Caught in a Cornish Scandal

by Eleanor Webster

  ‘London is still England and, as far as I know, Mrs Ludlow is not the law of the land.’ But his curt response evoked no smile or flicker of relief, only the continued shaking of her head with such energy that he feared she would give herself a headache.

  ‘No. No, I cannot. She will say I am trying to run. This will make me look guilty. I am afraid she will take Noah. She has already been here, saying that I am not a—a fit mother. She believes that I hurt Jason. She says that Noah should be home with her. I heard her telling that to Sir Anthony.’

  Sam fell silent again, watching his sister’s jerky movements as she rocked the bassinet. At this rate the poor child would get seasick. Indeed, Frances was so greatly changed from the sister he remembered that he felt oddly at a loss.

  He stood, walking to the window and staring at the drive as though the paving stones might provide some solution. Frances was unravelling. He could almost understand Mrs Ludlow’s concern for the child, but return to Manton Hall would be his sister’s undoing. She needed a safe place, with kind people whom she did not fear.

  ‘I have it,’ he said, speaking before he had fully formed a plan.

  Frances looked up, brows raised.

  ‘Millicent Lansdowne. You will go to her.’ Even as he said the words, he had a feeling of deep relief, as though the weight of his burden had shifted. The image of Millie’s firm expression and competent movements flickered before him.

  ‘I—I cannot. I do not know them.’

  ‘I do,’ he said.

  * * *

  The rap on the door made the three Lansdowne women startle. They were sitting around the parlour fire, which was small and giving little heat. In fact, the chimney was smoking, likely because it had not been cleaned in donkey’s years.

  Lil was attempting to do needlepoint to while away the long afternoon while their mother pretended to read. Millie stared into the fire. She would have read except she felt certain it would bring on a headache. Every square inch of her body hurt.

  The atmosphere in the house had not been entirely comfortable since her return. Millie was worried, tired and disheartened. The promissory note loomed and she could still sense tension with her mother. Indeed, she even felt irritation with Flora and Lil. With Flora, it was her complete surety that marriage with Mr Edmunds was best, while Lil’s very beauty irritated. If she hadn’t had the blonde perfection, Lord Harwood would not even be interested in her. And underneath this thought, there was the knowledge that if she had more of Lillian’s beauty, manners and social ability, she might be the right sort of woman for a man like Sam Garrett. Not that she was interested in Mr Garrett, who obviously had sufficient worries of his own.

  The brisk knock on the outside door caused Millie to straighten, lowering her feet from the stool on which they had been raised. She winced. Her feet still hurt.

  ‘Perhaps it is Mr Edmunds?’ her mother said with too much enthusiasm. ‘Perhaps he could not wait for tomorrow.’

  ‘Mr Edmunds does not strike me as the impetuous type,’ Millie said. ‘Indeed, I am certain he weighs the pros and cons before even choosing which shirt to wear.’

  Lil giggled. Their mother made a tutting sound.

  ‘Mr Edmunds is a lovely man.’

  ‘His moustache makes such a description quite inaccurate,’ Millie said.

  ‘It isn’t Edmunds,’ Lil announced, having flung aside her needlepoint into an unhappy muddle of silks and dashed to the window.

  ‘Well, that is likely a good thing. Your sister is not looking her best, bruised and scratched as she is. Now come, Lillian, it is quite gauche to be staring from the window.’

  ‘It is a fancy curricle with two horses,’ Lil interjected.

  Just then, Flora opened the door. ‘You have visitors. Mrs Ludlow and Mr Garrett,’ she said, her eyes round and, although usually unflappable, obviously impressed and somewhat disconcerted.

  Millie stood and then sat again because she did not wish to seem overly enthusiastic. As well, her knees had peculiarly buckled. Besides, standing was more painful than sitting.

  Sam entered, followed by a woman. For a second, Millie scarcely recognised him, he was so changed. She had looked through Lil’s magazines often enough to know that his clothes were of the latest fashion, the collar high and his coat of an impeccable cut.

  Indeed, everything about him seemed larger within the small confines of the room, while his sophistication made the bare dinginess of their home all the more obvious. He was followed by a woman, also tall, but while his stature provided him with an air of authority, hers only gave the impression that she had outgrown the strength of her willowy body. Indeed, her shoulders were bowed and her physique so thin as to be unhealthy.

  Millie’s mother rose to the occasion so that one would scarcely suspect that she’d been bedridden mere weeks previous. ‘Why, Mr Garrett, it is so lovely to see you again. I remember you when you visited us in London as Tom’s friend. Please, sit down.’

  ‘Mrs Ludlow, do make yourself comfortable,’ Millie added, instinctively wanting to include the woman who seemed somewhat separate from the scene—as though her thoughts were many miles away—and looked likely to keel over.

  Mrs Ludlow took a seat, but made no effort to converse. Instead she sat with unnatural stiffness, her hands clasped tightly within her lap.

  ‘Millie, I did not realise you were acquainted with Mrs Ludlow and Mr Garrett,’ her mother said. ‘May I order tea?’

  Sam sat beside his sister. ‘Thank you. Tea would be lovely.’

  ‘Flora, could you—’ Mrs Lansdowne said, but her words were interrupted by an infant’s cry.

  ‘Noah!’ Mrs Ludlow said, immediately bolting upright despite her brother’s restraining hand.

  ‘Your son is here? He does not have a nursemaid?’ Mrs Lansdowne asked.

  ‘Yes, but...’ The woman’s gaze darted about the room like a hunted creature.

  ‘Do not worry. Flora will make certain your maid has everything necessary for your baby’s comfort.’

  Millie stood, stepping towards the other woman, softening her voice and speaking in measured tones. ‘I will go and tell the nursemaid to bring your son in here immediately. Doubtless, he is missing his mother.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Mrs Ludlow said, her voice soft and low.

  ‘I will go now to do that while Flora makes tea. Mr Garrett, might I have a moment of your time?’

  Sam followed her out into the corridor and, after quickly directing Flora to make tea and have the nursemaid bring the child to Mrs Ludlow, she turned to Sam, brows raised in question.

  ‘Frances needs a place to stay,’ he said bluntly.

  ‘To stay? As in “remain for the night”?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I—’ She paused, for once uncertain about what to say. ‘I was not expecting that.’

  ‘I know this is unusual.’

  ‘Somewhat,’ Millie agreed. ‘We also have limited furniture, although we still have a guest room. However, we cannot offer Mrs Ludlow her familiar comforts.’

  ‘I do not care if she has fluffy pillows, I just want—I need her to feel safe.’ Worry was etched in his face, lines bracketing his mouth and deepening the crease between his brows.

  ‘She feels unsafe?’

  He rubbed his temples, stepping further away from the parlour door and glancing about as though worried they might be overheard.

  ‘I do not understand it myself. Jason is still missing. Sir Anthony brought Frances in to ask questions, but he did not arrest her. However, she is unwilling to return to her own home.’

  ‘Why?’

  He pushed his hand through his hair in the way that had become familiar to her. ‘She is nervous, as you may have noted. She seems quite convinced that her mother-in-law sees her as an unfit mother. Apparently, Mrs Ludlow is positive that her son is dead and F
rances is...involved.’

  ‘Would Jason’s mother not want to hold on to every hope that he is alive?’

  ‘One would think. Maybe it is harder to hold on to hope in these situations.’

  ‘Do you think she would harm Frances?’

  ‘I am sure not. However, proximity to her will harm Frances.’ He stopped, the worry for his sister touching. ‘And I fear for my sister’s sanity. I think she will become very deeply distressed if she spends more time at Manton Hall.’

  Millie nodded. ‘I have feared sometimes for my mother’s sanity, although she is doing better now.’

  ‘Will it distress her? Having Frances to stay?’

  ‘No, likely she will be happy to provide hospitality to a woman of superior social status. And, yes, of course she can stay.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘And has your memory come back at all? Did seeing your sister help?’ she asked quickly, needing to fill in the quiet.

  ‘Not with my memory.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Did you find out anything about Harwood?’

  ‘Mother confirmed that we owe a thousand pounds.’ She felt the smart of tears in her eyes.

  He took her hand. ‘I will help. I will get my solicitor on it. Harwood will not marry your sister.’

  Even the light touch of his hand seemed to sear through her so that she felt the contact throughout her body. It seemed her heart beat faster while her breath became uneven. For a moment, Millie had that feeling of time standing still and everything and everyone becoming distant and unimportant. Only she and this man existed. Her body felt that peculiar feeling as though her skin and every part of her had developed a tingling sensitivity as her vision narrowed and she heard the pounding of her pulse against her eardrums.

  In that moment, it seemed that the fancy clothes and dingy house did not matter and they were as they had been in the cottage.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Truly, I thank you.’

  In that tiny pause he seemed very large in the entrance hall and very close. Indeed, it took willpower and inordinate physical effort to turn away from him.

  ‘Now I must assist Flora in the kitchen. If you will excuse me,’ she said as she hurried down the hallway, needing to find a larger space, their small entrance way having become claustrophobic, the air sucked from it.

  ‘By the way, Miss Lansdowne?’

  She turned back. He had moved towards the parlour door, but paused, his hand on the knob. ‘You clean up quite delightfully.’

  Chapter Nine

  Millie flushed. She was already partway down the corridor towards the back of the house, but even from that distance Sam could see the pink stain her cheeks.

  There was an excitement in seeing her again which even his worry over Frances couldn’t quite negate. He had not realised his own eagerness to see her again until she’d greeted him in that dismal threadbare parlour. There was a thrill in seeing her as the proper young lady in her plain, well-cut dress with her hair tidy. It was not only that she looked attractive, but also that he knew that other part of her, as though they shared an intoxicating secret.

  He watched as she walked briskly towards the back of the house. The evidence of the family’s poverty was everywhere: in the bare floors, the pale square of lighter wood where a grandfather clock had once stood and the rectangles bereft of pictures. He must talk to Banks and ensure that any food or additional coal required by Frances was provided.

  On entering the parlour, he was pleased to see that Noah now slept in his bassinet while the three ladies appeared to be conversing pleasantly. Millie’s younger sister was detangling a mess of silks while Mrs Lansdowne discussed hairstyles and the delight of the classically inspired modern looks. Frances still appeared abstracted, but seemed to be paying some attention.

  Indeed, the scene was so entirely normal he almost wanted to laugh. It was the first time anything had been even a little ‘normal’ since he had regained consciousness on that pirate’s ship. Indeed, even thinking the phrase ‘pirate’s ship’ made him almost chuckle because it was so bizarre and completely discordant with this scene of pleasant domesticity.

  He was about to sit down when he heard footsteps outside. The door opened and Flora and Millie entered with a tea tray. This was placed on a table and Mrs Lansdowne moved forward to pour the tea. She handed a cup to Millie, who placed it beside Frances with a reassuring smile.

  ‘Mother, I have delightful news. Dear Mrs Ludlow has been finding the sea breezes too brisk. Manton Hall is dreadfully windy at this time of year and we are so much more sheltered. She would like to stay here for a day or so and, naturally, I said we would be delighted.’

  ‘I...’ Mrs Lansdowne, briefly put down the teapot. ‘Yes, of course, we always enjoy company. That would be very pleasant.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Frances said.

  ‘We are so very happy to help,’ Millie said. ‘Truly.’

  ‘But you will be very cramped. We live quite simply, being in mourning. Perhaps we could clean out the nursery,’ Mrs Lansdowne suggested. ‘Flora, could you—’

  ‘Please, that isn’t necessary,’ Sam said, noting his sister’s increased agitation, the movement of her hands as they twisted nervously within the fabric of her gown.

  ‘I insist. It will cheer me up. I have been lachrymose lately. It is a nice enough room, quite large with a bay window facing the sea so that one can see it in the distance. I will have the servants clean it out immediately.’

  ‘No, please—’ Frances tapped her foot. She worked her mouth as though chewing words she seemed unable to say. Fear flickered across her face as her gaze darted jerkily. Sam was so strongly reminded of a cornered animal that he half feared she would bolt from the room.

  Just as he was wondering how he could possibly intervene in the domestic arrangements of another family, Millie spoke in her competent manner.

  ‘It is a lovely idea, Mother, but we no longer have servants, only Flora, and she has not yet mastered the art of duplication. Moreover, much of the furniture has been removed. Mrs Ludlow, would you mind most awfully if we leave the nursery closed? Perhaps Noah could sleep in your bedchamber or with your nursemaid?’

  ‘With me,’ Frances said quickly. ‘That would be much preferred.’

  ‘Really?’ Mrs Lansdowne said. ‘How unusual. I was an absolutely doting mother, as my girls can attest, but I was quite glad to hand them over to the nursemaid. I have a sensitive disposition and suffer greatly from my nerves, you see.’

  ‘Indeed, but having a guest will be a tonic. It will be lovely to have you to stay,’ Lillian Lansdowne said, smiling at Frances. ‘Mother and I always love talking about fashion or London.’

  ‘I have not been to London for a while,’ Frances said, softly.

  ‘No matter, we have not either.’

  Sam had not really noticed Millie’s younger sister previously. He saw now that she was beautiful, the type of beauty that portrait painters would like: blue eyed, blonde-haired and with that vaunted English skin. He could see why Harwood would be interested, although he also hated the thought. She had a classical beauty, combined with a fresh-faced innocence, of a type not usually found among concubines or harlots.

  Millie was quite different from her sister. Her hair was dark and even now had an untamed quality with several strands falling free. Her skin was also pale, but her eyes were a deeper blue. The effect, therefore, was not that of a China doll, but rather that of the mystic. Despite the demure dress, there was still something different about her. It was as though she was privy to a cosmic secret which allowed her to view society’s conventions, the trappings of this life, with an amused indifference.

  These musing were interrupted by the unpleasant recognition that everyone appeared to be looking at him, as though expecting some response.

  ‘Er...pardon? So
sorry, my thoughts must have wandered,’ he said.

  This comment produced a rather disconcerting smirk from the younger sister and a disapproving glower from the servant who, as far as he knew, he had never wronged.

  ‘I was merely asking,’ Mrs Lansdowne said, ‘how you and my daughter are acquainted?’

  ‘Ah...well...we met...’ Sam paused and was again relieved when Millie swiftly intervened as his mind seemed to be working in a slow, pedestrian manner.

  ‘Mrs Ludlow and I have met at church and she promised to introduce us to her brother.’

  ‘Really? I do not recall you going often to church, dear,’ Mrs Lansdowne said.

  ‘It was when you were not feeling quite yourself.’

  ‘Yes, my nerves. I was better when we lived in London. I do not like the sea, you know,’ Mrs Lansdowne acknowledged to the company in general.

  ‘I hate the sea!’ Frances said suddenly. The fierce words jarred through the room. Her voice was too loud and her hands too tightly clenched in her lap.

  There was a momentary pause and everyone felt a certain relief when Noah broke it with a wail of hunger, requiring a sudden bustle of movement. Frances immediately picked him from the bassinet, holding him and rocking him while Millie stood, stepping to the door.

  ‘Mrs Ludlow, let me show you upstairs so you can make yourself comfortable.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Frances stepped towards the door. Noah’s sobs had lessened as, still rocking him against her, she followed Millie out of the room.

  This resulted in a general exodus. Millie’s sister picked up the bassinet, following the other women out of the room, and Sam went outside to organise Banks and the nursemaid to unload Frances’s few belongings while Millie took Frances and Noah upstairs.

  * * *

  As Millie led Frances to her bedchamber, she had the feeling that she needed to tiptoe as though any loud noise might startle her companion.

  She stopped at the door of the east bedchamber, pushing it open. ‘I hope you will be comfortable. There is a small sitting area where the nursemaid could sleep if you would like.’