But Dexter was shaking his head. “No,” he said. “It’s not Lizzie. It’s Flora Minchin.”
Chapter Fourteen
LIZZIE WAS CROSSING the street on her way from Chevrons to visit Laura and Lydia at The Old Palace when she saw the small crowd that was gathered outside Mr. and Mrs. Minchin’s townhouse. Previously it had troubled Lizzie slightly that she and Flora were such close neighbors now. They had never been friends—indeed, Lizzie had always thought that Flora was the most irritating pea-brained creature imaginable, a feeling she could now admit a little shamefacedly might have sprung from a certain jealousy. Even so, when she saw the crowd she almost hurried past. Then she heard the screams from inside the house, a sound that was easily defined as Mrs. Minchin having the vapors, and despite herself she paused.
“What on earth is going on?” she asked Mrs. Lovell, who was one of the many people milling on the steps outside.
“Flora’s the one who murdered Sir Montague and Spencer, his valet,” Mrs. Lovell said importantly, her face alight with excitement. She loved a good scandal. “She was the masked woman! Only fancy! They’ve come to arrest her now—Lord Vickery and Mr. Anstruther and your husband.”
Lizzie screwed her face up. “Flora a murderer? Don’t be absurd. She couldn’t kill a fly!”
Mrs. Minchin’s screams intensified, then one of the maids came running from the open door of the house wailing and wringing her hands in her apron. “Please will someone fetch the master?” she cried. “Madam is in hysterics and they’re taking Miss Flora away and I don’t know what to do!”
“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Lizzie hurried up the steps, grabbed the maid by the arm and hustled her back into the house, slamming the door in the faces of the avid crowd. Inside, the sounds of Mrs. Minchin’s screams were so penetrating that they echoed off the walls. “Get the stable boy to fetch Mr. Minchin,” Lizzie said in the girl’s ear. “Run along now. Quickly!”
“But the mistress—” the maid began.
“I’ll deal with her,” Lizzie said. She went into the parlor. Mrs. Minchin was sitting on the sofa, her bulk quivering with every scream. Another maid was waving burnt feathers ineffectually under her nose. Lizzie pushed her out of the way and slapped Mrs. Minchin’s face. Mrs. Minchin’s blue eyes, so like Flora’s own, opened wide and then she gulped and fell completely silent.
“Smelling salts,” Lizzie said, grabbing them from the table and pressing them into the maid’s hand. “Make her lie down and then fetch her a cup of tea when she is calm.”
“Flora!” Mrs. Minchin wept, trying to rise.
“I’ll help Flora,” Lizzie said, pushing Mrs. Minchin back down on the seat. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. I promise.” The matron collapsed into tears.
“She’ll be all right now,” Lizzie said, squeezing the maid’s arm. “Sal volatile, then tea.”
She hurried out of the room. There were voices in the drawing room and as Lizzie ran down the corridor, Dexter emerged through the doorway with Flora following him. Flora’s face was utterly blank, a terrible white mask, her blue eyes fixed and staring. As Lizzie watched, Flora stumbled over the edge of the carpet and almost fell. Lizzie rushed forward and grabbed Flora’s cold hands in her own, steadying the girl.
“What on earth do you think you are doing?” she said wrathfully, steering Flora back into the drawing room and turning like a tigress to confront Miles and Dexter and Nat. “Can’t you see she’s terrified? Let her sit down!” She steered Flora to a chair and gently eased her into it. “Why did you all have to come and frighten her?” she added furiously. “One of you would have been quite sufficient!” She chafed Flora’s hands. She could feel the other girl shaking. “It’s all right,” she said, in an undertone. “Don’t be frightened.”
Flora’s scared blue eyes fixed on her face. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Of course not,” Lizzie said stoutly. She drew up another chair and put her arm about Flora.
Nat touched Lizzie’s shoulder. “No one wants to frighten her,” he said softly, “but she won’t tell us where she was on the nights in question, Lizzie.”
“Well, go away and leave me with her, then,” Lizzie said. “Give me five minutes. Go and make some tea or something. I am sure Mrs. Minchin could do with it.”
Nat smiled at her and for a second Lizzie felt something tug deep inside her.
“Thank you,” Nat said softly.
“Now, Flora,” Lizzie said as Nat shepherded the others out and closed the door gently, “I am sure you haven’t done anything wrong, but if you won’t explain what you were doing that night, I can’t help you.” She paused. “Have you been slipping out at night, Flora?”
There was a pause and then Flora gave a little jerky nod of the head.
“So you did go out,” Lizzie said, keeping her voice very steady. “Where did you go?”
Flora bit her lip and did not reply. She looked stricken and miserable.
“I suppose,” Lizzie said gently, “you went to meet a man?”
Flora’s gaze came up sharply to meet hers. “I wasn’t…I didn’t…” Her face crumpled. “It wasn’t what you think,” she said, her voice strengthening. “The first time, I went to ask him to marry me but he turned me down. Then—” she hung her head “—I went just to…just to see him really. I needed to see him, but he sent me away.”
Lizzie caught her hand. “You’re in love with someone who doesn’t love you back,” she said, swallowing a very hard lump in her throat.
“Yes,” Flora said. She sighed. “It hurts.”
“I understand,” Lizzie said, with feeling. “Who is it, Flora?”
The other girl didn’t reply, her blue eyes sweeping Lizzie’s face as though weighing whether she could trust her.
“Listen,” Lizzie said quickly. “I know that you and I have not been friends, Flora, but I do want to help you. We need to persuade this person to vouch for you or you might be arrested—” She felt Flora shudder. “If you tell me who it is,” she said carefully, “I’ll speak to him and I am sure he will help you.” She was not actually sure at all, but what else could she say? At the least, the man, whoever he was, could not be married if Flora had gone to propose to him, a feat which gave Lizzie a great deal of respect for her. She wondered who on earth could have turned down Flora and her fifty thousand pounds.
“It is Lowell Lister,” Flora said with a gulp before bursting into tears. “I can’t help it, Lizzie,” she added, crying all over Lizzie’s spencer, as Lizzie hugged her closer, “I love him so much and he won’t marry me because he doesn’t want my money—”
“He must be the only man in Fortune’s Folly who doesn’t want to marry an heiress,” Lizzie said. “He probably loves you, too, but thinks he is being noble. The idiot,” she added.
Flora gave a little hiccuping giggle and sat up. “Oh dear. And now he will think I am trying to entrap him.” She squeezed Lizzie’s hand. “Will you speak to him and explain? He likes you.”
“I’ll ask Alice to speak to him,” Lizzie promised. “Lowell thinks I’m spoiled—and he could be right,” she added fairly, “but Alice is lovely and will help you and Lowell respects her. Everything will be all right, Flora.”
“Mama and Papa won’t like it,” Flora said. “My reputation is ruined—”
“Not if Lowell marries you,” Lizzie said.
“But he is a farmer and they are such snobs,” Flora said with a sigh.
“He is also the brother-in-law of a lord,” Lizzie said, smiling. “I think that is the bit they will be concentrating on.” She urged Flora to her feet. “Do you want to go and lie down?”
“No,” Flora said, straightening up. “I must go to Mama.” She gave Lizzie a spontaneous hug. “Oh, Lizzie, thank you. I didn’t think I liked you—” Her eyes filled with tears again.
“Go on,” Lizzie said, laughing. She pushed Flora out the door and watched her scurry down the corridor and into the parlor to her mother. Nat and Mile
s came out of the dining room and Lizzie grabbed Miles’s arm.
“Could you send to fetch Alice? I need her to speak to Lowell.”
Miles and Nat exchanged a glance. “Lowell?” Miles said.
“Flora loves him,” Lizzie said, lowering her voice. “He is the one she has been slipping out to see.”
“Why didn’t she tell us?” Nat said.
Lizzie gave him a speaking look. “Oh please—her reputation?”
“I’ll go and find Alice,” Miles said. He smiled at Lizzie. “You are a miracle worker.”
He went out, and Nat caught Lizzie’s hand and drew her back into the drawing room. “Thank you,” he said softly. “That was very kind of you, Lizzie. I didn’t think you even liked Flora.”
“I didn’t,” Lizzie said. She looked up into his dark eyes. “I was jealous of her,” she whispered. “What you said that night in the folly was true, Nat. I was spoiled and envious and I wanted you for myself. I can see that now.”
Nat’s hands tightened on hers. He drew her closer. There was an intent look in his eyes that seemed to make the world spin. “Lizzie,” he said. “Your honesty is very humbling—”
“What the devil is going on here?” Mr. Minchin burst into the room. “There’s a restless crowd outside and my wife and daughter crying all over one another in the parlor and I hear some rumor that Flora is to be arrested—”
“There’s nothing to worry about at all, sir,” Dexter, at his most deferential, appeared behind him. “We believe that some malefactor laid false evidence against Miss Minchin, but it is all sorted out now.”
“I’ll have the law on them!” Mr. Minchin swelled alarmingly.
“We are the law,” Dexter said smoothly, “and we will deal with it, sir.”
Mr. Minchin’s gaze fell on Lizzie and his high color died down a little. “I hear you were the one who sent for me, ma’am,” he said gruffly. “Tended to my wife and daughter, too. I must thank you.”
“A pleasure,” Lizzie said. She freed herself from Nat’s grip, very aware that he was watching her all the time. “Perhaps you should go and comfort them, Mr. Minchin? I know they will be grateful that you are here.” She put a hand on his arm. “I think that you might also start to come to terms with the fact that you are likely to have Lowell Lister as a son-in-law,” she added gently. “He’s a very good man.”
“Lister?” Mr. Minchin gave a start. “He’s a farmer!”
“A rich and very well connected one,” Lizzie said brightly.
“Lister,” Mr. Minchin said again, his tone of voice altering. “A gentleman farmer. Yes, I see. I wondered what was wrong with Flora.”
“It should be all right soon,” Lizzie said. She smiled at him warmly.
“I can’t see Flora as a farmer’s wife,” Nat said as Mr. Minchin bustled off to the parlor.
“She’ll manage,” Lizzie said. “She is nowhere near as stupid as she looks.”
The door crashed open and Lowell strode in, followed by Alice and Miles.
“That was quick,” Lizzie said.
“I found him in the street,” Alice said. “He had already heard the rumors of Flora’s arrest and was on his way here.”
Lowell ignored them all, walked straight into the parlor, and without a word grabbed Flora and started kissing her.
“And that,” Lizzie said, laughing, “is how a York-shireman deals with these situations.” She turned to Nat, Dexter and Miles. “You had better go and find your informant. For my part—” she shot Nat a look “—I would ask Priscilla Willoughby. She is a troublemaker and she, too, has been creeping about the streets at night, so I understand. And while you are at it,” she added, “you could ask her to give Tom an alibi for the night of Monty’s murder. I think you’ll find it was Priscilla he spent the night with, not Ethel.” And she smiled with enormous satisfaction to see Nat’s expression of blank astonishment.
THERE WERE TWO on dits at the Fortune’s Folly assembly that evening. First there was Miss Flora Minchin’s betrothal to Lowell Lister. The happy couple were present that night, danced a scandalous four dances with each other and could barely take their eyes from each other.
“Mr. and Mrs. Minchin seem very satisfied with Flora’s choice,” Lizzie said mischievously to Alice as they watched the newly betrothed pair in the quadrille. Flora and Lowell were so busy staring into each other’s eyes that they were a step behind everyone else. “Can it be that you have already done a great deal of work in smoothing things over with them, Alice? I know Mrs. Minchin was dubious of the connection until you and Miles stepped in to point out the benefits of the match.”
“We did what we could,” Alice said, lips twitching. “I love my brother a great deal and hope he will be happy, but I do not envy him his snob of a mother-in-law.”
“I think Flora and Lowell will deal together extremely well,” Lizzie said. “She really is a remarkable girl—she gives the impression of being quite, quite stupid and yet she has extraordinary resolve.”
“Lowell is totally besotted,” Alice said, shaking her head. “I never thought to see him like this. He told me that he fell in love with Flora the first time she came to High Top on the day her wedding was canceled. He was absolutely determined to refuse her because of the disparity in their situations, but as soon as he heard she was in danger of arrest he realized what a fool he had been. Even so—” she sighed “—I do think Flora will have some difficulty in adapting to life as a farmer’s wife. She has lived a pampered life. It won’t be easy for her.”
“What about the other on dit?” Lizzie said, her eyes sparkling. “Poor Lady Willoughby—such a sudden and unfortunate departure from Fortune’s Folly!”
Lady Wheeler had paused at their table a moment earlier, Mary in tow, to say that Priscilla Willoughby had been called away most urgently on family business.
“Such a dreadful pity,” Lady Wheeler had fluttered. “Dear Priscilla was having the most splendid stay here in Fortune’s Folly.”
“So we had heard,” Lizzie had said sweetly. “Lady Willoughby’s nighttime excursions were becoming the talk of the village!”
Lizzie had seen Mary’s gaze jerk up to hers at the words, but Mary had not spoken and Lizzie had thought that she looked even more pale and sick than she had before.
“Who would have thought that illness would strike Lady Willoughby’s family so abruptly?” Alice agreed now. “Did Nat say anything about his interview with her?”
“Only that he was glad she was leaving,” Lizzie said. “I asked him if he were utterly disillusioned that his paragon of virtue had turned out to be a strumpet instead.”
“Lizzie, you did not!” Alice clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Yes I did,” Lizzie said unrepentantly, “and he said that he had not cared for her in years and would rather have a wilful minx to wife. So I think—” she cast her eyes modestly down and traced a finger over the struts of her fan “—that my plan may be working.”
“It sounds as though it may,” Alice agreed.
“So then I told him that was merely a line to persuade me back to his bed,” Lizzie went on, “and he said—”
“Enough!” Alice said, holding up her hands.
Lizzie laughed. “All right. Where can Miles and Nat have got to with those ice sculptures? They will be quite melted.” She scanned the room, catching sight of Mary Wheeler, who was speaking to Viscount Jerrold but looking as miserable as sin.
“Poor Mary,” she said. “What can be the matter with her? Do you think she is ill? She looks ever more sickly by the minute.”
Nat and Miles returned at that moment and placed a bowl of strawberries and ice before their wives. The ice was indeed melting in the heat of the assembly rooms and Lizzie pushed at it unenthusiastically with her spoon.
“Come and dance with me, since you have no interest in the dessert I specially procured for you,” Nat said, smiling.
“Dancing is another thing like card-playing at which you are indifferent
to bad,” Lizzie said, pretending to sigh as they took their place in the set of country-dances, “but as I am your wife I feel I have to comply. It is my duty.”
“You seem less than eager to do your wifely duty in other ways,” Nat pointed out with an expressive lift of his brows.
“And you accuse me of a lack of patience!” Lizzie marveled. “Truth to tell, I enjoy making you wait. It means that you talk to me more.”
“I enjoy talking to you,” Nat said.
“You sound surprised,” Lizzie teased. “We were friends once, Nat. We used to talk a lot.”
“Yes,” Nat said, and Lizzie could hear a shade of discovery in his voice, “but not like we do now. It feels different. I feel different…”
The movement of the dance took her away from him then and Lizzie felt as though she was as light as thistledown. Everything was changing; she could feel it in the air and the tingle in her blood.
She danced only once with John Jerrold, who remarked whimsically that the next on dit would surely be how unfashionably in love Lord and Lady Waterhouse were with each other.
“I seem to have missed my chance,” he drawled.
“You never had one, Johnny,” Lizzie said pertly, but his words warmed her. It was true that Nat had seldom shown much desire to dance with her in the past; he had sometimes squired her to the assemblies but had had little interest or aptitude for the dancing. Now, though, he danced with her several times and showed no desire to leave her side in between. It was extremely pleasurable to have his undivided attention, to feel him watching her, to exchange the lightest and briefest of touches with him, touches that shimmered through her whole body leaving her breathless and happy.
It was raining later when they came to leave, steamy summer rain that made the cobbled square in front of the assembly rooms smell of dust. Sir James and Lady Wheeler were bemoaning the fact that they had walked to the ball.
“I had no notion that it was going to rain this evening,” Lady Wheeler said, looking as though she was taking the weather as a personal affront. “James does not have even so much as an umbrella to protect us with and our evening cloaks will be soaked—”
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