Her Saving Grace

by Catherine Winchester

  “And what do you believe, about her still grieving?”

  “I haven’t set eyes on Damaris since her wedding day so I cannot say for certain, although I feel I know her through my friendship with her father. Personally, I think that she has simply closed herself off from the world at large, to save herself any future pain.”

  “I can certainly understand that,” he agreed, and found himself willing to forgive her sharp words earlier. “Back to the real reason I'm here, is there anything you can tell me about Charles that you haven’t told anyone else, perhaps to spare Lady Wellesley’s blushes?”

  “I didn’t tell her about her father’s mistress in the beginning, for precisely the reason you state, but her husband had hired detectives and one of them discovered Marissa’s identity. When I realised the game was up, I wrote back telling her all I could remember.”

  “That must have been hard for her to hear.”

  Peter Jennings smiled. “Hardly. She wrote back expressing her thanks, said that she was pleased to know that her father had found a woman who loved him.”

  Nathaniel thought about that and realised that, given the adversarial relationship her parents had, as well as being her father’s favourite, perhaps her opinion would be different to that of most women.

  “However you conduct this investigation, Lord Copley, I would advise you not to underestimate Damaris. She is not a typical, high-strung woman, prone to faint at the mere discussion of blood. In many ways, she is as intelligent, brave and stubborn as a man, and she won’t take kindly to being coddled.”

  “Thank you, for the advice and your help.”

  “Not a problem, dear boy. If there’s anything else I can help you with, please feel free to contact me again.”

  “I appreciate that. If I could just ask one last thing?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is there anyone else you would recommend that I talk to?”

  “Your best chance is to visit our gentleman’s club, he had a lot of friends there. I’ll tell you what, if you can wait five minutes, I’ll write you a letter. Members can bring a friend and while that friend going without me would be unusual, given the circumstances and your family, I doubt that they will object.”

  “Thank you and if I may, do you know how I can contact his mistress?”

  “Me? No. Damaris however, is her new patroness.”

  He was stunned for a moment. “You mean to tell me that Lady Wellesley indulges in… well, illicit acts with prostitutes?” He sounded outraged.

  “No, my dear boy, of course not, and for the record, Marissa was never a prostitute.”

  “Then what exactly do you mean by ‘patroness’?”

  “That Damaris pays for her lodgings and gives her pin money. Marissa no longer needs a gentleman to take care of her, so she is free to find herself a husband, if she so wishes.”

  “And has she?”

  “Not to my knowledge but equally, I haven’t heard of her taking another lover.”

  “And would you have been likely to hear?”

  “London Society is quite close knit, even more so amongst men, with our gentlemen’s clubs and gambling dens. You must understand, Marissa was an exceptionally handsome woman, and with a large heart. If someone had been lucky enough to find themselves in her affections, I hardly think they would keep it to themselves. As a rule, we gentlemen do like to brag about our conquests.”

  Nathaniel nodded his understanding. “Thank you, Mr Jennings, you’ve been a big help.”

  Chapter Four

  Immediately following her father’s disappearance, Damaris had been confined, in the final weeks of her pregnancy. Once her baby was born, she simply didn’t have a chance to come to Lanford. Bellchester, her husband’s home, was in Cornwall, and far too long a ride for a new-born baby. Leaving the child didn’t even occur to her; she was lonely without her husband, worried for her father and like many, still hopeful that he would come home; her child was her only solace. She couldn’t imagine leaving her baby for the company of her mother, who was as cold and unfeeling a woman as Damaris had ever encountered.

  She couldn’t fathom a reason why her father would leave his family but in those days, she had clung to that faint hope that he had run away, no matter how out of character it was.

  Still, she had begun writing to Lanford’s Constable, who did little more than absolutely necessary but when pressed, did agree to search her father’s study. It was then that Constable Smyth discovered the receipt for travel to America and at which point, he stopped investigating. She sent numerous letters, begging him to contact the ship’s owner and eventually he did. When the owner confirmed that a Mr Howard had indeed sailed, Constable Smyth declared the case closed and returned any further correspondence from her.

  Her husband, William, returned when Timothy was six months old and he assured Damaris that he would discover the whereabouts of her father and to that end, he hired a detective. When he left to re-join the war against the French, Damaris was with child once again and although it was still early enough in the pregnancy to travel safely, she still felt unable to leave her young son, and she trusted her husband’s detectives to find answers for her.

  She had not counted on her mother thwarting the detective’s attempts, out of little more than spite, it seemed.

  When her husband died, Damaris was devastated and although she knew that she should still try to find her father, her own grief, coupled with her sadness that her children would never know their father, caused her a great deal of melancholy. Some days it was hard for her to get out of bed, let alone travel hundreds of miles, just to argue with her mother and Constable Smyth.

  Just as she was beginning to recover, she began labour three months early. The baby, a beautiful little girl, was stillborn.

  It was only her husband’s laboratory that saved her. She had gone into the room one day to feel closer to him, only to find herself reading a paper of his. Fascinated, she read it all and on a whim, tried the experiment described.

  She was hooked. Reading the scientific journals and examining specimens kept her mind occupied, to the point where her sadness couldn’t overwhelm her. The only thing that could draw her away from her studies, was Timmy, the light of her life.

  Then Timothy had caught whooping cough. It was a painful way to lose a child, listening to each cough drain them of a little more of their spirit.

  She sat by his bedside for months as he declined, recovered a little, then declined once again. She must have spent hours reading to him, comforting him.

  She called in every doctor that she could and they gave her tinctures, lotions, potions, brews and many other things. Even her brother visited, all the way from Edinburgh but he too had no cure.

  Only laudanum seemed to ease his pain but as the weeks wore on, he needed higher and higher doses. She began to worry that the laudanum would kill him, but he suffered so much without it, that she had little choice but to keep giving it to him.

  In the end, his death was easy. He fell asleep, his breathing became even shallower than usual and he died without awaking, as she gently brushed his cheek with her thumb.

  Following his death, Damaris read day and night. She studied botany, philosophy, medicine, mathematics, anything that she could get hold of that was difficult enough to keep her mind occupied.

  She lived in something of a fog for a long while, not knowing much of what was going on in her household and if her husband had not had such a loyal staff, she dreaded to think what might have happened. She cared naught for the estate, money or even paying wages. Her butler, housekeeper and steward rose to the occasion however and took care of the minutia for her, overseen by Lilly, but had any of them been so inclined, they could easily have hoodwinked the former governess cum companion. It spoke volumes for her late husband, that he could inspire such loyalty in his workers, even in death.

  She was self-aware enough to realise that she hadn’t inspired their loyalty. At best Damaris was considered od
d by most people, at worse she was thought to be downright rude.

  In recent months, Damaris had been taking an interest in the house and estate again, making sure that her husband’s lands and tenants were cared for, even although she no longer had an heir to inherit. Her interest was more of a duty than a pleasure however, and she longed to return to her laboratory and continue with her reading or experiments.

  It took Mrs Higgins’ letter, sent by urgent messenger and telling her of the gruesome discovery of an unknown body, to finally make her face up to the reality that if she didn’t do something to find her father’s killer, no one would.

  To that end, she had begun her search last night in her father’s study, once she had finished composing the letter to Dr Worthington.

  When her mother left the house to live with her eldest son, Mr and Mrs Higgins had been tasked with packing the house up. On the whole, they had done so, putting away breakables and non-essential items, covering furnishings and paintings with dust sheets and rolling up carpets and rugs for safekeeping. Only her father’s study had been left untouched, save for protective sheets.

  Although Damaris didn’t know what she was looking for, last night she had set about going through her father’s desk. Constable Smyth had already searched the study, but Damaris was in little doubt that the search had been superficial at best.

  Knowing that she had to get at least some sleep, not to mention, be in bed when Lilly came to wake her, she had been through the invoices she found but had delayed reading the correspondence, so she corrected that now.

  Lilly had offered to help her but since Damaris didn’t know what to look for, she declined the offer. She sat at his desk and painstakingly sorted, then went through the contents of each letter.

  There were a lot of letters; some related to business matters (her father had owned some stocks and shares) but most of it was personal, such as letters from family and friends.

  It was a painful reminder of a man she had loved, but she forced herself to read each and every word. Although she could not read his letters, she was able to infer the basic conversations he was having from the replies. Nothing seemed particularly out of place but she noticed that in his later letters, from six or so month’s before his death, that her father’s mood appeared to be changing.

  Until this moment, she hadn’t realised that the tone of his letters had gradually changed but as she read through her own and other’s replies to him, a few people had been asking if something was troubling him, since his letters seemed to be shorter than usual and to the point, as well as sometimes terse and even bleak.

  She remembered his answers to her own queries, namely him fobbing her off with a number of excuses; that he and her mother had argued, that he was under the weather, that he was tired. She hadn’t thought to question him further. It seemed that almost everyone else was happy with his answers too, except his brother. James Howard boldly stated in his letters that he knew something was wrong and asked what it was. Charles was obviously unwilling to answer but from reading James’ replies, it seemed that Charles had admitted to having something troubling on his mind, although he hadn’t been specific.

  As the light was fading, Lilly entered the study.

  “You shouldn’t try and read in this light,” she admonished. “You’ll ruin your eyes.”

  Damaris smiled. “Then it’s a good job that I read quickly.” She did read exceptionally fast, although she was slower with handwriting than print. Still, she had finished the correspondence, she was just re-reading the letters from her uncle, hoping to find a detail that she had overlooked. Tomorrow she would write to her uncle and ask what he knew but until then, she tried to put this awful business from her mind for the rest of the evening. She had a feeling that she was going to be trying Lilly’s patience over the coming days, and conceding a few small victories to her now, would make her more pliable in the days ahead.

  “Did you get the dresses?” Damaris asked, placing a paperweight on the letters before she got up.

  “I did and you were right, the May Day celebrations are tomorrow, with a ball in the evening.” Lilly smiled. “I ran into Elizabeth Franklin while shopping, and she told me that she is very much hoping that you will attend.”

  “I hope you told her that we would?” Lilly had been Damaris’ companion before marriage, so most of her friends knew Lilly to chat to in the street, even if they weren’t exactly friends.

  “I did.”

  Damaris gave a wistful smile as they headed down to the sitting room. She used to have a few friends locally and she had kept in touch with them after her marriage. It was only after the tragedies she had suffered that she had ceased writing to people. Most of her friends were also of an age to be getting married and having families and often, it was simply too painful to correspond with them.

  Some attachments she missed, although she had a feeling that she had changed so much in the intervening years, that she would be almost unrecognisable to many of her old friends, at least in her character. They too would have changed, most of them married and having started families. She dreaded such discussions but knew that she would have to endure them, for these people had been around her father in his final days, while she hadn’t seen him for months before his death.

  Despite her bad manners in ceasing communications, she thought that most people would forgive her because of her grief. Those who might not naturally be inclined to be so forgiving, would probably overlook the indiscretion in favour of learning what had happened to her father. The discovery of his remains were sure to be the hottest topic of conversation and for that, Damaris was actually glad.

  Someone here knew something about his death, she was sure of it, and with people eager to gossip about his disappearance, it would be easier to discover what, if anything, they knew.

  Damaris poured herself and Lilly a pre-dinner drink from the decanters, sherry for Lilly and a brandy for herself, something that her father had given her a taste for.

  “So, what are the dresses like?” Damaris asked as she handed Lilly her glass.

  “Beautiful. Obviously I didn’t have much choice but the McLaren’s are as lovely as ever. The sisters even promised faithfully that they would have two gowns for each of us adjusted by tomorrow morning, although they insisted that you will have to go in for a fitting before they begin any further gowns.”

  “Didn’t you give them my measurements?”

  “Of course, but they are such perfectionists, and it reflects badly on them if your gowns are ill-fitting.”

  Damaris knew that was true. Besides, she would have to interact a lot over the next few days and weeks, so she might as well get used to it.

  “Did they say how long it would take to get some other outfits made up?”

  “They say that they can make up as many as you need, in just a few days; they have a small army of local women that they can call upon.”

  “And the dresses you’re picking up tomorrow?”

  “Knowing your recent dislike of pastels, your day dress is burgundy, which is the darkest colour garment that they had partially made up, and the evening gown is navy blue.

  Lilly looked pleased to be discussing fashion; she hated that Damaris didn’t keep her wardrobe updated, but Damaris swore to endure the coming fittings with as much grace as she could muster, after all, she would probably be vexing Lilly quite terribly in the not too distant future.

  She nodded when necessary but her thoughts were focused on Lord Copley. She knew that Lord Copley would most likely be there, if not at the May Day celebrations, then at the evening ball. She wouldn’t call herself argumentative and took no pleasure in fighting but oddly, she found herself relishing the idea of another confrontation with him.

  ***

  Wealthy women of a certain class had little purpose in life and after providing their husbands with heirs, even their children were raised by servants, so they had very little to occupy their time. As such many found their own, socially accep
table purpose, organising events. Some were in aid of charities or war efforts, but most were simply for entertainment.

  Throughout the year, the lady patronesses of The Augustine Assembly Rooms in Lanford, organised a number of social events, most involving dances and balls of various descriptions. These events actually encompassed residents of five other towns and villages around Lanford, since it was the biggest and best assembly within easy travelling distance.

  Although May and June were traditionally the busiest months of the London Season, for various reasons, not everyone could decamp to Town and there were still more than enough wealthy families to hold events.

  Held on Lanford Green, May Day was one of the few daytime events, although there would also be a ball in the evening and unusually, everyone in the town was invited to the daytime festivities.

  Organised with the old traditions in mind, the day began with a recital by the St Mary’s Church Choir, in the courtyard outside the church. After that, the May Queen, usually a girl from a good family who was at or nearing marriageable age, led a procession of people through the town and to the Green, where she presided over the afternoon’s events.

  Once at the Green, the children danced around a May Pole, local businesses (mainly eateries and craft shops) sold their wares from tables and although the tradition was dying out, Lanford still had its own troop of Morris dancers, who performed at intervals throughout the afternoon.

  Most of the lower classes were unable to miss work for such an event, but some factories closed their doors for the day and the lower middle classes, those with an education and a profession, were usually able to attend. Of course, only the truly wealthy of the middle classes, would be allowed to mingle with the aristocracy and entrance to the marquee was guarded, to make sure that no one had to mingle with ‘undesirables’. The lower classes had no marquee and had to make do with the shade of the trees.