There was a lengthy silence and Judith began to relax. Then Rosie said, "Do you think it is wasteful to be buried, Mama?"
Judith groaned.
Bastian had come over. "Silly. When we're buried, we're not wasted. We're eaten by worms. It's in Job. 'And though, after my skin, worms destroy this body.'"
"Mama!" wailed Rosie.
Judith quickly shepherded her two children away. That night she had to sleep with Rosie and try to put into perspective her new realization of mortality. It was as well there had been no question of sleeping with Leander this night.
Chapter 15
The next day, despite her words to Leander, Judith wasn't feeling quite the thing. She chose to spend most of it in front of the library fire with a book—the popular novel, Waverley. Novel reading had not been a large part of her life, and she enjoyed herself tremendously, especially as there was nothing to do but drink the tea, and eat the meals prepared for her.
She was consequently a little put out when told her brother-in-law had come to call. On the other hand, she welcomed the opportunity to thank him for the money he had sent. Without it, she did not know what she would have done.
The gentleman who was ushered in was a stranger, though she supposed she must have met him at her wedding all those years ago. Timothy Rossiter was as slight as his brother, but had a paunch, and rather puffy eyes. His hair was short and mousy, but his features were very similar to his brother's.
"My dear Lady Charrington," he gushed. "Or may I still call you sister?"
Judith could hardly hold back a gasp. His voice was exactly like Sebastian's except for a slight drawl. "Of course..." she said uncertainly, for he had never called her sister to her recollection. She would have sworn that at the wedding he had not addressed two words to her. "Please be seated. Would you care for tea?"
He accepted, his eyes darting around. She thought he looked disappointed by the simple, old-fashioned room. Wryly, she suspected that he had come in hopes of bolstering his fortune. Perhaps she should offer to repay the money he had given her, for he did not look prosperous. His suit of clothes was plain and rather worn; the kind of thing one would expect of a servant. She realized she had no idea what he did for a living.
She was shamed to find she didn't care for him, when he had been so kind, and she strove to inject warmth into her voice. "I am so pleased to have this opportunity to thank you in person, Mister Rossiter. The money you sent made all the difference to me and the children."
He smiled warmly. "I did not grudge a penny, dear sister. I only wish it could have been more, but..." He sighed. "Where are Sebastian's little angels?"
Was that how Sebastian had described them to his brother? "Bastian and Rosie are out at the moment, riding. You must come back another day and meet them."
The tea tray was brought in and Judith poured. As she passed the cup, she said, "You must forgive my ignorance, Mister Rossiter, for Sebastian spoke little of his family. Do my children have other relatives?"
He sipped. "Alas, no, sister. Or only very distant ones. There was only Sebastian and me, and our parents died before your marriage. That is why I feel we should keep in touch. Your children are the only chicks in the Rossiter nest."
Judith couldn't deny that his words made her uncomfortable, and she found she was pleased that they would soon be removing into Somerset. Timothy Rossiter was part of her family, and she was truly grateful for his help, but she did not want to become close.
"As I said," she murmured, "I will arrange a time for you to visit and meet the children. Now, forgive me for mentioning it, but is there any way I can repay you for your help over the past year? I am sure my husband would be delighted—"
"No, no, dear sister," he cried, rather sharply. "I would not dream of it. I am just happy to see that your cares are over, and I know Sebastian would be so, too." He put down his cup and rose. "It has been the greatest pleasure to meet you again."
With that he took his farewells and Judith could not help but be grateful for it. It was strange, she had never before had to contend with a relative she did not care for. She had no idea how to handle the situation, and could only hope that it would sort itself out.
She contentedly returned to her book.
The children returned, but Leander had dropped them off and gone about his business. After luncheon they went off happily with both Betty and George to yet more explorations. Judith approved the evening's menu, and authorized a purchase of spices. Then, feeling lazy, but unrepentant, she returned to her book.
When Leander arrived home he shook his head. "I've married an idle wretch."
"I fear you have," she said, accepting a cozy kiss. "I could become accustomed to this."
"I doubt it. If I commanded you to live like this for a week, you'd be in revolt in a few days."
Judith had to admit he was probably correct.
"Where are the children?" he asked.
"Out again. Their attendants are proving to be marvelous. Today they are to see St. Paul's. I confess, if I were feeling more sprightly, I would have gone with them."
"Betty and George are probably viewing this as a jolly holiday themselves. Now, I have been invited to dine with some friends this evening, fellow officers in the Guards. Will you feel terribly abandoned if I accept?"
She was happily able to assure him that she had no objection, and felt that their married life was settling into a comfortable pattern if he felt free to take himself off now and then. "But is there any news from the Temple yet?"
"No, but we should hear tomorrow. With luck, and barring diphtheria, we should be able to leave soon after, but you must say if you don't feel up to it."
She dismissed this. "I am not usually so frail, I assure you, and any tiredness lasts only the one day."
"Good, then are you up to looking over these papers with me?" he asked, producing a folder and untying the string. "These are some of the estate records, and they make no sense to me."
"Leander, I know nothing of such things."
"But you have a good head on your shoulders, and you've lived in the country all your life. My solicitor and accountants aren't making much headway either, so don't feel badly."
He laid out the sheets of neatly scribed details. "Look, there are four principal estates, and they all have income and expenses. The income has been going to the Temple, and then any amounts for repairs, new purchases and such has gone back, though all on paper through various banks around the country."
"How ridiculous," said Judith. "Surely the estate managers should be able to take reasonable amounts for management."
"You'd have thought so. My grandfather set up things this way. He became obsessed with control of the money—miserly even—probably because he didn't care what happened anywhere except at the Temple. I fear the lesser estates have suffered."
"But still," said Judith, leafing through the bewildering sheets of paper, "I would have thought it possible to see if money was missing."
"In theory, but with it all going round and round in circles like a whirligig, and through so many hands, it's a conundrum. The simple fact, however, is that at the end there doesn't seem to be all the money there should be. Look, the steward of the Cumberland property is complaining that he has not received money he requested for repairs. This account shows the money was authorized and withdrawn. Yet it never arrived in Cumberland."
Judith shook her head. "I'm sorry. This kind of thing makes no sense to me." In fact, she was staggered by the amounts being moved on the papers. Hundreds of thousands of pounds.
He gathered the papers up with a sigh. "I confess, I wish I'd been raised to this rather than to waltzing my way through diplomatic mazes. Ah well, doubtless when we get to the Temple, and I get my hands on the central accounts there, it will begin to resolve itself."
"If there's anything left to resolve. One interpretation of all those papers could be that money is being skimmed off like cream."
"Yes, I have thought of that," h
e said with a frown. "I would like to get there before Uncle Charles sails away, leaving only thin milk behind."
* * *
That evening Judith played a game with the children, and read to them, and it was almost like the old days, but much better. They told her excitedly about St. Paul's. "It's ever so big, Mama," said Bastian. "I'd really like to go to service there some day."
"Then we will. Perhaps this Sunday, if we are not already on our way to the Temple."
"Are we leaving so soon?" Rosie protested. "I wanted to see Westminster Abbey!"
"Then I would suggest that you go tomorrow."
"But we were going to go to the Tower tomorrow," said Bastian. "Do you know they have effigies of all the kings of England, in armor!"
Judith sighed and said firmly, "Today is Friday, and we surely will not begin our journey on Sunday, but if Lord Charrington wishes us to start our journey on Monday, children, then we will. You will have to choose what you want to do tomorrow, and if you cannot decide, you will have to stay at home." She saw their unhappy faces and said, "We will come to London again, you know, dears."
As she went to her own room, she hoped this was true. What would she do if Leander was entranced by Temple Knollis as his grandfather and uncle had been? She would live with it, she supposed, though the place was beginning to loom ominous in her mind.
* * *
The children settled their difference by lot, and Rosie's Westminster Abbey won. Bastian's disappointment was soothed when Leander announced that he would take them to the circus that evening. He told them they would definitely be leaving on Monday.
Later, he explained to Judith that he had finally received the report from Temple Knollis. There was no trace of sickness in the area, though his uncle was apparently ailing from a seizure, as James Knollis had said.
"It seems pretty conclusive," said Leander to Judith with a frown. "Why the devil would they try such a trick? It could only buy them a few days."
They were cozily on either side of the library fire.
Judith had needlework in hand. Leander was sipping brandy. She liked this togetherness very much indeed. "I suppose a few days could be crucial," she said. "Perhaps they're even now packing up the artwork, and preparing to flee the country."
"I'd almost say they're welcome—the place is too much like a museum of objects d'arts—except for the amount of money it all represents. With so much to be done to bring the estate back into good heart and help the people through these hard times, I may need all those treasures."
"Did your man see any sign that the family were preparing to flee?"
"No, but they've become reclusive. They've dismissed most of the staff, and are hardly seen. It's all dashed odd."
"Well," said Judith with a supportive smile, "within the week we'll be there, and we can set it all to rights."
He smiled back, fire flames dancing golden in his mysterious eyes. "I like that we."
Yes, thought Judith, I like this very much.
* * *
The circus was a roaring success. The children loved the acrobats, the equestrian feats, and the animals, and so did Judith, though she kept trying to remember to behave as a countess should. Sometimes she didn't feel as young as Leander, she felt as young as Rosie.
There was a real lion, however, and the handler put his arm into the beast's mouth. Rosie hid her face. "It's going to eat him!"
Afterward, despite the trainer's safety, she had to be reassured that there were no lions roaming free in England.
When they arrived back at the house, the children were both excited and exhausted. They drooped over their soup, and made no objection to seeking their beds. Judith and Leander had just settled to enjoying a cup of tea when both children raced downstairs again. "Mama! Betty is sick. Very sick!"
Leander and Judith hurried to Rosie's room, where the maid slept. Betty was sprawled on her truckle bed fully dressed, breathing in a harsh, shallow way. Her skin was pallid and felt chill, and she had vomited.
Judith looked at Leander. "Drunk?" she murmured.
He shook his head. "I don't think so." He put his fingers to the woman's neck. "Her pulse is strange. It could be her heart. I'll send for a doctor. Rosie had better sleep with you."
Judith calmed the children as best she could and sent them to prepare for bed. She sat by the maid anxiously, expecting the faltering breathing to stop at any minute. Betty was little older than herself, and it was frightening that she suffer heart failure.
It seemed an age before the doctor arrived. Dr. Northrop was a stocky man, with strong, capable hands. He examined the maid carefully. During the examination, Betty came round, though she didn't seem able to speak.
"Indeed, it does look like the heart, my lady," the doctor said, "but I think she'll do, with care. She must rest and eat sustaining broths when she is able. When she feels more the thing, I will see if there is a lingering weakness. It is generally the case, however. You will doubtless find she had a childhood illness that would account for this. You will likely have to discharge her."
Judith almost rejected this out loud, but held her tongue. Still, she hoped Leander would not look at it that way. She knew what it was to be poor, and she couldn't throw the woman onto the street.
When the doctor had gone, Leander assured Judith that he would not dismiss the woman. The maid was moved to the attic quarters, and the undermaid was given the job of caring for her.
Judith reassured both children that Betty was not too ill, and then went downstairs to the library. Leander joined her there.
"I've asked Addison," he said, "and he reports that she seemed completely well up to an hour ago. Though he admitted that it was unusual for her to go up to Rosie's room before she was summoned, so perhaps she was feeling sickly." He poured brandy for her. "Here, this should steady your nerves after all that excitement."
Judith sipped gratefully, though she gasped at the fire of the spirits. "I do hope she recovers fully. If we are to leave for the Temple shortly, Betty should have plenty of opportunity to rest and get well. I don't know what we should do if she proves to be unable to work, though."
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We'll see what the doctor says."
* * *
The next day, as promised, they all went to service at St. Paul's. Winchester last week, thought Judith, St. Paul's this. How her life had changed.
After church the children were permitted to visit Betty, for the woman did seem remarkably recovered, though frightened by the whole thing. "Oh, my lady. I really must speak to you. I'm ever so sorry..."
Judith hastened to reassure her. "Betty, you must not fret yourself. We will see what Doctor Northrop has to say, but no matter what your condition, provision will be made for you."
The woman began to weep.
"There, there," said Judith. "I'm sure you still feel most unwell. I will return to speak to you when the doctor has seen you."
She sent the children off with George. They could not visit the Tower on a Sunday, unfortunately, but they were to take the carriage there and view it from London Bridge.
When they were gone, Judith settled to arranging the last of their packing, but as Emily folded her spare silk nightgown, she found herself distracted. Her courses were almost over, and she wondered if she should tell Leander this. That embarrassed her even more than the original need to tell him they had started, for it could appear to be an invitation to her bed.
She would leave it. He seemed to be familiar with these womanly secrets, and would doubtless realize in a week that it must be done with.
She went to the storage room to check the boxes which had never even been unpacked. She would definitely take her wine. She hesitated over her box of Christmas baking, however, for having become used to Leander's style of living she could not imagine such things being needed at Temple Knollis. But in the end she directed that they be sent in the spare carriage. They still had meaning.
Leander wished to take his valet
on this trip, and a number of possessions from the London house, and so Rougemont, the valet, would travel with this extra baggage. Emily, after fretting over it, had sadly announced that she did not want to leave London, so Judith would hire a maid in Somerset.
With a spare carriage, there would be ample room. What else would be needed?
She had no idea whether the Temple boasted a good library, and so she decided to take some volumes from the library here. She set about the selection, often distracted by an interesting volume. Such a quantity and variety of books had not been part of her life before.
She was disturbed by a commotion, and Rosie's voice calling frantically for Mama. She ran out into the hall to see George shepherding along a very wet Bastian, wrapped in a horse blanket. Rosie ran to her. "Someone pushed Bastian into the river!"
"What? George bring him in here...." Then the smell hit her. She hugged her son anyway. "Bastian, darling, are you all right?"
"Yes," he said boldly, but he looked rather white and shaken. "A boatman fished me out pretty fast, and I can swim."
"Thank heavens for it. We must get you warm and dry." The foul smell of the river was all over him. "In the kitchen." She sent Bastian off with other servants, keeping George and Rosie back. "Now," she said, "tell me what occurred."
"Someone pushed him off the bridge!" Rosie yelled.
Judith gathered her into a hug. "Let George tell me, dearest."
"Well, milady," said the young man, who looked badly shaken himself, "I don't know rightly what to say. After we'd looked at the Tower we set off home, but the young 'uns wanted to walk onto London Bridge and watch the boats. I didn't see no harm to it. Master Bastian ran ahead. I stayed with Miss Rosie, and I were watching some boats go under the bridge when she screamed. I looked around and there was no Master Bastian. When I looked down, sure enough, there he was in the water. But he were picked up in seconds. I'm right sorry, milady."
"I'm sure you cannot be blamed," said Judith, wondering why these strange accidents were being visited upon them.
"A man pushed him," said Rosie firmly. "I saw him."
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