by Lynn Morris
“What’s occurred?” Alastair demanded.
Kincannon looked up at him with a helpless expression. “I’m—afraid—there’s been—not an accident, really—but it’s—I can’t explain—I don’t know—”
“Get hold of yourself, Kincannon,” Alastair said brusquely. “Just say it.”
Kincannon took another long drink of brandy, then blurted out, “Maledon is dead.”
A long shocked silence was heavy in the room. Grimly Alastair said, “You said it wasn’t an accident. How did he die?”
“I don’t know. I mean, he—apparently—” Kincannon swallowed hard. “Colonel Bayliss says that he suffered some sort of acute hemorrhage.”
“What does that mean?” Letitia demanded. “How did this come about, how did you find him, now, in the middle of the night?”
With acute discomfort Kincannon explained, “It—I’m afraid it was Lady Jex-Blake who—who—discovered him, or—anyway, she ran up to the servants’ quarters and started banging on one of the maids’ doors. She was hysterical. The maid answered the door, and saw that Lady Jex-Blake was—that she had blood on her nightdress, and even—even—in her hair, and was screaming that she needed a hot bath immediately. Then the maid got hysterical, and by this time the whole house was awake, and all the women were terrified and suffering from the hysterics.
“Except for one lady, who managed to calm down Lady Jex-Blake enough to understand what had happened, that it was not Lady Jex-Blake who was—injured, it was Lord Maledon. When we went to see about him, he was already deceased.”
Alastair asked, “What have you done? What arrangements have you made?”
Helplessly Kincannon said, “This only happened an hour or so ago. As you may imagine, the house is in an uproar. Colonel Bayliss is trying to calm the servants and organize them. Miss Ruskin has kept a cool head throughout, she and the housekeeper are attending the ladies. I knew, Lady Hylton, that Lady Maledon is your close friend. I’ve only met her two or three times. And Hylton, you are a relation of Maledon’s, are you not? I just thought it would be best if I came to ask your advice on how to proceed.”
Impatiently Alastair said, “You’ll have to send for a doctor and the coroner, Kincannon. There must be an inquest, which I hope will be a mere formality, done quickly, hopefully tomorrow. Arrangements will have to be made to take him back to Bellegarde.”
Kincannon ran a trembling hand over his forehead. “What a cursed tangle! Everyone is packing up to leave, and we don’t have enough carriages, there’s already a scramble among the ladies…that reminds me, two of Maledon’s carriages are at Clayburn. At least there were two of them when I left, although Lady Jex-Blake was already demanding that she leave now, tonight, in one of them.”
Letitia’s eyes narrowed to glittering blue slits. “You must have taken leave of your senses, Kincannon, if you think that I’m going to allow that woman anywhere near what are now Lady Maledon’s carriages.” She turned to Alastair. “He’s hopeless, Alastair, we shall have to attend to this. I’ll make arrangements for a funeral wagon to take Maledon back to Bellegarde, and Elyse, Lydgate, and I will accompany him in one of the Maledon carriages. Regina wrote me that Miss Shadwell and Mrs. Purefoy were respectable ladies, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind them taking the other carriage back to Surrey. You’ll just have to figure out how to dispose of your other guests as best you can, Kincannon.”
“But—Lady Maledon—notifying her—?” he asked uncertainly.
“This is hardly the kind of thing to send by express,” Alastair rasped. “I’ll leave at first light for Bellegarde. If I travel hard, I should be able to make it in four days, before Lord Maledon’s body arrives.”
* * *
It was a bleak dawn when Alastair left Foxden Park. The West Riding of Yorkshire was an unforgiving landscape of harsh moors and barren downs. He loved the country for shooting; at times he even enjoyed the stark solitary beauty of the countryside. But it offered him little comfort now, on his bitter errand.
Any man would dread telling a woman that she had just become a widow. But Alastair was especially apprehensive about delivering such a message to Lady Maledon. He actually didn’t know her personally very well; most of what he knew of her was from his mother. Alastair had lived separately from his parents for many years now, as he had gone to Eton at the age of eight, and then to Cambridge. At twenty-one, when he graduated, he had taken a flat of his own in London, at St. James’s. He and the friends he’d made at school moved in different circles from his mother and father. When his father had died two years earlier, and Alastair had inherited, he had spent more time at Hylton Hall than since he was a small child, and subsequently had grown closer to his mother. Still, he had a social life very separate from hers.
He had learned much, however, about Regina Maledon, because his mother had a particular affection for her friend, and spoke of her often. The few times Alastair had met Lady Maledon in London during the Season had confirmed his impression of her. She evidenced a particularly sweet nature and warmth that were clear to see. But Alastair had also perceived something in Lady Maledon that he thought perhaps his mother didn’t, and couldn’t, comprehend completely. He had had much experience with women, though he had never been in love with any of them, and he thought he understood them very well. In Lady Maledon he had seen a certain trait that he recognized: a sort of very feminine dependence on men. She had, he thought, identified herself completely with her husband, and her life had revolved around his. Such a trait in a wife was going to make his task that much more difficult.
Aside from Regina Maledon’s fragility, Alastair was uneasy because he knew that he was not the type of man to be of much comfort at such a difficult time. It was not that he was completely devoid of sympathy; it was simply that he had never learned how to be manfully supportive of dependent women. He had had little patience with the women in his life who evidenced a need for him; in fact he had shunned several young women he had courted when he was younger because of what he regarded as their tendency to cling too closely to him. Even when his father had died, his mother and sister were such self-sufficient women that he hadn’t been obliged to nurture them in any way. It worried him to try to conceive of how he might be any help to Regina Maledon now.
As for the children, he felt even more at a loss. He had never met St. John, and couldn’t recall how old he was now. As for Valeria, he had a vague memory of an awkward, gangly little girl with a mass of dark hair and great tragic eyes. He couldn’t remember how long ago he’d seen her, or where.
Alastair did feel a deep regret for Lord Maledon’s untimely death. He had known Maledon all his life, and had especially seen much of him in the last two years, as they both sat in the House of Lords, and both of them were members of two of the exclusive London men’s clubs, White’s and Boodle’s. Alastair had seen Maledon’s slow decline, both physical and social, in the last couple of years. It had seemed that Maledon was half-drunk during the day and fully drunk at social events at night. It had been common knowledge a couple of years ago when Maledon had gone through a series of mistresses, and then ultimately settled on Lady Jex-Blake. This was not at all uncommon in fashionable society, whose leader was the hedonistic Prince of Wales, now prince regent. In the epicurean atmosphere of the times, it was understood that in the upper classes, most men did take mistresses; in fact, after a wife had given her husband an heir, it was barely remarked upon if she herself had love affairs. Still, Alastair had disapproved of Lord Maledon’s affair with Lady Jex-Blake, first because she was a coarse, ignorant woman, and second because of Maledon’s flagrantly reckless behavior. Although it was socially acceptable to be promiscuous, it was expected that well-bred men be discreet. Lord Maledon and Lady Jex-Blake had created embarrassment in more than one London drawing room and assembly. Polite Society had begun to shun him.
And now he had died far from his home, with people who cared nothing at all for him. It saddened Alastair.
But the thought of Lady Maledon
saddened him even more.
Chapter Eight
THE BARLEY MOW FAIR WAS the most exciting event in the little village of Abbott’s Roding; in fact it was usually attended by everyone in the parish. The first day was by long tradition for the servants and tenant farmers only, so the upper classes did not attend. The Bellegarde servants had returned with such glowing reports of how wonderful the fair was this year that St. John was almost beside himself on the second day, waking up at dawn and insisting that Valeria be awakened too, to get ready. “It takes you forever to put on a dress,” he told her when he came bouncing into her bedroom at seven a.m.
Callie, the fourth housemaid, was engaged in building the fire in Valeria’s bedroom. She flinched when St. John came in, and cast a distressed look at Valeria. She always did her duty in strict silence, for the lower housemaids were never to awaken the family before their attendants brought up their tea and toast at eight o’clock. In fact, she was not supposed to even be seen by the family.
“It’s all right, Callie, you didn’t awaken me, this little scoundrel did,” Valeria reassured her. As Valeria had not asked her a direct question, Callie made no answer. It was an embarrassment to a lower servant to be addressed by the family, as that meant her presence was an intrusion. So she hurriedly stirred the growing fire, grabbed her bucket of kindling, curtsied, and fled.
Valeria demanded, “Whatever are you doing here, St. John? Where is Mr. Chalmers?”
“He has the day off, remember? He went to see his parents. Even if he was here, it’s too early for him,” he said gleefully.
“It’s too early for anyone,” Valeria grumbled. “Get along with you now and go bother someone else. But not Mamma.”
“I’m going to find Niall.” He ran to the door and looked back at her suspiciously. “You’re not going back to sleep, are you?”
Valeria yawned. “I doubt if I could, thank you very much. Send Joan to me, will you?”
Soon Joan came with tea and toast. “His lordship says to tell you, miss, that he and Niall are having breakfast in the kitchen, and he begs that you will not take all morning to put on your dress,” she said with amusement.
Valeria found that she too was very much looking forward to the fair. As she dressed it occurred to her that it was rather pathetic that a country fair could be such a great adventure to her. Was her life really that dull? How she longed to go to London for the Season! To go to parties, to balls, the theatre! She was very unlike other young ladies her age, for their main goal in going into society was specifically to find a husband. Valeria still was so disgusted with her stepfather that she thought she would never be able to trust a man enough to marry. As if there’s a danger of anyone asking me to marry him, she thought dryly. One would be obliged to make the acquaintance of a man first. I doubt that Mamma will ever want to go to London while my stepfather is there.
“I’ll wear the white with the rose embroidery and my spencer with the matching parasol,” she decided. “No bonnet today. I think I’d like the topaz comb and earrings. I hope St. John will manage to restrain himself long enough for you to do my hair.”
“I’ll try and keep his lordship and Niall from coming to kidnap you,” Joan said, “which those two will try to do if they think of it. When Mr. Chalmers isn’t here they do carry on wild.”
“It amazes me that Mr. Chalmers is so shy, yet he keeps those two ruffians under such good management,” Valeria observed.
“He’s not really shy, ma’am,” Joan said. “I think it’s just that he’s reserved, you might say, with some people, Now, miss, I don’t think the matching slippers will do for the fair. What about your buff kid half boots, and the gloves?”
“Yes, that will do very well.”
By eight thirty—record time, though Valeria doubted that St. John would agree—she was dressed and ready to go. Her dress was a simple white jaconet with a lace stand-up collar worked with a rose ribbon, and rose-colored embroidery trimming the hem. The spencer, a tight-fitting short jacket, was of the same dark-pink shade as the dress trim. It had gold Maltese buttons with gold braid frogs, and was tied at the throat with gold tassels. She had a delicate Chinese parasol of exactly the same shade of deep rose, with gold tassels. Joan had arranged her hair with a wealth of disordered curls, and secured the braided bun at the back with an ornate gold-and-topaz comb; the stone, which was called sherry topaz, was a rich beige color with a hint of rose in its depths. This was one of Valeria’s favorite ensembles, and she was cheered when she saw how well she looked. The color gave a pink cast to her fair complexion. She had once despaired of ever having any womanly form, for since childhood she had been thin and angular, with long legs and arms. But when she turned sixteen she had begun to fill out, and now she had soft curves with a wasp waist. She was still somewhat dissatisfied, as she was more slender than the current notion of perfect English beauties—short small women with plumply rounded figures—but at least she wasn’t skin and bones and awkward anymore.
She went to her mother’s room and found that Regina was still in bed, drinking tea and reading Ackermann’s Repository. Craigie was laying out Regina’s morning dress. Valeria came to sit on Regina’s bed. “Oh, is that the newest, Mamma? I didn’t know it had arrived.”
“That’s because I hid it from you,” Regina replied with a smile. “That’s how selfish I am. We can look at it together tonight. You’re up and about very early.”
“My brother woke me up practically before dawn. He and Niall have probably taken off by themselves to run all the way to the fair by now.”
“Platt’s got them two in hand,” Craigie said sturdily. “They’ll be out in the stables, I’m sure.”
Valeria said, “Mamma, are you sure you don’t mind if we all desert you? I shouldn’t mind staying at home with you, at all.”
“Nonsense, you go and have a good time, dearest,” Regina said. “Craigie’s here, and of course you know that Trueman would never lower himself to appear at a fair. And Mrs. Lees is staying here today, she’ll be attending tomorrow, so I’m very well looked after.”
Valeria gave her a kiss and said, “I must admit, I’m looking forward to it myself. It should be such fun. We’ll be back this afternoon, Mamma.”
The fair was set up on a field that was part of Bellegarde park, adjoining the village. Ewan drove Valeria, St. John, and Niall in the town coach. As they neared the fair, Valeria could hardly keep the boys from jumping out of the moving carriage.
Even as they drove up, a wire-walker was suspended twenty feet above the crowd, holding a slender pole and mincing his way along a thin stretched-out wire. All around were booths, stalls, exhibitions, and all kinds of entertainment. Ewan stopped the coach and a groom took the horse’s heads. Opening the door and lowering the step, he laid a single finger on St. John’s chest and said sternly, “My lord, where are your manners gone to? Always ladies first.”
“Yes, sir,” St. John said, stepping back to allow Valeria to alight. Then he and Niall burst out of the carriage as if they had been propelled. Their faces shone with excitement. Looking at each other, they said in unison, “Wire-walker,” and took off at a dead run.
Valeria called, “St. John, wait!”
Ewan said comfortably, “They’ll come to no harm here, miss. I’ll just go hitch up under the trees, and then I’ll come find you.”
“Thank you, Platt,” Valeria said with relief. At a more sedate pace she followed St. John and Niall. The crowd parted obediently for them, the men snatching off their hats and the women curtsying. Valeria barely noticed; it was the way of life.
The wire-walker stopped, his pole teetered up and down, and one foot slipped. Men gasped and some women screamed. St. John breathed, “He’s going to fall!”
Niall, a more worldly-wise little boy, snorted, “Not hardly. He’s just putting on.”
Indeed the wire-walker did recover and make his way safely to the platform.
The next few hours were spent sampling all the delights
of the fair. There was an illusionist who performed mystical wonders; a sword-swallower; knife-throwers; fire dancers; acrobats; tumblers; and posture-men who mimicked the expressions and gestures of the crowd to perfection. A bear wearing a green jacket with a green feather stuck behind his ear danced, with a chattering monkey on his back that passed the hat to the crowd after the dance. Valeria’s favorite entertainment was three small white dogs that could count. Their trainer would ask, “What is two plus two?” and one of the dogs would bark four times, and so on.
The crowd was very merry, and Valeria saw several acquaintances. Dr. Thaxton and his wife greeted her happily and joined them in watching the sword-swallower’s performance. Reverend Emmery, his wife, and their three daughters, who were Valeria’s good friends, watched the knife-throwing exhibition together. She saw Ned and Royce escorting two pretty young ladies, and several of the other servants. In the crowds she kept losing St. John and Niall, as they were tearing about at top speed, but Platt easily kept up with them.
By noon Valeria was very hungry, as she had eaten only two slices of buttered toast for breakfast. There were several food stalls, and one of them was selling hot shepherd’s pies. On one side of the booth had been set up tables and benches. “I’m famished,” she said to Platt. “I think I’ll sit here and have a bite, if you’ll keep an eye on those two.” Platt obligingly fetched her a pie and a cup of tea, then herded St. John and Niall over to watch the puppet show, which was Punch and Judy.
She ate about half of the pie, which was delicious, and sipped her tea contentedly. The puppet booth was nearby, so she could hear Punch’s wild gleeful cackle and see his wife Judy when she began beating him for not watching The Baby, whom he had dropped several times. Naturally Punch fought back, and soundly beat his wife with his slapstick.
It’s amazing that we find this sort of thing so amusing, Valeria mused. It’s quite violent. I suppose, since the puppets look nothing like real people, it’s just a form of farce, and harmless…