by Darcie Wilde
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Lady Bertram cried bitterly. “That is what makes it so impossible! I never in my worst nightmares expected such a thing to be visited upon my family. I have tried so hard, all my life I have tried . . .”
“Yes, yes, Johanna, everyone knows it,” said Lord Adolphus with an admirably straight face. “Where are William and Bertram?”
“My husband and his brother chose to go to their lawyer rather than having the man come here, so we must all wait until they choose to return and share what has been decided.”
“Lord Adolphus!” Virginia reentered the room, an open smile on her harassed face. “How very good to see you.” She accepted his bow and returned a curtsy. “The luncheon is laid, Johanna,” she told Lady Bertram. “I assumed Lord Adolphus would be welcomed. If you’ve no objection to being included in a meal declared fit only for women and invalids, Lord Adolphus?” she added to him.
“Truth be told, Mrs. Seymore, I am famished. But you will not mind an unbalanced table, Johanna?” he said to her.
“As if I could ever object to your presence!”
“Will your daughters be joining us, Virginia?” Margaretta asked.
“Miss Riall has taken the girls out for the day.”
Rosalind surmised that those daughters had been gotten out of the way while the various scenes unfolded at the house. Given what she’d seen already, she decided this was an entirely sensible precaution on Virginia’s part.
Like the sitting room, Lady Bertram’s small dining room was bright and newly furnished. A pair of heavy silver-gilt candlesticks had pride of place on the mantle. Because the table was small, Rosalind found herself seated next to Lord Adolphus. While Lady Bertram exclaimed at her footman about the service and the dishes to be brought, his lordship turned to her, and blinked.
“Miss Thorne. I think we have a mutual acquaintance. I believe I’ve heard Mrs. Broadhurst mention your name.”
“I was unaware your lordship knew Mrs. Broadhurst.”
“The admiral and my brother, Weyland, share an interest in the history of the Renaissance. Have you had a chance to view Admiral Broadhurst’s collection? Weyland says he has several pieces of enormous interest and importance.”
“And are you interested in antiquities?”
“Only of a literary kind. I do not find the vases and cutlery and so forth that so enchant my brother very stimulating. Do you read much, Miss Thorne?” he asked rather abruptly.
Rosalind acknowledged that she did, and the discussion turned firmly to books and authors, especially once Rosalind let it be known she had some Italian and a bit of Latin and had indeed read both Vasari and Petrarch. Virginia joined in the conversation, a little bashfully, declaring she had not read much or widely, but the questions she asked were intelligent, and Lord Adolphus clearly enjoyed the chance to hold forth about his favorite works.
Margaretta watched them from the corner of her eye as she wielded her knife and fork over the (admittedly very good) salads and jellies, cold soup and duck, and fresh fruits selected from the basket placed at the center of the table. For her part, Lady Bertram punctuated her share of the conversation with a series of hasty orders to the footman to bring this item and take away that, at which point she would sigh and exclaim about the impossibility of servants of all kinds and classes.
The meal was finished and the party returned to the sunny yellow parlor to take coffee. Rosalind found her admiration for Lord Adolphus growing by leaps and bounds. He handled the table with finesse, managing to keep the conversation progressing, and yet somehow preventing Margaretta and Lady Bertram from having to say more than the occasional word to each other.
But the interval of calm was at an end. While Lady Bertram was pouring Lord Adolphus a second cup and urging him to another caraway biscuit, Sir Bertram and Captain William at last returned.
“Oh, Bertram!” His wife set down the coffeepot and leapt to her feet to run to him like a schoolgirl to her beau. “Thank goodness you are here!”
Jack Sprat, thought Rosalind, and had to reproach herself for that reflexive unkindness. But it was true that the family’s tendency to stoutness had passed Sir Bertram by without a second glance. Although only of middling height, Sir Bertram was rail-thin with a sharply sloped nose, only somewhat offset by his large brown eyes.
“Johanna.” Sir Bertram took his wife’s hand and held it. “I am here. Everything will be all right.”
“Yes, yes, of course it will! Now that you and his lordship are both here!”
Captain Seymore strolled across the room to stand beside his wife. “Have you any welcome for me, Margaretta?”
“Hello, William,” Margaretta replied evenly.
“You seem unscathed after your morning in the realm of the lawyers,” Virginia said. “I am glad of that.”
Captain Seymore glanced at her, and frowned. “I . . . thank you, Virginia.”
The pair of them regarded each other with something of challenge and something of forlorn hope, as if each one wanted to find the other changed somehow. Rosalind saw this. She also saw Margaretta huddle in on herself a bit further.
“But what does Mr. Close say?” Lady Bertram wailed at her husband. “What hope does he give? What counsel?”
“Very little, I’m afraid,” replied Sir Bertram. “He advises that the captain tell the truth and hope for the best. If there’s any more to be done, it will be done at the trial, if there is one.”
“Useless man!” Lady Bertram plopped back down onto her sofa and clasped her hands. “Does he have no thought for what this will mean? Our family name will be dragged before the public! We ourselves will be made objects of calumny and ridicule because of that woman . . .” She raised a trembling finger and leveled it at Mrs. Seymore, but let her hand quickly drop, as if she lacked the strength to go on.
“Surely that’s enough, Johanna,” said Virginia.
While his wife might be preparing for an attack of the vapors, Sir Bertram appeared quite composed. “Margaretta, William says you told a story about Cavendish threatening to kill himself.”
“I did, yes. I will be asked to swear to it at the inquest.”
“Will you do it?” he asked.
“Can you give me any reason why I shouldn’t?”
“Mrs. Seymore,” murmured Lord Adolphus. “Perhaps another tack would be best.”
Throughout the meal, Margaretta had allowed herself to be led by Lord Adolphus and at least somewhat by Rosalind, and maintained her patience. That patience was now very clearly at an end.
“I am doing what I must to protect my family, brother,” Margaretta said to Sir William, her musical voice turning low and dangerous. “What else would you have me do? Perhaps I should conveniently drop dead, like the marquis will.” Lord Adolphus started badly at this, but Margaretta ignored him. “But wait, that wouldn’t answer. William might remarry some fertile young creature and produce not one son but a dozen to get in your way. Perhaps I could arrange for us both to be thrown from a carriage? Or lost in a boating accident? No, perhaps not with such a sailor as William aboard. Perhaps . . .”
“Bertram! Make the creature stop!” wailed Lady Bertram. “She means to ruin us all! She means scandal and blackmail and—”
“I’m sorry,” replied Mrs. Seymore calmly. “I spoke in jest.”
“An ill-timed jest, Margaretta,” said Virginia. “You’re only hurting yourself.”
“Margaretta, you will be quiet this instant.” Sir Bertram spoke in an ice-cold whisper.
“Enough!” thundered the captain. “By God, it is enough! Margaretta is my wife. Mine! Whatever may happen, Bertram, you will remember that!”
Silence fell, and the entire gathering stared at William Seymore. The captain turned slowly to Margaretta, and he advanced to stand in front of her, his feet planted firmly, his fists clenched tightly against hi
s sides. She held herself still and dignified, but Rosalind saw the uncertainty in her.
“Margaretta,” Captain Seymore breathed. “Margaretta, please, just admit what you have done. Admit it, and the whole matter will be at an end. I will forgive you,” he added softly. “You have my word.”
Beside Rosalind, Virginia sucked in a soft breath. She held her teacup in both hands, and Rosalind noticed her knuckles had gone white.
“William, I have laid the private sorrow of a man’s despair before the public,” Margaretta said. “Is that not proof enough of my regard for you?”
“William—” began Sir Bertram, but the captain cut him off.
“We have fought this action according to your plan, Bertram. And believe it or not, I see where it has got us. Please, Margaretta. For my honor and on my honor. Say what you have done. It’s all I ask.”
Slowly and with absolute poise, Margaretta rose to her feet. Captain Seymore stared at her, an expression very close to the hope of a drowning man in his eyes. “What you want is for me to tell the particular lie your family wants to hear,” she said.
“No, Margaretta, not all of us,” said Virginia, but Margaretta ignored her.
“You trust the word of your brother, and some anonymous letter writer, more than you trust mine. But I swear to you, William, I have done nothing to betray my vows as your wife.”
Captain Seymore stepped back, and he staggered over nothing at all that Rosalind could see. Lord Adolphus jumped to his feet and clapped his hand on the captain’s slumped shoulder. “It will do no good, sir. Come with me, let us go talk this matter over quietly.”
“But Lord Adolphus, it—” began Lady Bertram.
The look Lord Adolphus shot her would have felled a grown man, and was sufficient to close Lady Bertram’s mouth. Keeping his hand firmly on the captain’s shoulder, he steered him out of the room.
“Well played, Margaretta,” said Sir Bertram. “But perhaps overplayed.”
“I’ve tried.” Lady Bertram sniffed. “I’ve tried to tell you—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” snapped Virginia. “How can anyone be so determined to destroy a brother? I swear, I’m tempted to knock your fool skulls together! If I was Margaretta, I’d tell the coroner it was the pair of you who killed Cavendish, and put an end to my troubles!”
With that dire pronouncement, the younger Mrs. Seymore sailed out of the room.
“Oh, dear,” murmured Margaretta. “Virginia seems most upset. Don’t look so worried, Sir Bertram. I would never say any such thing. What reason would I have?” She also got to her feet. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I think I should go find my husband.” She, too, swept from the room, leaving Sir and Lady Bertram staring after her.
“You will perhaps excuse me?” Rosalind made her curtsy and took her own leave before either Sir or Lady Bertram could so much as move.
CHAPTER 22
An Inquiry into the Various Causes
All that was wanting in brilliancy of talent was made up by sterling principles of honor and honesty.
—Catherine Gore, Pin Money
Once in the passageway, Rosalind considered trying to find the Seymores. She was here at Mrs. Seymore’s invitation, and she should not be roaming around the house unescorted. But Rosalind had no idea when she would be able to speak to Virginia again, and suddenly it seemed important that she did.
An inquiry of the maid led Rosalind to a small workroom. The widowed Mrs. Seymore sat at a large tapestry frame, jabbing her needle into the canvas and pulling the thread through with such force, Rosalind feared the rose-colored silk might snap.
“Mrs. Seymore,” she said as she stepped through the door. “Am I intruding?”
“No, no. I’m sorry. My temper is not always what it should be.”
“Your feelings do you credit.”
“My feelings.” The young widow snorted and jabbed the needle once more into the fabric. The pattern was an elaborate and sentimental garden scene centered around a blooming rose tree. “You have no idea. I don’t know what you must think of us.”
“I think you are a family going through a time of difficulty.”
“Yes. It seems to be a permanent state with us.” She pulled the thread tight, winding the slack around her fingers to keep it from knotting. “One calumny after another. One enemy after another. Always another reason to litigate and make us welcome nowhere but our attorney’s office.”
“Would you prefer if I left you?” said Rosalind. But Mrs. Seymore shook her head.
“No, please stay, and sit.” Aside from the stool in front of the frame, there was one spindle-backed chair in the room. She tucked her needle more carefully into the tapestry. “And do call me Virginia. No one bothers to call me Mrs. Seymore, except Margaretta, and I think she just enjoys the joke.”
“It is very hard when families quarrel,” said Rosalind quietly.
“Hard? It is impossible! No matter what I might say, or what Lord Adolphus may suggest, none of it does any good. Bertram knows himself to be hard done by, and nothing will change his mind.”
“What is the nature of Sir Bertram’s grievance?”
“That his mother only married a brewer while her sister married a marquis.” Virginia just shook her head. “That the dowager marchioness somehow produced two sons, and William might yet produce one that lives, while Bertram has yet to produce any at all. That the money is gone somehow, somewhere, and he and Lady Bertram are reduced to begging and scrounging to keep”—she waved her hand—“all this.”
“Money troubles can so easily tear a family apart,” said Rosalind.
But Virginia didn’t answer this. Instead, she asked, “How does Margaretta?”
“At this very moment, obviously, I could not say. But I believe she is trying to do her best under the circumstances.” It was a noncommittal answer, but it was the closest Rosalind could come to the truth.
“Poor woman. I do not envy her. As bad as things may be for me, they are worse for her.”
“Lady Bertram certainly seems to take great exception to her. Or is it only her background?”
“Her background certainly doesn’t help. An orphan, even a genteel one, is hardly going to recommend herself to Lady Bertram. After all, what are any of us good for if we can’t provide useful connections?”
“If Mrs. Seymore is an orphan,” said Rosalind, thinking back to their conversation in the carriage, “that would mean her husband’s family is all she has.”
“Yes, poor thing.”
“I’m glad she has at least one friend among her relations.”
“You mean me?” Mrs. Seymore sounded surprised. For a moment, Rosalind thought Virginia was actually going to laugh, and she wondered at that. “Well, I am as much of a friend as I am permitted to be, I suppose. When my husband died, he did not leave me enough to enable me to take care of my girls on my own. Therefore, I am dependent on the goodwill ofmy brother-in-law Bertram and his wife, which rather limits the amount of sympathy I am allowed to show such a rival.” She stopped again. “You must forget what I have said. It is nothing but the maundering of a bored widow.”
No, it’s not. “You have no family of your own either?”
Virginia shook her head. “Some distant cousins in the north, but no one I can make a claim on, especially with two daughters to be provided for.”
“Perhaps you should marry again,” said Rosalind lightly.
“Perhaps I should.” Virginia tried to laugh, but the cheery sound quickly fell flat. “Unfortunately, our various troubles have alienated enough of our acquaintance, I find myself with very few prospects.” She ran her palm over her needlework, but Rosalind still saw the genuine pain in her eyes. Was it just her loneliness, Rosalind wondered, or was Virginia breaking her heart over someone in particular?
Mrs. Seymore shook herself. “And here I go from
being the pining widow to the fretful debutante. Have mercy, Miss Thorne, introduce some topic of conversation so I can sound like myself for a bit.”
Rosalind smiled. “Tell me, do your girls go to school?”
The mother smiled gratefully in return and the conversation changed at once to talk of the two growing girls, their lessons, their accomplishments, and the other details of motherhood. Rosalind listened patiently and with genuine interest. When Virginia talked of her children, her face lightened and Rosalind could see the pleasant, cheerful woman underneath the harried sister.
But Rosalind saw something else as well when Virginia paused in a description of the drawing master’s praise of her daughters’ watercolors. She gave Rosalind a hard and clear-eyed look. She also glanced at the door to make sure it was still firmly shut.
“I do not for a moment believe Margaretta dragged you with her because you are her confidential assistant,” she said. “Exactly what are you to do here with us, Miss Thorne?”
How much do I tell her? Virginia was already more suspicious of Rosalind than either of the Seymore brothers, who were so distracted with their own concerns. There was also some undertone to her conversation with both Captain Seymore and Margaretta that Rosalind could not yet fathom. Virginia had a store of her own secrets, including some heartache all her own. Rosalind found herself reluctant to add to it. At the same time, she very much wanted to see how Virginia would react to the truth.
“There are serious questions surrounding the death of Fletcher Cavendish,” Rosalind said. “I have in the past been able to help ladies with similarly difficult problems.”
Virginia swayed where she sat. She curled her fingers around the edge of the tapestry frame to steady herself.
“William,” she whispered. “He . . . did he lose his head? He’s been so badly pressed. Did he . . . does she believe . . .” Virginia stopped herself. She also looked to the door again. “No,” she whispered, to the door and to herself. “No, I’m glad she has taken this step. Margaretta always was immensely practical,” Virginia added. “It does not appear so at first, but that is her defining characteristic.”