Lady Anne and the Menacing Mystic

by Victoria Hamilton

  “I think I may have heard of her. Has she become fashionable?”

  “Yes, milady, ever so! There is not a person of standing in Bath who has not been to her.”

  “My grandmother can tolerate so few fashionable affairs nowadays, but she does like to get out. She told me she had visited a prophetess who had, she said, predicted I would become engaged to a man of elevated status.” Since that had already occurred, it was not so much a prediction as a good guess, or perhaps a simple acknowledgment of what Anne’s mother and grandmother had been hoping for ever since Tony visited them early in the summer, trying to discover where Anne was.

  As Mrs. McKellar made a few final notes, Anne listened in on the other conversation.

  Mrs. Basenstoke said, “He is not pleased that Alfred is staying with us.”

  “Roger is not pleased? But they are cousins,” Lady Barbara exclaimed. “What objection has he to your nephew?”

  “I don’t know.” The other woman paused, her forehead wrinkled, then continued, “Roger will not say. It’s troubling. Alfred is a most abstemious young man, here to take the waters after a bout of illness. He’s so sweet and helpful, more so than Roger.”

  “He’s an endearing boy,” Lady Harecross acknowledged. “And beautiful, like a Grecian marble bust, with a tumble of dark curling hair over his brow.”

  “Since his parents are both gone I feel a motherly interest in him,” Clary said. “We must find him a bride, perhaps one with money.”

  “Alfred Lonsdale is a vicar, Clary. He cannot aim too high with poor health, a limited income and middling prospects for the future. He will not be able to wed until he has a living, surely. But perhaps a merchant’s daughter with a hundred a year who will trade her dowry for an introduction to society could be a good match. Alfred’s birth is good, after all, and can stand any inspection.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. I shouldn’t worry about his ability to find someone. He appears a most able matchmaker. After all, he did introduce me to Mr. Smythe,” she said, with a youthful blush mantling her cheeks.

  “Your new beau! A gentlemanly fellow, so I understand, and said to be tremendously wealthy from woolen mills in the north. I didn’t know Alfred had introduced you.”

  Anne watched her mother’s friend, a woman of average height, face lightly lined with wrinkles, but still with a fine figure. Mrs. Clary Basenstoke had been a widow for many years. How nice that she had a new love interest!

  The lady self-consciously fanned herself and smiled. “Alfred has become quite fashionable and has a wide acquaintance, even though he has been here in Bath only a couple of months. He met Mr. Smythe through a friend, I understand, and so introduced him to me at the Assembly Rooms.”

  “You do appear quite . . . elevated, Clary. I have not seen you so happy for many a year,” Lady Harecross stated with satisfaction.

  “I should be perfectly happy, if only Roger had not taken against poor Alfred. It does disturb my household.”

  Anne firmed her lips in a grimace to keep from uttering a biting remark; she had known Mrs. Basenstoke’s son, Roger, for years and had never liked him. He was presumptuous and conceited, she thought, with the outward aspect of a gentleman and the soul of a scapegrace. If Roger disapproved of this vicar, Mrs. Basenstoke’s nephew, Mr. Alfred Lonsdale, then Anne approved of the gentleman on principle.

  “His great friend Mr. Bertram Birkenhead has offered Alfred a room, should he need it, but I do not wish—”

  “Oh, I know the Birkenheads!” Anne exclaimed, setting down her refreshed bowl of tea and looking over to the two older women. “I have known Alethea Birkenhead for ten years or more.”

  “Is that so?” Mrs. Basenstoke said, smiling over at Anne.

  “We went to school together. Her husband, Bertram—Bertie to most of us—has become my good friend too, since they wed.”

  “You should not use a gentleman’s given name, no matter how friendly,” her mother stated. “It’s vulgar and common. Bertie is a name for a rag-and-bone man, not a gentleman.”

  Anne ignored her and continued to Mrs. Basenstoke, “Whenever I come to Bath we reanimate our friendship. In fact, I shall be going to visit them in an hour. We are to walk today, and are engaged to the ball at the Assembly Rooms tonight.”

  “They seem a delightful couple, devoted to each other,” Mrs. Basenstoke said.

  “They are the very pair who inspire me to hope that happiness can be found within marriage.”

  Her mother sniffed and harrumphed. Her own marriage to the earl, Anne’s father, was broken in profound ways. The problems with Jamey, Anne’s brother, who had a condition that made him wildly difficult to deal with, had forced a wedge between the husband and wife. Anne’s mother had been devastated by Jamey’s troublesome behavior and had wished to send him away to be looked after elsewhere.

  In one sense her father had acquiesced, but the place he chose for Jamey to live was a house on their estate so he could visit with his only son. Jamey had a private house and a couple whose job was to look after him and keep him happy. He mostly was happy with his greenhouse, his gardens and his inventions. His proximity, though, to Harecross Hall had been unbearable for Lady Harecross, a continual reminder of her failure to give the earl an heir who could act with competence.

  Lady Harecross, unable to bear the strain, had moved to Bath to stay with her mother. She had never returned to her home and Anne, in her own stubborn turn, had been angry at her mother for years. Standing with her father regarding Jamey’s living arrangement had broken the thin, tenuous bond they had once had as mother and daughter. She was now trying to mend their fractured relationship for the sake of her family, but she would never apologize for what she had done in the past, nor would she regret what she said.

  “There’s no need for comments like that, Anne!” her mother said.

  “Barbara, she didn’t mean anything by it,” Mrs. Basenstoke said.

  “I meant exactly what I said,” Anne replied. “The Birkenheads are my ideal of happiness in marriage.”

  Mrs. McKellar, clearly uncomfortable with the palpable tension in the room, stood and said hastily, “Thank you, milady, for the tea. I will be gone now, for I must not disappoint my next lady.”

  “Please do take some cakes home for your children,” Anne said with a smile.

  The seamstress ducked her head in thanks and wrapped some delicacies in a scrap of fabric. “Milady, if you can have your maid box these two gowns and send them to my home, I will make the alterations and the final stitching on the robe a l’anglaise, and begin on the robe à la polonaise and other items. Please send me a note when you wish to shop for the accoutrements.”

  She hurried from the room, and her mother, looking Anne over disapprovingly, said, “I hope you are going to visit Darkefell’s brother and sister-in-law while you are here? And you’ll wear something appropriate?”

  Anne took in a deep breath. “Mother, Lydia is not only Darkefell’s sister-in-law but my particular friend. For heaven’s sake, I was engaged to her brother, Reggie! Of course I will be visiting them, but I must respect her delicate condition. I have sent round my card and expect to hear back any time now; I’ll be guided by how she is feeling. I’m going tomorrow afternoon to visit Lolly.” Lolly was Miss Louisa Broomhall. “Will you have any message for her?” Anne said pointedly. “Perhaps an invitation to tea?”

  “Not right now, Anne. I’m far too busy for Lolly’s giddiness.”

  Anne stared at her mother, who was in her leisure, wearing her favorite sack gown, unpowdered and unwigged. Lady Harecross did nothing most days but visit friends, gossip and shop. Today she was “not at home” except to her dearest friend. “I will be taking a box of cook’s treats to her, at least,” she said. “Considering Lolly’s continued penury and your refusal to help in any material way, I will do whatever is in my power to aid her. And I’ll give her your love. Such as it is.”

  “Do not be smart with me, Anne,” Lady Harecross said, her voi
ce frozen with fury as Mrs. Basenstoke remained diplomatically silent.

  Anne picked up Irusan, and as she departed the room muttered, “I have an engagement, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Chapter Two

  The Birkenheads arrived to pick her up in their handsome open landau; they were to stroll the park, or some other green space.

  Mrs. Alethea Birkenhead, clad in a striking gold polonaise gown and plumed hat, waved a hand toward a gentleman and lady sitting opposite her. “Anne, my dearest friend! We have brought company with us. This is Mrs. Bella Venables, a cousin of Bertie’s,” she said, touching her husband’s shoulder. He, garbed in a rust-figured frock coat and gold breeches, smiled benignly and bowed his head. “Bella, may I introduce you to our dear friend Lady Anne Addison?”

  The two ladies bowed their heads, Anne noticing how well-looking and genteel Mrs. Venables was, clad in a magenta striped day gown, her flattering hairstyle—not as elaborate as many felt necessary—topped by a beribboned calash. She was a woman of middle years, closer to forty than thirty, Anne judged. Her face was lightly lined, as if she had suffered in her life, but her eyes were lovely, deep-set, dark and liquid, a look Anne admired greatly.

  “And I hope you don’t mind; this is our good friend Mr. Alfred Lonsdale. Mr. Lonsdale, may I introduce you to Lady Anne Addison?”

  Anne, handed up into the carriage by a footman, eyed the soberly dressed young gentleman, who had stood, removed his hat and bowed during the introduction. He took his seat as she sat down beside him. “Mr. Lonsdale, you are Mrs. Clary Basenstoke’s nephew, are you not?”

  “I am, my lady,” he said as he donned his hat. “Do you know my aunt?”

  “I do; she is the dear friend of my mother, Lady Barbara Harecross.”

  “Ah . . . I have heard my aunt speak of your mother and your grandmother, Lady Everingham?”

  “You are correct. Mrs. Basenstoke is a frequent visitor to our home. I enjoyed meeting her this morning and reacquainting myself with her. I arrived in Bath two days ago.”

  Formalities out of the way, the footman hopped up beside the driver, who maneuvered the landau around a corner on the Paragon. Carriages were not usually employed in Bath, where the streets were narrow and the distances close, but with so many it was a necessity, Anne supposed. They chatted, a cheerful group, though Mr. Lonsdale appeared a somber young gentleman, not much given to light conversation and gossip. He had been asked to make up the numbers, Alethea said, as three ladies and one gentleman was one too many ladies. Anne smiled at her friend’s flighty chatter. Alethea, a friend of hers from her brief time in school, had moments of such gaiety, and then long periods of introspection. Their friendship had not been without drama, but through all the turmoil and tumult they were steadfast and true. She had attended their wedding six years ago and considered them both good friends.

  Mr. Bertram Birkenhead—extremely wealthy from family investments in the fur trade with the Hudson’s Bay Company in the colonies—was at least ten years older than Alethea, his dark hair threaded with silver, his mien calm and reflective. His wise levelheadedness countered her occasional giddiness, and his wife’s mercurial flightiness made him smile, lightening his mood and making life zestful, he had once said. Together they were a striking couple, both tall, both elegant, her fine-boned beauty—sharp chin, wide mouth, high cheekbones—a contrast to his sober solidity. They were as close as any husband and wife Anne had ever witnessed.

  They trundled no further than the Crescent, that long beautiful curved row of Bath stone townhomes and the park opposite, before stopping and dismissing their carriage for the moment. Mrs. Venables was on Bertram’s other arm, so each lady had a gentleman’s support.

  October in Bath was a rosy month of moderate temperatures, misty sunlight, and muted colors. The trees were changing from green to golden, rust, and scarlet, and scattering leaves beneath them, a showy carpet of color. The park opposite the Crescent was a wide swath of green, with a view of trees below, beyond the ha-ha. Anne strolled, supported by the arm of Mr. Lonsdale, who was as beautiful as his aunt had said, with black hair and dark eyes. He had high cheekbones and hollow cheeks, with a suggestion of delicateness in his mien. Dark circles under his eyes hinted of suffering and perhaps sleepless nights. She was curious about him, a pleasant sensation in Bath, where nothing seemed to change much.

  “Are you certain you don’t wish for a more amusing walk, my lady?” the young gentleman said anxiously, tucking her arm in his own. “I believe they promised you a park.”

  “This is park enough for me. I am perfectly content, I assure you, especially with my friends’ choice of a companion for me.” She turned to catch a glimpse of his face, not so simple a matter with her bonnet shading her eyes. “How coincidental that I heard your name and am now meeting you!” There was no reply from the young gentleman, so she continued. “As I said, I am acquainted with your aunt, Mrs. Clary Basenstoke, and your cousin, Mr. Roger Basenstoke.” Anne didn’t add that on her last two visits to Bath her mother, desperate for Anne to wed, had tried to matchmake her with the gentleman simply because he was eligible and wealthy. She had spent many hours with him at the card table and the Assembly Rooms, and found him gloomy, cynical, sarcastic and unappealing. “How happy you must be, with a cousin to spend time with! He has lived here most of his life, I believe, so he has been able to introduce you to all of his friends.”

  Faint rosy color mantled his cheeks, the only color on him for he was, indeed, pallid. He ducked his head in an affirmative nod. “I am grateful to my aunt for giving me a home for the time being.”

  That was evasive and ambiguous, to say the least. Anne was becoming more curious about his relationship with his disagreeable cousin. “Do you and your cousin, Mr. Basenstoke, spend much time together?”

  Alethea, ahead on the arm of her husband, looked over her shoulder. “Don’t speak to me of Roger Basenstoke,” she cried. “He is a fiend whom I cannot like.”

  “Alethea, you should not criticize,” her husband protested mildly. “You put poor Alfred out of countenance.”

  “Pish tush,” she said dismissively. “Alfred can no more bear Roger than I can, but he’s too polite to say it.”

  “Many in society find Mr. Basenstoke perfectly amiable,” Mrs. Venables protested.

  “You’re too kind, as always, Bella,” Alethea said, a sharpness in her tone that Anne caught. Was there friction there, between the two ladies?

  “My cousin has his detractors,” Mr. Lonsdale said in a soft voice, “but I cannot criticize him while his mother is so kind to me.”

  “I credit your delicacy, sir,” Anne said. “I did not mean to cause a stir. Alethea, you are too warm when your sentiments are engaged.”

  “I will ever be fierce regarding my friends, I hope,” she said, smiling back at Anne. She was one of the few who knew of the attempt to match her with Mr. Basenstoke, and of Anne’s dislike of the gentleman. “Let us walk more swiftly. I wish to enjoy autumn before winter closes its hoary, crabbed fingers over the land.”

  They strolled along the edge of the ha-ha, overlooking the lawn and path below. “Mr. Lonsdale bemoaned the dullness of this walk and asked if I preferred the park, and I promise I am not unamused, but why are we walking this mundane area?” Anne asked, twisting to look back at Alethea, whom she and Mr. Lonsdale had passed in their stroll. The Birkenheads were standing, arm in arm, gazing at the long crescent of Bath townhomes, as Mrs. Venables stood apart, smoothing the ribbons of her calash and vacantly staring back at the white stone crescent of beautiful townhomes.

  “I’ll confess an ulterior motive to today’s jaunt. Bertie is thinking of leasing or purchasing one of the Crescent houses,” Alethea said, airily waving her hand at the row of elegant townhomes. “What think you?”

  “It would be a costly purchase,” Anne said cautiously. “Better to lease, surely. Even then, the Crescent would be a large expense.”

  “Bertie can afford it, can’t you, darling?” A
lethea said gaily, clutching her husband’s arm. “He’s a financial genius, which the world would know if he wasn’t so modest.”

  “Alethea, please, no boasting,” her husband said disapprovingly. Money was not a topic for conversation, or not in polite circles, anyway. “I am considering either here or the Circus, but am undecided,” he said. “I’d like to find something easier for poor Quinny, something bigger that has a suite of rooms on the ground floor suitable for his health, you see. The stairs are becoming increasingly difficult for the dear boy.” He spoke of his younger brother, Quin, who’d lived with them since their parents’ deaths. Quin was frail, with a wasting illness that no amount of Bath waters, internal or external, seemed to aid, though he dutifully hobbled to the baths and quaffed the mineral water.

  Anne and Lonsdale joined the couple and stared at the Crescent.

  “I am for the Crescent; look at these expansive views! So open, a real vista, almost like being in the country.” Alethea turned and gestured to the landscape, past the ha-ha and down the sward of green grass to a walkway and row of varicolored trees. “But Bertie prefers the Circus,” she said with an affectionate look at her handsome husband. “You shall break the tie, Anne.”

  “No, no,” said her husband with a rare smile. “I insist on Alfred breaking the tie. That way I can be sure of winning.” He cast a careless look Lonsdale’s way and raised his brows. “I have your vote, don’t I, dear boy?”

  “You know you do, Bertie,” he said. “I stand with you in whatever you wish.”

  “Why not let Quin be the tie breaker?” Anne said. “He’s the one who will be living there.” She wondered, at the same time, why they did not appeal to Mrs. Venables, who also lived with them.

  Alethea laughed out loud. “Always-sensible Anne. I do love you, my friend, and I’m so happy to have you back in Bath.”

  “Let us walk on. The carriage is to meet us at the Circus, where we can view the homes there,” Bertie said. “In either case we shall have to wait until next spring, as there is nothing available until then.”