by Burnett, May
The longer they sat and talked, the harder it became to pretend that all was normal. She had only entered the engagement to help Jeremy out of a difficulty, and would soon release him for his own good; why was she feeling so bereft? As though something of incalculable value had been snatched away from her, before she had fully realised its worth?
“We look forward to regular visits once you are Lady Barton,” Mrs. Trevelyan said with a roguish smile. It was not an expression she had ever directed at Abigail previously. “You will spend most of your time in London, I suppose, but you will want to enjoy your various country estates when the city empties in summer.”
“We shall see,” Abigail murmured noncommittally.
Jeremy, catching her eye, grinned. How could he?
“I regularly travel to all of our estates,” he said to Mrs. Trevelyan, “and of course I hope that Abigail will choose to come with me; but any entertaining will be up to her.”
If she really married him, she certainly would not invite her stepmother – well, maybe with a large crowd of others, to lessen the effect, and she could hardly avoid inviting her father while he was ashore. Did this promotion that was apparently in the offing mean that he would stay in London, work at the Admiralty instead of sailing the oceans? If so, he would soon come to miss his ship, his command. Mrs. Trevelyan was more accustomed to commanding herself than to wifely obedience. But that was not Abigail’s problem, fortunately, unless by some mischance she ended up living with them again.
No, she could not possibly do that after jilting Jeremy. Already she could envisage the constant digs, or possibly stabs, about her folly and improvidence. Whistling one of the best matches in the country down the wind? Who would be able to understand that? She would be considered utterly eccentric, the greatest fool imaginable.
“Have you written to your friend Lady Susan, that you will soon be sisters?” Mrs. Trevelyan asked.
“Not yet.” Abigail did not want to lie to Susan, but her current situation simply could not be entrusted to ink and paper.
“Well, I have,” Lady Cirrell said, “as soon as the announcement came out. Susan will be overjoyed at this news.”
“I shall write to her too, you can enclose a message in my letter,” Jeremy announced. Abigail nodded, wondering to what extent he would confide in his sister.
“Susan will want to attend the wedding, of course,” Lord Branscombe said. “I hope she is well enough to travel so far, in her condition.”
“We could wait until she is brought to bed of this child, it is only some four or five months,” Abigail grasped at that reason for delay. And her friend would hardly be able to travel immediately after giving birth, so at least six months...
“Susan would not want you to wait on her,” Lady Cirrell said. “You can always visit her as a married couple, if she is not able to travel herself.”
“It is a dangerous journey over those awful roads, for a woman in delicate condition.” Jeremy was frowning in concern. “Though I admit I would like to have her at our wedding.”
Abigail shuddered in memory, but said nothing. There would be no wedding, so the whole discussion was a waste of time.
“Lady Susan must travel by sea, of course,” Captain Trevelyan affirmed. “Much safer and faster, as long as she takes a sturdy vessel with an experienced crew.”
“Yes, that would be best,” Lord Branscombe agreed. “She has always been an excellent sailor, never any sea sickness. She gets that from our side of the family. And if Susan is to attend, then it would be easier before she is too close to her time. Yet another reason to have the wedding soon.”
Abigail closed her eyes for a moment, praying for patience.
“We must also have a ball in London, to celebrate the engagement,” Lady Cirrell continued with enthusiasm. “What would be the best date?”
“Whatever day you suggest, my lady, would suit us,” Mrs. Trevelyan immediately responded.
“Let’s not do anything hasty,” Abigail entreated, but nobody paid any attention to her weak objection. Talk of guest lists, possible royal attendees, and the most fashionable orchestra to be hired grew increasingly animated. At one point Lady Cirrell turned to her with a kind expression. “You must not let this sort of thing daunt you, Abigail. When you are Lady Barton, you will be expected to give such entertainments yourself on a regular basis. It is rather fun, if you have a good staff to rely on.”
She looked at Jeremy.
“Let’s not overwhelm Abigail with such details now, Aunt Penelope, or she might yet change her mind. Entertaining is only a minor part of my future wife’s duties.”
“Yes,” Lord Branscombe rumbled, but mercifully did not spell out her principal duty: to produce the required heir and spare. From the way he looked her over, the thought was uppermost in his mind.
“Abigail will soon learn to give balls and dinners,” the Captain said with an encouraging look. “I have every confidence in my daughter’s abilities as a hostess.”
“And if she needs any help and advice, she can always apply to me,” Mrs. Trevelyan added with an overly sweet smile. Abigail wanted to clap her hands over her hears and rush away.
“I hardly expect that will be necessary.” Jeremy sent a cool look at the Captain’s wife.
“It is such a relief that Abigail will soon be safely married, and no longer staying with that woman,” Mrs. Trevelyan confided to Lady Cirrell. “I admire your liberality, offering her the hospitality of your household.”
“Are you by any chance alluding to Lady Fenton?” Jeremy’s voice was even colder than earlier. “Remember that she is your step-daughter’s friend.”
“Hardly a good friend, Lord Barton, who keeps a minor sequestered from her own family and gets her embroiled in undesirable publicity,” Mrs. Trevelyan retorted. “Under the circumstances, I am surprised that you of all people would rush to that widow’s defence.”
Jeremy raised his brows haughtily. “Remember that I of all people would know that the press was printing baseless slander about her. And I am not very pleased with anyone who thoughtlessly repeats it.”
Abigail put down her dessert spoon. Could her stepmother not have got through even one full meal without needless provocation? Her father was frowning, looking from his wife to Jeremy and back. Would he finally understand how impossible it was to live with the woman? And that the relations between his daughter and his second wife would never be anything other than cool?
Lady Cirrell signalled to the ladies to retire. As soon as they reached the drawing room, Abigail pled a return of her headache and fled before the men could follow.
She was irritated at herself and the whole lot of them, including Jeremy. His blithe attitude was beyond irksome when she was so miserable.
Chapter 24
There was no opportunity for private talk with Abigail before their return to London, not unless Jeremy wanted to invade her bedroom at night – and there would not be any more of that until after they were married. From now on he would go by the rulebook, as he should have from the beginning.
Abigail was avoiding him. She kept the others around as a shield, imperceptibly drawing back from the easy rapport they had established before that disastrous attempt at love-making. Jeremy ground his teeth and bided his time.
They arrived in London in the early afternoon. There was time for a few hours’ rest before they attended yet another ball in the evening, Lady Cirrell pronounced. Yet when Jeremy strode into his own home after delivering the ladies, the last thing on his mind was rest.
“Oh good, you are back,” Barnaby’s cheerful voice greeted him. “How was the countryside with Abigail?”
“Enlightening,” he said briefly. “Her father and stepmother unexpectedly joined us. Captain Trevelyan threatened me with dire consequences, if I did not make Abigail happy.”
“That is how all proper fathers behave. I can already see you do the same in twenty years or so, when your own daughter is ready to wed.”
Unlikely, Jeremy thought with a tiny pang. “I must strive not to disappoint him. Have you made any progress with the search for that cursed will, while I was gone?”
“No, though not for lack of trying. I have talked to several more of Fenton’s gambling cronies, schoolmates, former servants and hangers-on that Hendrickson ferreted out. None have heard of this Chatteris. I am more than ever convinced it must be a nom de plume. Only natural, given the nature of the business he is trying to pull off. It could have been any of the men I interviewed, laughing at me in secret.”
“Abigail suggested to me that the temporary embarrassment he mentioned in his first letter might have been a lengthy stay in the Fleet; that Chatteris might not have used the will earlier because it did not reach him until his release. It is a long shot, but maybe worth a look.”
“We certainly have tried everything else by now,” Barnaby agreed. “I’ll set Hendrickson on it right away, though if he was in prison under some other name we’ll be none the wiser. Poor Milla must be feeling the strain, though she is bearing up admirably.”
Poor Milla? They might have a new, more serious problem on hand. Jeremy kept his voice casual. “You are on first-name basis with Lady Fenton?”
“Not in public,” Barnaby replied, flushing slightly. “But I see no reason why we should not be friends. She is so alone, and brave, and lovely.”
Little more than a week ago, Barnaby had warned his older brother away from Milla. Now he was singing a very different tune. “Do I need to caution you again, that it would be most unwise to develop a strong partiality towards her? She may not be the femme fatale the newspapers portrayed, but she could still break hearts. I would hate if yours was one of them.”
Barnaby shrugged with exaggerated carelessness. “My organ is not nearly as fragile as you think. Better look to your own situation, Jeremy.”
“What about it? I am happy in my engagement, and looking forward to the wedding.” He said it so confidently, he almost believed it himself. Nobody, not even Barnaby, must know of the obstacles still in his path. “Captain Trevelyan has given his approval, despite initial reservations, and Father is full of enthusiasm. Aunt Penelope is planning a ball in honour of our engagement.”
“Good. I am not going to seriously pursue any woman until you are safely married, Jeremy.”
Jeremy wondered why, but forbore to ask. Barnaby was old enough, and had an easy competence. He could have married years ago, had he wished to do so. He was not a libertine, and had not even gone in for the kind of opera singer that Jeremy had kept in younger years. In fact, Barnaby’s unspoken disapproval had been one of the principal reasons why he had given up that expensive habit; the likelihood that Susan would learn of it had been another. Lord Branscombe on the other hand had shown a kind of perverse pride that his heir was sowing wild oats.
“Is Milla going out much? It is almost the end of her official mourning period. In her place I would be very careful not to give grounds for additional gossip.”
“She is merely visiting museums, the park, churches – she has done some sight-seeing, and I have offered my escort,” Barnaby said. “Remember that she grew up in isolation in Cornwall and has never stayed in London before. There is no reason why I shouldn’t accompany her on such excursions; I had nothing to do with Fenton’s death.”
Jeremy had not entirely understood how Milla’s marriage had come about, but she had never pretended the slightest affection for that brute. The surprising thing was that Fenton had been shamed into marrying her at all, for some offense or other. Who knew how many such unavenged victims the man had left behind? Abigail’s refusal to confront Fenton, to try to force him to marry her, had been absolutely rational in Jeremy’s eyes, although society would have seen it differently. He would have seen it differently then, before brooding so much over the matter, trying to understand Abigail’s point of view.
It was a miracle that she had been willing to try again, to open her body and her heart to him. He had squandered the chance – but he was determined to win another.
His brother was still speaking. “Sorry, I was thinking of something else – what was that?”
“Something else? Dreaming of your bride, I suppose? I merely remarked that the new Lord Fenton has called again, and though he was polite he still seems less than happy at your engagement. Little wonder, if he was interested in your Abigail himself.”
Yes, that was the impression Jeremy had also received on first meeting the Viscount. “Not that surprising, if they have been neighbours. He would have had occasion to observe her good qualities on a regular basis.”
The butler interrupted their discussion, delivering a folded note to Barnaby, who scanned the short message and tensed like a hound spotting the quarry’s scent. “Milla has had another note from Chatteris. I must be off.”
“Does he want money again? The gold is still in the safe here.”
“She does not say. She wants to meet me outside Aunt Penelope’s house in a hack. I am going over there now.”
“I’ll come with you,” Jeremy decided. Apart from everything else, he needed to observe how far this unwise friendship between Milla and his brother had progressed.
Presently Milla entered the hack with athletic grace. She was veiled, but removed the cover from her face as soon as they were under way. The greeting between Barnaby and her was matter-of-fact, relieving Jeremy’s worries to some extent.
“Lord Barton,” she said, unsmiling. “I was not expecting to see you. Are you not afraid that the rumours about our affair might be refuelled?”
“Not with my engagement, all your precautions and Barnaby here. What did Chatteris want now?”
“Two thousand gold sovereigns.” Her voice vibrated with anger. “The price rises over time, it seems. And he is still intent on this cat-and-mouse game, though the letter contains flattery too. A truly strange mixture.”
She handed them the note. Jeremy could just make out the lines in the dimly lit interior of the hackney; a fog was rising outside.
Beautiful Lady,
Leave your confederates at home and come alone, with two thousand sovereigns, to the foyer of the Lambeth Theatre at eleven tonight. This is your last chance. Unless you comply exactly, you will lose everything, including your good name, just as your late husband intended. Whatever I may have thought of Richard in life, he depends on me to carry out his last wishes, and it will cost you to deter me from this path.
Your admirer from afar,
B. Chatteris.
“Some admirer,” Milla said with scathing contempt.
“Unless he is intentionally trying to mislead us, it may be significant that Chatteris refers to Fenton by his given name,” Jeremy observed. “That would exclude the vast majority of our suspects.”
“And the last sentence hints at disagreements with Fenton while he lived.” Barnaby frowned. “That is rather less helpful, as the man was quarrelsome by nature.”
“A school friend, do you think?” Milla speculated.
Barnaby shook his head. “No, at his school the boys refer to each other by last name or title. To them he would be Molton or, after his father’s early death, Fenton.”
“Almost the only people who call me Jeremy are my siblings, cousins and other family members,” Jeremy mused.
“The new Lord Fenton was a cousin, and his only close contemporary within the Molton family,” Milla said, “but it can hardly be him. I cannot be that mistaken in Rob’s character, after living as his closest neighbour for nearly two years.”
Jeremy and Barnaby exchanged glances. “The new Viscount may hope to regain a part of his late cousin’s fortune in this way,” Jeremy suggested. “I must say, though my acquaintance with him is short, I would not have thought it of the man. But he is our main suspect at this point.”
“There really was a legacy to a B. C. – or similar initials – in the draft will I saw,” Milla objected. “It makes much more sense that Fenton would have sent the original to that per
son, with the legacy as a bribe, than to his cousin who was at sea at the time.”
“If he sent the will to his cousin aboard a Navy vessel, the delay might be explained,” Barnaby said slowly. “The letter might have taken many months to catch up with him after he renounced his naval career and returned to England.”
“No, I will not believe it,” Milla said. “Not Rob. The writing is not at all like his hand, even if he tried to disguise it. Besides, should that will ever become public, its contents would shame the Molton family as much as yours and mine. It cannot possibly be in his interest.”
“But extorting money from you might well be,” Jeremy pointed out. “If it is him, I don’t suppose there is any real danger of the will becoming public. It would all be a bold bluff. No need in that case to bring any gold to that deserted theatre.”
Milla turned to him. “Deserted? You know the place?”
“Yes. It used to be fairly popular, though not particularly fashionable; it catered to the middle classes. There was a fire a year or two ago, and the place never reopened. I wonder how he expects you to access the foyer, as it would presumably be locked.”
Milla stared at the letter. “Maybe our blackmailer has a key.”
“We have to decide,” Barnaby said, “do we assume that the current Lord Fenton is the mysterious Chatteris, in which case Milla should simply ignore his demands, and we need not risk any gold? Yet if we are mistaken and the threat is not a bluff, what then?”
Milla frowned at him. “I am firmly convinced that it cannot be Rob, that Chatteris is some other, unknown man. And I would hand over the money he wants if I had the least assurance that he will yield the document in exchange. It gives me pause, however, that Chatteris does not even mention his own part of the bargain this time. He makes no promise to deliver the will in exchange. Besides, I don’t have two thousand gold coins on hand at such short notice.”