Caught in a Cornish Scandal

by Eleanor Webster

  Sam entered the small chamber. A fired burned pleasantly in the hearth. There were several bookcases and the walls were decorated with a plethora of paintings depicting horses, hunting or hounds.

  ‘Mrs Ludlow is my sister. I understand she is being held here. I would like my sister to be released into my care,’ Sam said.

  ‘She is not “being held” exactly and I would love to release her, but there is a problem with that,’ Sir Anthony stated somewhat incoherently, pushing his gold spectacles further up his nose.

  ‘What might that be?’

  ‘Please, do sit down. A brandy?’ Sir Anthony suggested, lifting a decanter conveniently located on his desk.

  ‘No, thank you. This problem with Mrs Ludlow’s release?’

  ‘Yes, well, the fact is she refuses.’

  ‘Refuses?’

  ‘Yes, sir. She won’t leave.’ Sir Anthony’s forehead shone with perspiration and he dabbed at it with his pocket handkerchief.

  ‘Why?’ Sam sat, trying to process this new information.

  ‘I...um... I am not exactly sure.’

  ‘Then can I see her?’

  ‘Again, there is another problem. I certainly would never prevent you from seeing your sister, but the thing is, we had to get Dr Acton. She was rather upset and he prescribed a sedative.’

  ‘That was necessary?’

  ‘Yes, she was distressed, but she is now resting. I invited my sister, the rector’s wife, to stay to ensure propriety. Her child is also here. I mean Mrs Ludlow’s child, not my sister’s, as she is old—not that she would like that description—and the child’s nursemaid.’

  ‘Gracious, you have a full house. She would not return home?’

  ‘No. Indeed, she was quite insistent. Actually...’ The man blinked rather rapidly from behind his round spectacles, then placed his plump fingers together in the shape of a steeple. ‘I had not wanted to bring her here. I merely wanted to ask her a few questions at her house.’

  ‘She asked to come?’

  ‘She was most insistent. And brought her child. I must say I did not know what to make of it. Anyway, the whole thing quite upset me so I decided it best to consult Dr Acton. Nice fellow, you know. You’re certain you won’t take a brandy?’

  Sam again shook his head while Sir Anthony poured himself the libation. Frowning, Sam leaned heavily back in the chair, recognising his own exhaustion as he tried to take in these new details. ‘Does she feel unsafe at home?’

  ‘She...um...did not say so.’

  ‘Did you ask?’

  ‘Well, no, one doesn’t like to pry, what.’ The man swallowed.

  ‘Given the situation, it might have been relevant. So what were her reasons for staying?’

  ‘Mrs Ludlow is experiencing a somewhat strained relationship with her mother-in-law. High-strung creatures—women, you know. Never married myself. Do not have the stamina.’

  ‘Do you know the cause of this strain?’ Sam asked.

  The man paused in obvious discomfort, again dabbing at his forehead. ‘Mrs Ludlow senior feels that your sister might... I mean, that it is possible...that she could be involved in her husband’s...um...disappearance.’

  ‘Her own mother-in-law thinks that? It is ludicrous. My sister is physically and emotionally the most unlikely person to do anything to harm anyone. What motive would she have?’

  ‘I do not want to be indelicate.’ Sir Anthony pursed his lips as if even speaking the words was distasteful.

  ‘You are suggesting my sister harmed her husband. I do not think you need to worry about delicacy.’

  ‘Not me...would never accuse—’ Sir Anthony stopped after meeting Sam’s impatient gaze. ‘Mr Ludlow was known to enjoy the company of other women,’ he concluded.

  ‘Good Lord. If that was all that was required for murder, half the wives in London would be guilty.’

  ‘Except...’ Sir Anthony paused again as though unwilling to continue. ‘The other wives you speak of have husbands who are still hale and hearty while your sister’s...isn’t.’

  ‘We do not currently know whether Jason Ludlow is hale and hearty or not.’

  ‘True enough. Indeed, it is my greatest hope that he returns, healthy and hearty. It would be one less thing for me to do. I would never have become a magistrate if I had known the work involved.’ Sir Anthony reached for the decanter again, pouring another drink.

  Sam rubbed his temples. There was little point, he supposed, in rousting his sister and child, particularly if she had had a sleeping draught. Moreover, he could hardly drag her back to a place she did not want to live. Sir Anthony seemed a pleasant enough fellow, if somewhat inarticulate, and he felt certain Marta would ensure that every measure of comfort was provided.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will return in the morning. I brought her maid with me and would like her to stay. I am certain she could help her mistress and provide comfort.’

  ‘Yes, of course, very happy to oblige,’ the magistrate said. ‘This is all very troubling, I must say.’

  Sir Anthony rang the bell, his eagerness to finish the unpleasant conversation quite palpable. The butler arrived promptly and they all moved into the hall. Sir Anthony directed the butler to ensure that Marta had accommodation and that every comfort was provided for both mistress and maid.

  Sam exited, thankful to sit back in his vehicle. Although, as the vehicle headed towards Manton Hall, Sam had to admit he would not have minded also imposing on Sir Anthony’s hospitality. The idea of staying at the hall was not enticing. Its owner was presumed deceased. His own absence had, apparently, been covered up by the butler with some ridiculous story about dawn horse rides, and its mistress was in such fear that she refused to remain there. Meanwhile, the other Mrs Ludlow was throwing around foolish accusations. Sam could only hope he escaped to bed and did not have to interact with her tonight.

  Indeed, respite at Manton Hall seemed more a recipe for a melodramatic play than a goodnight’s sleep and, for a moment he wondered if he should find an inn. However, he dismissed the idea. He would not find anything to stimulate his memory within the smoke-filled walls of a tavern or the bottom of a tankard.

  Chapter Eight

  Millie woke late the next day with a confused disorientation as she stared about her bare bedchamber. Her every muscle ached and she had the feeling that she had slept for days, although she could scarcely claim to be rejuvenated. She had not even dressed or drunk her chocolate before her mother knocked at her door.

  ‘I really think tomorrow might be preferable? Do not you?’ her mother said, as soon as she had entered the bedchamber.

  ‘That rather depends. What for?’ Millie said warily.

  ‘Why, for Mr Edmunds’s proposal, of course. He asked me if he might propose to you, which is only right and proper. And, of course, I said “yes”. However, he is under the impression that you are ill so I think another day to recuperate would be wise. You look remarkably peaky which goes well enough with the subterfuge, except I do not know how we will explain that bruise.’

  ‘Perhaps I walked into a door in my delirium.’

  ‘Indeed,’ her mother agreed, crossing the room and pressing a kiss against her cheek. ‘But that does make you sound rather clumsy. And we do not want to mention delirium. You do not want him to think that any form of madness runs in our family or that we have a weakness for delirium.’

  ‘Heaven forbid. We come from a long line of gamblers, but let us draw the line at illness or poor co-ordination.’ Millie was tempted to add that Mrs Lansdowne’s refusal to even rise from her bed for weeks after her son’s death might also make someone question the family’s stability, but bit her tongue.

  ‘Millie,’ her mother said, sitting rather heavily on the chair opposite. ‘How can you speak about your father and brother in such a way? Dear Tom would have grown out of it event
ually.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Millie agreed doubtfully. Millie had adored her brother, but she was uncertain if the passing years would have brought any maturity.

  ‘Anyway, marrying dear Mr Edmunds is for the best.’ Her mother nodded emphatically to add credence to the statement.

  ‘Very likely,’ Millie agreed. ‘But are we going to ignore the other issue?’

  ‘The other issue?’ her mother asked vaguely.

  ‘Do not prevaricate. I have experience with amnesia and you do not have it. Lil cannot marry Lord Harwood.’

  Her mother frowned, standing and pacing nervously about the chamber. ‘He will put me in debtors’ prison. He said so. And he was polite when he visited.’

  ‘Threatening to put you in debtors’ prison is hardly polite.’

  ‘I know he doesn’t have a reputation as a pleasant man.’

  ‘He is a middle-aged cad with a fondness for dairy maids and more illegitimate children than a dog has fleas.’

  ‘Millie, I do not know where you picked up such expressions,’ Mrs Lansdowne said. ‘They are quite dreadful.’

  ‘My expressions are the least of our worries. And Lord Harwood is dreadful. He wants to acquire Lil for her beauty. I think her very lack of sophistication appeals to him. He will dress her up like his own private doll. Besides, I question whether he is even offering her legitimate marriage. And did you properly examine the note? Are we certain that it is not a forgery?’

  ‘I am not a detective. However, I am sure the offer of marriage is legitimate. He is unmarried and wants a legitimate heir, I hear.’

  ‘That is a distasteful thought. Anyway, that doesn’t even matter. He would hurt Lil. You know he would.’

  ‘I know. I know.’ Her mother paced again. ‘I just do not know how I will survive in prison.’

  ‘Better than Lil would with Harwood. We still do not know if the note is authentic, so let us not get ahead of ourselves. I will ensure a solicitor looks at it. Rest assured, I will marry Mr Edmunds and do what is necessary to fix this. For now, do not tell Lil about any of this. I do not want to worry her.’

  * * *

  Sam had lain wide awake for most of the night, only to fall into a deep slumber close to dawn. He woke mid-morning with a thudding headache, made worse by the bright light as Banks drew the curtains.

  ‘I presume Mrs Ludlow senior is still in residence?’ he asked his valet somewhat glumly.

  ‘Indeed, sir. However, she has not risen yet.’

  ‘One good thing, I suppose. Best get up before she emerges. Order the carriage for about an hour from now,’ he instructed.

  * * *

  Sam had managed to eat and dress while still avoiding the elder Mrs Ludlow and found himself driving towards Sir Anthony’s house with a certain elation, much as a fugitive might.

  The gentleman was again in his study. He smiled pleasantly, still peering from behind gold-rimmed spectacles, his fingers pressed together as though contemplating a metaphysical dilemma, though it was more likely he was in deep contemplation about lunch.

  ‘Very nice to see you,’ he said, although Sam rather thought Sir Anthony would likely say that to the devil himself, a lapse of manners being worse than any other offence.

  Sam nodded. ‘And you. Might it be possible to see my sister now?’

  ‘Absolutely. Her maid stated that she slept well and is relieved that you have returned. I believe she is in the breakfast room at present.’

  Sir Anthony rang a bell and Sam was taken into a small, pleasant parlour. A fire warmed the room and he saw his sister seated, a small bassinet at her feet.

  ‘Frances, thank goodness.’ He hurried to her, taking her hand in his own, again struck by her gaunt expression and the thinness of her hand.

  ‘Sam, I was so...so relieved when I heard you were back.’ Her voice trembled, tears already visible.

  ‘Should I bring tea, ma’am?’ the butler asked.

  ‘Tea?’ Frances looked confused, as though the familiar beverage was foreign to her.

  ‘No tea,’ Sam said sharply and the man bowed, taking his leave.

  He had thought his sister changed when he had arrived from London, but he had not fully appreciated her weight loss or pallor. Everything about her now seemed subdued, as though bereft of a life force. Dark shadows circled her eyes and her skin was pale to the point of translucence. Her gaze moved jerkily around the room, as if for ever anticipating an enemy just outside the scope of her vision.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Do you know where Jason is?’

  ‘I do not know.’ He sat heavily in the chair opposite.

  The tears brimmed over, tracking down her cheeks. ‘I was hoping you would know. You weren’t with him that last evening?’ She lowered her voice to a whisper, although they were quite alone within the chamber.

  ‘I do not know. I had an accident and my memory is gone.’

  ‘Gone? What sort of accident?’ She reached forward, clutching his hand once more, her grip tight.

  ‘I am fine. And I remember everything except for a few hours in the evening. My hope is that if you tell me everything that happened after dinner, it might help.’

  She released his hand, her fingers twisting nervously in the cloth of her dress. Her eyes again scanned the room. Her foot moved the bassinet in a rocking motion too quick for comfort. ‘We had dinner. You and Jason drank port. Then Jason and I fought—after dinner—in our bedchamber. And he went out. That is the last I saw of him.’

  ‘What did you fight about?’

  She shrugged, the rocking movement of her foot increasing. Her gaze jumped between the furniture as if uncomfortable with looking at any one object for too long.

  ‘I—I angered him frequently. We fought a lot. He said I had not looked sufficiently happy at dinner. Over port you had asked him about me and why I was unhappy. You wanted me to go back to London. Do you remember?’ She spoke quickly, the words jerky.

  ‘No. I do not remember that conversation. I am sorry if I caused a fight between you. I have a fuzzy recollection of dinner, but nothing more. I only know that I ended up almost drowning in the sea.’

  ‘Drowning?’ she gasped.

  ‘I was rescued.’

  ‘You were in the sea? With Jason?’

  ‘No. At least he was not there when I was rescued.’

  ‘I hate the sea,’ she said, rather oddly. Her gaze had briefly stopped moving between objects, but now focused on him with too much intensity.

  ‘Yes, well, I cannot say that I am an enthusiast either. What happened after you fought?’

  ‘He went out. He often goes out. But his mother thinks that...that...she thinks...that I followed him...and hurt him.’ Her voiced dropped so low on these last syllables that he could scarcely hear them.

  ‘That is nonsense. You would never hurt anyone. I do not care what his mother—’

  ‘Shhh.’ She placed her fingertips to her lips. Her breathing had quickened, her fear palpable, her eyes wide and taking on an odd appearance. ‘Do you think they listen at doors?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Sir Anthony would see it as a breach of manners.’

  It was the right response. She blinked, her expression softening with a tiny half-smile. She dropped her hand and took a tiny inhalation, as if suddenly remembering to breathe.

  ‘Sir Anthony is not a bad man, although he does enjoy his brandy,’ she said.

  ‘He said you need not stay here. I have my carriage. Perhaps we should get you both home?’ He nodded to the sleeping child.

  This was not the right response. Her eyes widened again and she pressed her spine back into the chair, as though expecting a physical attack. Two bright spots of colour appeared on her thin white cheeks and she shook her head too quickly. ‘No. I cannot go back. I cannot. She will take Noah. I know she will. You...you cannot
make me.’

  Her distress frightened him and he understood now why the doctor had been called. He also knew that this behaviour was, or would be seen as, irrational.

  ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘I would never make you go somewhere you did not want to go.’

  She stared at him as though trying to discern if he might be lying before allowing herself to relax into the chair.

  He was silent for a moment, looking at his sister, noting the movement of her foot and the nervous rubbing of her fingers against the cloth of her dress. This was a dilemma. Obviously, she could not go back to a place which caused her so much fear, but she also could not stay here. Sir Anthony had been kind and accommodating, but he was a bachelor and would not want Frances, Marta, a nursemaid and the rector’s wife imposed upon him for ever. As magistrate, he might decide that Frances, or at least Noah, must return to Manton Hall, where there was a grandparent eager to provide care.

  ‘Frances.’ He reached for her hand, again conscious of its fragility and the movement of the thin bones under dry, papery skin. ‘You must have a female friend? A local family of good repute. Someone you could stay with?’

  She shook her head, again the movement jerky and too swift. ‘I do not know many people here. Jason did not encourage me to go out.’

  ‘The rector’s wife?’

  ‘No. No. She wants to get home and is well acquainted with Mrs Ludlow. She says I am unstable and that it is likely the influence of the devil. The devil is very active in her world.’ These last words ended with a stifled sob.

  ‘Then London? We have Aunt Tilly. She is quite lovely, if a bit eccentric. A change would do you good. You and Noah will go up to her. Sir Anthony will allow it, I am certain, if he has the address. I will stay here, but follow as soon as possible. I am quite sure that a change in scene will help.’

  ‘No. No. No. Mrs Ludlow—she said that I mustn’t. It would look as though I do not care about Jason. She would say that I am fleeing the country and she might take Noah and I couldn’t bear that.’