should perhaps just be pleased that that is all she is doing. I truly believe that there is a very appalling black heart beating in that frail old chest, the sort of black heart that could do almost anything to anybody and not suffer a moment’s conscience.”
“I am quite prepared to believe it, and I have only seen her letters.” Emerson laughed. “But listen, you must not feel as if you are obliged to go and sit with her today. I know this is the first opportunity that has arisen in three days, but you need never set eyes on that woman again if she unsettles you so.” He spoke so genuinely that she knew he meant it.
Georgina knew without a doubt that he would have turned his back on his own quest there and then to spare her any discomfort. If he was never truly able to settle upon her in a romantic sense, Georgina realized that this was the sort of friendship that, once found, should never be relinquished.
“I would not dream of it, Sammy. I think I am as keen to get to the bottom of things as you are.” She reached out a hand by instinct to smooth down his silvery brown hair.
Without even the hint of a summer’s breeze, still, that wonderful hair had managed somehow to disarrange itself. Georgina lost herself for a moment, hardly believing that she had done such a thing. And yet her hand remained as she savoured the feel of the smooth, thick hair against her fingers. Finally, knowing that she must, she withdrew her hand without any mention of it.
“Well, I shall seek out the Countess and ask her if I might have an audience with Beatrice this morning.” Georgina rose to her feet. “Wish me luck.”
When the Countess confirmed that Beatrice was, indeed, well enough to be visited, Georgina felt a familiar nervousness creeping up on her again.
She was pleased to have another opportunity to search for the truth but wished wholeheartedly that the thing was over and done with. She did not relish another moment in that dreadful woman’s company, and yet she knew she must bear it somehow.
Just as the Countess had done the first time, she entered the room first and quickly introduced Georgina.
“You need not explain who she is all over again, my dear. I might be ageing, but I have yet to lose my senses.” Beatrice’s voice was hearty in tone once again, and Georgina wondered if the old woman had any idea that her mind wandered from time to time.
Perhaps she did not know anything about it. Perhaps that was simply the way of things as a person got older. If it was, Georgina thought it a blessing and mercy.
“Good morning, Lady Montgomery,” Georgina said in a bright tone.
She was keen not to make any of the mistakes she had made in their first meeting and had fully decided to show no adverse emotion or any sign of weakness. She knew that if she did, the wizened little jackal in the bed would seize upon it immediately.
“Come closer then; do not make me crane my neck to see you,” Beatrice demanded, and Georgina walked boldly forward.
She noticed how the Countess backed out of the room again, seeming almost to slither out of harm’s way before gently closing the door behind her.
“Well, you have returned, have you?”
“Yes, and I do hope that you are feeling a little better, My Lady,” Georgina said without any hint of true feeling.
“I daresay it has pained you waiting these three days to see me again.” Beatrice narrowed her hawk-like eyes as the corners of her mouth turned up in amusement.
So, Georgina had been right; the old woman really had simply been toying with her, playing with her mind from afar. What a creature she was.
“Not at all, My Lady. I fully understand that you were not well enough to speak with me.”
“Is that so?” Beatrice, seeming annoyed by the idea that her litt
le game had not affected her opponent turned her head away and stared out of the window.
Georgina resisted the temptation to feel pity for her again, almost giving into the idea that it must be an awful thing for a once-strong woman to have nothing left at her disposal than to play silly little games of the mind from the confines of her bed. How frail it must have made her feel and how much she must have seen her influence in the world diminishing.
Still, of all people, Georgina felt sure that Beatrice did not deserve her pity.
“But here we are together again, Lady Wighton. Would you not prefer to spend these few minutes together in conversation?”
“It is not conversation, my dear, it is questioning.” Beatrice’s head turned so slowly to regard her once again that she reminded Georgina of an old tortoise, her old head and craped neck peeping out from the bedclothes just as a tortoise’s might from its shell.
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