Murder at Mondial Castle

by Issy Brooke

  Adelia’s suspicions were pricked up at that, but she pushed them aside. The notion of a dalliance between Lord Mondial and Philippa Lamb was a risible one. “Have you any ideas for possible suitors?”

  “A few, but I need your help,” Dido said. “I have made a very short list but you know people’s families and their histories in far more depth. I won’t be happy with any old husband for her, you know. He must be rich, handsome and clever.”

  “If I might give you one word of advice,” Adelia said. “I think it is more important, above all, that he is kind.”

  “Is that how you chose John for me?”

  “Is he not kind?” Adelia said, fixing her eyes on her daughter, ready once more to leap up and attack her son-in-law with household objects.

  “Oh, he is kind. He does not argue with me and he would never raise his hand to me. He is a perfect gentleman, even in private. But mama, really, I would rather that Philippa marries a dull man with a fortune than a kind man in a cottage, and I know that you agree.”

  “I do agree. Well, tomorrow morning, we shall look at this list of yours, and see about these dull, rich men.”

  “Thank you.” Dido put her glass on a small side table, and grabbed her mother’s hands. “Thank you! This means more to me than I can say.”

  “Why so?” Adelia asked with a small laugh.

  But Dido was turning away as someone approached to top up her glass, and the moment was lost.

  Three

  The house woke late the next day. Well, the servants were up and about before dawn, of course, but everyone else lingered in their rooms, feeling delicate and disinclined to encounter strong lights or smells.

  Adelia didn’t even bother to straggle down to breakfast which was laid out in the breakfast room from around nine and she certainly didn’t attend the household prayers. She didn’t get very hungry in the mornings these days, anyway. She wondered if that were another sign of aging, along with a decreased ability to handle alcohol. She sat at the dressing table and patted cream onto her face, working it into the wrinkles and sagging jawline. Theodore wandered through and sat on the edge of the bed, wrestling with his collar.

  “We should have brought more of the household with us. I cannot believe Mondial hasn’t assigned me a man,” he muttered as his clothing fought back.

  “He would if you asked him. He would be mortified if he thought he had lacked in his duty as a host. I can call for Smith, if you like.”

  “Leave her be. I can manage. And I’d rather not ask Mondial for a thing. He would use it as an excuse to sneer at my lack of a valet who dogs my every step, like his long-faced fellow does. How long must we stay?”

  “Until we’ve arranged a match for Miss Lamb.”

  “Who? What’s this, now?”

  “Theodore! You were sitting next to her at dinner. I watched you have a conversation. She was our Dido’s childhood friend. She spent almost every summer with us, Theodore!”

  “Oh, Philippa. You ought to call her by her name. She is a sweet girl; of course I remember her. There were dozens of girls in our house every summer; I cannot distinguish between them all.”

  “She is a woman now, not girl. She is a fully grown woman who is in need of a husband and she will be Miss Lamb to you in public, Theodore.”

  “A husband? She also needs more meat in her diet. She is pale. She hides her pallor with rouge. I should like to examine her more closely in case she is ill.”

  From any other man, such a sentence could be misconstrued as an excuse to get close to a pretty young lady. From Theodore, however, it meant no more and no less than he said. Adelia smiled at her own reflection.

  “What amuses you?” he asked, blissfully unaware of any secondary meanings his words could have had.

  “Just that you are the most direct man I know, and I am grateful for it.”

  “Good. Then you shan’t make a fuss when I tell Lord Montsalle that his back teeth are rotten and must be removed before the infection spreads into his brain, then? It might already be too late.”

  “You will not.”

  “His brain might rot and he needs to know.”

  “No. Do not tell Lord Montsalle that his brain is rotting.”

  “What else am I supposed to do, then, while you gad about this place, matchmaking and scheming?”

  “Lord Mondial has horses. Go and look at them.”

  Theodore wrestled one more time with his collar and gave up with a sigh. “Oh. Very well. Horses.”

  ADELIA SPENT WHAT REMAINED of the morning with Dido, drawing up lists of potential suitors for Philippa. Dido looked tired but when Adelia brought up the issue, Dido waved her hand and began to talk about the children. “Of course I am tired,” she said. “But it’s a happy and fulfilled tiredness.”

  “But why don’t you have staff to ease your burden? Why must you take on so much?” Adelia had insisted. “Most women of your class are simply dying from boredom.”

  “I refuse to be one of them. I have read many interesting books on childrearing. I spend the first few hours of every morning with my boys – I have already done so today. I oversee their education and their food and all aspects of their care. I know John should prefer to see them at morning prayers then have them paraded before bed once a day and otherwise for them to remain out of sight until they start school – and then they will be sent away and only return for the holidays.”

  “You will send them to school, though, won’t you? You cannot allow them to miss out on a good education.”

  “Of course.” But she looked sad at the thought, and Adelia let the subject drop. She turned to the list of suitors and they continued on their task.

  Before luncheon, which was to be an informal affair, Dido had to attend to matters with the housekeeper. Adelia didn’t bother changing out of her comfortable day dress. She took the chance to go around the house and gardens looking for Philippa but she could not find the young woman anywhere. Someone thought they’d seen her walking in the lower grounds by the ornamental ponds, but Adelia found the area deserted. Nor did Philippa appear at lunch, which was a collation of cold meats, fancy galatines and fruit. Most of the other guests had now left, and the room was oddly cold and echoing. There were no visitors that had called today although Dido said there were often guests invited from the local area; single women, the elderly and others generally unsuitable to be at the more formal late dinners.

  “Don’t worry,” Lord Mondial had said jovially. “We’ll soon fill this all up again!”

  Adelia called at Philippa’s rooms once more after the meal, and this time she was lucky. The door was opened by a stumpy ancient woman who had once been the Lamb family’s nurse and was now the young lady’s companion and chaperone. From the blinking way the woman thrust her head forward, almost into Adelia’s bosom, it was obvious that the old lady was nearly blind. Her hearing was little better.

  She was, therefore, the perfect chaperone for a lively young lady who wanted a measure of freedom.

  “Lady Calaway!” Philippa caught sight of Adelia and almost elbowed the old nurse out of the way. “Come in, come in. Please excuse the mess.”

  “You’re leaving, Miss Lamb?” Adelia said as she followed Philippa into the main room of the suite that had been assigned to her. It was a small but comfortable room with private bedchambers leading off to the right. A travelling trunk was standing by the table in the window, and a ballgown with a long train of rich pink was flung over the back of a sofa. In years gone by, Miss Lamb had been Philippa to Adelia, in private moments. But now she was a woman, as she had so sternly reminded Theodore.

  “Oh! I thought that I might go home soon but – well, I was in an awful hurry and sometimes one does not think straight. I am sure you understand. Please, have a seat. I have not seen you properly for more than a year. Since Dido was married! I trust you are well?”

  “Quite well, thank you,” Adelia said, thinking that she did not understand about the packing in a hurry, not at all
. “So you are not leaving?”

  “Ah ... no. Not yet. I am simply, ah, reorganising.”

  “I see,” Adelia said, though she did not. “Now, my dear, I shall not patronise you. You must be aware of the machinations and subterfuge that my daughter is indulging in? It involves you.”

  Philippa laughed. She sat down with a thump on a wide, armless chair, with no regard for the pleats and flounces at the back of her summery floral day-dress. “Of course I am aware. Dido never lets up. She is determined to see me married. I am a project to her, a pet project, you see! Once she gets an idea, she simply won’t let go, will she?”

  “In that regard, I fear she takes after her father.”

  “Ah, and how is my lord this morning?”

  “He is well. He does not drink to excess so his head is quite clear.”

  “Unlike Lord Mondial,” Philippa said, before fluttering a delicate hand over her mouth in an affected way. “Oh, hark at me, gossiping already – you must stop me, Lady Calaway, you simply must, I beg you. Since my own mother died I’ve had no one to instruct me to hold my tongue, as you know.”

  That made it sound as if the bereavement was recent but Philippa’s mother had died when she was seven. Adelia and Theodore had often taken her in for the summer while she was a younger girl, and that was how she’d grown close to Dido. But since Dido had left the family home well over eight years ago, they had had little more to do with Philippa. She had become a young woman in those intervening years and sometimes it was as if she were a different person altogether.

  “I will indeed stop you,” Adelia said, “And let us return to the other matter. As you point out yourself, Dido is determined that she shall see you married to a suitable man. What do you say to that?”

  “Oh – well, I suppose that I must.”

  “I know that you do not welcome such a change of circumstance.”

  “I do not. But grandpapa is old and ill and soon I shall be alone in the world, and I know that I must either make a match, or be consigned to the attic of a distant relative, wheeled out on high days and holidays so that they might feel magnanimous in being kind to me.”

  “Oh, that is not so,” Adelia said. “If you were absolutely set against marriage in any form, then there are a few other options. You might become a schoolmistress, or better, a governess, for example. Perhaps you could consider nursing. I have even heard of women studying and embarking on careers in the law. You could apply to Miss Beale’s new venture, her college at Oxford; it is to be for women only.”

  Philippa laughed. “St Hilda’s? Oh, goodness me. You have known me since I was small. Have I ever led you to suspect I might be inclined to books and learning?”

  “Well, no, you have not.”

  “And I am not against marriage.” She sighed. “I am simply against all the men I’ve met so far. As husbands, I mean. They are all perfectly lovely people. And it just feels so awfully final, to be committed to one man for ever and ever. I love people in general. I adore meeting them and making new friends. It seems to me that when a woman marries, a door closes in front of her face and shuts her up in a house. It might be a very fine house – like Dido has – but it is a closed door nonetheless. Do you see? When we were younger, Dido and I planned so many adventures that we would embark upon when we were grown.” She sighed in happy remembrance.

  Adelia nodded.

  Philippa continued, a wistful note in her voice. “We were to go to Italy and swim in the lakes under the light of the moon like Byron; we were to trek through Scottish highlands and wear tartan and learn to like porridge with salt in it. I spoke with her a few days ago and reminded her of these dreams and she just laughed and said they were foolish. I pressed her, saying, she could come with me to Milan for a month perhaps. There is no reason why she shouldn’t. She could chaperone me. But she said, oh, the children.” Philippa looked directly at Adelia. “It’s always, the children, the children. I don’t understand why she can’t let them be in the care of nurses and tutors. Why does she feel so bound to them?”

  Adelia had to repress her smile. “Because she is their mother.”

  “My mother was never so frivolous even before she died. She visited the nursery once a week. Sundays. I had to curtsey to her.” Philippa frowned. “If it is the modern way to be more – more like Dido – then I should not bear it. I could not be like she is.”

  “I would not worry,” Adelia said. “Motherhood is different for everyone. And it’s a big leap indeed to be fretting about children when we haven’t yet found you a man. The main thing is that you are amenable to the idea?”

  “I am,” she said heavily. “It must be done. I imagine you have already come up with a list?”

  “Of course. You know me very well.”

  Philippa sprang to her feet and paced around the room, ending up by the window. She looked out over the lawns, with her hand resting on the thick curtains. Without facing Adelia, she said heavily, “And who is top of this list of eligible men?”

  “I think you already know the gentleman. I believe Sir Henry Locksley would be utterly perfect for you.” Adelia wished that she could see Philippa’s face to gauge her reaction to the suggestion.

  “Sir Henry Locksley,” Philippa repeated. There didn’t seem to be any outward disgust in her voice, at least. “Yes, I have met him at social events.”

  “I know he is not a peer, but he is a baronet and you would be Lady Locksley. And your children would inherit the title. That would be something, would it not?”

  The subtle shrug of Philippa’s shoulder indicated that she didn’t give two hoots for an inheritable title. Dido remembered that she herself had not cared before she married the Earl. It wasn’t until her children were born that she began to be more concerned with the future.

  “It would be awfully strange to be Philippa Locksley.”

  “Why so?”

  “It is not me. I have a sense of myself and a different name means I would be a different person.”

  “You worry about the strangest things,” Adelia said. “He is young, handsome and principled. He has no major vices that anyone gossips about. No scandal has attached to him, at least, not since he was a student and all of that may be forgiven. How well do you know him?”

  “Barely. As I say, we have been introduced in public and nothing more. Dido knows him rather better.”

  “And is there anyone else you would rather have at the top of the list? You may speak freely, dear,” Adelia said. “I have only your best interests at heart. If someone else has stolen your affections and they are a suitable candidate then I promise to do everything I can to arrange things between you both.”

  There was a hesitation before Philippa spoke. “No, there is no one else.”

  Adelia could not ignore that pause. She went over and stood at Philippa’s side. “Miss Lamb, it is vital that you speak honestly to me. Who are you thinking of, right now?”

  “No one,” Philippa replied forcefully. “I swear upon – upon anything that you care to name – that there is no one in my heart.” But she looked away and her cheeks coloured. “It is not my fault if I am in someone else’s heart, though, is it?”

  “An admirer?”

  “Yes. But he is not suitable in any way and I have never encouraged him.”

  “Well, then, it is settled. And a marriage to another is the clearest possible signal that you can send to this other person, is it not?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. How will you manage this match? The season is almost over and everyone will be returning to their houses now, or heading away. Dido might let you invite him here. He can be added to the list for the garden party.”

  Adelia could not help herself. “Don’t be angry at me, dear one, but you know how efficient I am. I have already arranged it. Sir Henry Locksley arrives tomorrow.”

  Four

  It was one of those intolerably hot and stuffy days that made the end of summer so unbearable. Sir Henry had arrived two days previously and had b
een stiffly welcomed by Lord Mondial, with all the courtesy and none of the warmth the peer could muster. Dido and Adelia had conspired to invite a few other potential suitors, but the next man on their list was unavailable and as soon as it appeared that Philippa was at least amenable to the idea of marrying Sir Henry, Adelia counselled that perhaps they ought to give the man the best chance by not introducing any competition. At least not for the time being. Dido had agreed and Philippa had not appeared to care either way. Of course, it would not have done for Philippa to show too much enthusiasm but her utter passivity was of some concern.

  Dido told Adelia not to worry.

  So Adelia and Dido took it in turns to supervise some informal meetings between Sir Henry and Philippa, usually in the company of other people from the local area too. There were enough of the right sort of folk around to make such socialising something of a pleasure. Having less fun, unfortunately, was Theodore, who was growing more discontented by the hour. He was itching to find out what was happening at home but Adelia had banned all correspondence with the Postlethwaite firm. She trusted them to make everything right.

  And they would have an easier job of it without Theodore’s interference.

  “I am rather afraid that your father is going to sneak off home in the night,” Adelia told Dido as they sat in an upstairs room on the shady side of the castle, just after a late and casual luncheon. “Then he will take up his medical practice once more, and find himself brought up in the courts.”

  “I don’t understand why he is so set on such a strange career. He does not need to work.”

  “Not for the money, no; and anyway, he does not charge for his services. He considers himself a philanthropist using his God-given gifts and station. I think that might be part of the problem,” Adelia said. “People don’t value what they get for free and are more vocal in expressing displeasure. But the main problem is his bluntness of manner. He cannot see the point of expressing sympathy. Yet for some people who are unwell, sympathy is the very best medicine.”