by Burnett, May
She waited for a few seconds before pushing up the hinged top, with considerable difficulty due to her water-logged position. The average lady invalid could not have managed, but Milla had never been a weakling. She lowered the top to the side, carefully avoiding any clatter, and climbed out, dripping. The stone floor was cold under her naked feet. She unwrapped the towels from her pillow and quickly dried her feet and legs, so she would not leave watery traces.
Folded linen towels were stacked on a table in a corner. Milla wrapped two of them about her curves, a skimpy barrier, before she quietly snuck outside, into a dimly lit corridor. If she met anyone in this costume, she could pretend to be sleepwalking, but she hoped it would not come to that. Which way had the wheeled bath turned? The faint sound of voices helped her orient herself, and within a minute she was hovering just outside the door of the larger room.
“You will give Major Kepler money for the business he will put before you,” she heard Rabenstein command. “Whatever he needs, no matter how much. You will refrain from questioning him, and believe everything he tells you.”
This Major was going to be a busy man, Milla reflected as she silently rubbed the towels over her damp shoulders. Wooing her, extracting money from this other fellow – which one was he?
“Do you understand? Repeat my instructions.”
General Massinger had sounded more authoritative when awake, but Milla identified the voice with ease. As in her own case, the mesmerist proceeded to probe for guilty secrets, of which there was no lack.
“So you allowed that other Captain to be executed for cowardice in your son's stead?” the Doktor asked with interest. “Give me the whole name, the exact details.” Through the half-closed door, Milla observed the assistant taking notes.
Though she would remember the gist, the elderly General’s tale of military betrayal did not much interest Milla. The war against Bonaparte had ended six years earlier. Though her brother North had fought at Waterloo, it had not touched her directly. For the Cornish fishermen among whom she had spent her girlhood, the war had offered lucrative smuggling opportunities, and Milla had taken part on several occasions.
“The water is cooling,” the assistant warned when the doctor seemed inclined to probe further into the General's sordid past.
Milla darted round the opposite corner of the corridor as the General was wheeled away and the next patient brought in his stead.
“Your Highness,” the Doctor said unctuously, in fluent French. This thin, unassuming young man held such high rank? Milla would not have suspected it. Earlier, he had been addressed as Monsieur Lambert. From the conversation, she gathered that the man was a close connection of the reigning Bourbons. He too was directed to hand Major Kepler whatever monies he asked for, “for a good cause.” The cause of lining the Major's and the Doktor's pockets, undoubtedly.
The Prince's guilty secret proved to be a secret marriage to his Swiss mistress. It weighed heavily on his conscience, as a more suitable match to a Spanish princess was being negotiated by the family. He dared not inform his father of his previous commitment, while the Swiss wife was expecting their second child. From the subdued glee in the doctor's voice, this was a juicy and profitable piece of scandal.
As soon as Rabenstein ordered the Prince to forget all about the conversation, Milla hurried back to the room where she had left her bath. She dropped the towels in a dark corner and she slipped back into the water, which by now was distinctly cool. Unfortunately, she could not close the heavy lid from her prone position.
Within two minutes, the assistant returned and frowned at her. “My lady, how on earth did you manage to open the lid? When did you wake up?”
“Just now.” Milla affected a confused voice. “I felt terribly frightened, as though I was in a coffin, and it is so dark… I had to open it, but it was heavy.”
“You should have waited for me,” the young woman gently scolded. “There was no need for panic, since your head was outside the entire time. Do you remember the treatment?”
“It was marvellously relaxing,” Milla quoted the Doktor verbatim, “but I don't seem to remember any details. I must have dozed off. Does that mean I'll have to repeat it?”
“You can, of course; but the beneficial effect does not depend on your remaining awake. You will find that a wonderful change in your life will happen very soon, my lady. Now, let me take you back to the ladies' massage room for the next part of this afternoon's treatment. Are you fond of rose oil, or do you prefer lavender? What of orange blossom?”
Milla replied with a meekness that would have struck those few who knew her well as highly suspicious. Now that she had ascertained the exact nature of Doktor Rabenstein's game, she could hardly wait to make the acquaintance of this Major Kepler. Very likely, the military title was mere invention, and perhaps the Doktor's degree, too; though one would expect a reputable spa to check on their practitioners' qualifications. On the other hand, Rabenstein’s gravitas and deep voice lent him an air of immediate plausibility. There were so many small German states that it could not be hard to fake a diploma from some out-of-town university.
No matter. Between Veronique, Louis, and herself, the Major and his medical co-conspirators would soon find themselves rolled up, exposed, and confounded. Seeking out swindlers and baulking them of their prey was the most amusing pastime Milla had yet discovered during her travels on the Continent. This trio of crooks would learn that they had targeted the wrong victim when they included Lady Fenton in their schemes.
As she relaxed on a raised, cushioned table and let a middle-aged attendant rub rose-scented lotion into her skin, Milla wondered if she would use such methods herself, should she ever lose her fortune. Before she had engaged Veronique Rallien as her companion, and discovered that the Frenchwoman was a living compendium of confidence tricks, she had had no notion of the depth of human gullibility. According to Veronique, clever people tended to overestimate the cleverness of others, even as honest people overestimated the trustworthiness of strangers, until they learned better.
Milla had already secured herself a large fortune by dint of marriage and inheritance. During her recent travels, she had identified a number of excellent investments and was growing her wealth by perfectly legal and only moderately risky means. When she remarried, she would be loath to give up control of her fortune to a husband. But a clever person could find ways and means; she had already thought of a solution.
The only thing missing was the groom. Not this Major Kepler, though she was curious to see how he would approach her, and what kind of man dared to toy with her like this.
Perhaps she would deal with him the way she had dealt with that Italian mountebank, Rodolfo. Her late husband had also rued the day he had tried to take advantage of Milla, and so had a kidnapper back in London. Why did men persist in thinking her helpless and theirs for the taking?
She would not succumb to any of them. So far she had not seen anyone who pleased her better than Barnaby Winthrop. In the autumn, she would return to London and see if they could re-kindle their former friendship. She refused to believe that it might be too late.
“Please turn over, my lady.”
She rolled onto her stomach. The rose oil’s scent was almost overpowering. If Barnaby were here in Bavaria at her side, how would this sweet perfume, and the sight of her naked skin, affect him? Would he overcome his gentlemanly reserve, and insist on continuing the massage himself? For a few minutes she indulged in daydreaming, what his big, strong hands would feel like on her sensitive flanks, how soon he would stop for a kiss…
She should have asked him to come with her, when she had left London.
Chapter 2
London, late April 1821
Susan was attending Lady Rothwell’s rout, more to keep her sister-in-law Abby company than from any desire for gossip and small-talk. While it was pleasant to catch up with old London friends and acquaintances, she would not miss such events when her family returned to Cornwall in
a few weeks’ time, to spend the summer in their seaside castle. Her thoughts kept straying to the two infants in her nursery and to her husband, who was spending the evening at a tedious political dinner.
Lady Millard, a baronet’s stout widow, approached with a middle-aged lady whom Susan did not recognize. “May I introduce my cousin Miss Kenningham to you, Lady Northcote?”
“How do you do.” Susan inclined her head at the brown-haired woman in a dull grey dress, who curtsied. Her name sounded vaguely familiar… from where?
“Lady Northcote,” Miss Kenningham said, her pale blue eyes blinking rapidly, “I am greatly honoured to make your acquaintance. I already know your sister-in-law, Lady Fenton. Indeed, I accompanied her to Italy some eighteen months ago.”
So that was it! Miss Kenningham must be the paid companion Milla had engaged just before her departure. This eminently conventional spinster and the strong-willed Milla could have found little in common. It might be tactless to probe into the reasons why her husband’s younger sister and Miss Kenningham had parted ways, but Susan felt some curiosity. Milla had written only two short letters in the past year, and she rarely gave interesting details.
“You must tell me all about your travels.” Susan drew Miss Kenningham a little aside as Lady Millard moved on. “Perhaps I can persuade my husband to take me to Italy as well, once my children are a little older. Why don't we sit over on that settee for a little while?”
Following her suggestion, Miss Kenningham launched into a blow-by-blow account of her Italian travels. “...and so we came to Tuscany.” She took a sip from a tiny glass of ratafia a bewigged footman had served them on a silver tray. “The landscape there is most picturesque, Lady Northcote. If I were a painter – though in my youth I did dabble in watercolours, which were not considered poorly executed – but I have given all that up long ago. Where was I?”
“Your arrival in Tuscany. You will have spent some time in Florence, I imagine?”
“To my everlasting regret, a mere fortnight. Lady Fenton was eager to explore less well-trodden paths, and once we had taken in the usual sights nothing would do for her but to rent a house in a smaller town further south, halfway to Rome. Sight unseen, against my advice.”
“That can be risky.” Susan remembered her first arrival at her husband's Cornish castle. “I hope it provided adequate amenities?”
“Old fashioned, and foreign, but yes, the house was more or less acceptable. However, the town of Castelrossio proved sadly devoid of civilised company. No one who spoke any English at all, and just a few who had French! The peasants and servants understood only the local dialect.”
“How dreadfully inconvenient. For how long were you immured there?”
Miss Kenningham pursed her lips. “If it had been up to me, Lady Northcote, we should have decamped within the week. But on the second day, Lady Fenton made friends with some people staying at a nearby castle, and was soon invited almost daily to local entertainments. I must admit, the way her Italian improved was little short of miraculous. By dint of speaking it all day, within weeks of arriving in Italy she was chattering just as fast as the natives.”
“I believe she could read Italian before her departure,” Susan said. “I gather it was a less pleasant time for you?”
“Well, I accompanied her everywhere, even if half the time I could not make out what they were all laughing about. I did my best to protect Lady Fenton’s reputation when the local men tried to flirt with her, and I did not budge from her side.” Miss Kenningham’s tone was that of a Christian martyr. “These foreigners can be amazingly persistent. I do believe that Lady Fenton appreciated my efforts. Until that terrible incident...” she lowered her voice to a whisper.
“Do go on, please.” Susan did not betray her amusement. “What happened? Since Lady Fenton is my sister-in-law, you can be sure your tale will go no further.” Although, if she judged Miss Kenningham rightly, the former companion had already told the story at least a dozen times. North would want to know what rumours were circulating about his sister.
“A cousin of a neighbouring landholder, a Venetian gentleman – if you can call him a gentleman, which I certainly would not – stole into the house and invaded Lady Fenton's very bedroom.” Miss Kenningham leaned closer and continued in a hushed voice, “I must suppose that his plan was to force her into marriage.”
“I gather he did not succeed?”
“I have no idea how, but Lady Fenton managed to tie him up and gag him, and she cut off what little clothes he was wearing. Then she woke her maid and me and asked for our help, to get rid of the naked delinquent.”
Susan could not help smiling at the picture. Milla was certainly resourceful, and not shy to express her displeasure in drastic ways.
Miss Kenningham’s voice shook. “It was too much! I had borne a great deal, Lady Northcote, but that was an offense against my virginal sensibilities that I could not accept and continue to call myself a lady! I adamantly refused to lift a finger, or even to cast my innocent eyes on such a wicked sight.”
“What did Lady Fenton do then?”
“I don't know whom she persuaded to help her instead, but the man was found tied up, completely undressed, and gagged, at the entrance of the local church when a gaggle of old women arrived there for early morning mass. It was a local three-day wonder, I imagine. When I heard of Lady Fenton's unladylike retaliation for the fellow's impudence, I gave my notice. What would she have done next? My nerves could not stand the incessant strain.”
“Was Lady Fenton upset at your decision?” Susan asked curiously. The only surprising thing, to her mind, was that these two women had managed to travel together for as long as three months.
“She announced that she would offer the position to Madame Rallien, a French widow staying in the neighbourhood,” Miss Kenningham said with a small sniff. “That woman will have jumped at the chance. She put on airs, but I could tell right away that she was no better than she should be.”
“I heard she did engage a Frenchwoman.” There had been an offhand mention in one of Milla's brief letters. “I do hope your impression was mistaken, Miss Kenningham. What was this Frenchwoman like?”
“In her late thirties, but you could see that she had been very attractive in her youth,” Miss Kenningham said grudgingly. “Worldly and sophisticated, but devious as well, I should not wonder. In other words, completely unsuitable as a companion, whose first duty is to confer an air of respectability. Not that such considerations weigh with Lady Fenton. The two of them seemed to understand each other right away.”
This Frenchwoman sounded ominously like an adventuress. Susan reminded herself not to put too much stock in the impressions of this spinster, whose nose seemed permanently out of joint, and who would likely suspect the worst about all foreigners.
“Well, I am glad you made it safely back to England, Miss Kenningham. How did you travel from that Tuscan town back home?”
“Lady Fenton arranged for the passage, and paid for everything. She was quite generous.”
And probably relieved beyond measure to get rid of her censorious companion. Susan was careful to keep her features politely attentive.
After a few more exchanges, they rose from the settee, and separated. Greeting acquaintances here and there, Susan looked around the thronged rooms for Abigail, whose pale green gown should be easy to pick out. After a mere ten minutes she found her in conversation with a naval Captain.
Abigail introduced her acquaintance to Susan, who had little interest in a man she likely would never see again, no matter how splendid his uniform. “Are you tired, dear?” Susan asked as soon as civilities had been exchanged. “You look a little pale. Perhaps we should call for our carriage.”
“Yes, that might be best.”
The Captain bowed. “Lady Barton, Lady Northcote, it has been a pleasure.”
Once they were moving towards the cloakroom, Abigail chuckled. “Do I look so frail and tired? I am not such a poor creature a
s that.”
“I could tell you were not enthralled with that Captain’s naval stories, and you should not stand so long, in your state. If Jeremy were here, he would be the first to tell you so.” Abigail had been brought to bed of a healthy son a year earlier, and only two weeks previously had confessed to the immediate family that she was with child again. Having borne two babes herself, Susan knew how pregnancy could tire a woman long before anything showed.
They put on their light cloaks and waited for the Winthrop coach to arrive. Carriages with coats-of-arms painted on their glossy doors were backed up as far as three streets away.
“While you were chatting with the Captain, I had a talk with the woman who went to Italy with Milla, as her companion. I believe you met her – Miss Kenningham – before they departed? How long ago is it now?”
“Milla left right after my wedding in July, so not quite two years. Miss Kenningham had been recommended as eminently respectable and well-educated. But I'm not surprised they parted after only a few months. I conversed with her only twice, but each time the woman struck me as a dead bore.”
“I daresay she is that, but I fear the new companion is no better. Miss Kenningham described her as something of an adventuress, perhaps worse than that. I worry that Milla may have made another mistake. Rich women are like catnip to all manner of dishonest persons.”
Abigail smiled. “I doubt she would be easily taken in. Milla is no fool.”
“Well, you know her much better than I. I hope you are right, Abby. I cannot feel easy at the thought of her travelling through all those countries, with no one from her own family along… it's a pity there are so few Northcotes left.”
“You are doing your best to increase the number.” Abby remained unconcerned. “Milla is a grown woman, a rich widow to whom much more is permitted than to an unmarried young girl. She is not your responsibility, even if she is your husband's sister.”