by May Burnett
“Do let me know what you find out, Mother,” Violet said. James did not have to ask; Charlotte would tell him anyway. They exchanged a smile across the breakfast table.
***
Michael Selbington’s offices these days were a far cry from the one room he had devoted to his Society Argus, when he first invented the publication as a bored and underworked young barrister. He now employed a staff of sixteen. They were responsible not only for the Argus, but for the Ladies’ Hearth Magazine and the Luminary Watch, a newer but highly successful venture. Selbington had long given up all desire to work as a barrister and thrown himself heart and soul into the news business.
“Thank you for drawing the Colville affair to my attention,” he said as soon as James was seated, and had declined refreshments. “I have studied the family pedigree, and found that Lady Marian’s grandmother was German, and what’s more, a connection to Prince Albert! Any royal connection is pure gold, and will lead to higher circulation numbers.”
“It cannot be a very close connection – around six corners, I imagine,” James said sceptically.
“No matter, the public’s appetite for such stories is insatiable. I should not have needed you to point me in the direction of such a delicious scandal. We did a short article when it first happened, but now I am going to set my best man on the trace, and have no doubt that he’ll ferret out every detail of the Colvilles’ dirty linen. What do you have for me so far?”
James told him what he had learned from Thomas, while leaving that young man himself out of the story as much as possible. Neither did he mention the letter to the Home Office.
“Wonderful,” Selbington said when he had finished. “No matter what we find, it cannot but be embarrassing for Lord Colville. If he was behind the supposed drowning, he cannot have thought it through very well. Either the girl was a helpless invalid – then she should never have been allowed to go to that resort without any watchful family member around her. Or she was not – then she was cheated out of her rightful place in society. The circumstances of her death, even without any criminal element, are already bad enough. Are you certain that the Earl and Lady Colville are not in mourning for the heiress?”
“My son Roger met them at a reception less than two weeks after the tragedy. They were not even in black armbands then.”
“Perfect. A connection of Prince Albert, no matter how remote, unmourned by her closest relatives is a scandal in and of itself. I think we shall not say anything as yet about the heiress still being alive, or the lawsuit in the offing. That will come out better in subsequent editions, after we have gathered more proof and heightened public interest in the matter.”
“I am sending Hendrickson to Colville Hall, to investigate the identity of the body interred as Lady Marian,” James said.
“Then I will send my man to Chatterham. He can get anyone to talk.”
“If he needs to bribe witnesses, I am willing to underwrite his expenses,” James offered, but Selbington waved that aside with an expansive gesture. “No, James, no need, we shall make it back multiple times with this story. Business is booming.”
“In a way I feel bad at unleashing the power of gossip on any family,” James confessed. “Colville probably deserves it, but that cannot be said of his wife and children.”
“We are merely going to pose questions. With no family to defend Lady Marian, alive or dead, who else is going to do it? We can work good as well as evil; remember how we rescued my wife thanks to a reader’s letter. Should it turn out that Colville is blameless – though from the facts so far known, that seems a remote chance – we can print a handsome vindication and apology.”
“I suppose so.” James had come here of his own will. He should not feel so ambivalent about the powers of the press.
“The scandal about Lady Flora Hastings proved that your instincts about your fellow aristocrats are spot-on,” Selbington went on with undiminished enthusiasm. “I am still glad you warned me not to believe the rumours about her. The Argus came very well out of that nasty affair, thanks to you.”
“A pity that it took Lady Flora’s death and autopsy to fully establish her innocence,” James said drily. What Queen Victoria and her Whig supporters had believed to be an illegitimate pregnancy had turned out to be a fast-growing, fatal liver tumour. James had had only a superficial acquaintanceship with the falsely maligned lady-in-waiting, whose brother was one of Lord Amberley’s political allies. “And as for ‘my fellow aristocrats,’ your own birth is just as good.” Michael lately affected a middle-class demeanour that belied his aristocratic connections. “How are your wife and children, by the bye?”
“They are very well, thank you. My wife is taking an interest in the business lately. She has a regular column in the Lady’s Hearth Magazine, under the nom de plume of Lady Appletree, and it is on her suggestion that we have recently launched a series of pamphlets about sensational crimes, with true confessions where we can obtain them. The public cannot get enough of them.”
James was not surprised. Even as a young girl, Mrs. Selbington had demonstrated a distinct penchant for melodrama. It seemed fortuitous that she could now channel her appetite for sensationalism into the family business.
“Many ladies are fond of writing,” he observed, “the wife of a good friend used to publish those Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, though she gave that up after the fourth volume, years ago.”
“Do you suppose she would like a column in the Magazine? My wife owns at least two of those books. Improving advice also has its market, strange as it may seem to us. She could answer reader’s letters, advising on their particular problems. The fellow who is doing that column now would be better employed on the investigative side.”
“She does not need money, but I can ask her.” Who knew, Cherry Durwent might once again feel literary ambitions, or wish to advise readers in difficult circumstances out of humanitarian sympathy.
They took their leave of each other in perfect amity, with the mutual promise to keep each other informed of their investigations’ results.
***
As agreed, two copies of the Society Argus were delivered at the Ellsworthy residence the next morning. It did not take James long to find the result of the previous day’s conference, an article rife with innuendo.
The headline read, A Heartless Uncle?
Considering that he stands to gain over a quarter million pounds in funds and landed property from the mysterious drowning of his ward and niece, brows are being raised that the Earl C. does not wear mourning or even black armbands for the unfortunate young lady whose welfare was entrusted to his care. Care that has proven sadly inadequate.
The most cursory consideration of the tragic story leads to far more questions than answers. Why was a lady of minor years and royal connections staying in a shabby seaside resort without any family members, and only menials in attendance? Why, if she was able to travel, had she lived so secluded that nobody in society had seen her in several years before her sudden, mysterious demise? Why did she not live in the household of her guardian and closest relative?
Has anybody at all seen this orphaned heiress between the spring of 1838 and her sudden arrival in humble Chatterham?
Did Lady M. really die all alone in a leaky boat, wearing a bright purple afternoon dress at six in the morning? Who identified the body, given that she was staying in a boarding house among strangers?
Where huge fortunes are involved, it would be irresponsible not to ask questions.
The editor requests the public’s help to clear a noble house of possibly unfounded doubt and suspicion. A disinterested sponsor has offered the sum of twenty guineas for any relevant information regarding the fate of Lady Marian C. between the dates of April 1838 and the present, and the identity of the body recently interred in the family crypt of C. Hall in Lincolnshire.
Omnia vincit Veritas!
“Truth conquers all,” James murmured. Would it, really?
A separate article lovingly detaile
d Lady Marian’s pedigree, stressing that her late mother had been third cousin to Prince Albert’s mother, and describing every single link in that tenuous chain.
Charlotte and Violet had finished reading as quickly as James. “The extra paper should be sent to Yorkshire,” he reminded them. “If I know Selbington, he’ll have sent a copy to Prince Albert too, he is cheeky enough for that. Will you take care of it, Violet?”
He really should give his daughter more responsibility than such tiny errands, after the way she had quickly identified the problem of his Chelsea tenants the previous day. A new chemical factory adjoining his property was driving customers away with acrid smells at odd hours.
“Certainly, Father.” Violet grinned. “I wonder what Roger will think when he reads it. If I were Lady Colville I would not be very happy about this article at all. It as good as calls her family heartless, greedy and at the very least criminally negligent.”
“Yet the fact that it is all in phrased as solicitous questions will prevent Colville from suing for slander,” James said. “As a barrister by training Selbington knows how to tread that line, though he tells me he sometimes deliberately crosses it just to see if the quarry dares to sue. In most cases they do not, for fear of their dirty linen coming out at the trial.”
“I would not want to have that responsibility in my hands,” Charlotte said, shaking her head. “It would be so very easy to ruin someone innocent. By the way, Emily does not know the Colvilles, but Anthony is acquainted with Lord Colville through his political activities. He told me he would put nothing past such a hypocritical bore.”
James smiled. “We shall soon see if his estimate is correct.”
Chapter 18
Doctor Seymour had not been altogether pleased at the suggestion that he abandon his patients and clinic for several days, without notice, to travel with his family over the border and as far as Edinburgh. However, after a talk with his wife he had not raised any further objections, and gradually cheered up during the journey.
“I daresay I needed the short holiday,” he admitted over breakfast on the morning of Nell’s wedding. They were all staying with cousins of his, by name of Stephens, in an unpretentious but large and comfortable town house. “I fear I get too wrapped up in my work.”
His son and daughters smiled at each other at this understatement.
“Be glad you like your work so much,” Mrs. Seymour said to him. “But the marriage of one of our children is even more important, and will not happen very often.”
“No,” he looked from Amelia to Charlie to Thomas and Roger, sitting at the table’s end next to Nell. “But since you are all of age, I suppose there will be other such occasions soon.”
“Not everybody needs to marry,” Amelia objected. “I believe it is better to remain single than to marry the wrong man.”
“But don’t you want children?” her mother asked with mild reproach. “I am greatly looking forward to my first grandchild, whoever gives it to me.”
Charlie grinned. “Not much doubt there – only Nell and Thomas are in a position to do so, or will be after today.”
Surrounded by such a large cheerful family, the marriage was not as solemn as Nell had expected. She had no fears or qualms any more, when she felt the warm regard of Thomas’s blue eyes on her, and the strength of his big hands clasping her more slender ones.
The Scottish parson who performed the ceremony must not have read the article about her supposed drowning, for he did not bat an eye at marrying her under her full, real name, and penned her title and list of names into the parish book without question. The presence of the Seymour family, their cousins and several of their local friends, supporting her story, might have had something to do with his lack of doubt.
“This is the luckiest day of my life,” Thomas told her as he kissed her at the end of the ceremony. “I love you.” She whispered the words back at him, blushing.
The subsequent celebrations lasted several hours, and in deference to Mrs. Seymour and her unmarried daughters did not veer into vulgar innuendo more than a few times; those Edinburgh cousins had a very earthy sense of humour. Though it was all thoroughly good-natured, as the alcohol consumption increased and the hour grew late, Nell was relieved when it was time to leave on her new husband’s arm. They were to spend the wedding night and another night after that in a local hotel. Nell was looking forward to the privacy, though nervous about the rest.
“Have you much experience with, ah, the consummation?” she asked Thomas when they were alone at last, sitting down in facing armchairs, still fully dressed. He showed no propensity to fall upon her body to slake his lusts immediately, as she had once seen it described in a French novel. Was that good or bad? Did it mean he did not want her badly, or that he possessed admirable self-control?
Thomas shook his head. “None, I’m afraid. My father treats victims of, err, social diseases, among others. From my early years Father kept warning us about the dangers of careless intimate relations. I would never debauch an innocent outside marriage, and yet if a woman has known even one other man, according to Father there is a deadly danger: not only to the man but to his entire future family. His graphic descriptions of the tragedies he has observed in his profession put me off the risk.”
“Then we are both virgins?” Nell was glad that her husband was virtuous, but did it mean that neither of them knew what they were doing? She herself had only the haziest idea.
“That’s as it should be, don’t you think? And how hard can it be? We are both intelligent, we should figure out what the most stupid of my acquaintance seem able to manage without much trouble.”
“I am not sure that intelligence has much to do with it,” Nell said doubtfully. “The affection between a couple will be more important, I imagine.”
“Affection and attraction. I have been imagining doing all kinds of things to you from the moment of our first meeting, when you wore those ridiculous blonde curls and veils.”
“Like what?” Should she confess to her own carnal fantasies? No, a lady had to show more reticence. She did not want him to think her wanton, or lose his respect for her.
“Holding your naked body against mine, kissing every inch of your white skin, licking your breasts,” he said. “Does that shock you?”
“A little, but in a good way,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “It makes my pulse go faster to imagine you doing those things to me. But the actual consummation is different, isn’t it? It has to do with that part of the body that only men have?”
He groaned, for some strange reason. “So it does. I may not have any practical experience, but I am familiar with the theory.”
“Did you ask your father?” Nell hoped he had not, even though a physician and father of five had to be a fount of relevant knowledge. She did not want her distinguished father-in-law to ever think about Thomas and her in such a context.
“No,” he said to her relief. “I consulted books. It would be too embarrassing to discuss such subjects with friends or family members.”
She guessed that it was his inexperience that would most embarrass him. “What kind of books?”
“There are medical textbooks, but they make the act sound so clinical that you end up feeling it would be best to refrain altogether. And then there are smutty books. Some of those come with pictures.”
“I have never seen any books of that sort.”
“No, I imagine not. They are kept out of the hands of females. I have only come across one or two, and to be honest I am not sure how much of the contents can be believed. Some of the pictures showed acrobatics beyond human nature, and could not possibly be pleasurable.”
“I understood that the act was always pleasurable for men, but not so much for women.”
Thomas looked doubtful. “If that were invariably so, why would any woman engage in extramarital relations or adultery? From mere affection for the man? It does not make sense. According to those books, many but not all females
do enjoy marital relations. I very much hope that you are of the first kind.”
“Maybe those who do not enjoy it are married to men they disliked,” Nell speculated. She was lucky to have a young, handsome spouse. So many girls of all classes ended up married to fat, old, or otherwise unattractive men.
“We can wait until you feel more comfortable with the notion,” Thomas suggested. “I would not want to rush you into anything you disliked.”
“Do you want to wait?” She would prefer to get this over with sooner rather than later, but did not wish to give any appearance of eagerness.
“Well, no. If I were merely listening to my own desires, you would be naked on that bed by now.”
Nell stood up in a rustle of silk skirts. “Well then, what are we waiting for? The night is not getting younger. Let’s start by doing those things you described earlier, and see how far we get. If anything hurts or offends me, I shall speak up and we’ll try something else.”
“You are an angel.” He pulled her into his lap for a thorough kiss. Then they undressed, each by themselves except when she needed his help for unlacing her stays, but throwing curious glances at each other’s bodies all the while. Nell kept her chemise on, but allowed Thomas to remove it after only a little coaxing, when he put out all but one of the candles in exchange.
She contemplated his body in the flickering candlelight. It reminded her of a thoroughbred stallion. The tuft of hair at the place where his member jutted outwards was as blond as the locks on his head.
“This part is supposed to go inside me?” she asked in some trepidation. “I cannot see how that can possibly work.”
“If a babe can come out of a woman’s body, then accommodating my member should be comparatively easy.” Yet he also looked doubtful and a little worried.
“I have never borne a babe yet, and from all I know it is very painful. You are not reassuring me, Thomas.” This remark came out a little tartly, and his member dipped downwards for a moment, as though hurt by her doubt.