by Joan Smith
Lady Pargeter presented her companion. "This is my niece, Miss Lonsdale. She has come to stay with me.”
The group took up their positions around the grate.
Fenwick composed a cool smile and said, “Where do you come from, Miss Lonsdale?” He noticed the question displeased her. Why should she hesitate to reply, unless there was something discreditable in her background?
“From Bath,” she said.
“Is your family still there?”
“My parents are dead,” she said.
“Ah, then you lived with relatives?”
“I was employed in a lady’s academy,” she said. She was loath to mention the name Miss Prism, and added, “My aunt has invited me to stay with her.”
“A schoolteacher, was you?” Scawen inquired.
“Yes,” she said, with an angry look at Swann. Did he think she was the cook, or scrubbed floors?
“What academy was that, Miss Lonsdale?” Fenwick inquired.
She gave him another hostile look. The man was a bulldog. Any mention of her leaving the academy was painful; she did not want the local folks to discover her disgrace. Yet she had been trained as a young lady to be polite, and as a vicar’s daughter to tell the truth. “Miss Prism’s Academy for Young Ladies,” she said.
“I have heard of it,” Fenwick said, with a note of surprise in his well-modulated voice. It was known to be very prestigious, and very strict. If Miss Lonsdale did indeed come from Miss Prism’s, there could be nothing amiss in her background except poverty, and that, while unfortunate, was in no way immoral. In fact, it was almost a guarantee of integrity—if she had really taught there....
“Were you there long?” he asked.
Something in his insolent, questioning look caused a stab of anger. She took a deep breath to control the sharp retort that longed to come out. “Eighteen months, two weeks, and three days,” she said. “Are you interested in precise dates, milord?”
He ignored her gibe. “And before you joined Miss Prism?” he asked.
Lady Pargeter had had enough. “My niece is not applying for a position with you, milord,” she said. “Is there some reason for this interrogation?”
Fenwick decided on the spot that he must watch his step with these “ladies.” They knew what they were about. Any show of servility on their part would have suggested wrongdoing. He had merited that rebuke, and the “housekeeper” was not slow to deliver it. She wouldn’t be browbeaten into compliance. The alternative was to dump the butter boat on her. A warm smile lit his eyes and lifted the corners of his lips.
“Forgive me,” he said, directing his words to both ladies. “Curiosity has always been my besetting sin. I came to pay my respects to Lord Pargeter’s widow.” He turned to direct his next words to Jane. “I am a cousin to Pargeter. I was trying to determine whether we might have met before, ma’am. I am sorry if my questions struck you as an interrogation. My mama makes her home in Bath. I often visit her.” His interest soared when Jane gave a wince at that piece of information.
The charm of his smile was ignored in this dreadful piece of information. “I have heard of Lady Fenwick. I’ve never met her,” Jane said. But Lady Fenwick might very well have heard of her by now. Many of the students were from noble families. The dismissal of a schoolmistress on moral grounds would provide a small item of gossip. “Do you have relatives—cousins or nieces—at Miss Prism’s, milord?” she asked warily.
“Not at the moment,” he said, and watched as the tension eased out of her face. His suspicions heightened when she smiled in relief.
“I thought they might have attended Miss Prism’s,” she said.
“Not within the past eighteen months, two weeks, and three days,” he replied, with a glinting, sly smile that set her nerves on edge. Almost a challenging smile. What had he heard?
Lady Pargeter decided it was time to change the subject. “You are staying with Swann, Lord Fenwick?”
“Just so. I am visiting for a few days and couldn’t leave without calling on you. How do you go on, Lady Pargeter?”
“As well as I can, being cut off from the world,” she said, with a sharp glance at Swann, who was harboring the lady responsible for her isolation, and well he knew it.
Scawen paid her no heed. He had discovered that Miss Lonsdale was a nice, quiet sort of lady. Pretty without flaunting herself. He wanted a wife, and felt that his best chance of procuring one was to find some undiscovered violet growing unseen, and rush her off to Vicar Hellman before she caught someone else’s eye.
“Would you like to see my swans, Miss Lonsdale?” he asked.
“Where are they?” she asked in some little confusion.
“At Swann Hall. That is to say, on the lake. Only a few of them left.”
“Yes, I should like to see them sometime,” she said vaguely.
"Tomorrow. I shall call on you tomorrow. Don’t wear a good dress. What you have on will be fine. And you’ll need some stout shoes, for it’s wet in the water. In the rushes, that is to say.”
Jane blinked, wondering how to respond to this news that water was wet, and to the slight on her good serge gown.
Seeing her plight, Fenwick came to the rescue, hoping to lure her into friendship, and eventually into revelations. “It will be chilly by the lake. You will want that nice warm gown,” he said.
“Oh yes.” She smiled, surprised that he should come to her rescue, and grateful for his finesse.
The conversation came to a temporary halt. She noticed Fenwick direct a commanding look on Mr. Swann, and sat on nettles, waiting to see what occurred next.
Chapter Four
There had been some discussion between the gentlemen as to how they might discover clues to Pargeter’s mental condition just prior to his death. They agreed that the master bedroom was the likeliest place to find them. Fenwick had convinced Swann that he was the more likely one to request a visit thither.
When Fenwick gave him a commanding look, Swann said, “We was wondering if we might have a peek at the master bedroom.” Lady Pargeter stared at him in astonishment. “Only if you ain’t using it yourself, of course,” he added.
“It happens I am not. It’s too dark to suit me, but may I know why you wish to view it?”
Swann had been coached. “Old times’ sake,” he replied. “Many’s the time I have enjoyed a gargle of brandy there with old Pargeter when he was racked up with gout, you know. I would like to see his last resting place—while he was alive, I mean, for of course, I often visit his grave. Well, two or three times. Once, actually, but I took some flowers.”
Fenwick saw he had overestimated Swann’s potential as a conspirator. “Actually, Swann was hoping for a keepsake, Lady Pargeter. Nothing valuable like his watch, but some trifle—a favorite book of poetry, perhaps, in which he had jotted down his thoughts.”
“Pargeter never read a poem in his life,” Lady Pargeter said comprehensively. “He was reading the Farmer’s Almanac the day before he died. I gave it to the bailiff. There was an article on some new sheep Pargeter meant to discuss with him. If you would like a cravat pin, I would be happy to give you one as a memento. I shall ask Broome to fetch it.”
“Allow me,” Swann said, with a triumphant smile at Fenwick. “I know just where he kept them.”
Fenwick noticed that Lady Pargeter and Jane exchanged a meaningful look.
They both realized there was some mischief afoot. Fay knew that Swann hadn’t a sentimental bone in his body. He was no blood relation to Pargeter, nor had they been especially close. Swann’s mama and Lady Pargeter had been cousins—but he hadn’t wanted any keepsake of Lizzie. What he wanted was to get into Pargeter’s bedroom and snoop to see what he could find to take back to Lady Sykes and her lawyer. Not that he would find anything.
“Miss Lonsdale will go with you,” Fay said, with a gracious nod of her head.
“Very kind of you,” Swann replied, smiling fondly at Jane. Fate seemed to be throwing the young lady into his pat
h.
Fenwick rose when Jane stood up. As if on impulse, he said to Lady Pargeter, “May I accompany them above stairs?” When she frowned, he rushed in with an excuse. “I have not been at Wildercliffe for some years. I should like to refresh my memories of it. A fine house, Lady Pargeter,”
“Certainly, Lord Fenwick. We shall all go,” she said, and accepted his assistance from her seat.
She noticed the tightening of his jaw, which sat ill with his efforts at a smile. Oh yes, he was up to something, right enough, but he would have to get up early in the morning to outwit her.
The group, led by Lady Pargeter, proceeded up the grand staircase and along a corridor to the master bedroom. Swann walked with Jane behind Fay. Fenwick brought up the rear. He noticed how small Jane’s waist was, and the interesting swaying of her hips. Over her shoulder, he made a few comments on paintings and carving as they went, to lend credence to his request to view the house.
Lady Pargeter entered the master bedroom first and drew back the heavy curtains. A rich but gloomy chamber came into view.
“I can see why you wouldn’t want to sleep here after Pargeter died,” Swann said. That struck him as implying the lady had enjoyed sleeping there with Pargeter. He felt he should modify it in some manner and added, “Not to say you enjoyed it before he died.” This was even worse. “Not to say you didn’t enjoy it. Not that it’s any of my business one way or t’other,” he finished, blushing.
“What beautiful carving!” Fenwick said, rather hastily, and walked forward to the canopied bed. “Grinling Gibbons, is it?” He ran his fingers over an indifferent carving of a vine crawling up the bedpost, to terminate in a griffin.
“I’ve no idea,” Lady Pargeter said, rather snappishly, and strode to the dresser. “Here is Pargeter’s trinket box. Help yourself, Mr. Swann.”
Fenwick’s sharp eyes darted around the room. He saw no evidence of senility. Everything was as it should be. But then, the chamber had obviously been tidied up after Pargeter’s death. While Swann made his selection from the jewelry box, Fenwick lifted the skirt of the canopied bed and peered under it, thinking a toy might have escaped detection by the servants, but there was nothing there save the carpet. When he looked up, he saw Miss Lonsdale was observing him in a questioning way.
“I thought I saw a mouse,” he said blandly.
If this was an excuse to get the ladies out of the room, it failed. “Indeed? And I thought I smelled a rat,” she replied demurely.
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “At least you didn’t say you saw one,” he said.
She turned toward Swann and her aunt, for she was uncertain how to reply to this mischievous speech.
“Feel like a dashed beggar,” Swann said, looking at the cravat pins, and trying to decide which was the least valuable. There were a few diamond ones and one ruby. He chose a small black pearl. “Very kind of you, Lady Pargeter. I will treasure this as a keepsake of old—of Pargeter.”
“Would you also like a keepsake, Lord Fenwick?” Lady Pargeter asked.
“I find memories are the best keepsake,” he said, and they returned below stairs.
Fenwick fell into step with Jane. “Will you be making your home permanently with your aunt,” he asked, “or is this merely a sojourn between teaching positions?”
“I have no plans to return to teaching.”
“That sounds very definite. Did you not enjoy it?”
“Would you?” she asked, and hastened on a step ahead of him before he could reply, for she disliked this line of questioning.
Lady Pargeter was uncertain how to treat Fenwick. If Lady Sykes had brought him in to cause mischief, she ought to give him short shrift. On the other hand, if he was just a casual visitor at Swann Hall, he might be of some use to her. Already he had brought Swann for a visit, and that must have taken some doing. If he could bring Lord Malton around, she would soon be established as respectable. She had no intention of apologizing for her marriage, but wondered if she might explain it in some manner that would make it more acceptable to him.
“Would you care for a cup of tea?” she asked.
Both gentlemen accepted with alacrity, and the tea was brought. Scawen began telling Jane about his swans. Before long, he had lured her to the window that gave a view of the lake. While he occupied Jane with a mild flirtation, Fay spoke to Fenwick, in her usual frank manner.
“Well, you have had a look at me now, milord,” she said. “Am I as bad as Lady Sykes painted me?”
A spontaneous smile lit his eyes. "That would be difficult indeed, ma’am.”
A bark of laughter greeted his words. “I know my marriage must have been a disappointment to her, but the fact is, Pargeter had no intention of leaving anything to Nigel. Nor is he such a fool as to have left the estate out of his own family forever. It is only mine during my lifetime.”
“And after?” Fenwick asked, with equal frankness.
“It was Pargeter’s wish that the terms of his will remain secret for a year, but if it sets your mind at rest, I shall tell you this much. It reverts back to a relative of Pargeter’s.”
“Indeed!”
“I should not like you to get your hopes up, however. He didn’t leave it to you.”
“I didn’t expect it,” Fenwick said. His eyes turned to Swann. “As we are being quite open, do you mind my asking why you married him?”
“What you really want to know is why he married me. He was old and lonesome, and Lord Malton gave him the notion we were causing a scandal by living here together after Lizzie—Lady Pargeter—died. He was used to having me about. I had been Lizzie’s companion for a decade. I went about everywhere with them, almost as one of the family. He didn’t want me to leave, so he made an honest woman of me. If he had lived, it would have been a nine days’ wonder. It was his death so quickly after we married that caused the mischief.”
“What was the cause of his death?”
Lady Pargeter gave him a knowing look. “I did not feed him poison, if that is what she has hinted. It was his heart. He went off in the middle of the night. A quick, quiet death. The doctor signed the death certificate with no trouble. Would you like to see it?”
Fenwick listened, and found himself believing the story. “Of course not,” he said, embarrassed.
Lady Pargeter was pretty, in a fulsome sort of way. She was genteel, if outspoken; Pargeter was accustomed to her. She would have provided familiar company to an elderly gentleman who was set in his ways. Pargeter’s life and his fortune were his own, to do with as he wished. He would care nothing if his marriage caused a scandal in the neighborhood. It was only his untimely death that created the mischief. In short, Fenwick felt a perfect fool, and like a proper gentleman, he apologized.
“I am glad you came,” Lady Pargeter said. “Naturally I would like to see my position in the neighborhood established on a normal footing. If Lady Sykes would care to call, she would be welcome.”
“I shall give her the message. May I call again as well, Lady Pargeter?”
“I would be happy to receive you again.”
He turned his attention to the window, where Scawen was pointing toward the lake, no doubt be-thumping Miss Lonsdale with some swan lore.
“Minerva was so jealous she pecked at Dorothy till she had driven the poor pen away. As bad as Phoebe,” Swann said.
Miss Lonsdale assumed Phoebe was another swan, and commiserated with him. “They sound very ill natured, to be sure, and they look so gentle and lovely,” she said.
“Aye, they are trouble from beak to tail. They remind me of you, Miss Lonsdale.” Jane looked at him in astonishment. Fenwick’s lips quirked in amusement. “Really they are dashed pretty with those great long necks, like yours. They float along so gracefully, until they hit dry land, where they put a duck to shame for waddling.”
“Thank you,” Jane said, choking back a laugh. She had been speaking to Swann long enough to know there was no vice in him. He was trying to be complimentary.
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Fenwick rose to take his leave. Glancing toward the grate, Jane saw he was gazing at her with suppressed laughter lighting his eyes. When their eyes met, he smiled in a conspiratorial way, as if sympathizing with her. The last trace of the proud lord had vanished from him. She felt an answering smile move her lips. A small warmth grew in her. Her past life had given few opportunities to meet gentlemen. She had never met anyone remotely like Lord Fenwick.
“It is time we should be leaving, Scawen,” Fenwick said.
“I shall call for you tomorrow at ten, Miss Lonsdale,” Swann said. “I look forward to it.”
“Delightful, Miss Lonsdale,” Fenwick said, shaking her hand and gazing directly into her eyes.
Jane was expecting a bow. Caught off guard, she didn’t return the pressure, or the compliment, but just looked at him as if he were a riddle. She noticed how long his eyelashes were. His eyes were not really such a steely gray at close range. More like opals, with glinting flashes of light lurking in their depths.
“And Lady Pargeter,” he added, turning to her aunt.
The gentlemen left, and the ladies poured themselves another cup of tea to discuss the visit.
Chapter Five
“What do you make of that?” Lady Pargeter asked. It was a rhetorical question. She proceeded at once to tell Jane what the visit was all about. “A fishing expedition. They came to see what they could discover. They hoped to get a look at the will in Pargeter’s desk. What other reason could they have for wanting to go upstairs?”
“Fenwick was looking all around in an odiously curious way. He even peered under the bed.”
“Did he indeed? He’d find nothing but dust.”
“He might discover worse if he asks questions about me in Bath.”
“That is the least of my concerns.”
Jane looked alarmed. “Is there something you haven’t told me about your marriage, Auntie?”
“No, no. The marriage is fine.”
“Is there some secret about the will?”
“A part of it is not to be made public for a year. I told Fenwick about it.”