She turned back to Felix, clearly expecting a show of deference. He managed a graceless, mortified bow, but only just. Her tone made him feel stiff-backed and angry.
“He will not, however,” Lady Rothborough went on, with a distinct harshness now entering her voice – no doubt she considered his bow quite inadequate – “dine at our table.”
“Mama!” exclaimed Charlotte. “That is too –”
“Be quiet!” said Lady Rothborough.
“No, I shall not,” said Lady Charlotte. “You shall not speak to Mr Carswell like that. It is too shocking. Of course, he must dine with us!”
“Rothborough, do you hear that?” said Lady Rothborough. “How she undermines me? This is all your tutoring.”
“Please, ma’am, please!” said Lord Rothborough, very quietly. “I beg you to think before you speak. And you, Charlotte. Your mother has made a great concession, for which we are all grateful. Let it be at that, yes?” He stretched out and took her hand.
Charlotte hesitated for a long moment, and looked as she were swallowing down a torrent of words. Then she nodded.
“Forgive me,” she said, quickly and in clipped tones as if she were spitting out a bitter seed.
“Of course,” Lady Rothborough said and swept from the room.
Lady Charlotte did not follow but closed the door behind her, and stood for a moment, her arms wrapped about her, as if mastering herself.
“How is Major Vernon?” she said, to Felix. “Is he in any danger?”
Felix shook his head.
“But I ought to go and see to him,” he said.
“Might I see him also?” she said. “I could make myself useful.”
“And keep out of your mother’s way?” said Lord Rothborough. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. You should go and make peace properly.”
“I cannot,” said Charlotte. “That was outrageous! Papa, I cannot.”
“If you show her your gratitude and your approval,” Lord Rothborough said, gently coming over and putting his arms about her, “yet more concessions may be made. Grace and diplomacy are always the best weapons.”
“Perhaps,” she said, after a moment. She kissed her father on the cheek and then turned to Felix. “But if there is anything I can do for Major Vernon, you must tell me. And let me know how he does.”
“Of course,” said Felix.
She left them, and Lord Rothborough gave a great sigh and rubbed his face.
“Charlotte is an excellent nurse,” he said. “But I do not think her tendre should be encouraged, given the circumstances.”
“Her tendre?” Felix said.
“There is always a danger with confronting a girl like Charlotte with an impressive individual like Major Vernon, and now he is in such a vulnerable condition –” He sighed again. “She is like a great body of water, waiting to break through a tide wall. She needs a husband, a lover, a life’s work and we have utterly failed to find anyone suitable! And she sees a man whom she must admire, and who is now wrecked! How can she keep her pity in check? We must keep her away from him. Gusta’s poor broken heart has been bad enough to bear abut I think she will mend soon enough. But if Charlotte loves, well, she is like you and I, Felix – deep and dangerous in her passions.”
Felix could not help recalling that mortifying scene he had witnessed the day before between Lord Rothborough and Dona Blanca. “Do not be kind to me,” she had said, and he had kissed her full on the lips and she had yielded. What had passed between them after he had gone? She had not been there when he had returned with the awful news about Mrs Vernon. Had they parted for ever or was something again going on between them that required Lord Rothborough to mollify his wife?
Chapter Thirty-one
With Lord Rothborough’s little homily on unsuitable objects of affection still ringing in his ears, Felix found his own faithfully tending to Major Vernon, who was tossing and turning in a fitful manner that was not encouraging.
“He was up and asking questions,” Sukey said.
“Of course he was,” said Felix, pulling off his coat.
“He got the whole business about the dress out of me. But then he had the sense to go back to bed. He fell asleep for a while, but he’s getting in a poor way now. I have sent Holt for more ice,” she added.
“Excellent,” he said. “Any more vomiting?”
“No,” she said. “But I don’t like this. It’s –”
“Don’t worry. He’s very strong,” said Felix, “This will pass.”
“God willing,” she murmured.
“I have seen it before, in weaker constitutions and they have survived. If we keep him washed down and cool, it will pass. He will not give up. He has too many questions to answer, for one thing.”
“He thinks it is Lady Warde’s dress,” she said. “He said that a woman who had a thief for a maid may have secrets of her own.”
“He did wonder if Eliza Jones was working with someone. Perhaps it was with her: mistress and maid, travelling about, taking their pick of snuff boxes and necklaces and then selling them on to Edgar. Maybe that is it.”
At this moment, Holt came in with John the footman and a quantity of ice. They discussed nothing further, while they got on with the business of reducing Major’s Vernon’s fever to a less alarming state. Another hour or so passed, with some critical moments, but by the time the ormolu clock on the mantel struck five, Felix felt that the worst had passed. The Major fell into a comfortable sleep and they were able to catch their breath. James Bodley and Mr Grainger appeared with a lavish tray of refreshments and messages of support from Lord Rothborough.
Sukey, now pale with exhaustion, was sitting on the window seat, and only upon Felix’s insistence that she should. He handed her a cup of bouillon and sat down beside her, determined she should eat and drink.
“Then you are going to your bed,” he said. “You had no sleep last night. I did.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. And you will always do as I say now, if you know what is good for you,” he added.
“You are determined to be my master, aren’t you?”
“No, not your master. Your protector. Your friend, your –” he broke off, his confidence deserting him.“Perhaps?”
“No castles in Spain,” she said.
“You said that before and I don’t care for it.”
“It is only good sense.”
“I am sick of good sense,” said Felix. “Heartily sick. There is so little certainty in life, and there are sinking sands everywhere. I can’t bear to think that one moment my back might be turned and you could be... gone. And I would not have –”
“I will be gone soon enough,” she said after a moment. “And that will be that.”
“Do not say that,” he said. “Do not.”
“I will have to look for another situation.”
“That I will not have,” he said.
“You want me to starve, then,” she said. “I have to make my own way.”
He shook his head.
“Not if –” he began. He took a breath. “Not if you were to marry me.” She sighed and shook her head. “It isn’t that you wouldn’t like to,” he went on. “I know that much. And any objections that other people care to put up, well, they can be disregarded.”
“You want to make enemies of all your friends and families,” she said. “And mine.”
“No, because they will soon understand the rightness of this, and all will come around. I am sure of it. My mother, for example –”
“Would be broken-hearted,” Sukey cut in. “I am not having that on my conscience.” She put down her cup of bouillon and got up from the window seat. “This is a foolish conversation, at the best of times, and this is not the best of times. If you have any feelings for me, you will not pursue this. Please!”
“So we are always to be cast into misery just because of the accidents of our birth?” he said. “And sacrifice our happiness so that no-one else can be alarmed or upset?�
�
“And how do you know we would be happy? I can’t imagine a situation better laid to set us at odds than this! I know about this, trust me! I know. Unlike you I have been married – try to remember that before you speak!”
They had raised their voices in this last exchange and Major Vernon stirred and woke in the great bed.
Sukey threw him a reproachful glance, as if it was all his doing.
“What time is it?” Major Vernon said, hauling himself up onto his elbows, looking about him.
“After six,” said Felix.
“How are you feeling now, sir?” asked Sukey, helping him to sit up. “You look a great deal better, I must say.”
“Weak, but that headache is gone, thank God,” said the Major.
“You should take some beef tea,” she said, and went and busied herself fetching it.
Felix checked his temperature and pulse.
“The fever has passed for now,” he said. “I cannot guarantee it will not return, though, and your best defence against that is absolute rest for the next day or so.”
Major Vernon nodded wearily and took a cup of soup in an unsteady hand.
“Lady Warde will have to wait,” he said, after taking a drink. “But perhaps that is to our advantage. I have a job for you, Mrs Connolly, and perhaps you too, Mr Carswell, since I don’t suppose you will be dining with the family tonight.”
“No, Lady Rothborough was clear on that point,” said Felix.
“Excellent,” said Major Vernon. “I want you both to search her room while they are all at dinner. I want you find out all her secrets – for she is keeping some, I am sure of it, and she may be the key to this whole business. A bloodstained dress ripped up and hidden is too interesting a circumstance by far, don’t you think?”
Chapter Thirty-two
“Major Vernon, should you be out of bed?” asked Lady Rothborough.
He had timed his entrance perfectly. Just the ladies were there after dinner. His appearance in dressing gown and slippers was enough to make the Marchioness drop her sewing and rise from her seat. He had caught a glimpse of himself in a pier glass in the adjoining room and he looked sufficiently crazed for this escapade. The young ladies looked equally startled. Yet Lady Warde remained in her corner, her head bent over her work, apparently unperturbed by his invasion.
“That tune, Lady Maria,” Giles said. “I have to know what it was.”
“I know you should not have played,” said Lady Rothborough.
“I ought not to have played,” Lady Maria agreed, closing the piano. “I have disturbed you.”
“I am glad you did. Laura would not like you to have stopped – and in music we have a way to deal with our grief.”
“You look very unsteady, sir,” said Lady Rothborough. “You ought to sit down.”
“I think I ought, ma’am, yes, thank you,” said Giles, and allowed Lady Rothborough to guide him to the sofa. “Forgive me for troubling you. I am not entirely myself.”
“How can you be, in the circumstances?” she said. “This terrible business – such a loss for you, sir,” and she took his hand and patted it. “You have been in all our prayers.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
He glanced across again at Lady Warde, and saw how she still did not look at him, from her quiet corner.
Then suddenly she rose and approached the door.
“Would you excuse me, dear Catherine?” she said to Lady Rothborough. “I have some letters to write.”
She was taking flight already. He felt all his instincts were validated in that moment.
“Of course,” said Lady Rothborough. “If you are writing to Anne Brackenbury, will you give her my best love, as ever?”
“I can tell her that in person. I shall be there soon enough.”
“Oh yes, you are off to Marchsteads, I had forgotten. Won’t you stay a little longer, though, my dear Frances? It cannot be wise for you to travel so soon after your poor Jones’ burial. Anne would agree with me. Mourning cannot be rushed, and she was a good servant to you.”
“I have trespassed too long on your kindness, as ever,” said Lady Warde, “and Anne is expecting me. She has her grandsons to amuse, and I will be needed.”
“Those boys are horrid savages,” said Lady Rothborough. “You would be better here with us. I shall write to Anne and tell her myself that I must keep you here, for your own good, grandsons notwithstanding. Besides, who will look after you at Marchsteads? You cannot go without a maid.”
“When is Miss Jones is to be buried?” Giles asked.
“Tomorrow morning,” said Lady Rothborough. “My husband has arranged it all. She will be buried in the churchyard of St Saviours in the village, as all our estate people are.”
“You are too kind, Catherine,” murmured Lady Warde.
“You have been a great friend to us,” said Lady Rothborough. “It is the least that we could do. And you will stay. I shall write to Anne at once,” she added.
“I cannot really –” began Lady Warde.
“You should,” Giles put in. “Lady Rothborough is right. In affliction, we should never spurn our friends, though we might be tempted to.”
“One can hardly compare our situations, sir,” she said.
“She was a good servant to you,” Giles said. “And good servants deserve all our respect. My family was in mourning for a year when my mother’s maid, Nancy, died. She was a great friend to her and a second mother to me and my brother and sisters. She was not of our blood, but she was certainly part of our family. As I think Miss Jones must have been with you.”
“I really must go to Marchsteads,” said Lady Warde. “I cannot disappoint Anne.”
“She will understand,” said Lady Rothborough. “Major Vernon is quite right. Jones had been with you so long. I cannot remember a time when she was not there. It is so sad... such a wretched turn of events.” She took Lady Warde’s hand. “Please do not go, my dear Frances.”
At this moment Lord Rothborough came into the drawing room, presumably having finished his solitary port and cigar.
“Mes belles dames!” he said in greeting. “Oh, and Major Vernon! This is unexpected, and welcome. You look –”
“Please excuse my appearance,” said Giles.
Lord Rothborough gave a dismissive wave. “I am glad to see you out of bed. That is enough.”
“Rothborough, will you speak to Frances?” said Lady Rothborough. “She is determined on going after Jones’ burial tomorrow. She says she must be at Marchsteads.”
“That would be a shame,” said Lord Rothborough. “Won’t you reconsider, my Lady?”
Lady Warde shook her head, and said, “Excuse me. I would like to retire now, if I might?”
Rothborough bowed his acquiescence and she went towards the door.
Giles hauled himself up from the sofa and as he did so, his mind cleared, and he knew the moment had come to speak. A white flame of pure anger leapt up inside him. He knew the truth.
“Of course, you would like to, ma’am,” he said. “You would like to vanish and leave no tracks behind you. But it is too late for that. You must stay and face what has happened.”
She spun round and looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I am speaking of grief and how one deals with it. How one must find the courage to face great loss, what one does, how one conducts oneself in such circumstances. The challenge of it.”
“Your loss has been far greater than mine,” she said. “And I shall deal in my own way, thank you, sir.”
“That I would dispute,” he said. Her hand was on that locket again. He wished he could rip it from her and see what it contained. “She was like a daughter to you, I think.” He saw how her fingers tightened round the locket. He felt light-headed with excitement at being right, and at the same time the darkest despair.
“No,” she said, rather quietly.
“Of course, you will deny it,“ he said. “You have to, becaus
e if you do not, the whole house of cards will come tumbling down.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said, turning again towards the door. “And, circumstances aside, I do not care for your manner, sir.”
“Please do not go,” said Giles. “I have some questions that have been bothering me about you, and you could put my mind at rest if you would only answer them. It would be a kindness.”
“Catherine,” she said to Lady Rothborough. “I do think the poor gentleman is raving – he must still be delirious. Should we not send for that surgeon fellow?”
“Mr Carswell – an excellent plan,” said Giles. “If Lady Rothborough does not object?”
“I cannot,” she said. “You look very unwell, sir.”
“You ought not to have got out of bed,” remarked Rothborough, as he rang for a servant.
“You should sit down again, at least, Major Vernon,” said Lady Charlotte, coming to his side. “Please?” she added.
“Of course,” said Giles, who was glad enough to sit down, and feel Lady Charlotte’s cool hand on his forehead for a moment. He was fiery-hot, it was true, with sweat pouring down his back. He felt sure his night shirt was drenched through under his dressing gown. But, weak and assaulted though his body felt, he had an inner strength, born of necessity. If he did not accomplish this now, then he knew it would be too late.
“Oh dear Lord,” Lady Charlotte murmured.
“He is out of his wits with fever,” said Lady Warde.
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “My wits have never been sharper. Unfortunately for you, ma’am.”
“Is this an interview of some sort?” Lord Rothborough said.
“Yes,” said Giles. “And I insist that the lady sits down and answers my questions. And I would like a record taken of this conversation. Perhaps your secretary might join us, my Lord?”
“Yes, of course,” said Rothborough and went and gave the footman instructions.
“And I need Mr Carswell and Mrs Connolly,” Giles added.
“Catherine, I beg you, put a stop to this,” Lady Warde said, going to Lady Rothborough. “This is monstrous. I cannot believe you will let this happen. Why must I answer the questions of a madman? Please?”
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