Lady Helena Investigates

by Jane Steen

  “I’m Helena, your youngest daughter. I live at Whitcombe House.”

  “I wouldn’t like to know what you could do with that fork. It’s grand and pretty, and I smell the onions all over the place.”

  I looked up and met Julia’s amused eyes. She had quietly entered as Mama and I talked, baby Julius in her arms. The little boy was starting to fill out, changing quickly, as all newborns do, and I held out my hands for him immediately. Julia nestled him into my arms, and I cuddled him close to my bosom, crooning as I brushed his hot little head with my lips.

  “Contrary to sycamore, I do not have rabies.” At least I thought that’s what Mama had said, and there was no point in asking for clarification. Mama had started talking entire nonsense lately, generally when she was in a good mood, and I welcomed her babble. I felt sometimes as if she were telling herself stories—happy ones.

  “Mama, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” I drew aside the blanket around Julius so my mother could see her grandson’s face. “Would you like to come and live at Whitcombe with me?” I looked at Julia and then back at my mother. “You’d be just as comfortable, and Michael and Julia would like some more space for their family. Belming could have her own room again. I can easily put the night nurse in a little dressing room off your bedroom, which would be so much more convenient for everyone.”

  “Of course, if you wish to stay here, you’re more than welcome, Mama-in-Law.” Julia leaned forward to pat Mama’s arm. “It’s entirely up to you.”

  “That would be quite nice,” said my mother. “But no more prunes. I cannot countenance prunes in the, ah, the boot boy. You understand me?”

  “Of course,” I said airily. “No more prunes in the boot boy.”

  If I had intended to have some kind of confrontation with my mother, the moment had passed as soon as Julia entered the room. Never would I allow even the merest hint of my suspicions to pass my lips in front of any member of my family. Besides, I looked at my mother and what did I see? The husk of her former self; an old lady in a sprigged nightgown and a blue candlewick dressing gown; her memories, if she still had them, buried deep down somewhere none of us could reach. What lesson could I learn except to guard myself against the heady power of knowledge as my own skill at herb lore increased? And of course I would not have a venal child as a helpmeet. I would have Guttridge, whose sober honesty and common sense were my best guarantee against mishaps of any kind.

  “Naturally, my offer to house you at Whitcombe is entirely dependent on Belming being satisfied with the arrangement.” I smiled at my mother’s attendant, who had been quietly refolding clothing from a drawer Mama had disarranged. “What do you think, Belming?”

  “Well, I’ll miss Hyrst, m’lady,” Belming said with a glance at Julia. “But Whitcombe’s rooms are spacious, to be sure, and the house is airier than Hyrst because it’s not so crowded in by trees. I think we’ll get on very well there.”

  I grinned at Julia, handing her son back to her. “I’m thinking of extending the same offer to Thomas. The poor boy is so cramped in one room at Four Square, and I do enjoy his company.”

  “Goodness,” Julia said mildly. “As long as you don’t marry someone who intends to give house parties every weekend.”

  “I wouldn’t marry anyone who didn’t welcome my family into Whitcombe with open arms.” I thought, of course, of Fortier, but immediately tried to banish the thought to the darkest recess of my mind.

  “So you are thinking of marrying again.” Julia looked smug. “I thought as much.”

  “I’d like one last chance at a son or daughter of my own,” I admitted, peering at the small bundle in Julia’s arms. My new nephew slept sweetly, the tiny movements of his mouth as he dreamed revealing the milk blister on his upper lip. His ash-blond hair peeped from under his cap, and one tiny hand stuck out from his wrappings like a small pink star.

  “And love? Wouldn’t you like that? Devotion such as you and Justin had for each other; a lasting love, like your parents’ marriage.”

  I shifted uncomfortably on the seat I had taken so as to be closer to Mama. Julia knew nothing about the real nature of my parents’ relationship. She naturally trusted the lie my sisters had built up so convincingly that, until recently, I had believed it implicitly. She didn’t know how uneasy references to their supposedly happy life together now made me.

  “Of course I’d like love,” I said a little testily. “And when the time comes, I will choose with the greatest of care. After all, my new husband will have a great deal of control over my person and property, so he’d better be truly devoted to me.”

  “Are you sure he’ll control your property?” Julia held Julius so Mama could see him better. My mother said something about a cheese pie falling under leaves and put a forefinger, frail but elegant still, against her grandson’s soft cheek.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You need to ask Michael about the property thing.” Julia lifted her head to look at me, a small frown creasing the skin between her brows. “I could swear he’s mentioned some new legislation, and I’ve seen references in the papers from time to time. Some of my friends think it’s rather important.”

  “I have to admit I’ve not looked at the newspapers much since Justin died.” I shrugged. “And the way they’re passing new laws these days, they could have rewritten the whole thing by the time I marry. But I’ll make a point of asking Michael and Ned—which reminds me, Julia. It’s been a long while since I gathered the family together. Why don’t I host a luncheon or dinner to celebrate Julius? Perhaps we can tempt O to leave London—I’d love to see her.”

  32

  The glitter of sun on sea

  “You’ve made some changes around here.”

  Michael banged his glass down perilously close to a pretty gold-on-white vase I had placed on a Georgian lowboy I’d had moved down from Justin’s bedroom.

  “Yes.” I signaled to the footman who was circulating with cups of coffee. “I’m trying to imagine this house differently. I don’t think I’ll be giving any more grand entertainments, so I’m making the rooms less formal. I’ve moved over to the east wing so Thomas can have a suite of four good rooms. His tutor can stay here overnight now, to save the poor man from trekking back and forth from Eastbourne.”

  This change had meant dismantling Justin’s bedroom and distributing his clothing. I’d not removed my late husband’s presence from the house—in fact, I’d made sure that mementoes of Justin were in every room—but I had, in a sense, accepted that he wouldn’t be coming home.

  Thomas, who had been plundering the tray of marzipan sweets, heard my remark and approached us. We’d all eaten a stupendous Sunday luncheon featuring a baron of beef, but my nephew never seemed to achieve a state of repletion.

  “I h-have the most generous Auntie in the entire w-world. And the prettiest. When I’m a bishop, I sh-shall invite you to my palace and show you off.”

  I laughed. “By that time, I’ll be old and gray and not worth showing off at all.”

  “You should have provided the lad with a private chapel.” Odelia, whom nobody had seen for quite a while, looked resplendent. All my sisters had abandoned mourning, but the others were wearing subdued colors nonetheless. O was in a gorgeous confection of crushed raspberry damask, her hair in a sort of Grecian style that suited her admirably. I wondered fleetingly where she got the money for such magnificence, but I wasn’t about to pry. One Blanche in the family was quite enough.

  “Very funny, A-Auntie O.” Thomas made a face at Odelia, a piece of marzipan bulging out his cheek. “J-just you wait till I-I’m ordained and you want me to preside at your w-wedding. I’ll step on your toes.”

  “If I ever indulge in anything so foolish as marriage, you have my permission to hit me on the head and bring me to my senses.” O sipped her coffee, wrinkling her nose at Thomas in a playful manner. “I think Baby’s perfectly lovely to give house room to you and Mama.”

  Mama
had made a brief appearance before luncheon but had become agitated over the presence of so many people. Belming had led her back to her rooms, where they would enjoy the same feast we were having but in far more comfort.

  “Send the boy back home if he gives you any trouble.” Ned’s face was split by a wide smile underneath his beard, and he clapped Thomas jovially on his shoulder as he passed. Ned and Gerry had Four Square to themselves. Petey had already left for London to become accustomed to city life before he began school, and Maryanne was in Shropshire staying with friends.

  “He’s no trouble at all. In fact, I’m delighted to have Thomas around to escort me to dinners and suchlike. I have some invitations for September—I won’t be avoiding society completely.”

  “You should be thinking about getting a new husband, not gadding around with Thomas.” Michael was fussing around behind Julia, shoving a small cushion behind her back, as she’d strained a muscle picking up Annabelle Alice.

  “Rather good news about the Act, eh, my dear?” Ned turned back from the window, where he’d been watching a group of seagulls hovering on the updraft from the hillside. “Just hold on till January the first and you’ll no longer have to hand your property to your husband. Keep it in the family, eh? You can have your cake and eat it.”

  I shrugged. “It’ll cut down the number of fortune hunters, that’s for certain. Although I daresay I’ll still be plagued by men who fancy the idea of living in style and ease on their wife’s money.”

  My thoughts flew to Fortier, somewhere in France in the company of a woman people thought was his wife. I didn’t for one moment think he had any interest in my money, but the Married Women’s Property Act, now the law of the land, would protect him from accusations of fortune hunting. After all, he already lived in style and ease. The Dermody house wasn’t on the grand scale of Whitcombe, but it was smart and comfortable.

  I had no illusions that Fortier’s devotion to me would remain a secret in Littleberry. And I had decided not to care. I was a grown woman, a widow, not some idiot girl who had to be protected from gossip. I would do what I wanted with my property and my life.

  “Which reminds me,” I said, raising my voice so everyone could hear. “Everyone,” of course, included my footmen, who would carry what I was about to say below stairs; so much the better.

  “I do wish you’d all stop calling me Baby. I’m much too old for such a silly nickname.”

  The moment of silence that greeted my request gave me time to study my family. Gerry, who had been talking children with Julia, arched her eyebrows and made a little moue of amusement. Blanche, who had been reclining on a sofa trying to look gracious while no doubt reckoning the cost of her son’s trip to Scotland for the grouse shooting, waved a hand as if shooing away a fly. The twins, who’d been whispering together in a corner, merely looked blank.

  But I was surrounded by allies. Ned smiled broadly and raised his coffee cup to me; Thomas said a quiet “hooray” from his seat near his mother; and O drifted elegantly over to lay an arm across my shoulder. But to my surprise, it was Michael who spoke first.

  “I agree. After all, I’ve never called Helena anything but her proper name, and I am the head of this family.” He nodded at me. “You’ve a right to be treated as a grown woman.”

  “Weren’t you telling her she needed a husband not five minutes ago?” Blanche’s tone was acid. “It’s all very well for you—you’ve exploited the situation nicely. Don’t think I didn’t notice you’ve been able to pay to have the front façade repointed and painted. I bet that came from Baby’s—Helena’s—sheep.”

  “In a sense, yes, of course.” Michael looked puzzled at the accusation, as well he should since he was incapable of duplicity. “Combining our operations has given both Helena and me more farming income. I’ve been able to sell a small piece of my land, and I don’t have nearly as much interest to pay. It’s a great relief. I still think Helena needs a husband though. One with children. She won’t be happy on her own.”

  “I assure you I’ll seek a new spouse in my own time and on my own terms,” I said. “In the meantime, I’m perfectly happy with Michael’s management of my land and livestock. I’ll admit I had my doubts at first, but my new tenant appears to be a most proficient farmer. I’m satisfied with the proposals for next year.”

  And although I wouldn’t admit it out loud, Brandrick did seem to be a talented manager and devoted to our family’s interests. I still found him annoying in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but I was finding it easier to tolerate his presence at our monthly meetings.

  “It’s going to be rather hard to remember not to call you by your pet name, Helena,” O put in. “But I’m delighted to see you making a bid for independence.”

  Michael frowned. “I hope you’re not going to start behaving like Odelia though. Papa should have put his foot down—”

  “Michael.” Julia rolled her eyes as she twisted round to flap a hand at her husband, then winced as the movement pinched her back. “There are some opinions you really need to keep to yourself. O’s way of life may seem a little bohemian to the rest of us, but she never causes you any trouble, does she? And Scott House would be horribly neglected if nobody lived there.”

  “It’ll be a positive hive of activity soon,” O said airily. “I intend to invite Helena up to Town and inveigle her into helping me entertain. She’s a much better hostess than I am, and she’ll look charming in second mourning once her year and a day is over.”

  I saw a spasm of annoyance cross Blanche’s face and wondered if she’d had plans to invite me to Tunbridge Wells at last. It occurred to me that my status in my family was rising now that I was, apparently, independently wealthy for life. I decided to regain control of the conversation.

  “You’re all very kind, and no doubt acting in what you consider my best interests,” I said as loudly and firmly as possible. “But I’ll thank you to leave me to order my life in the way I think suits me best.”

  I paused, looking at the room full of handsome Scott-De Quincys and their spouses—a pride of lions if there ever was one.

  “When Justin died,” I went on, “I thought I had lost the meaning to my life. I’d never really conceived of myself as a single human being, you see. I’ve always been attached to someone—Mama and Papa, Daniel, Justin, this family as a whole—and never really able to cope with loss. But this last year has taught me otherwise. As much as I grieve for Justin—and I still miss him dreadfully—I feel I have more to interest me now than I’ve ever had in my entire life. I love you all, but I can stand on my own two feet now.”

  “Hear, hear,” growled Ned from the armchair that had once been Justin’s. He was beginning to look sleepy, but a flurry of activity announced the arrival of the children—all eight of them, since seven-week-old Julius was in the arms of the new nursemaid. Scotty, who was on a leash held by James, sounded his high-pitched bark as he saw me.

  I picked up Annabelle Alice and carried her to the window, followed by my dog and a group of giggling children. Outside, the August sun shed its golden afternoon light over the fields, verdant still but stippled with the long, pale-gold stalks of the grasses the sheep didn’t care to eat. Littleberry’s red-brown jumble of houses baked in the heat, their windows flashing points of light in the distance. Beyond the town’s distinctive silhouette, the sea was pure turquoise, glittering and lovely.

  I cuddled Annabelle Alice close to me, grateful for a chance to be alone with my thoughts as the children scattered throughout the room. She was tired, and as her head went down on my shoulder I heard the tiny noise that meant she’d put her thumb in her mouth and was sucking it vigorously.

  I had plumbed the depths of the Scott-De Quincy family’s worst secrets and survived, I thought, straining my eyes in the hope of seeing the French coast. I had, unwittingly or not, brought the truth of my husband’s death into the light of day and seen his murderers slain, not by the process of law but by the ineluctable forces of nat
ural justice. I had gained the love of a man I could respect and perhaps one day love in return. And I alone of all those in the room knew that there was hope for me to have a child of my own. At that moment, the future shone like the glitter of sun on sea.

  The House of Closed Doors series

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  The Shadow Palace

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  My stepfather was not particularly fond of me to begin with, and now that he’d found out about the baby, he was foaming at the mouth.

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  Nell Lillington is a heedless, cosseted seventeen-year-old when she chooses not to reveal the name of her baby’s father. In 1870s Illinois, such a decision has far-reaching consequences, and Nell finds her path to happiness strewn with murder. Join Nell as she struggles to reconcile love, independence, and respectability in these engrossing Victorian mysteries—great clean reads that will keep you entertained for hours.

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  “This entire series has kept me spellbound…couldn't wait for the next page or book. Loved the story line, and the characters. Enjoyed the history background. Highly recommend the complete series.”—Carolyn G., Amazon reader

  From the author

  Dear Reader,

  * * *

  I hope you enjoyed reading Lady Helena Investigates as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’m an indie author paying bills by doing what I love the most—creating entertainment for other people. So my most important assets are YOU, the readers, without whom I’d just be talking to myself. Again.

  My promise to you is that I’ll do my best. I’ll research to make the historical background to my stories as accurate as I can. I’ll edit and polish until the book’s up to my (high) standards. I’ll give you a great-looking cover to look at, and I’ll make sure my books are available in as many formats and in as many places as possible. I’ll keep my prices as low as is compatible with keeping my publishing business going.