The Widow (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  “Oh, but…” She stopped, shaking her head. “This is too much.”

  “No, look, ten notes at ten pounds apiece, all from Mr Vessey’s bank, and thirty sovereigns, since the bonus is fifty pounds. It would normally be a great deal more, but… there was no profit from this last stage of the voyage. One hundred and thirty pounds. Do you see that, Mrs Caldicott?”

  “I do, but— Is this usual? Eighty pounds is one quarter’s salary?”

  “It is.”

  “He told me eighty pounds a year.”

  “You must have mistaken his meaning.” He smiled benignly at her. “Eighty a quarter, and twice as much as that in bonuses, usually, or more. Your husband was so clever, Mrs Caldicott, always shaving off a day here or there, or turning aside to pick up an extra cargo. Or a passenger, sometimes. It was his idea to stay an extra day or two in Dublin to persuade the duke to travel on the Minerva. His grace would have got the packet otherwise, but he would have been more comfortable on the brig. Well, that did not turn to our advantage, but in general I made a great profit from his skills, and I recompensed him accordingly. In fact, it always surprised me that he had not enough saved by now to afford another ship of his own.”

  She was too bemused to say a word.

  He patted her hand benignly. “Ah, you ladies are unused to dealing with large sums, I daresay. A few pounds here and there to buy furbelows. That is as it should be, naturally. It is for men to take charge of money, in a well-regulated world. But you will grow accustomed to such matters, and you will have your annuity, of course.”

  “Annuity?” she said, feeling very stupid.

  “Naturally there will be an annuity. The insurance money should cover it, so long as— But we will not consider that possibility.”

  “What possibility, Mr Sherrard?”

  He looked uncomfortable again. “Well, the inquiry, you see. If there should be any blame attaching— But I am certain Captain Caldicott was not negligent in any duty where the safety of his ship was concerned. There is no need to worry, I am sure. It is only that… where there is a duke involved… the authorities do take a close interest in the affair. And if they find any deficiency in the command of the ship, then there will be no insurance payment, and we shall all be sunk, Mrs Caldicott. Indeed, we shall all be sunk. Now, if you will just sign my book.”

  He produced a small box with writing things and prepared a pen, then opened a small notebook. Numbly, Nell signed where he pointed, he packed everything away and took his leave. Long after he had gone, Nell sat unmoving, the heaps of coins and notes still lying on the table, staring at nothing, entirely dumbfounded. Jude had been earning many times as much as she had thought.

  Had her husband told her the truth about anything?

  10: Secrets And Lies (April)

  Nathan lounged in the bathtub in front of a blazing fire, soaking away the miseries of the journey to London. A decorated screen shielded him from the slightest untoward draft. On a stool within easy reach sat a large glass of brandy. Beyond the screen, his valet was humming a slightly off-key tune as he went about his business, unpacking and laying out shaving gear and clean clothes for his master. Later that day, there was the prospect of an excellent dinner and good company, for Harry’s new cook was to tempt their appetites. A couple of Harry’s friends had been invited, and afterwards there would be cards and gossip and, eventually, a decent night’s sleep. Nathan never slept well in hotels, and there was not an inn in England that was tolerably comfortable, to his mind.

  The door opened, and Harry’s voice boomed, “Good Lord, Nathan, are you not clean enough yet? That water must be stone cold.” He peeped round the edge of the screen, and tutted at his friend.

  Nathan lay back with his eyes closed. “This bath is so comfortable, and Packard is keeping me amply supplied with hot water.”

  “You can talk as well as soak, I suppose. Come on now, there’s a good fellow, and tell me all about your mission of comfort to your widow lady, and why you are back so soon.”

  “I cannot conduct a rational conversation while naked, Harry,” Nathan said in the mildest of tones. “Can it not wait until evening?”

  “It can not wait until evening, for Lord Toller will be here then.”

  “Ugh. Why did you invite him? I thought you disliked the man.”

  “So I do, but he stood me a dinner at Watier’s the other day, and since I had already invited Bonar and Wright for tonight, and you were gone out of town, I asked Toller so we had a four. He has just this minute sent his acceptance. If you get dressed quickly, we shall have an hour or so to talk before changing for dinner. There are letters for you, too.”

  “Oh, very well, very well,” Nathan said, with an sigh indicative of long suffering, sitting up and sloshing water over the side of the tub.

  Dried, shaved and dressed, he made his way downstairs to Harry’s study, where a good fire burned and a sideboard was laden with an array of liquid refreshments likely to tempt the jaded palates of London gentlemen.

  “Help yourself,” Harry said genially, folding away the newspaper he had been reading. “Although I do not advise the Canary. It was a present from Toller, so it might be poisoned.”

  Nathan laughed, unstoppered the decanter and sniffed the wine suspiciously. “I shall be your wine taster,” he said, pouring himself a little. “Better that I should be poisoned than you.”

  “I do not see that at all,” Harry said indignantly. “I have three younger brothers jostling for my place, whereas you are the last of your immediate line, and possibly the last of your cousin’s line, too, if Felix cannot be found. But tell me of this widow of whom you are so enamoured.”

  Nathan sighed. “As has been repeatedly pointed out to you, there is nothing of that sort involved.”

  “And as has been repeatedly pointed out to you, my friend, chasing all over the country after a beautiful young woman is not a convincing sign of impartiality. But you are back sooner than anticipated. Did she send you packing?”

  “Not at all, for she was not there. She is gone to her brother, Sir James Godney.”

  “Hmm. I know him a little. But was there not some estrangement? He will not want her back, surely?”

  “In such cases it is usually the husband who creates the insuperable obstacle. Now that he is gone, I imagine there will be no further difficulties. Besides, she has a settlement, although…” He frowned, working out numbers in his head. “It does not add up. Fifteen thousand she had, seemingly, and the husband had paid employment and they had lodgers paying rent, yet they could not even afford tea. That does not seem right, somehow.”

  “One never knows what sort of debts a man may have,” Harry said easily. “A man who appears to have a comfortable income may be living in penury, while a man one knows to be dished lives as high as a duke. Like Toller, for instance. His sister told me precisely what his income is, yet he is never short of the readies. It is very odd.”

  “Toller is a sharp, though, is he not? He may be living solely on his winnings at the table.”

  “Possibly. Never seems to mind losing, though. One can usually tell when a fellow positively has to win. No, I have no idea how he manages it. There are those who say he has other sources of income, not quite as legitimate as rents from tenant farms or winnings from White’s, but who knows?”

  “What, is he a highwayman in his free time? Or is it smuggling? That is still lucrative, so I hear.”

  Harry laughed, and shrugged. “Who can say? Whatever the case, I do not care for the fellow, and he is very encroaching. After this evening, I intend to avoid him as far as possible. Oh — I have not given you your letters.” He jumped up, and went to his desk. “Here — one from your cousin’s wife, two from your aunt, one from Henny… oh, and one from Meg.”

  He could not avoid looking conscious as he spoke Meg’s name. Nathan would normally tease him about it, but now he was too distracted by his letters.

  “Two from Aunt Amelie? That is not like her. And Cousin
Jessica does not write often.” He broke the seals, one after another and quickly scanned them. “Ah… William is very poorly.”

  “Worse than before?”

  “Considerably so. Aunt Amelie worries about his every cough, but if Cousin Jessica is alarmed, then it must be serious indeed. I shall have to go up to Yorkshire as soon as may be.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “If I write at once to the posting inns, can your man have them at the post office before six? Otherwise I shall have to delay another day.”

  Harry checked his own watch. “You know, if you scramble, you might make Charing Cross in time for the mail coach this evening.”

  “Scramble?” Nathan said, in horror. “I never scramble, Harry. Something important is always forgotten in the rush, and then things go wrong. Travelling in such a way is anathema to me.”

  “Well, write your letters, then. If you leave early tomorrow travelling post with a team, you might make it in two days, with luck. Lord, Nathan, I hope he is all right.”

  “When these letters were written, he was not expected to see another Sabbath,” Nathan said grimly. “This makes the search for Felix of the utmost importance. If William dies and we cannot find the heir, then we are cast into the greatest uncertainty.”

  “Is everything entailed?” Harry said.

  “Everything,” Nathan said. “It is a damnable position to be in. Nothing can be done until he is found, or is known beyond doubt to be dead.”

  “Perhaps another advertisement might work? Or, if your cousin dies, Felix might see the notice in the newspaper?”

  But Nathan could see no cause for optimism. If Felix had hidden himself so successfully for twenty years, he was hardly likely to emerge now.

  The evening was long and tedious. After writing his letters and instructing his valet on the change of plan, there was nothing to do but dress for dinner and attempt to be sociable. Under other circumstances Nathan would have enjoyed the company, for Harry’s friends Bonar and Wright were lively wits, and Viscount Toller was at least interesting, having an ear for the latest on dit. He had a cynical and rather jaded view of the world, always thinking the worst of everyone, and Nathan disliked him cordially, even though he had not poisoned the Canary. Even so, he could not resist asking him about the Minerva as they sat over their port, for if anyone would know the latest news, it would be Toller.

  “Is there any more news about that sinking in Cornwall?” he said. “The one that took Falconbury with it?”

  Toller’s eyes glimmered as they turned to him. “Have an interest, do you, Harbottle?”

  “The ship was out of Southampton and I was there very recently looking for Felix, so naturally I am concerned,” he said neutrally. “I have met some of the families of those on board.”

  “Ah,” Toller said. Nathan had the feeling that he knew perfectly well that there was something more to his interest, but propriety held him back from enquiring directly. “The investigation into the sinking is turning up some curious… oh, let us say anomalies. The captain was supposed to be a former navy man, but the Admiralty have no record of the fellow at all. May not have been properly qualified. Not to mention, it was a clear night with not the least hint of bad weather. No reason for it to sink, none at all. And the duke on board… makes one wonder, eh?”

  “Wonder what, precisely?” Harry said, his voice clipped.

  Toller waved a hand airily. “Oh, this and that, Smethurst. This and that. Such a coincidence that the very ship bearing the duke home at last should founder, and he a man ill-suited to the position, as all agree. Yet there is his brother, ready and willing… one might almost say eager… to step into his brother’s honours. Already manages the estates. And there is a lady promised to the new duke — no doubt he has his eye on her, too. Oh yes, it makes one wonder.”

  “Yet he is not planning to claim the title yet,” Harry said, a hint of asperity in his tone. “That does not seem so eager to me.”

  “Well, naturally he will not rush forward,” Toller said, laughing. “That would be very bad form. But he is very pleased with himself, you may be sure.”

  Disgusted, Nathan turned the subject, and tried very hard not to think about poor Mrs Caldicott, whose husband’s wickedness had blighted her life while he lived, and seemed likely to blight it even further now that he was dead. He had lied about his naval career, he had hit his lovely wife — what else might he have done?

  When it was his turn to sit out at whist, Nathan found himself distracted by a rather vulgar diamond ring that Toller wore. It flashed and winked as he shuffled and dealt, and Nathan was reminded that his income was small. He watched Toller covertly and listened more carefully to his conversation, assessing his expenditure. He talked glibly of his hunters, his travelling chaise and his curricle with two sets of matched horses. He clearly had his clothes made by a very expensive tailor, and every piece of jewellery he wore, from his neckcloth pin to the row of fobs at his waist, from the rings on his manicured fingers to his snuff box, and even the pocket watch he examined occasionally, was adorned with diamonds. This latter item was new, he told them when Bonar admired it.

  “I like variety,” Toller said languidly. “Nothing is more fatal to the spirits than familiarity. I must have novelty in all things.”

  “We all enjoy novelty, when we can afford it,” Nathan said wryly.

  Toller merely smiled enigmatically.

  Nathan was glad when the evening was over. The next day he would begin the long journey back to Yorkshire, and who knew what he might find there? A miraculous recovery or a house in mourning?

  Whatever the case, Felix must be found. The matter was now become of the utmost urgency.

  ~~~~~

  APRIL

  Nell stared at the paper before her uncomprehendingly. She could see no mistake in her numbers or her addition, yet the answers gave her no satisfaction. She set down her pen with a sigh, and poured herself more tea, cradling the cup as she sipped.

  She had the morning room to herself, for once. Maria had taken the girls across the Itchen to visit a friend, and Louis was contentedly reading through the pile of books James had given him, or rereading, for he had been through them once already and had now begun again.

  Nell was wrestling with the question of finances. She had never in her life had more than a few coins in her reticule, for Jude had dealt with all such matters. He had settled with the tradesmen, paid the servants and collected the rent from the Lloyds and Maria. Then he wrote it all into the household accounts. When they had had the whole house, Jude had kept them locked away in the big desk in his study downstairs, and latterly, after that room had been given over to Mr Lloyd, he had used a small desk in their bedroom, and kept the account books locked in a box under the bed. She had no key to it, however. One day she would get someone to break the lock so that she could open it, but not yet. She was not ready to face anything else that Jude had kept hidden from her. There had been enough secrets revealed lately.

  But the mystery of Jude’s salary was one that she must resolve, if only for her own peace of mind. She had never known his income before the disaster, but there had always been enough, in those days. If she had wanted a new gown or a fan, usually he would smile and say, “Of course! How much would you like?” Occasionally, he had said, “Can it wait until next quarter? I am at low water just now.” But he had never refused her, and there had always been tea, and coals for the fire.

  After the disaster, he had come home one day and said, “Sherrard has offered me work, commanding the Minerva. I shall have to take it, I suppose. No alternative. It is not much, but we can economise a bit.”

  “Can we?” she had said dubiously, never having been called upon to do so before. “How much will we be obliged to economise?”

  “A great deal,” he had said. “I shall only have eighty pounds a year, and perhaps as much again in bonuses.”

  Eighty pounds a year. She was sure he had said it was per year. To Nell, whose father had grumbled about managi
ng on an income of four thousand pounds a year, it had seemed an unimaginably small amount of money. That was when she had suggested taking in lodgers and some of the gloom had lifted from Jude’s face.

  “That would help, yes,” he said. “What a clever wife you are! We shall manage, you know. It is only a temporary setback. I shall be on my feet again in no time.”

  Eighty pounds a year, and as much again in bonuses. One hundred and sixty pounds a year. The numbers ran round and round in her head like so many rats in the attic, so that they filled her waking mind and she even dreamt about them.

  Because that was exactly what they had been spending. Now that Lady Day had come and gone, and the tradesmen had presented their bills, she could see exactly what their expenses had been for the past year. One hundred and fifty six pounds, four shillings and sixpence halfpenny. Without tea or new clothes or a subscription to the circulating library, they were keeping within their income.

  Except that it was not their full income. Jude himself had earned four times as much as that, and perhaps more, and then there was the Lloyds’ rent. They should have had an income close to a thousand pounds, and even Nell, untutored as she was in living costs, knew that a man could live as a gentleman on such a sum. Or even on half as much. The living at Bishopswood Cromby was worth five hundred a year, she knew, yet the Lumleys managed well enough on it. Mr Lumley even kept an old cob for riding about on, and they had three servants and a man for the garden, and plenty of tea.

  It was too much to accept with any degree of equanimity. After all that Nell had suffered over the past few years, all Jude’s rages if she spent too much or, even worse, if she spent too little and the meat was stringy or the wine watery, she could not believe how much they could have had. She jumped up and paced the room, back and forth, back and forth, her anger as bright as the sun. How dared he! How dared he keep her in abject poverty? How dared he rage at her for the smallest unnecessary expense and deprive her even of tea! How dared he lie to her, and lie again! Was anything he had told her true?