A Lady in the Smoke

by Karen Odden

  But as I passed, she said, tentatively, “M’lady?” Her face was anxious. “Did they find you then?”

  Surprised, I turned back. “Was someone looking for me?”

  “Oh, m’lady.” Her eyes grew round and she shifted her grip on the bucket uneasily. “Begging your pardon, but I thought that’s why you looked like you was hurrying.”

  “Who is looking for me, Nora?”

  “Why, Mr. James sent two of the footmen—”

  “James? He’s here?”

  “Yes, m’lady. He arrived about half an hour ago, on the early train, and they’re all with Lady Fraser because she woke up crying and screaming, like she was in one of her old deliriums—”

  I gasped. “What?”

  She hurried on: “—so they sent someone down to the stables to find you.”

  “Mama knew I was riding?” That would upset her very much.

  “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “Leastwise, I don’t think anybody’d tell her that. Besides, nobody knew where you was. I think they just thought that was most likely.”

  I gave a soft groan. “I should have told someone where I was going. Is Mama all right now? Is Jane with her?”

  “Jane’s with her. And Mrs. Ellsworth too.” She bit her lip. “But Lady Fraser—well, she isn’t right, leastwise not yet.”

  I felt a pang of fear. “Thank you, Nora. If anyone asks, I’m changing and I’ll go to her straightaway.”

  “Begging your pardon, m’lady, but do you want me to send Sally to you?”

  I was already hurrying up the rest of the stairs. “Yes, please,” I called over my shoulder, undoing the buttons to my riding coat as I went. I reached my room, flung it on a chair, removed my boots, and snatched a pale green dress from my armoire. My fingers were cold, and I wished for the hundredth time that it was the fashion for day dresses to button up the front.

  “Here I am, m’lady.” Sally shut the door behind her.

  “I need to hurry,” I said.

  “I know.” Her hands were already at my back, looping the buttons into their holes.

  “For god’s sake, what happened?” I asked.

  “I still don’t rightly know. One minute, I was downstairs with Jane, having a cup o’ tea, and Mrs. Ellsworth was sitting with your mother. And the next thing we knowed, Nora’s at the kitchen door, saying her ladyship was turrible upset, and we had to come right away. Jane and I were upstairs in a minute, and Mrs. Ellsworth was already trying to calm her down. But her ladyship was crying and carrying on like folks do when they’re asleep. They warn’t words, really, just sounds. Until she called out for you.”

  I stared at Sally in the mirror. “For me? Are you sure?”

  “She called out ‘Elizabeth,’ twice, clear as a bell, m’lady.” She finished the top button. “And then she went all quiet like, and that’s when your aunt and Mr. James came in, and he told me to look for you in the house, and he sent two of the footmen out of doors. They didn’t find you, then?”

  I shook my head. “I just left Athena at the barn. I’m not sure how I missed them.”

  “Well, no matter. You’re here now. P’rhaps she just needs to see you to be sure you’re all right.” She took a towel from the washstand and folded it around the damp ends of my hair.

  I sat down at the dressing table. “You needn’t brush it all the way through. Just pull it back and tie a ribbon. That’ll do for now.”

  She had it done in a minute.

  I looked at my reflection. My skin was flushed and slightly damp, but otherwise I looked almost normal—except for the anxiety written across my face. That wouldn’t do. I smoothed my brow with my fingertips and took a deep breath.

  Then I stood up and hurried down the hallway toward my mother’s room.

  I half-expected to hear my mother’s querulous voice, but there was only silence. Gently, I pushed at the door and peered in. Jane was putting away the laudanum bottle and wiping a spoon, a troubled look on her face; my aunt and James were both bent over Mama, who was sitting in an armchair close to the fire, a blanket tucked around her legs. They both looked up at me as I opened the door farther, my aunt with relief on her countenance, James with worry and exasperation on his.

  He strode toward me and pushed me back into the hallway, shutting the door behind us. “Here you are, finally! What’s the matter with you?”

  I bristled. “There’s nothing the matter, and don’t bark at me. I was out riding. What’s the matter with Mama?”

  He sniffed and grimaced. “You smell like horses. Here’s hoping she doesn’t notice.” He gave my arm a small shake, his mouth pursed tightly. “For Christ’s sake, we had no bloody idea where you were! We couldn’t even send someone out after you!” He glanced at the bit of bandage on my head. “And you’re still hurt. You shouldn’t be riding anyway.”

  “Yes, I should,” I said, pulling my arm away. “I’ve been days in that hotel in Travers. I needed to be out of doors.” I pushed the door open again. Mama was still sitting motionless in her chair. “Sally said she was asking for me.”

  “Yes, she did. You shouldn’t have left.”

  I laughed shortly. “In all the years she’s been sick my mother has never asked for me. When we were in Travers, she didn’t even want me in the room. Why would I expect she’d want me this morning?”

  He shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know—but she did, and you weren’t here.”

  I sighed. “What else did she say?”

  “You’ll have to ask Jane,” he said. “Apparently when she came upstairs, your mother’s eyes were open, and she was speaking, which is why Jane didn’t realize at first that she was in some sort of delusion. Your mother cried out your name—that much was clear—but the rest was mostly mumbling. Then she became so agitated that she threw herself out of bed, and it was all Jane could do to get her into that chair. And now she’s sitting there still as a stone. She hasn’t said a word since I arrived.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked. “You don’t usually pay flying visits. Did you see Mr. Turleigh?”

  He shook his head. “He’s away from London for another few days. I left a message for him.”

  My heart sank a bit. “Thank you.”

  “Apparently your mother doesn’t like the new medical man here. So I’m going to send for the one from Travers. Jane said he seemed to understand her condition perfectly.”

  The medical man from Travers.

  “What was his name?” James continued. “Wilson—no, Wilcox—”

  The hallway suddenly seemed darker.

  “Elizabeth!” James shook my arm again. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve gone white as a sheet. Is that a bad idea, to fetch him? Is there something wrong with him? Is he a quack?”

  “No,” I said faintly. “He’s a good surgeon. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Then why do you look like that?”

  I pulled my arm away again. “I’m fine. I need to see Mama.”

  James opened his mouth to say something, then rolled his eyes in annoyance, and strode down the hall away from me.

  I stood there with my hand on the doorknob, my eyes closed.

  Mr. Wilcox. Here in this house.

  Thinking of him made me feel as hollow as one of Cook’s huge copper pots.

  I pushed the thought of him out of my head and went in. The curtains were drawn against the morning light, but I could hear the rain against the windows. The fire burned brightly, illuminating all but the farthest corners of her beautiful room—the pale blue walls, the gilt-edged mirrors and paintings, the tables and cabinets cluttered with elegant bibelots, shining candlesticks, and trinkets of all sorts under glass domes.

  My aunt rose from the ottoman near Mama’s chair and came toward me. “We finally gave her an extra bit of laudanum,” she whispered. “Jane hated to do it, but your mother became absolutely distraught. Maybe now that you’re here, she’ll get into bed.”

  Mama’s eyes didn’t meet mi
ne, even when I knelt before her. The fire, piled with coals, was almost uncomfortably warm to me, but she was trembling as if with an unbearable chill. The change in her since the previous day was astonishing and horrible. Whereas she’d come home from Travers almost like her normal self, stepping down from the carriage with assistance and speaking calmly, now she looked haggard, terrified, and ten years older. Her eyes were wide and her pupils dilated; she had bitten her lips until they bled; her face was waxy, the skin stretched tightly across her cheekbones.

  Was this truly because she had wanted me, or been worried about me? Given her usual coldness toward me, I never would have believed it, but—

  I took her hands; they were like frozen claws. “I’m so sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to go far,” I said soothingly. “But I’m fine. You see?”

  To my surprise, my touch and voice roused her. Her body was stiffly immobile, but her eyes found and held mine. In a ragged voice she asked, “Did you see him? Is he coming?”

  My perplexity at her calling out my name gave way to a different kind of mystification. Clearly she was fearful, and her anxiety wasn’t for me. But whom was I supposed to have seen?

  Her fingers dug into mine, and her voice was a broken cry. “I sent for him—oh, god—I sent for him—but I never meant—” Her voice rose to a higher pitch: “You need to find him—warn him—”

  I glanced up at my aunt and Jane, who were hovering behind my mother’s chair. They both looked bewildered. Over my mother’s head, my aunt mouthed, “Whom does she mean?”

  I shook my head, having no idea. I squeezed my mother’s hands very gently. “Mama, I didn’t see anyone. No one at all.”

  A spasm of grief—or relief—it was too quick for me to tell—and then a sudden consciousness of the present moment seemed to cross her face. She blinked several times, sat back, and withdrew her hand from mine. She said nothing, however, and minutes ticked by while the laudanum took effect. Her eyelids began to droop, her shoulders softened from their rigid pose, and finally she went docilely with Jane to bed and settled down to sleep. Jane hovered around her, adjusting the bedclothes, while my aunt drew me to the other side of the room.

  “Have you any idea what she meant?” she whispered.

  “None at all.” I could think of no one who would have stirred Mama to such animated feeling.

  “Did something happen in Travers? Or in London, perhaps?”

  “Nothing that corresponds with what she’s saying. The only man she saw in Travers was Mr. Wilcox, the doctor.”

  “Maybe she wants him to come,” my aunt said dubiously.

  “But she never sent for him,” I objected. “And what would she need to warn him about?”

  My aunt sighed and gave a shrug. “God knows.” She looked over at the bed. “She seems quiet now.”

  To me, Mama seemed even smaller and frailer than she’d looked in Travers. But I kept that uneasy thought to myself.

  “Is there anything I can do?” I whispered.

  My aunt’s hand came to my forehead, and she frowned. “Yes. Get yourself into a hot bath before I have two patients on my hands.”

  I started for the door.

  “And for goodness’ sake,” she added in a sharp undertone, “don’t go anywhere.”

  Chapter 14

  It was an anxious day.

  By tea-time, Mama seemed no worse, but no better. The house was muted, with everyone going about his or her business quietly. I was resting in my room, per my aunt’s orders, when Agnes came to tell me that Miss Anne was downstairs in our parlor.

  Oh, thank god, I thought, feeling a wave of gratitude and relief. Two days early and not soon enough.

  I hurried down the stairs, nearly tripping in my haste, my heart lifting with each step. As I crossed the threshold, Anne rose from her chair.

  Before I could stop myself, my fingers flew to my lips, and I halted in surprise.

  Anne had always been small and slender. Not fragile exactly, but delicate. And in the months after the Courier story was published, she had become ill with worry, whittled down so cruelly that her collarbones showed beneath her skin and hollows appeared in her cheeks. Her joints had ached so badly that she couldn’t hold a paintbrush.

  But now? Her face, once thin and sallow, was, if not plump, healthful; her cheeks were pink; and though her expression was worried, her eyes were lustrous and bright.

  Her chin went up, and I saw a wry humor in her eyes—and a faint curve to her lip. “Close up your mouth, Lizzie, or you’ll get bugs in it.”

  “Anne, you look wonderful!” I reached out and embraced her. “I’m so glad to see you—but you weren’t due home until Monday!”

  She drew back, her hands holding mine, and her eyes darted up to the bit of plaster that still covered my stitches. “I changed my plans as soon as I heard you’d been on the train. You didn’t receive my letter in Travers?”

  “No, I received nothing at all! Where did you address it?”

  “I sent it care of the Polk. It was the only hotel I knew.”

  “We were at the Travers Inn, but even if you’d addressed it there, I’m not sure I would have received it. Everything was such a muddle.”

  Her face was sympathetic. “I can only imagine.”

  I looked down at her bare hands in mine. There were flecks of green and yellow around her nails, and I smiled. She’d been painting again. And she could paint. Not like I used to, inept schoolgirl studies, my flowers looking like pale blobs on top of sticks.

  I drew her to the couch beside me. “Tell me, how is everyone at home? How is Philip?”

  She shook her head. “I want to hear about you first. You haven’t written a word since you were in London—and your last letter didn’t sound very happy.”

  “I suppose it didn’t.” I sighed. “And London only got worse. Have you heard any of the rumors about us?”

  Her mouth twisted. “Well, you know how much credence I’m going to give rumors. But yes, Francis had a letter from a friend who’d heard something ridiculous.”

  I braced myself. “What was it?”

  “That you were privately engaged to someone, but he was thinking of breaking his promise because your fortune was diminished due to some failed investments in America.”

  I couldn’t help but snort. “I’m not engaged—you’d have been the first to know—and American 31

  investments?” I shook my head. “I’ve no idea where that came from.”

  She shrugged dismissively. “I figured as much.”

  “But one piece of gossip may be partially correct,” I added more soberly. “It looks like we might be losing at least part of our fortune through some bad investments here in England.”

  “Why, Elizabeth! Are you certain?”

  I nodded. “I think it has to do with some railway shares that Father acquired before he died.”

  “But surely they’re not a significant portion of the estate’s income,” she objected.

  “I’m not certain. Apparently the railway shares do make up a fair portion of something, and it might be my dowry. James is asking Mr. Turleigh for the particulars.”

  She looked dubious. “I don’t suppose your mother could tell you.”

  “No. I asked her the night of the ball. But I didn’t get much of an answer. Mostly she just tore into me for squandering my three Seasons and not finding a husband.”

  Anne winced and gave my hand a squeeze. “And then on top of all that, you were in the accident. It must have been awful. Every newspaper account I read said it was horrifying beyond description. I’m almost grateful I didn’t know you were on that train until later. I’d have been frantic.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Mrs. Ellsworth told our housekeeper, who wrote to me that you’d gotten out safely, so I didn’t have to worry.” She paused and added gently, “Although I have to say, you look thin and tired. Are you all right?”

  I got up to close the doors. Then I came back to the couch and told he
r everything that had happened, beginning with the railway accident, and brushing as lightly as I could over the parts involving Mr. Wilcox. There was a part of me that longed to speak his name and tell Anne everything about him—and another part of me that didn’t want to reveal how I’d deceived him—so inevitably I stumbled at parts. However, Anne listened attentively throughout, and I ended with Mr. Flynn’s suspicions about the Great Southeastern.

  “Which brings me to something I need to ask you,” I admitted. “About a rather delicate matter.”

  She tipped her head. “My goodness, you look so worried! You know I won’t be offended by anything you ask. What is it?”

  “Mr. Flynn said that the railway tried to buy land west of Trevington Forest so they could move the track off the riverbank. Apparently, their offer was accepted, but then the seller changed his mind. Of course I said nothing at all about your family—but last year, when your father was considering selling some of his land…” I hesitated. “Was he selling it to the railway?”

  She looked surprised. “No. It was his friend Lord Dalhousie who offered to purchase some of our pasture. But they couldn’t agree on a price.”

  So there’d be no reason for Mr. Flynn to look at the Reynolds family.

  A sigh of relief escaped my lips. “You don’t happen to know of anyone who did sell land thereabouts, say, in the past year?”

  Furrows appeared between her brows. “Well, yes, in fact. Mr. Pinsley sold some land last fall.”

  “Mr. Pinsley?” I repeated. The name wasn’t familiar.

  “You remember. He bought the Wallburtons’ estate. New money—from up north somewhere.” She waved a hand. “He didn’t sell to the railway, though. He sold to a man named Hayes. I remember because Mr. Pinsley brought Hayes to the house, to introduce him to Father.”

  “You’ve met him, then?”

  She nodded. “A few weeks or so before I left for Scotland.”

  Anne had left almost four months ago; that would be about the right time. “What sort of man is Hayes?”

  “An investor of some kind.” She paused, considering. “He struck me as clever, but rather coarse and not particularly amiable.”