Stranger at the Dower House (Strangers Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  He did stop, eventually, gazing at her breathlessly as if he had never seen her before.

  “Come upstairs with me,” she whispered.

  And at that, his face exploded into anguish. “No! No, no, no! It is impossible… do not ask me… “

  He jumped to his feet and ran from the room. A moment later the front door slammed shut behind him.

  14: The Governess

  Laurence stumbled home in a swirl of rioting emotions. He was not angry, at least not with Louisa for suggesting such a thing, but at himself for his weakness. He had been tempted. For a few minutes he had seriously been tempted until good sense had reasserted itself. How could he have been so foolish? Such madness to go there so late in the evening, and then sharing Cognac with her, sitting side by side like… like lovers, he realised. No wonder she imagined he would be receptive to the idea, for not only had he told her explicitly that he had no intention of marrying again, but his every action must have conveyed the impression that he was pursuing her. He had supposed they were just friends and she had supposed… something else entirely. Perhaps there could never be pure friendship between two people of the opposite sex.

  He was most of the way up the drive before the cold penetrated his cloak of Cognac-fuelled despair. He had left his greatcoat at Louisa’s house. Ah well, he could hardly go back for it now.

  The night watch boy was fast asleep on his bench, a pair of candles on the console the only light in the hall. The house was silent, the card players long since departed, and the household abed. Holding a candle up to the long-case clock, he discovered it was past one o’clock. He bolted the front door as quietly as he could to avoid waking the boy, then crept upstairs to bed. John attended him in yawning silence, making no comment on the missing greatcoat, but then perhaps he was not aware that Laurence had gone out that evening.

  When Laurence was alone again, the same maelstrom of harsh thoughts assailed him, and he lay awake half the night trying to decide what to do next, and wondering how on earth he was to face Louisa again with anything like ease. It was awkward, very awkward.

  He woke the next day with the same uncertainties. Of one thing only was he sure — that his present predicament was entirely his own fault. He had been led astray by his own immunity towards Louisa into supposing that she was equally resistant. Right from the start he had sought her out and paid her more attention than was wise in the belief that it was perfectly safe, since neither of them had any thought of marriage, and had never guessed that she might have something less honourable in mind. Viola, for once, had been completely right in her gloomy prognostications.

  Yet what a pit he had dug for himself! Louisa’s suggestion of a liaison was bad enough, but she could easily have taken his unconcealed pleasure in her company as something much more, as a promise of marriage, in fact. It would not have been an unreasonable assumption, and he would have been bound to honour her expectations. He might at that very moment have been contemplating his forthcoming nuptials, and that would have been a disaster. Surely it would have been a disaster. And yet almost at once his mind conjured up a number of compensations in such a situation, and he could not at all decide whether such compensations might in fact outweigh the disadvantages of re-entering the married state.

  Unwilling to meet Louisa accidentally while his thoughts were so disordered, he took the dogs out in a different direction that morning, walking through the park towards Lower Maeswood and then back through the woods, where the dog violets and wood sorrel peeped through last year’s leaf litter.

  By the time he had reached the boot room again and divested himself of his old greatcoat and boots, he had come to a resolution — since he would have to face Louisa sooner or later, it was as well to get it over with at once and discover how things were to be between them from now on. Could they remain friends, after last night? Yet how could they not be, after the confidences they had shared? It would be uncomfortable for both of them if restrained coolness were to be the order of the day. He needed to know, so he determined to call upon her directly after breakfast, retrieve his greatcoat and learn from her how they were to go forward. He would take his cue from the lady.

  He was late to breakfast, so Viola had already gone, but he found Captain Edgerton in the dining room, stolidly working his way through a plate of chops.

  “Good morning to you, sir,” Edgerton said, politely rising and making a small bow. “And it is indeed a good morning, for we are at last making progress in identifying our mystery lady.”

  “That is excellent news,” Laurence said, sitting down and waiting for Skeates to pour his coffee. “Who is she?”

  “As to that, we have no name as yet, and in point of fact we have made more progress in determining who she is not. She is not Mary Fielder, a farmer’s daughter who vanished twelve years ago, for she has been discovered alive and well and the mother of eight children at the mill at Overbury, having run away to marry the miller’s son. She is also not Ann Walmsley, once a scullery maid at Cloverstone Manor, who has been discovered in the work house at Market Clunbury. And she is definitely not John Boyd—”

  “John Boyd?” Laurence said, half choking on his coffee.

  “Indeed. Once elderly retainers start reminiscing, they are apt to wander from the point somewhat. John Boyd ran away to sea twenty five years ago, and is now a Rear Admiral, which his well-wishers were very pleased to hear about, even though it is hardly to our purpose. But yesterday we obtained a more promising lead, and here we hope that you will be able to help us, if you can spare us a little time this morning. Two of your excellent servants remember a governess who left here abruptly some years ago, but as to a name or exact date, they cannot be precise. It may be that you or Miss Gage will have some information that bears on the question. The household records, perhaps?”

  “A governess!” Laurence said. “It is a long time since we have had a governess here. The youngest of my sisters is two and forty now. I will check the accounts for you, but I am not optimistic. Neither my grandfather nor my father were terribly good at record-keeping. My sister may remember something, though. She has an excellent memory.”

  Viola had already breakfasted and gone into the village, so Laurence took Captain Edgerton into his office to look at the accounts while they awaited her return.

  “I was ten when we came here,” Laurence said, “ and the girls would have been twelve, fourteen and sixteen. They had a succession of governesses over the years but I never had much to do with them latterly, for my brother and I were at school by then. They all blended together in my mind. Ah, here we are, this box covers the time when we arrived. Oh, this is very neat work, each year labelled and bound up with string. That was never my father’s doing. He must have had a secretary, I suppose, although I cannot remember such a person. Here we are, the first Lady Day after we moved here, the payments of salaries… Miss Eaton. That must have been the governess. Let me check the next year… yes, there she is again. ‘To Miss Eaton, fifteen pounds’. The following year…” He shuffled through the papers. “Ah! A change. No Miss Eaton, instead we have Miss Labett. Ursula would have been… let me see… fourteen by then, so still in need of a governess. And the year after… oh, this is interesting. It is written ‘To Miss Labett, fifteen pounds’, as expected, but crossed through. So perhaps she had left by Lady Day of that year?”

  “That is indeed interesting,” Edgerton said thoughtfully.

  Willerton-Forbes came in at that moment, and had to have everything explained to him, and then Viola returned in a welter of alarmed speculation.

  “What has happened? Is there a development?”

  Patiently, Captain Edgerton related all that had been discovered, while Laurence rang for tea. Viola was always flustered by any deviation from the usual course of events, and tea was the most efficacious balm for her anxiety.

  “Oh, Miss Labett! Yes, I do remember her. Mama called her a flighty piece, but all I can recall is that she was quite young — younger than a
ny of our previous governesses — and liked to dress rather well. Not drably, like most governesses, in brown or grey. She always wore bright colours. And lace! She liked lace collars and cuffs, and Mama told her to take them off, for it was not fitting in a governess. But I think she still wore them sometimes, because I saw her once or twice as she was going out, with her hair done up high like Mama’s and a big hat. Goodness, I have not thought about her in years!”

  “What happened to her, do you remember, Miss Gage?” Captain Edgerton said gently. “Did she disappear, or merely leave in the regular way?”

  “I suppose she left,” she said uncertainly. “By the time she came here, Selena and I were out, and Ursula was not far off, so— I remember now! She did disappear, because Mama was quite cross that she had given no notice, just walked out and left her in the lurch, and there was something… oh, I cannot remember what, but there was some big occasion going on and she had needed Miss Labett to take care of Ursula that day. Now, whatever was it?”

  “Do try to recall everything you can about her,” Edgerton said. “It is most important.”

  “Oh, I do not need to recall — I can look at my diary for that year. That will have every detail, you may be sure.”

  She bustled off to fetch her diaries. The tea came in while she was gone, but Laurence ignored it, pouring Canary for the gentlemen.

  “Here we are,” Viola said chirpily. “Oh, tea. How lovely! No, no, I will pour, Laurence. No gentlemen ever serves tea correctly. There now, that will set me up beautifully after my walk. The wind is got up again, and there is so much pollen from the catkins all blown about that I sneezed all the way home. There was not a turkey to be had at Birch’s, so I had to get a green goose instead, which I know you are not so fond of, Laurence, but you will like it well enough when Rogers has roasted it, and there is a lovely piece of veal. You will enjoy that, I am sure.”

  “I am sure I shall, Vi, but I suspect Mr Willerton-Forbes and Captain Edgerton are more interested in Miss Labett at this minute.”

  “Oh yes, Miss Labett. I have brought several diaries from that time, for one of them is sure to have what we want. Let me see… oh, heavens, the outing to Lavery Pond. That was a never-to-be-forgotten day. I had a new bonnet for the occasion — so pretty! Little Lucy Scarrett was stung by bees or it might have been wasps, and then her father fell in the pond trying to scare them away from her. In all the fussing over Lucy, her little brother ate a whole basket of strawberries and was violently sick. Do you remember that, Laurence? Oh… well, perhaps you were at school then. But Miss Labett is still mentioned all that year, right up to Christmas, so let me try the following year.” She flicked rapidly through the pages, scanning each one. “Oh, the Easter ball at the Manor! That was the year the Rudd twins from the Grange met the Pawsey sisters, and were married on the same day not two months later. But then they all went to India and died, one after the other. It was very sad. Old Mr Rudd moved away after— Oh! This is it. Lord Saxby’s betrothal ball, that was when Miss Labett disappeared. It was to be an all-day affair, with a pavilion built out from the saloon for the dancing, for the library and gallery wings were not built then. That was done with her money, you may be sure, for he never spent a farthing if he could help it. Anyway, we were to spend the entire day there, and Miss Labett was the only governess in the village at that time, so of course she was wanted to look after everyone’s children, as well as Ursula and Lucy Cokely, for neither of them were out then. And then she vanished and Mama was at her wit’s end to know what to do, for no one wanted to miss the occasion, you know. But luckily Mrs Cokely said she did not mind not going — if you ask me, it was because she could not afford a new dress, although she said it was because of the heat. She was never very good in hot weather, so perhaps it truly was that. Anyway, she looked after all the young ones at the parsonage, for Mr Cokely was still alive then, so they were still at the parsonage, and they took baskets of food and sticks and balls and so forth down to the Glebe, and they all had a very good time, seemingly. Better than we did at the Hall, for it was a shabby affair, if you ask me. There! So that is the date precisely — two days before the betrothal.”

  “Miss Gage, you are a treasure,” Edgerton said solemnly, making a note in his pocketbook.

  She flushed with pleasure, murmuring a few inarticulate noises that might have been gratitude.

  “And do you remember how tall Miss Labett was?”

  “Oh yes, quite tall. Taller than I am, certainly, and very tall when she put on her best shoes, with heels as high as Mama’s. She certainly dressed very fine for a governess.”

  “Could you show me how tall she was? Without the shoes?” Edgerton said, and obligingly she stood up and held her hand two or three inches above her own head. Edgerton pulled a measuring string from a pocket and measured the height. “Yes, that fits with our mystery lady. Thank you so much, Miss Gage.”

  “Yes, indeed, most helpful,” Willerton-Forbes said. “So now we have a name. I suppose you do not happen to know where she came from? Her family? Her previous employer?”

  Both Viola’s diaries and the accounts were silent on the subject. “Mama would have known,” Viola said. “There would have been references, letters sent beforehand, interviews, but everything of hers was thrown out after she died, all her correspondence. I should not think there is any way to discover such information now.”

  “We must see what we can do,” Edgerton said. “Now that we have a name, we can begin to ask more direct questions around the village. Someone will be sure to remember something. Were there any other governesses nearby? Anyone she might have been friendly with?”

  But Viola knew of no one.

  When she had gone to see to some domestic matter, the three men sat on, sipping Canary and pondering this new development.

  “A governess who considers herself a bit above her station,” Edgerton said thoughtfully. “One who likes to dress like a lady, if she can. Those embroidered shoes with the high heel, which were by no consideration those of a housemaid, were equally unsuitable for a governess.”

  “She could have been given them by a previous employer,” Laurence said. “That is not uncommon.”

  “True,” Edgerton said. “They are still not appropriate wear for a governess, so we can say she was a woman who was not at ease in her rôle as an employee. She wanted to rise in the world, and she was not above using a man for her purposes. She had a lover, she found herself with child, so perhaps she went to him in the expectation of marriage and instead he murdered her.”

  “That is an extreme response,” Laurence said. “I have less experience in the matter of murder than you gentlemen, but I have heard of a great many hasty weddings over the years. If a man compromises his sweetheart, he marries her. If he cannot or will not marry her, he makes sure she is taken care of some other way. Even a farm labourer has a sense of honour in such matters. But murder implies such desperation!”

  “Yet what else could it be?” Willerton-Forbes said, setting down his glass and steepling his hands. “There are only four ways in which a woman may die — of some natural cause, such as a physical weakness or disease, of an accident, by her own hand or by some other hand. We may dismiss any natural cause at once, for she was perfectly healthy right up until the day of her disappearance, and if she had suffered a failure of the heart or other sudden illness, she would scarcely have locked herself into the wine cellar to die. Nor could she have taken her own life without some evidence, such as a knife or gun or a poison bottle. An accident, such as a fall, would have been detectable in the skeletal remains, and Dr Beasley found no such evidence. The conclusion is inescapable, gentlemen. Miss Labett was murdered.”

  Laurence sighed. “Your logic is irrefutable, sir, unfortunately. Is there any possibility after all this time of discovering who her murderer might be?”

  “That will be difficult indeed,” Edgerton said. “We must identify her lover first, and I am not optimistic.”

  “But at
least the poor girl has a name now, even if we may never know precisely what happened to her,” Laurence said.

  “We have a name, true,” Edgerton said, “but in resolving one mystery, we create another. If our body is Miss Labett, what then became of Dilys Hughes, who vanished two years earlier? We know that she was put onto the stage coach at the inn, and we have discovered that she left the stage at Shrewsbury, exactly as expected. But we can find no sign that she caught another stage to her home, or to anywhere else. She simply vanished.”

  “It is a puzzle,” Willerton-Forbes said, “and we do not like puzzles, do we, Michael? This warrants further investigation.”

  The two men laughed, not at all cast down by the prospect of uncovering the movements of a former housemaid almost thirty years ago.

  For himself, Laurence found it unutterably depressing. Two young women, both inveigled into an affair with a man unwilling or unable to marry, one of them dead and one vanished without trace. To the London gentlemen, these were simply mysteries to be solved but Laurence could not see them as anything other than tragedies.

  But the morning’s discoveries had been interesting to him in another, quite unexpected, way. Viola kept a diary, had done so for years, in fact, and yet there was nothing in it but scraps of information — who she had seen, where she had gone, bee stings and balls and bonnets, the minutiae of her life. And Louisa’s journal was philosophical musings on poems or pamphlets. Perhaps Catherine’s diaries had been of that nature, too — not an open door to her soul, but more like a laundry list of domestic trivia, or her thoughts on the vicar’s sermon. Perhaps there would be no harm in reading them after all.