Chapter Twelve
Lewis left Hebe confused. One minute she was euphoric at the prospect of returning to London to reside in a nice house with him, then at the thought of them marrying, she grew nervous. He liked her she knew, but he also felt sorry for her. A widower, his wife had been horrifically murdered. Sally had told her about the awful manner in which she died. It must have broken his heart. In fact, Hebe was sure it had. How could she possibly take Lady Chesterton’s place? He’d been passionately in love with his wife. But theirs would be a marriage of convenience, more of a friendship. Trouble was, she wanted a passionate marriage. Desperately. She sighed.
She understood he wished to marry again to put an end to the awful speculation concerning his past and the mystery surrounding poor Marigold. As his wife and model, she would be in the unique position to do that. But was that all he wished for? Was she to be a wife in name only? She often sensed sadness in him. And a small part of her, the motherly part, wanted to soothe him and make him better. But he didn’t seem the type of man to welcome it.
And then there was the ton. How would they treat her? If they cut her again, it would also hurt Lewis. Could their union make it possible for her mother to return to a semblance of the life she’d once enjoyed? It pleased Hebe to think it, especially if things didn’t go well with Grandfather. And whatever fears she had for herself, providing comfort for her mother made it worth the risk. Heaven knew, she might have ended up married to Lord Buckwood. And she went ice cold when he looked at her.
Patiently settling down to help extract the honeycomb from the beehives, Hebe listened to her aunt outline the plans for the wedding. She answered her questions as if she was oddly detached from the whole affair as if they discussed someone else’s wedding. Some distant relative.
“One must have a cake,” her aunt said, tapping her chin. “And of course, you’ll require a wedding gown. The hotel needs to be booked, guests invited…”
Guests? Hebe swiveled to look at her. “What guests, Aunt?”
“I haven’t quite decided.” She rattled off the names of people Hebe hadn’t met. “Your mother must be consulted, and then there’s Chesterton. He will want to invite his family and friends down for the wedding.”
Hebe gulped. The whole thing seemed impossible. “What about Grandfather? Will he come?”
Aunt Prudence knocked the honeycomb out onto a tray. “I imagine not. I haven’t heard from him since he objected to me attending your father’s funeral.” She huffed out a breath. “My father was adventurous in his youth, but he does not afford women the same privilege. He believes women should marry, have children and remain in the home.”
Perhaps her aunt was too much like the earl. Might that be the reason they didn’t get on? But Hebe did agree with her. Women should have the same freedom as men. Although the way things were in this man’s world, it was unlikely to change in the foreseeable future.
As Ladies did not attend funerals, she and her mother could not visit her father’s grave. They had not been told where he was buried. Not in the family crypt in any event. Suicide banned one from a decent burial. She wanted to ask, but feared it might upset her aunt whose movements around the hives had become less orderly. Had her grandfather become cantankerous? Might Mama be facing a difficult time in Tunbridge Wells? Perhaps too awful to write to Hebe about? “I’m sorry, you and grandfather don’t talk, Aunt…,” Hebe began, hoping to gain some idea of the situation.
“Tosh.” Her aunt waved her away with the smoking apparatus, sending the bees humming in all directions. “Tomorrow, we’ll visit the jewelers in the lanes. You have nothing in the way of jewelry, Hebe. I’d like to purchase a small thing for you. Although I’m sure your husband will give you splendid jewelry.”
Hebe preferred he didn’t. Why should he when he’d been forced to wed her? “That’s very nice of you, Aunt, but it really isn’t necessary.”
“Nonsense. It will be my wedding present to you.”
The next day, Hebe spent the afternoon wandering the Brighton lanes with her aunt, visiting several shops. Aunt Prudence bought her a silver locket and earrings, which Hebe loved and promised to treasure always. Her aunt brushed away her thanks and walked briskly to the modiste rooms to place an order for Hebe’s dress.
If Aunt Prudence was short of money–and she must be, for she sold her pots of honey at the village shop, Hebe was determined to help. She had her savings and the money Lewis had given her. The country cottage she’d dreamed of one day buying was no longer a possibility. Surprised to find she wasn’t disappointed, Hebe wondered if it had been a rosy picture which would not have suited her after all.
How could she aid Aunt Prudence? Her aunt was proud and unlikely to accept any money. They entered the modiste’s rooms where bolts of fabric lay upon a table with boxes of buttons, braid, and lace. Madam Chawton, was an English lady of middle years with a confident air. She suggested oyster satin and draped the fabric over Hebe’s shoulder. Aunt Prudence pronounced oyster to be quite the wrong color for Hebe, which Hebe would have agreed, if she’d been able to get a word in. Her aunt then pounced on a bolt of violet blue satin stating it would match Hebe’s eyes, which she thought too strong a color. Hebe wandered among the bolts of material and discovered the perfect compromise. She waited until their argument wore out, then suggested it. Thankfully, the embroidered cream silk satin to be trimmed with blond lace was accepted by them both.
~~~
Lewis used the journey to make a list. He viewed London with less of a jaundiced eye. Was there a chance that life would become peaceful and pleasant again?
He arrived at his Mayfair home too late to begin to set his plans in motion. Tomorrow, he would apply for the special license, and then visit his sister. What would Emmy make of it? Would she be pleased or dismayed? Hebe was nothing like the widow she’d picked out for him. Emmy would want to know how they had met. How much of the truth might he safely reveal to her? He didn’t want to upset her. Au contraire, he had hopes that this marriage would ease her mind, knowing how much she worried about him. Emmy would never be condescending. She hadn’t a snobbish bone in her body. In the end he was confident, that as long as Emmy didn’t suspect he’d married for the wrong reasons, she’d be pleased for him.
After changing, he sat in the library with a cup of coffee reading the Quarterly Review and sifting through his mail.
Stubbs entered. “Sir Robert Baker is here to see you, my lord.”
“Baker?” Lewis put down a letter, unnerved. He’d discussed Marigold’s case with the magistrate, but he’d nothing more to tell him. Why hadn’t he sent a constable with a request for Lewis to call at Bow Street?
Sir Robert was a man of some distinction, King George had created him a baronet toward the end of the last century honoring him for his creation and care of the cavalry regiment named the Richmond Rangers. Sir Robert must have better things to do than come to Mayfair to question him about his model.
Lewis moved out from behind his desk as his butler showed the gentleman in.
“Sir Robert.” He walked across the room to shake his hand. “May I offer you Scottish whisky or brandy to keep out the cold?”
“Whisky, thank you, Chesterton. You’ve been away from London?”
“Yes, Brighton. Where I found myself a bride.” He turned from the drink’s tray and smiled.
“I congratulate you.” Sir Robert took the tumbler from him. “Who is the lady?”
“Miss Hebe Fenchurch.”
“Fenchurch?” He rubbed his brow. “Of the Kent Fenchurches? Her father became embroiled in some sort of scandal. Killed himself.”
“Yes, Hebe is his daughter.”
Sir Robert nodded. “I remember the case. He’d been made a scapegoat. If he’d stayed around to run the case, he had a good chance of getting off.”
“Shame brings people down,” Lewis said.
“Sadly that is true,” Sir Robert said as he sat down.
Lewis sat on the leather
armchair opposite him. “What may I do for you, Sir Robert?”
“The case of Marigold Crabbe. It could become deuced sensitive. I wondered if she might have mentioned a member of parliament while she was sitting for you.”
“No. Not a word. Why?”
“Her body was found in the grounds of Holland House.”
“The old rambling Elizabethan mansion off Kensington High Street? Whig headquarters.”
“Yes.”
“Then you don’t suspect her brother, Seth Crabbe, to be behind her murder?”
“He is hardly an upright citizen, to be sure. I would prefer it to be him as it would simplify matters. Crabbe’s a brute, but his sister gave him her wages. Strangulation reeks of a furious intent to kill when Crabbe might seek to teach her a lesson by taking his fists to her. We will locate him. He can’t stay hidden forever.”
“You are following another lead?”
Sir Robert leaned forward. “A Whig might be behind it. Which leads me to my next question. A rather delicate one, I’m afraid.”
Lewis took a breath. “Yes?”
“Lady Chesterton was murdered while traveling with a member of the Whig party was she not? And he also murdered. A savage business by all accounts. And the way she was killed was similar to Miss Crabbe.”
Lewis wished Sir Robert wouldn’t hedge. “Laura’s death was a sustained brutal attack, whereas Geoffrey Lancaster died from a knife thrust to the heart. But that’s more than eighteen months ago. Nigh on two years.”
Sir Robert nodded. “Quite. I shall need to look into Geoffrey Lancaster’s life. The last six months before he died.”
“It beggars belief that poor Marigold was mixed up with the Whigs. She was a simple girl.”
“Simple girls can get mixed up with ruthless men. Especially if they are as pretty as Marigold. It is an avenue which bears investigation.”
“Was she raped?” Lewis asked dreading the answer.
Ashe shook his head. “Miss Crabbe was a virgin. Her attacker may have been disturbed before…”
“What about the artist, Walter Ashe? Doesn’t he live near Holland House?”
He shook his head. “The girl was found nearby, but Miss Crabbe was probably seeking work from Ashe. That morning a doctor had dressed his hand, he’d cut a tendon. Can’t hold a paintbrush. I doubt he’d be able to subdue a strong young woman, let alone strangle her. I’ve assigned a good Runner to the case. Mr. Bright will call on you, and should you think of something in the meantime, please advise him of it through Bow Street.”
“Rest assured I will. I have a vested interest in finding the answer. I expect I’ll be persona non grata among the ton until the culprit is caught.”
“Wouldn’t let that worry you too much. Many are far too eager to condemn. And you have your bride to consider. I’m sorry I’ve had to bring this up, but necessary, as I’m sure you understand.” Sir Robert finished the last of the whiskey and put down the glass. “It should be a time for celebration. I wish you both happy. Thank you for the Scotch.” Sir Robert rose to his feet.
Lewis saw him out.
He returned to the fireside and sat to mull over their conversation. Could it be possible that it was not Laura the killers were after? That Lancaster had been the target? There had been a lot of speculation at the time, but the way Laura was killed clouded it. Might they now learn why she was so brutally murdered? Lewis tightened his jaw. Perhaps Marigold was randomly attacked by some fiend, some limb of Satan, who came upon her when she was alone and vulnerable.
He intended to speak to Mr. Bright and work in conjunction with the Runner. But first there was his wedding, and Hebe deserved to enjoy it, although he didn’t hold out much hope that their time together would be wonderful while this dark cloud of uncertainty hovered over them. He gave himself a mental shake and sat down at his desk. He would write to Damen in Greece with the news. At least one person, apart from his family, who would be unaffected by gossip and happy for him.
Chapter Thirteen
Hebe returned from the dressmakers to find two letters waiting for her. One was from Lewis and one from her mother. She opened her mother’s letter first, eager to learn how she fared. There was nothing to concern her in the tone of the words. Apparently, her grandfather had been very ill. Mama had been called upon to nurse him. He’d rallied and spent his days in a bath chair, but was rather short-tempered.
“I have not wanted to bother him with my concerns, as I’m not sure how he would react if I tried to broach them. I was greatly relieved to receive your letter assuring me you were well and advising me of your engagement! Did you first meet the viscount at the assembly in Brighton? I can’t tell you how thrilled I am for you, Hebe dear. So relieved that you will be taken care of in the manner deserving of your birthright. Is he a decent man? I believe he is to call and collect me when returning to Brighton, so I shall judge for myself! I’m afraid your grandfather is unhappy at the prospect of me leaving. I do hope he doesn’t suffer a relapse. Prudence has also written giving details of the wedding. It appears your aunt has taken the matter well in hand, which surprises me, I must confess, because she always seems a rather airy-fairy sort of person. Her father has made several withering comments concerning her, so I suspect they do not get on.
So, as you see, dearest, I am living in gracious surroundings again. I only wish you were here now, so we might talk. I have much to ask you. I am anxious to learn all about your fiancé, and where you will live after the wedding. I imagine Lord Chesterton has a nice house in a fashionable part of London. It seems fortune has decided to shine on us again. Much love, Mama.
Hebe felt a good deal better knowing her mother was comfortable and safe. And not apparently in danger of being cast out, at least before Lewis arrived to bring her to Brighton.
She turned eagerly to his letter. She did not expect his words to be like those of a lover, and they weren’t. He detailed his plans for them. Directly after the wedding they were to return to London. He regretted that it was impossible at this time to honeymoon in Paris, but promised one day they would visit that city.
Hebe raised her eyes from the page. A honeymoon in Paris was for lovers. She was almost glad not to be going there.
Lewis ended the missive with his desire to see her again and how much he was looking forward to the wedding. “You will make a very beautiful bride.” It was simply signed Lewis. Hebe read those last words over and over and decided it was his sculptor’s voice speaking and not that of an enamored husband to be. Finally, she put the letter away, disappointed, although why she should be was a mystery. She knew he didn’t love her.
Hebe wished she wasn’t so confused about her own feelings. She should be eager to begin her new life, but she suspected she was half in love with him, and that could mean further heartbreak awaited her.
~~~
Lewis called to see his sister the afternoon before he left for Brighton. He was glad to see Emmy’s brown eyes sparkle with good health, and her conversation centered on her eager preparations for their baby’s arrival.
“A splendid nanny has been recommended to us. She worked in the Royal household, but is now getting on a little in years. But that only means she has developed wisdom and much experience.”
“As long as she doesn’t drift off to sleep while on duty,” he said with a grin.
Emmy laughed and hit him on the arm. “She is not that old, goose.”
“I’ve news of my own.” Lewis sat with her on a sofa in a corner of the salon which had been segregated from the rest of the long room by a magnificent screen.
“This is new,” he said examining the rustic landscape painted on it.
“A gift from Colin’s parents. It is to shelter us from drafts.” She giggled. “They don’t want anything to happen to their grandchild or its parents.”
“That’s rather nice,” Lewis said aware he was prevaricating. “And quite decorative.”
Emmy huffed. “Your news, Lewis, have you forgotten?”
He smiled. “I am about to marry.”
“Lewis! You’ve been very sly.” Her eyes danced. “Have you been seeing Lady Sylvia Standish?”
“No, it is not that lady.”
“Then who? I don’t recall seeing you in any lady’s company of late.”
“Miss Hebe Fenchurch.”
She gasped. “Hebe? I know we discussed Hebe some weeks ago. I believe she is almost as infamous as you.” Emmy cocked her head, reminding him of a bright-eyed robin. “Do you love her? Or are you driven by compassion for the lady?”
Lewis folded his arms. “That’s an impertinent question, Emmy, which I’m not about to answer.”
Her eyes clouded. “You don’t love her then. Oh, Lewis!”
“You’ll like her.”
“I imagine I shall. I didn’t dislike her when we met during her Season. It can’t be my nagging that has caused you to do this?”
He wasn’t about to try to voice his concerns or his hopes on the matter. They were still far too unclear. “Now that is foolish, Emmy.”
Colin walked into the room. “Are you calling my wife, foolish, Lewis?”
Emmy turned to greet him. “Colin, Lewis is to marry Hebe Fenchurch.”
Colin strode over and shook Lewis’ hand then dropped a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “Well I say. Unlikely choice of bride perhaps, but still… that is great news. I look forward to meeting her. Congratulations! When is the wedding?”
He drew in a steadying breath. “Sunday next in Brighton.”
“Brighton? Why all the way down there?” Emmy shook her head. “She isn’t…”
“Emmy!” Colin frowned at her.
She sniffed. “It does happen, Colin.”
“Nothing like that. Hebe’s aunt lives in Brighton. She is arranging the wedding which is to be held at the Old Ship Hotel. I hope you can come?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Emmy said.
Colin shook his head. “You shall have to, my sweet. Remember what the doctor said.”
“What did the doctor say?” Lewis asked with a twist of anxiety.
A Gift From a Goddess Page 10