Stranger at the Dower House (Strangers Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  “He is not at all minded for marriage, he told me so,” she said cheerfully. “I shall just have to look elsewhere.”

  Louisa liked her easy-going attitude, and hoped she would find a congenial man before too long. How interesting these little romances were!

  The meal was a triumph of Chambers’ culinary art, and although some of the guests cheerfully ate everything without comment and would probably have done the same for boiled mutton and potatoes, the more discriminating of the party were effusive in their praise. William and Spencer were quietly efficient in their duties, too, and altogether Louisa was rather pleased with the success of the meal.

  When the ladies withdrew, most of the party gathered around the pianoforte at one end of the room. All the ladies from the Hall still wore full black, but it was clear from the light-hearted chatter that their deepest mourning was behind them.

  Louisa sat beside Lady Saxby. “How delightful to see your daughters out in society at last,” she began. “They were much missed at the Manor last week, but of course it is still too soon after their bereavement for a ball. A quiet dinner is very different and it will surely lift their spirits to mingle more freely with their friends.”

  “Yes indeed, and they must enjoy such snatched moments of happiness while they can, for their future is most uncertain.”

  That was an unpromising opening. “You refer, I presume, to the arrival of the new Lord Saxby? Is there any news?”

  “None. The lawyers are trailing all over the country to find an heir to the Third Baron, but so far without success. So here we sit in limbo, awaiting the moment when we are turned out of our home.”

  “It has been fortunate for me, however,” Louisa said. “I am able to enjoy your lovely Dower House until you need it.”

  Lady Saxby turned her languid gaze on her. “Do not concern yourself on that account, Mrs Middlehope. The Dower House is far too small for my needs.”

  “At the moment, certainly, but when your daughters marry—”

  The gaze sharpened. “But who knows when that will be? It will be difficult to find husbands for all of them, for I cannot go much into society myself, not when I am so frequently unwell. My constitution has never been robust, and I am not strong enough to be trailing to assemblies all the time. They will just have to take their chances with the more restricted society that Great Maeswood affords.”

  “I have always held to the opinion that it is better for a young woman to marry a man she knows well,” Louisa said. “If he is from her own neighbourhood, so much the better. So many go off to town to do the season, and find themselves tied to a man they hardly know, and confined to an estate far from home. It is not comfortable to be bereft of every familiar face.”

  Lady Saxby raised elegantly arched eyebrows. “Perhaps, but the possibilities are wider in town, without doubt. That is how I met Lord Saxby, after all. One meets with a far superior sort of man in the metropolis. There are few men in our corner of Shropshire that I would regard as suitable matches for my girls.”

  Was the handsome Mr Truman one of those few men? Cass Saxby was already half in love with him, if not more, and Louisa was uneasy about it. Impulsively, she said, “I hope you regard Mr Truman as suitable, for I am very much afraid that Miss Saxby has formed an attachment in that direction.”

  There was a delicate ripple of something that might have been laughter from Lady Saxby. “You sound as if you disapprove, Mrs Middlehope.”

  “It is not for me approve or disapprove, but he is a very charming man who is attentive to many young ladies. He does not show signs of wishing to fix his interest with Miss Saxby. It would distress all her friends to see her hurt.”

  Lady Saxby’s smile widened. “There is no need to feel any concern on that account, I assure you. Mr Truman is very discreet, for Cass is still in mourning, but he has made his intentions perfectly plain.”

  That was intriguing. A man who had made his intentions plain to one young lady yet felt himself at liberty to flirt with another, or even several others, was not steady enough to be a suitable match, and such behaviour was especially deplorable in a clergyman. He was certainly not as steady as Laurence, who epitomised that quality. How had Laurence described Mr Truman? Oily, that was it, and she could only agree with him.

  “It is very agreeable to have Cass settled, I can tell you, Mrs Middlehope. Perhaps a little of her good fortune will fall on Agnes, poor child. Of Flora and Honora I have not the least concern, but poor Agnes sets her cap at the most unsuitable men. She would have married the apothecary if her father had not intervened, and now she has hopes of Michael Chandry. She looked to the captain first, but he is married, seemingly, so now her thoughts are fixed on Mr Chandry and nothing I say will deter her. Although it would be a good catch for her if she can get him, for his sister is a duchess, but I think he is just amusing himself with a flirtation.”

  “He is certainly a charming young man,” Louisa said. “I can quite see why Miss Agnes should admire him.”

  Lady Saxby laughed mirthlessly. “Admire him? She would admire any single man just as much. Poor Agnes! All she wants is someone — anyone — to marry her, but such desperation is too pathetic for words. I doubt I shall ever see her in her own establishment.”

  Poor Agnes indeed, when her own mother made not the least push to provide her with more fertile society for her modest ambitions.

  Since Lady Saxby was in confiding mood, Louisa lowered her voice even more. “Your eldest son is another who seems to have formed an attachment, although the lady seems less keen.”

  Her expression clouded instantly. “Jeffrey is a fool! He has been mooning about after Susannah Winslade for years, but happily she has more sense than to encourage him when neither of them has two pennies to rub together.”

  “I am sorry for it, if so. Has she no dowry at all?”

  “None. The squire’s first marriage was… somewhat imprudent, by all accounts. His second brought a little money but his third! An apothecary’s daughter,” she sniffed. “No money and then a string of children to be provided for. Now that she is so ill, Susannah is needed to run the household. I quite believe she is destined to remain a spinster.”

  When the gentlemen came through and the card tables were brought out, Louisa found herself partnering the lovelorn Jeffrey Rycroft against Lady Saxby and Mr Truman, while the rest of the gathering played a noisy game of speculation.

  “I see the Timpson boys have done a splendid job hacking back the wilderness in your grounds, Mrs Middlehope,” Mr Rycroft said in one of the breaks between rubbers. “It must have been a fine garden at one time, and it pleases me to see the bones of it emerge from so many years of neglect. Do you have any plans to make improvements?”

  “I have not yet thought so far ahead,” she said cautiously.

  “Perhaps Mrs Middlehope does not intend to stay in Great Maeswood for long,” Lady Saxby said.

  “Oh?” Mr Truman said. “You are not planning to leave us so soon, I hope? You have been such a welcome addition to our weekly card parties, and in your own home you are a hostess par excellence. You would be very much missed if you were to take your many talents elsewhere.” He smiled at her with a warmth that felt a shade too intimate for the setting. Yes, he was definitely oily.

  “It is less than two months since I arrived,” Louisa said with a smile. “Pray allow me to fully unpack before I consider moving on.”

  Mr Rycroft leaned forward eagerly. “I hope you will not do so. If you decide to stay, and you wish to undertake some enhancements to the garden, I should be very happy to help you with designs, commissioning builders, obtaining materials and so forth. Perhaps I might call to discuss the possibilities?”

  “The Dower House is not mine,” Louisa said firmly. “I cannot consider any substantive work on the grounds.”

  “Oh, no one would mind,” Lady Saxby said airily. “I certainly should not, and the house is mine for life, you know. Do as you wish with it.”

  “The
re you are,” Mr Rycroft said in pleased tones. “Mama has no objection. What do you say, Mrs Middlehope?”

  Did she truly want to leave? Somehow Bath now held little attraction for her. In just a few short weeks, she had put down surprisingly deep roots. If she left Great Maeswood, she would never see if Jeffrey Rycroft could secure Susannah Winslade’s affections. She would never know whether Cass Saxby could tame Mr Truman’s flirtatious tendencies, or her sister Agnes have her own establishment. She would never watch Henrietta and Edward Gage grow up. And always at the back of her mind was Laurence, her wonderful friend, with whom she could be utterly herself.

  “Come and see me tomorrow, Mr Rycroft,” she said. “You may tell me what you have in mind for the gardens.”

  ~~~~~

  For some reason, Laurence had never been to Hereford before. He found it a fine town, smaller than Shrewsbury but with several magnificent edifices, many interesting older properties and wide, well-paved streets. It was not difficult to find Mr Turnbull’s office but he was not there. He was at home, the clerk told them, owing to an indisposition. A flurry of messages back and forth elicited an invitation to visit him at his house, no more than five minutes away.

  A very elderly manservant admitted them, and led them to a small room filled with books, or so it seemed to Laurence at first sight. Every spare inch of wall space was taken up with bookcases, and every surface was covered with orderly piles of them. Beside a low-burning fire, Mr Turnbull sat in a comfortable chair, swathed in shawls, one foot resting on a stool. On a table at his side was a glass of Canary, and yet another book.

  “Pray forgive me for not rising, gentlemen,” he said as Laurence and Willerton-Forbes were announced. “My gout is troublesome today.”

  While the manservant brought chairs for them and poured Canary, Laurence assessed the attorney. He was elderly, certainly, and a large man who clearly enjoyed both his food and drink in a manner which would have been approved by the Prince of Wales, but his eyes were clear and filled with a sharp intelligence. He looked benign enough, but he had been party to the deception played on Laurence sixteen years ago, and must therefore be viewed with suspicion.

  “What a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr Gage,” Turnbull said when the manservant had withdrawn. “All these years I have acted for you regarding Myrtle House, yet we have never met. And the famous Mr Pettigrew Willerton-Forbes, who acted so efficiently in the matter of the Benefactor after the tragedy of the Brig Minerva. I am very honoured to make your acquaintance, sir. But how may I be of service to you gentlemen?”

  It was Willerton-Forbes who answered. “We wish to speak to you about Mr Gage’s marriage settlement, which you helped to draw up, although it was some years ago, and—”

  “Sixteen years,” Turnbull said at once. “Miss Catherine Haywood. I was a trustee for her fortune of approximately one hundred thousand pounds, so I was necessarily involved in drawing up the settlement and approving it before the funds could be made over to you, Mr Gage. You met Miss Haywood in Bath, although your home is in Shropshire. Both of you had left your homes with matrimony in mind, and it was all settled in a very short time. A most pleasing outcome. I remember it very well, although I was saddened to hear of the demise of your wife nine years ago, Mr Gage. But you have a daughter who now inherits her mother’s portion, I believe.”

  “You know a great deal about it, considering it was so long ago,” Laurence said, puzzled. “Have you had occasion to review the papers recently?”

  “I have perfect recall, Mr Gage,” Turnbull said placidly. “I remember every case.”

  “Do you remember Mrs Haywood?” Willerton-Forbes said.

  At once Turnbull’s face grew wary. “I remember the lady, yes.”

  “She was formerly known as Miss Fossett,” Willerton-Forbes said.

  Instantly, the attorney’s expression relaxed. “Oh, so you know! That is very good. Yes, she was Miss Haywood’s governess, but after Mr Haywood died, she began to call herself Mrs Haywood. It was most concerning, and I feared that there was some mischief afoot, but it seems not to have been so, and the lady settled in Bath, I believe, well away from Miss Haywood… Mrs Gage, I should say. I always supposed it to be a way of elevating herself in society, by claiming to be a widow, but harmless, quite harmless.”

  “You call it harmless to appropriate the interest from Miss Haywood’s fortune to herself?” Willerton-Forbes said.

  “Appropriate the interest? But how could she possibly do that?”

  “Through the marriage settlements, Mr Truman. Mrs Haywood, or Miss Fossett, received one thousand pounds a year through the terms of the marriage settlement, and when Mrs Gage died, she received the full interest amount. Four thousand pounds a year.”

  “Mrs Haywood? Through the settlement? No, you have been misinformed, Mr Willerton-Forbes. There was no mention of Mrs Haywood or Miss Fossett in the settlement.”

  In answer, Willerton-Forbes produced the settlement document, and silently handed it to Turnbull.

  “No… this is not right. This is not the settlement that was agreed. Not at all the settlement that was agreed.” He picked up a small brass bell sitting on the table at his elbow, ringing it furiously. When the manservant did not appear instantly, he rang it again, with even greater violence.

  The manservant appeared at a run, eyes wide with alarm.

  “Send the boy down to the office to fetch the Haywood file. At once!”

  He must have run all the way there and back, for it was no more than five minutes before a harassed clerk rushed into the room with a box of papers. From it, Turnbull extracted a document.

  “This is what I received, exactly as I agreed with Mr Guddle and Mr Slythe in Bath, and signed by all parties — signed by you, Mr Gage, and properly witnessed and sealed. Yet this one that you brought with you is also signed and sealed, yet it is different. How can this be? There is serious malfeasance afoot here.”

  Willerton-Forbes examined both documents carefully, before passing them to Laurence. “Did you sign both of these, Mr Gage?”

  “I only signed one document… at least, there were four copies of it, one each for Slythe, Guddle, myself and you, Mr Turnbull. Is it possible that they were different? They all looked the same to me. I read the first one through carefully, and then glanced at the others… but this one of yours is clearly different, Turnbull. I should have noticed the difference… and this signature… the initial letters are very like the way I write them, but the ‘a’ in Laurence… here, you see? And again in Gage… that is not my hand.”

  “Aha!” the two lawyers said in unison.

  “Forgery,” Turnbull said.

  “A felony,” Willerton-Forbes said with satisfaction. “Now we have them.”

  26: Of Wives And Bachelors

  MAY

  Nothing else would do for Mr Willerton-Forbes but to get straight back in the carriage and drive immediately to Bath.

  “It is Saturday,” Laurence said plaintively. “I thought we might rest here and attend divine service in the Cathedral, then go to Bath on Monday.”

  “You are welcome to do so, Mr Gage, if you wish,” Willerton-Forbes said, “or you may even return home, if you choose, for all I need is a letter from you authorising me to inform the magistrates on your behalf of the crime that has been committed against you. However, I should like to be sure that Miss Fossett and her accomplices do not evade justice. The sooner an arrest is made the better.”

  Return home… was he ready for that? His turbulent feelings were no more settled than they had been when he had talked to Louisa in the sunken garden after that dreadful evening. What had got into him, to snap at everyone, even Viola, and to be so appallingly rude to Lady Mountsea? And then he had proposed to Louisa! ‘You are very muddled, Laurence — not your usual sensible self at all,’ she had said to him, and it was true — he felt very muddled.

  No, he could not go home yet. “Would you be so good as to take me as far as Gloucester? I shall pay a visit
to my sister, I think.”

  They were packed and on the road within an hour, and by the middle of the afternoon, Laurence was directing the coachman through leafy lanes to the small village where Ursula lived. It would serve him right, he supposed, if he arrived unannounced to find the shutters closed and the knocker off the door, but happily it was not so. However surprised the Malling family were to see him, they expressed great pleasure in his visit and asked no awkward questions. After unsuccessfully pressing Mr Willerton-Forbes to stay with them over the Sabbath, they listened with all the proper exclamations of shock and alarm to Laurence’s recitation of his recent discoveries.

  “I always felt there was something havey-cavey about the whole settlement,” John Malling said smugly.

  “You never said so,” Laurence said mildly.

  “One always assumes that the attorneys know their business,” Malling said. “Still, I felt it was odd. Did I not say so, Ursula? You will remember that I said so at the time.”

  “I am sure you did,” she said equably.

  Ursula was only two years older than Laurence, but she had married early and settled with an almost audible sigh of relief into her matronly years, so that in many ways she felt much older than she truly was. Or perhaps it was the way she mothered Laurence that made him feel so much younger. Whatever the reason, it was always a comfort to stay with her. Despite arriving unannounced in the middle of the afternoon, within a very short time a room was prepared, bathwater and a decanter of Madeira sent up, and a junior footman appointed to serve as valet. Without fuss, an extra place was set at table for dinner and Laurence was absorbed effortlessly into the family.

  It was Sunday afternoon, a full week since his meeting with Louisa in the sunken garden, before Ursula discreetly drew him away from the family and took him to her boudoir.

  “I am not going to ask,” she said, pointing him to a chair with the Madeira and a glass conveniently within reach. “However, if you wish to talk about her, I am perfectly willing to listen, if it will help. I promise not to offer you pointless advice.”