He stared down the long room at all the other families with their daughters. His brother had made the rounds, talking to his counterparts, but Judah stayed close to his aunt and wondered. Was his father in the room? With that came a burst of shame. If he knew his parentage, would that have made a difference to Magdalene? If he was secure in his blue blood, would she have said yes?
A footman called for Lady Elizabeth Shield. Judah helped Aunt Mary to her feet, and walked with her to the door of the drawing room, where Queen Victoria and some of her family waited. No Prince of Wales, though. Through the door, he could see the great, glittering chandelier in the center of the room, but once again, only a small fireplace. Those who said the Queen liked a chilly room were not exaggerating.
He watched through one of the doorways as Beth made her first curtsy and was kissed on the forehead by the Queen, a privilege of her rank. A round of curtsies showed his sister’s grace to the other royalties, then with one final curtsy to the Queen, she backed slowly out of the room, her train draped gracefully over her arm.
Judah glanced over and saw Alys, her eyes shining, as Beth executed flawlessly.
“A footman had to help me with my train,” Alys confided. “I was not nearly so graceful in the spring when I was presented.”
Aunt Mary took his arm when she reached the door, leaning heavily upon it. Now, he saw she was showing her age.
“Are you leaving London soon?” Judah inquired.
“In a couple of days. Everyone is away from Town at this time of year, so there is no need to attend parties. Are you returning to Heathfield with us?”
“No. I am very busy at Redcake’s.”
“I understand from Hatbrook that you have come into a fortune.” Aunt Mary’s eyes were shrewd under drooping eyelids. “Why are you still working there?”
“I like it and I need to keep occupied.”
Aunt Mary patted his hand. “You have had some heartbreak, I expect. That is when young folk like to stay busy.”
“I expect you are right.”
“You will forget the girl when the next pretty face comes along.”
“I hope you are right.”
When the family party clustered together, he saw Beth’s skin was goose-pimpled around the chest and arms. Her low-cut, short-sleeve gown was highly inappropriate for the season. Was the Queen attempting to kill off the brightest flowers of the aristocracy?
“Where is your cloak?” he asked.
“In the carriage,” Beth said. “I could not bring it in.”
“There is no reason to stay?”
“Do you want to mingle?” Hatbrook asked Beth.
She shook her head. “I will meet everyone in the spring, when it is warmer.”
Judah tucked Aunt Mary tightly against his body to warm her, then followed the party outside to the carriages. Somehow, in the general tumult, he ended up alone in a carriage with his brother.
“I might have another lead for you,” Hatbrook said, leaning back with an exhausted air and picking up a ham sandwich from a hamper.
“Tell me more,” Judah said, reaching for a sandwich of his own.
“I might have a line on a servant who was with our family when you were born,” he said. “When you come down at Christmas you can interview him.”
“That is weeks from now. Can’t I send him a letter?”
“It might not be the sort of thing you want to hear about in a letter,” Hatbrook cautioned.
Judah narrowed his eyes. “You know something.”
Hatbrook swallowed. “You need to hear it from this person. I do not know any details as of yet.”
“Do your best to get them,” Judah said. “I’ll write a note for you to take back, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” Hatbrook sighed, and turned the conversation to the even less pleasant subject of Magdalene’s departure and Judah’s future marital plans.
After an age, they arrived at Hatbrook House, where they stayed up late into the night, Beth reliving her triumph, comparing notes with Alys about her presentation.
Gawain glowered from a corner most of the evening, though he did manage to stay close to Beth. Judah eventually interested his friend in a game of chess, once he’d written his letter imploring information from Hatbrook’s contact, and it was after midnight before he departed for home. His walk to Redcake’s in the morning was made triply dreary by the weather, no Magdalene, and no Eddy.
As usual, he’d heard the start of the day’s arguments between Eddy and Mr. Farmer before he’d managed to leave his bedchamber. It took numerous strong cups of tea to get him through breakfast. He could not wait to put up his feet by the cozy fireplace in his office and read the newspapers. Hales met him at the door, however, ruining his plans by announcing a caller instead of handing him a tea tray.
Sir Octavian Feathercote was a couple of inches shorter than the average man. Still, Magdalene suspected he could have been called a pocket Adonis in his youth, for he was quite handsome considering he was closer to forty than thirty-five. His son was a charming imp often years and promised to have his father’s masculine beauty in a few years.
They were a pleasant duo, though somewhat morbid on the subject of the late Lady Feathercote. Still, an obsession with the dead had been a feature of Society for Magdalene’s lifetime. One had to be nearly Sir Octavian’s age to remember a time when death had not been so celebrated in England.
Every day, Sir Octavian and his son walked to Lady Varney’s home from their own mansion a few doors down. Magdalene might have enjoyed their company if not for the stultifying presence of Lady Varney. She, a couple of decades older than her nephew, could speak of nothing but her vapors and weaknesses. Magdalene suspected these were due to the lady eating almost nothing, while consuming too much whisky in her tea. She claimed it cleared her lung congestion.
Sir Octavian was excessively attentive to his aunt. She might have expected he was waiting to inherit a fortune, but if he needed one, he could find a wife with money, and the fact that he was interested in Magdalene meant this was not his object.
The upstairs maid assigned to Magdalene during her stay came into her room, where she was straightening her work box, and thinking longingly of cake ices and dyes rather than embroidery silks.
“Sir Octavian is downstairs for you,” reported the maid.
“It is much too early for his call,” she said, turning away from a clump of mixed orange and red silks. Lady Varney had given her the materials to embroider a bird for a pillow. Sir Octavian always came promptly at four, after his son’s lessons were complete for the day.
“He has come alone,” the maid said, dimpling. “And Lady Varney is not in the room.”
Thank heavens. Magdalene instantly dropped a veil over that thought, but she was so bored. How had she not considered how she would miss the bustle of London? The excitement of Redcake’s? The hurly-burly of her family home? Even with her nephews gone, Manfred still added a degree of liveliness. She even missed Hetty, who had in truth been her closest companion for months before Redcake’s had entered her life.
She had expected the society of her cousin, but Lillian had been largely absent during these few weeks. Constance had whispered that her cousin was troubled by nausea. From this Magdalene had deduced that Lillian had conceived an heir for her viscount.
Constance herself was forever being sent on one errand or another and she wondered if Lady Varney was keeping her admittedly lovely friend far away from her nephew. If there was a tale to be told, Constance was not sharing it.
“Do you think we ought to dress you in your afternoon dress?” the housemaid asked.
Magdalene stared down at herself. She had inexplicably brought along her cakie uniform, and had been wearing it during the mornings that she spent alone. Her true mourning garments were few in number. “Yes, of course. How silly of me to forget.”
Quickly, the maid set out the gown while Magdalene divested herself of her simple dress, then help
ed with tightening her corset and doing up the buttons on the back.
Fifteen minutes later, Magdalene entered the morning parlor, dressed quite the same as Sir Octavian always saw her.
“I have brought you a token,” he announced, handing her a small box.
“Sir Octavian,” Magdalene said, surprised. She sat down on the sofa in front of the fire, next to the high-backed armchair where he had placed himself. How irregular to offer her a gift, but she did not want to discourage her suitor. She opened the box to find a pair of black onyx earrings. Set in rose gold, a circle of teardrop-shaped stones surrounded a round stone.
They would not compliment her coloring in the least, but she recognized both their fashionable style and the appropriateness of the stones, given that she was in mourning.
“Thank you,” she said. “I shall wear them at dinner tonight.”
“I hope you will invite me to the meal, with my great-aunt’s permission, of course.”
“I am sure she would approve,” Magdalene said, startled by the request. Why was he suggesting she had any power over dinner guests?
“As your betrothed,” Sir Octavian said smoothly. Then he colored. “No, no, I have been presumptuous.”
Magdalene put her hand over her heart. The moment had come. An eligible proposal. Yet, she felt nothing so much as exhaustion. Captain Shield’s proposal had made her want to run, but this proposal made her want to hide under her bedclothes. If only she could switch the two men.
No, she could not see Captain Shield here in Harrogate. If he was this kind of man, he’d live at Hatbrook Farm with his family. He craved the hurly-burly of London just as much as she did.
“Sir Octavian?” It came out as a croak.
His hands fluttered. “Oh my dear, you must feel faint. I insist, take a day or two to think about it. I know it is an enormous step for a maiden to take. My dear Lady Feathercote took two months to make her decision. You are not such a delicate flower as she, nor so youthful, but nonetheless, though my cousin the earl assures me you are more than willing, I insist you think prayerfully on the matter. Cedric and I will not grace my great-aunt’s door this afternoon. I shall attend on you in two days.” He stood and bowed stiffly, then walked out of the room in a manner that suggested he wanted to run.
In that moment, she liked him better than before. He had surprised himself, she supposed, by his embarrassment. She suspected he had only proposed twice in his life and, given his propensity to maudlin thoughts, it no doubt overwhelmed him to remember the first happy occasion.
She stared at the unsatisfactory earrings. Was accepting the baronet nothing more than a prelude to a twilight kind of life? Could she ever be as important to him as his first wife had been?
“I was not sure if you would want to see him,” Hales said, a nervous edge to his voice.
Judah noticed a reddened spot just above the man’s collar. A bite of some kind? Then the mystery cleared. Hales had a love bite on his neck. He wondered which lady had created the mark.
“But since he is Miss Cross’s brother,” Hales continued.
Judah forgot about the mystery of Ewan Hales’s neck. “Manfred or George?”
“George, sir.”
“How very odd.”
“Would you like your tray, sir?”
“When Cross goes.”
Judah pushed open his office door and found George, thinner than before his wife died, and showing every one of the half decade of years he had on Judah, but dressed very soberly and correctly in dark clothing, with a black armband.
“Hello, Cross,” he said, as the man scrambled to his feet. Judah offered his hand, then moved to the fireplace. Invariably, he had damp shoes and trouser bottoms after his trudge into Redcake’s.
“Did you not take a cab? Beastly weather, what?” George followed him to the fireplace.
“I prefer to take the exercise. What brings you out so early in the morning?”
“I need your advice.” He flung himself into Judah’s favorite chair.
Had Magdalene announced her engagement? What would George Cross have to ask of him? A question of whether any of her former co-workers should be shipped to Yorkshire for the nuptials? Half-digested oatmeal churned in his stomach. “What about?”
“You may be aware that I have had some difficult times in the two months since my wife passed.”
“Yes,” Judah said, turning regretfully from the fire.
“Magdalene, I believe, has not forgiven me, nor should she, for my unspeakable behavior in my immediate grief.”
He silently agreed. “How does this concern me?”
“She has not written to me since she left London.”
Judah gripped the edge of the mantel. “She did reach Harrogate safely?”
George waved away his concern. “Oh yes. She wrote Manfred. And Lady March. And the earl.”
Only now did Judah feel how strongly his heart was beating. “I am very glad to hear that.”
“I did write her once, but she did not respond. I am concerned that she might have burned the letter unread, or something of that sort, since I begged a response and did not receive one.”
“I have not written her, nor do I believe she was angry with me when she departed, so I cannot offer a similar tale. She had her back pay and I had no reason for further dealings with her as of some three weeks ago.” Did he want money?
“Very good,” George said. “I expected nothing less. But here is the problem I put to you. Lady March does not reside in London and the earl and his family are away, given the time of year. I have very little money to live on. I have realized only this past week how much Magdalene’s wages here propped up my small household.”
“Are you asking for employment?” Judah interjected, wanting to get to the point.
“No. I am asking your advice. Manfred is very ill, very ill indeed. Magdalene does not know. If I write her, you see, she will most likely not open the letter and there is no one else to write her. I wonder if you could, since you were her employer. She might assume it is Redcake’s business. I feel she should know, especially since there is not much money for the doctor. I am so excessively grateful to Magdalene for paying Nancy’s bills or the doctor would not come at all.”
Judah’s thoughts sharpened. “Is Manfred alone now?”
“No, our dear friend Mrs. Gortimer is with him, and she has not even asked for a salary. I could not leave him alone while I came here. It is that serious. Would you write Magdalene and ask her to come home?”
Chapter Eighteen
Judah inhaled. “Are you afraid Manfred’s illness is mortal?”
George Cross’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his thin neck as he swallowed. “Manfred’s fever is very high.”
“Could you send Magdalene a telegram?”
“I have not the coin. If you could see your way to lend me a few pounds, old man? For expenses?”
“I will do one better. I will send the telegram and go to Harrogate to fetch her,” Judah said, feeling buoyant. “She should be with her family and a telegram is too brief to adequately convey the situation. I shall merely state she must prepare to return, and then arrive with the news.”
George put his hands to his cheeks. “That would be most excellent, sir.”
“It will be the work of twenty-four hours or so. Send word to my office if there is any change with your brother’s health,” Judah said. He hesitated to give the man money, remembering Magdalene’s complaints about George and expensive claret. “I will leave you now, in order to catch the afternoon train.”
George bowed. “I cannot thank you enough.”
Judah turned, squelching a little in his wet shoes, and went to instruct Hales to send the telegram and remove George from his office. He would send Simon Hellman to his house, to instruct his valet to pack a valise, and then meet him at King’s Cross Station.
Two hours later, Judah was on the train going north. The weather had continued to be brutally cold and every time they r
eached an incline in altitude, he saw more snow on the ground. Snow on the tracks slowed the train and it was late into the evening when he arrived at the train station, in a part of England he’d never been to. His mood stayed positive, though he did wonder at how Manfred did. Should he have given George money?
He’d brought very little luggage, just a valise with a change of clothing and a selection of paperwork Hatbrook’s man of business had provided, with suggested houses to purchase and investments to make. When he saw a porter, he detained him long enough to acquire the direction to Lord Bricker’s home, which thankfully was not far distant. He hired a hansom and was at the house before the moon was any higher in the sky.
All the windows were dark there despite the relatively early hour. He knocked on the door, and eventually a butler answered.
“I am Captain Shield, come to accompany Magdalene Cross home,” he announced.
“Ah, yes, sir. I gave Lady Bricker your telegram since Miss Cross is not in residence.”
“She is not? Did she leave for London already?”
“No, sir. She has never been here.”
Judah frowned. “What do you mean? She came to Harrogate weeks ago.”
“Yes, sir, but she is in residence elsewhere.”
“I would like to see Lady Bricker as soon as possible.” Leave it to the dratted woman to complicate things as much as possible.
“Her ladyship is not available to callers at this hour.”
He gritted his teeth, the long day of inactivity starting to catch up to him. “It is a family emergency. One of her relatives is near death.”
“I see.” The butler stepped aside. “Please come in.”
He was led to a parlor where the fire was lit. Ten minutes later a tea tray was brought, and twenty minutes after that Lady Bricker arrived, dressed in a simple gown and looking very pale.
“You are unwell,” Judah said, taking her hand as she offered it. He could see little resemblance between this wan, plump young lady and Magdalene. “I am so sorry to disturb you.”
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