The Girl at Rosewood Hall (A Lady Jane Mystery)

by Annis Bell

  Blount glanced sideways at her. “It is not my place to offer advice, my lady.”

  “To the devil with that! I asked your opinion! The captain has left you here as my protector.”

  “To keep you safe, my lady. Only to keep you safe. It is dangerous out here for a woman alone. That’s true everywhere.”

  Impatient, she dug her boots rather too heavily into her mare’s flanks, and the horse jerked its head up. “Do you know anything about Lord Hargrave that I don’t? My husband made some insinuations about the reputations of Hargrave and Rutland. My God, man, don’t make me drag every word out of you!”

  Blount hesitated for a fraction of a second, then answered, “I’m sorry, my lady. I can only repeat what the captain said. In London, Hargrave and Rutland are well known for their excessive masked balls and similar events. There is a certain circle of gentlemen who enjoy a somewhat questionable reputation. For a respectable lady, moving in such company is not recommended.”

  “Aaarrgh!” Furiously, Jane struck her horse sharply with the riding crop to bring it up to a fast trot. “I will be paying a visit to Mrs. Sutton this afternoon!” Jane shouted and galloped off across the meadow.

  Blount followed her effortlessly.

  At precisely one minute past three, Jane’s coach rolled up to the front entrance of Bromfield Manor. Hettie was about to open the door, but Blount, who had ridden with them on the coachman’s seat, was faster and helped the two women climb out. He had swapped his riding jacket for the more respectable frock coat of a servant, and his manners were impeccable. His ever-vigilant eyes, however, did not escape Jane’s attention. When they met Lord Hargrave’s valet on the stairs, Blount’s body tensed in a barely perceptible fashion, as if readying himself for an attack. Perhaps war changes people that way, thought Jane, but she paid more attention to Hargrave’s valet than she had on her first visit.

  Hettie reddened when she saw the slender man, who carried a traveling case in his hand. Well aware of his good looks, Lord Hargrave’s valet bowed his head arrogantly. Then Hargrave’s butler hurried down the steps, urging the valet to hurry up. “Stir your stumps, Jack! His lordship wants to be off in an hour. Beg pardon, good day, Lady Jane.”

  “I’ve come unannounced, but I do hope Mrs. Sutton will receive me?” said Jane with a charming smile.

  The butler beckoned Jane to follow him into the home, while Blount stayed outside with the coach.

  “Please follow me into the salon. It will only take a moment.” The butler led them into a small, sunlit room with an elegant sofa and two armchairs. Hettie and Jane waited by the open French doors that looked out on to the courtyard.

  “That’s Nancy’s Jack. He’s not half-bad looking, is he?” Hettie peered out between the curtains, giggling.

  “He seems quite conceited for a valet. People like that are devious, Hettie. He’s the kind of man who causes trouble. Don’t go getting involved with the likes of him!” Jane felt an instinctive aversion to Lord Hargrave’s valet.

  Hettie screwed up her nose. “Oh, a fellow like that’s not for me. If I ever do get married, it will be to a man who’s learned a trade and has his own little shop. A baker or a grocer . . .” She sighed. “So long as he’s not a fisherman.”

  Jane smiled. “I’m going to have to keep an eye on you. I would be sorry to lose you anytime soon, Hettie.”

  “Oh, ma’am, I don’t want to get married yet. But . . .” She looked farther out, where Lord Hargrave’s coach was being brought around. “If the lord leaves, will you perhaps no longer be coming here? I mean, to visit his sister?”

  Jane stroked the feathers in her artfully decorated hat. She had taken special care with her clothes for this afternoon’s visit, though black was still the prevailing color of her wardrobe. “I hope that we’ll be lucky, Hettie. But I’m surprised that Mrs. Sutton did not send me a message. We wanted to visit St. Austell together.”

  The door opened and Jane swung her expansive skirts around. The butler waved them out. “This way. Mrs. Sutton will see you. But she is not well.”

  The butler’s announcement cautioned Jane to keep her visit as short as possible. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

  Hettie disappeared into the domestic wing, and Jane was led into the same magnificent salon where she had visited the Hargraves and the Rutlands on her first visit. This time, however, Violet Sutton was lying on a chaise longue.

  “Lady Jane,” the butler proclaimed in a low voice before leaving again.

  The curtains were half-closed, and the scent of lavender and rose oil hung in the air. Violet Sutton wore a pale-green dress, and against it she looked even paler than she had on Jane’s last visit. She lifted one hand weakly. It was as if Violet found it difficult even to wave. “Lady Jane,” she whispered in a flat voice and blinked tiredly.

  On a table stood a samovar and small tea glasses. Beside the glasses stood an expensive-looking jewelry box. A little oil lamp gave off the sweet odor. “My dear, I’m so terribly sorry to find you not well!” Jane stood uncertainly by the table and did not know if she should even sit.

  “Please, take a seat. I’m happy to have you to keep me company. It is always so dreadfully quiet here, you know? So quiet that it could make you think that everyone was gone, or dead.” Violet’s eyes were large and very dark when she looked at Jane.

  Her pupils are unnaturally large, thought Jane, and then she saw Violet’s arm. The sleeve of her dress had slid up, revealing the crook of her elbow. Jane could see old and new needle marks, and it suddenly occurred to her why Doctor Woodfall had come to visit this patient so late in the evening.

  “Are you injecting morphine?” Jane asked gently.

  Violet ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips and turned slightly to lie flat on her back, her eyes looking up to the ceiling. “Mmm, it eases the pain and gives me pleasant dreams.”

  “Would you like to drink something?”

  Violet slowly turned her head. “A glass of tea. Please, help yourself. The samovar was a gift from my brother. From Crimea. He was gone a long time, just like my husband. Sebastopol. Many good men died there. Too many. My Howard was among them. He was a good man.”

  Jane lifted the small silver pot from the samovar and tipped some tea into a glass. Then she filled the glass with hot water from the tap on the bulbous kettle. “Sugar?”

  “Hmm.” Violet’s eyes were closed, and Jane saw a single, heavy tear appear from beneath her eyelash and roll down her cheek.

  Jane added a spoonful of sugar to the glass and handed it to Violet, who opened her hand uncertainly. When her weak fingers came into contact with the warm glass, some life seemed to return to her body, and Violet turned onto her side. She swallowed a little of the strong, sweet tea, and her eyes looked at Jane with more alertness.

  “The tea comes from India. Devereaux brings it with him. Do you know Devereaux? An attractive man. If I were younger and beautiful . . . I was never beautiful . . .” A strangely raw laugh escaped Violet’s throat.

  Embarrassed, Jane drew a glass of tea for herself from the samovar before settling into an armchair beside the table.

  “Are you expecting?” Violet suddenly asked.

  The glass nearly fell out of Jane’s hand. “Me? No!”

  “How sad. I always wanted to have children. Always. But Howard went off to war, and my body . . . stayed empty.”

  Jane cleared her throat. “But you help many children, Mrs. Sutton. That’s wonderful. Are you driving to London with your brother? I would regret—”

  “What? What would you regret, Lady Jane?” Lord Hargrave’s deep voice cut through the numbed atmosphere of the room like a blade.

  Jane held the glass tightly between her trembling fingers and turned to face the lord of the manor, who had approached unnoticed from the other side of the salon. His dark frock coat was custom tailored, and his shoes were im
maculate.

  “Would you regret my leaving?” He leaned forward and reached for her hand to kiss her fingers. He actually touched her with his lips!

  She immediately withdrew her hand and shot him a disapproving look. “Are you planning to leave your sister here alone?”

  Lord Hargrave walked around her and helped himself to a glass of tea. His legs touched her skirt, but such unseemly proximity apparently meant nothing to him. On the contrary, he actually appeared to be enjoying her discomfort with the situation. With his glass in his hand, he leaned forward and stroked his morphine-intoxicated sister’s hair. “Poor little Violet. Always had to fight for everything and never, ever won.”

  Violet nestled her cheek into her brother’s hand. “Don’t go, Robert. Don’t leave me alone!” she murmured.

  “But you’re not alone. Look, Lady Jane has taken the time to visit, just for you. Isn’t that right, my lady? You’ve come all the way here just to visit my sister!” His eyes flashed and his words dripped mockery.

  Violet seemed undisturbed by his words, or did not perceive the undertone in them, for she smiled blissfully. Her veins, a bluish sheen beneath her thin skin, gave her such a morbid appearance that she looked almost repellant, Jane thought.

  “To be honest, I had hoped to meet you here, Lord Hargrave.”

  “Is that a fact? To what do I owe the honor? Wasn’t your husband just here on a visit? Why did you keep him all to yourself? That was not nice of you, Lady Jane, not nice at all!” He wagged a finger at her in playful threat, but his eyes were cold and devoid of any humor.

  “I regret David’s sudden departure far more, believe me,” said Jane with a sugary smile, very aware of the open neckline of her dress.

  Lord Hargrave’s eyes wandered desirously over the swell of her firm breasts. “How may I be of service, my lady?”

  Jane, in that moment, was deeply grateful for Blount’s presence. Though the man was outside, she had the feeling that he would be there in an instant if she needed help. “It’s about my gamekeeper, Jacob Blythe.”

  She paused, and Lord Hargrave’s posture changed from one moment to the next. Feigned playfulness gave way to calculation. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. Please jog my memory a little.”

  “A fistfight, three years ago. Your man’s name was Pat. Jacob defended his wife’s honor, and you separated the two brawlers. Must I go on?”

  Hargrave set down his tea glass loudly on the table. Violet reached for his hand, but he pushed her aside roughly. “No. I remember. Your gamekeeper beat my man half to death. A bad sort, that one!”

  Jane also put down her glass. She stood up. Hargrave had to take a step back to make room for her dress, and Jane, for once, was thankful for the voluminous crinoline so in vogue. “That is not true and you know it. Mr. Blythe was provoked by your man. But aside from that, I believe you have received adequate compensation for my gamekeeper’s assumed guilt.”

  Jane stood to her full height. She set her jaw and held Hargrave’s stare.

  Hargrave looked at her for an agonizingly long moment. Finally, his lips stretched into a patronizing smile. “Lady Jane. I can only bow before such a display of female fortitude. I have always admired strong women.” He reached one hand out to her.

  Surprised, Jane shook the offered hand and felt Lord Hargrave’s firm grip. Too firm, really. It felt like a warning.

  “We are neighbors, and squabbling among neighbors is unseemly. For me, the matter is hereby settled.” He let go of her hand.

  “Good.” She smiled. “I am happy to have this affair off the table.”

  Violet groaned and held her hands to her forehead. “My skull is exploding. Robert, are you still here? Help me.”

  “But of course, my angel.” Lord Hargrave went to the table and opened the jewelry box. Inside, a silver-plated syringe and an ampoule lay on the red velvet. Hargrave looked at Jane, not Violet, as he removed the syringe. “I’m bringing your respite, Violet. It will soon be better.”

  Jane bumped into the armchair as she stepped aside. “Violet, I look forward to hearing from you. I’ll be leaving now. Lord Hargrave, I wish you a pleasant journey.”

  “You seem apprehensive, but there’s no need to be,” said Lord Hargrave. “I assume you haven’t been to London for quite some time. The Season is just starting. If you happen to visit the theater, you will meet many women who sweeten their lonely existences with such honeyed dreams. There is nothing remiss in it, my lady.”

  “One must decide for oneself where to look for happiness. I will not be looking for mine there.” Her eyes fell on the syringe in Hargrave’s hand as she said it. “Good day!”

  Jane left the salon and went down the hallway and outside, where the fresh air made her feel like she’d been liberated. Her coach had rolled forward a short distance to make room for Lord Hargrave’s coach, decorated with the family crest. Close by the coach, Jack was leaning against a stone balustrade in front of a flower bed smoking a cigar. Jane’s coachman and Blount were standing by their horses, by all appearances doing no more than discussing harness and coachwork. Blount noticed Jane immediately and gave her an inconspicuous wink. Jane did not at first understand what he meant, but then Hettie suddenly appeared, running down the steps. She cried excitedly, “Ma’am, this will floor you! You won’t believe what I . . .”

  The maid pulled up when she saw Jack. She reddened and turned so that she had her back to Lord Hargrave’s valet. She whispered in Jane’s ear. “Jack has an injured hand, ma’am. He’s missing part of his little finger.”

  It was too late. Jack must have suspected something, for he flicked his cigar away and looked in their direction. When Jane’s eyes met his, a shudder ran down her spine. She saw Blount shake his head very slightly, as if to tell her to lie low.

  “Time to go, Hettie. You can tell me all your gossip as we drive,” said Jane, louder than necessary.

  23.

  Mary

  Mary sat beside Fiona on one of the benches in the classroom and hardly dared to move. Miss Horn had been employed to replace Miss Fannigan, who resigned shortly after she and Mary had talked about Mr. Gaunt’s clothes. Miss Horn was even faster to reach for the cane than the camel was. She also enjoyed taking a long wooden ruler and whacking it randomly on the tables if a book was not lying straight or if a pupil’s hands were not properly placed beside the book when reading. Many of the children now had bruises on their hands, and little Tom even had a broken index finger from being hit.

  “It’s my birthday next week, Fiona,” Mary whispered.

  “I don’t ’ave the foggiest when I was born.” Fiona bit her lips with concentration as she copied the words from the blackboard into her notebook.

  “I’ll be eleven.” Mary looked nervously toward the front of the room, but the teacher was busy with one of the younger girls. The poor thing had dropped her slate on the floor and broken it.

  “Stand up, you useless creature,” the teacher raged at the child. Miss Horn was a big, powerful middle-aged woman. “Now who’s supposed to pay for that? Go and stand in the corner, and don’t move a muscle!”

  The girl cried and did as she was told.

  Fiona looked at her friend. “Eleven? Damn, then they’ll throw you out. ’ave they said anything?”

  “No, but the camel examined me.”

  “You two, stand up!” Miss Horn ordered, and the ruler cracked onto the table in front of them. Her unsympathetic eyes scrutinized them from behind round spectacles. The woman’s graying black hair was tied back severely at her neck, and around her white lace collar she wore a velvet band with a silver cross hanging from it. She made the children pray before every lesson and seemed to idolize the pastor who delivered the Sunday sermon in the big hall.

  “You with the red hair, what did you just say?”

  “Nothing, Miss ’orn,” said Fiona.

  �
��You were whispering. What about?” She jabbed Mary in the ribs with the ruler.

  “None of your business!” Mary bit her lips, because she knew what was coming next. But she no longer cared. One way or the other, she wouldn’t be there much longer.

  “You cheeky little brat, you dare . . .” The ruler dropped onto the table, and the woman snatched the cane from her belt. Mary automatically stretched out her hands. The strokes were painful, but the uncertain future awaiting her was much worse.

  Fiona took just as many strokes as Mary, but she was allowed to sit down again. Then the spiteful woman said to Mary, “No lunch and no dinner, and I’m going to speak to the master about you. Sit down.”

  During the lunch break, Fiona crept over to Mary in the corner behind the big oak. She fished a hard chunk of bread out of her pocket. “’ere. That’s all there was.”

  Mary looked gratefully at her friend and nibbled at the dry bread. “I’m frightened, Fiona. I’m so frightened!”

  “We could take off, Mary, but I’ll tell you, living on the streets is no picnic.” Fiona crouched beside Mary and wrapped her arms around her bony knees. “If only Miss Fannigan ’adn’t left. Perhaps she could’ve ’elped us get a position somewhere together.”

  “We could still ask the mistress. What have we got to lose, after all?”

  The girls looked at each other and sighed.

  “Nothing,” said Mary.

  But Fiona raised one finger. “Don’t say that. Every girl ’as a treasure that men are willing to pay for. So far, they ’aven’t taken us over to the men at night. We should be ’appy about that. It means they want to sell us to someplace better.”

  “Look, over there.” Mary pointed to the entrance to the main building of the orphanage, where Miss Horn, Sister Susan, and Mr. Cooper huddled together, now and then turning and looking out into the courtyard. “Now the camel’s turning them against us, the old toad! Why did Miss Fannigan have to leave?” Mary groaned.

  “Without Mr. Gaunt, she couldn’t put up with it ’ere anymore. Guess what I found over yonder? A place behind the stone pile where they burn rubbish. I’m going over again tonight. Cooper mooches round there sometimes, and ’e buried something there.”