She slept fitfully, but awoke the next morning knowing that she was better. The weather had turned; a miserable, sleety day dawned gray and brooding over Bath. Even the Bath stone buildings, usually a warm mellow butter color, appeared dull and dismal, cold gray in the morning light. Determined to return to the problems at hand, Anne bathed and dressed carefully in the pale blue striped robe à la polonaise, hoping she would be lifted by fresh finery.
Attendance at St. Swithin was thin. Osei met Anne and her mother in their family box. He asked after Lady Everingham.
“I was ill yesterday, and my grandmother is feeling poorly today. I’m pleased she stayed home; the weather is increasingly cold and damp, and her fire is warm. The chill wind affects her awfully now. Irusan has deigned to visit her, and she has surprisingly taken to him after calling him a filthy creature the first time she saw him.”
Osei smiled. “King Irusan has a way of overcoming objections.” His spectacles glinted in the light from the lanterns, lit on such a gloomy day, and he shivered. “On days such as this I close my eyes and remember home.”
“Your home lands are close to the equator, I recall,” she murmured, watching the congregation gather in the pews below their box. “You must miss the warmth.”
“But in England there is much to make up for what I lost.”
“You’re good at finding consolation, Osei, but I know your life is not all it could be.” She glanced over at him. “Have you spoken to Mrs. Fothergill further about her work with Africans in England?”
“I spent the day with her and the doctor yesterday; I dined there, too. We have started to go through her lists. She is a remarkable woman, one who gives me hope for the future. Wherever possible she has provided both the English name an African is known by and the name they were given at birth, so we are starting there. I have been looking for Akosua among them, with no luck so far. But one day later this month she and Dr. Fothergill are going to London, and I shall accompany them. There are more lists there, with their society.” He hesitated and pushed up his glasses, meeting her eyes briefly, then looking away. “Mrs. Fothergill has asked if I would like to join the Society of Friends.”
“Will you?”
“I haven’t yet decided. I’m not sure I believe wholly as they believe.”
“I’m not sure I believe wholly as anyone believes,” Anne muttered and Osei smiled. “What is it about their tenets you do not go along with?”
“They are determinedly peaceable. As much as I admire that aim, I was raised a warrior. I believe that violence, as abhorrent as it is, becomes necessary when one’s loved ones or national survival is at stake. If we had won the battle that ended with our people being slaughtered, neither I nor my sister would have been taken as a slave. My parents and grandparents would be alive. I would go back and fight even harder and be victorious if I could.”
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God,” Anne said.
“There is a time to love and a time to hate, a time of war and a time of peace.” He looked down at his hands, clutching a Bible. “I’m not sure my beliefs are compatible with the Friends.”
She had been thinking deeply about love and friendship, home and family, over the last two days. Softly she said, “Osei, I hope you someday get a chance to see your home again, and I pray you find your sister, Akosua.” She regarded the gathering congregation. Though scattered, Anne could pick out one couple she knew: “There is Baron Kattenby and Mrs. Venables,” she murmured. “In attendance for the second publishing of the banns.”
“Why do they not marry by special license? I’m astonished they will wait for the banns,” he replied.
“I know he could afford a special license. It could be he is thrifty, or . . . perhaps he’s delaying marriage.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Maybe he’s not as eager to be wed as she is. Perhaps he is having second thoughts. I have heard an argument between them. He would prefer to wait until Christmas, after his son has had a chance to meet and approve of her, while she is anxious to be married. I know she feels her dependency upon Alethea and Bertie weigh on her.” And perhaps, she thought, the Birkenhead home was not as congenial as Bella Venables would have everyone think.
“It is a matter of two months, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I should not think it a burden for the lady to wait so little time.”
“True,” Anne said, pondering Osei’s statement. Why was Mrs. Venables in such a hurry? It seemed possible that Bella had simply worn out her welcome in their home. The gossip about Bertie and Alfred . . . had it come from Bella Venables? With her intimate knowledge, how easy it would be to accidentally let something spill.
The service was much as the last one. One week, Anne thought; just one week ago she had wandered in the garden with Alfred Lonsdale. He had poured out his troubles to her—all his doubts and fears about how his life conflicted with his profession—in veiled language that she could now see through. His preference for the intimate companionship of men was weighing heavily on his heart. He had been contemplating different choices, it seemed, and wondering how those choices would affect his future.
At the same time she now knew he was dealing with an estrangement from Bertie over his affair with young Thomas Graeme. Two days and the reading she had done had taught her so much. Graeme was threatening Lonsdale with exposure, judging from the letters, not only of himself, but also . . . of his nearest and dearest. Tulip had said something to that effect in one of the letters, and now that she knew the truth about her friend she wondered . . . was Graeme threatening to expose Bertie? What would Bertie do if he found out? Graeme loomed like a sinister shadow over the events that culminated in Lonsdale’s death.
The banns were again read for the baron and Mrs. Venables. As her mother chatted with friends, Anne descended from the family box on Osei’s arm and they made their way through the group of well-wishers to the couple. The baron appeared sickly; Mrs. Venables seemed anxious, clinging to his arm and watching his face as he courteously thanked their friends and fellow congregants.
“Sir, are you feeling all right?” Anne asked him as his fiancée was distracted by a group of ladies asking her when the wedding was to take place.
He sighed, one hand on his stomach. “Please, my lady, do not concern yourself. I have been a martyr to complaints of the stomach for years.”
Anne nodded, relieved to hear it was not a new illness.
“I think there has been too much excitement lately,” he fretted, touching his mouth with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “My son is coming to Bath to meet Bella in a week. While I look forward to it, I’ll confess to some trepidation. If he doesn’t approve . . .” He sighed and shook his head. “She still would like to marry by special license . . . something about it being the done thing, quite fashionable.”
“A wise man sets the fashion instead of following it.”
He smiled faintly. “I don’t see what is wrong with doing it by the banns, a good old-fashioned notion. I have been tempted to procure the special license and marry just to get it done, but I am determined to hold fast to the old ways, which were good enough for my parents and are good enough for me.”
“And so you should, Baron, stand to your decision,” Anne said.
He glanced around and dropped a wink. “I am delighted she is so eager. Stodgy old codger like me . . . don’t know what she sees in me.”
A comfortable home and an income, the best protection from a life of want and poverty, Anne thought. But she said instead, “My good sir, you seem a kind and interesting gentleman to me. Do not underestimate the attraction of benevolence and geniality as traits of choice in a mate.”
• • •
The rest of Sunday passed at the Bestwick home, where she and Osei were guests for dinner and whist. Lydia was inattentive and nervous, clearly uncomfortable as her time of confinement fast approached, though Lolly bustled about her, attending to her
every need in a fussy manner. Anne, Lydia and Lolly spoke of her approaching confinement privately, when they retired after dinner. Her midwife had visited to consult with the expectant mother, and had engaged a wet nurse who would live in when the joyous event finally took place.
But the gentlemen soon joined them after dinner—John and Osei did not have a lot to speak of since their tastes and manners were very different—and the whist table was laid. While Lolly sat to one side and knitted something tiny for the coming baby, they played a couple of games. John and Osei won, much to Anne’s chagrin; she was highly competitive and it took all of her self-control to keep from berating Lydia for her inattentiveness. After, there was tea, sherry, cakes, and desultory conversation. Anne sighed in exasperation. She had not been able to get a word alone with her friend, and she did wish to discover if the lifting of the “curse” had been of any benefit to her at all.
Finally, as Lydia yawned and was helped to her feet by her husband, Anne said, “Let me see you upstairs, Lydia. I have something to ask you.”
John looked to his wife for acquiescence, and she nodded. Anne and Lolly helped her up to her bedchamber, but Lydia insisted on stopping at another room, a small dark chamber with a narrow bed draped in dark bedclothes, as Lolly went ahead to make the room comfortable for her young friend.
“This is the confinement chamber. Is it not dreadful? I don’t wish to have my baby here, but the midwife insists, and I cannot make John listen to me. Will you talk to him for me, Anne? I’m sure he will listen to you over me, because he is always saying how sensible and intelligent you are.” She pouted, her puffy face shadowed and full of discontent. “He thinks me silly and uninformed. He regrets marrying me, I know it. I’m sure he would rather be married to you.”
Anne smiled into the dark at the notion of her and John married. “My darling girl, you know that John adores you above anyone,” she replied, putting her arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “He is happy here in Bath with you, and wishes to make a home with you somewhere you can be together and away from Darkefell Castle. He adores you and wants your little family to be alone. Is that what you would want, my dear friend?”
“Oh, yes, above all things,” she whispered. “To be away from the dowager marchioness would be lovely. She frightens me sometimes.”
Cosseted and comforted, Lydia let Anne guide her to her warm bedchamber, where she sat down in a chair by her dressing table as her maid entered. Anne reacquainted herself with the girl, who she knew from Ivy Lodge. But when the maid and Lolly left the room to fetch hot water, she took advantage of being alone for a moment.
As best as she could in her heavy gown she crouched down by her friend’s chair and gazed up at her, taking her hand and squeezing. “Lydia, my dear, have you heard word about . . . about your worries? I know what was upsetting you, the curse. Is it all sorted out now?”
Tears welled in Lydia’s eyes and she nodded, the wet trails on her cheeks glowing in the candlelight. “You’re not going to tell John, are you? About the jewelry I lost to that horrible old fraud? Lolly told me it was all a hum, that you made her admit it.”
Anne hadn’t been able to do that, but she thanked Lolly in her mind for thinking of that one piece of fiction that would reassure her friend.
“I thought . . . oh, Anne!” Tears dripped down her cheeks and onto their clasped hands. “I believed what the first note said. How could they know, I wondered, whoever sent it. I felt pains and . . . and oh, this awful squeezing feeling in my belly!” She freed one hand and touched her curved belly. “They said my child would be a monster!”
“Are you all right now?” Anne asked with alarm.
“Oh, yes, the midwife told me to drink, and gave me a tisane. And she told me how to lie to help with the squeezing feelings. She says it happens to many ladies. But I was so frightened in case I lost the baby. I can’t help but feel there is a curse lingering. Are you sure it was all a hum?”
“As sure as sure can be. And you trust me, don’t you?”
Lydia nodded. “That woman sent me a note, you know. It was hard to read—the handwriting was awful—but I think it said she was mistaken, that she had been wrong and there was no curse.”
Deeply grateful that her younger friend was now confiding in her, Anne was careful not to belittle Lydia. “There was no curse, dearest,” Anne said gently. “It was not that she was mistaken; it was a sham to swindle you out of money. There are people in this world who live by tricking others, though generous good people like you would never know it. You and your baby are safe.”
Perhaps Anne’s threats had worked, and the mystic was now in fear of being turned in to the magistrate. That might still happen; if what Anne feared was true, and the plot was deeper and more devious than she had at first thought, there would be awful consequences. Tenderly, she said goodnight to her friend, kissing her cheek. Lolly waited and walked out with Anne, reassuring her that she would stay with the girl until she was asleep.
Tomorrow, Anne thought; tomorrow was Monday. Tomorrow Tony—so longed for, so desired—would arrive in Bath. She touched her flaming cheek; how she missed him . . . he was like a fever in her blood. But . . . she resolutely turned her mind toward the puzzle at hand, the one irritant that kept her from fully enjoying the anticipation of reuniting with her love. Tomorrow she would get to the bottom of all the nonsense that had been going on. Tomorrow she would find out, once and for all, if her darkest fears were more than just fears.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Monday dawned bleak, the awful weather having settled in for a prolonged stay. Cold, rainy, windy: it was the antithesis of the golden warmth of a week ago. It had rained all night but slowed to a drizzle for a time in the morning, though the leaden skies looked ready to let loose a torrent at any moment. Anne took advantage of the break, donning her new hooded woolen cloak and taking a sedan chair to the Pump Room. It was thin of society, though even with the inclement weather the sturdiest of husband hunters were there in force. As Lydia had informed her there were far more women eager to wed than men willing to be caught. It took dedicated effort to find a husband in such surroundings.
Mr. Thomas Graeme was there. His swift and noticing gaze swept over her, and he quickly turned his back, engaging himself with an older gentleman in a Bath chair, whose attendant was waiting behind a group of ladies for the glass of Bath water that he would inevitably quaff, one of many, perhaps, mandated by his doctor. Graeme bent over the fellow—a widower Anne would bet—and spoke nonstop, taking breaks to straighten and glance about the room, his gaze hurried and anxious.
Anne turned and caught sight of a beautiful middle-aged lady who traded a look with Graeme, glanced at her, then drifted away, claiming a group of acquaintances before disappearing out the door. Interesting. Had Graeme been about to bring the beautiful lady to the elderly man’s attention?
She noted, among those awaiting a glass of Bath mineral water, the footman from Bertie and Alethea’s home who attended Quin when he went out. She approached. “Crabbe, correct? You are Mr. and Mrs. Birkenhead’s footman.”
“Yes, milady,” he said with a perfect bow. He was good-looking, as most footmen were, but did not have the air of haughtiness and conceit that tainted the attitude of some of his tribe. His eyes were kind, his mien humble.
“Is Mr. Quin here, then?” she said, glancing around the room.
“No, milady. He is having his treatment with Dr. Fothergill at the Cross Bath. He finds the water here more palatable to drink, though, so I am fetching him this glass for his first of the day. He will come here after for his next.”
“Thank you, Crabbe. I may see him if I am still here. How long does his treatment last?”
“About an hour, milady.”
Anne swept away to stand in a gloomy shadow near a window and stared at the few faithful who had ventured to the Pump Room for their daily dose. More would come later to gossip and pretend to listen to the music that had not yet started at this early hour.
It was in her quiet refuge that she first saw Mrs. Bella Venables speaking with an unlikely lady, Mrs. Honoria Noakes. She had thought a lot about Mrs. Venables since two days before, the revealing conversation that had shocked Anne so much, at first, and now left her sad and worried for her friends. In the past Bertie’s cousin had shunned Mrs. Noakes, condemning the lady as someone with no wit and less grace.
Anne stirred uneasily; the conversation she was having with Mrs. Noakes seemed intense. Two hard red spots of color were on Mrs. Venables’s high cheeks, and the other lady appeared cowed, shrinking back and putting up one gloved hand in a gesture of negation or self-protection. But when Mr. Doyne entered the Pump Room and scanned it, looking for his lady, their attitude changed in a twinkling.
Mrs. Venables said something to the other woman, then straightened, taking one step back. When Mr. Doyne joined them there were smiles and nods all around. As Mr. Doyne took Mrs. Noakes on his arm and strolled with her toward the pump, though, the look on Mrs. Venables’s face changed again in an instant. The expression was one of baffled fury.
As a child, Anne had loved traditional pantomimes of the “dumb show” style. In those harlequinades all the action was silent, with exaggerated gestures and expressions accompanying the action. As entertaining as the dumb show she had just witnessed was, and as expressive of the various characters’ parts, it left her with one question: why had Mrs. Venables until now concealed how well she knew Mrs. Noakes? For it was evident by their body language, as seen from a distance, that they may be friends or adversaries, but in either instance it was a relationship much closer than what she had been led to believe.
Lady Anne and the Menacing Mystic Page 27