“I slept solidly,” Great-Aunt Flora announced. “Are you not comfortable in your room?”
“I’m fine.”
“From what I hear, you had a very luxurious bed last night.”
Amethyst’s eyes moved from Flora to Charlotte. She didn’t even try to keep her disgust for the woman hidden. “All the rooms here are well appointed. Every bed luxurious.” Except for the servant’s quarters, where the tiny bed left her cramped like a giant in a cot. Which was why she rose at 5 am along with all the servants, and now she wondered how on earth they managed this day in day out. She’d have to be more considerate to Mrs Shaw and Edwards when she got home.
“Some beds are lonelier than others.” Violet put just the right tremor in her voice to suggest victimisation.
“How would you know?”
This time Violet’s gaze was a dagger to her throat. Something more was coming, but she couldn’t guess what. Without knowing, a defence would be difficult. Except with the truth, and her respect for Maker forbade that. Thankfully, she was saved from any response by the arrival of Lord Montgomery and Sir Giles Chalmers. Monty greeted the assembly warmly as he looked around.
“Not yet the full complement, then.” He made a spectacle of looking at his watch. “Ah, we still have a few minutes.” His gaze moved to Amethyst, and she wished to fall through the floor. “Surprised Jenson’s not here.”
“Why?” Amethyst asked.
“Well, I understand he’s usually an early riser, I expected him to be the first up.”
“He may well have been, but given that we’re going to church, it’s hardly a surprise he’s not with us.”
“Ungodly sort,” Sir Giles snorted. “Should have known.”
Amethyst turned to the man, her tone every bit as cold as his. “Jenson is far from ungodly. In fact, there are those who would argue it’s the same God. Jenson is simply Jewish, he attends synagogue, not church.”
Monty looked to Violet. “And Maker?”
She looked tense. Dabbed at her cheeks with a lace handkerchief. “Perhaps you should ask Miss Forester.”
Perhaps Miss Forester would answer with the truth. Amethyst moved her hands behind her and clenched her fists. She so wanted to strike back, entirely unsure of the reason she couldn’t, but a promise was a promise.
Lovesey strode in, breaking some of the strain. Even he stopped and looked around, detecting the atmosphere.
“We were just reflecting on the absence of Lord Maker,” Lady Cynthia announced.
Amethyst heard the delight of gossip in her voice.
“Not that much to reflect on really,” Lovesey shrugged. “He went straight to the carriages. You are aware they’re awaiting us out front, aren’t you?”
Edwina introduced Amethyst to Felix as they headed to the church. This was the first Amethyst had seen of the young boy and for an eight-year-old, he struck her as being rather tall, already his head in its soft black cap reached up to his mother’s shoulder. He had sandy hair and very much the look of his father, though Amethyst could only judge from the paintings and the one stiff family photograph in which no one looked particularly happy.
With impeccable manners and clear pronunciation, he seemed to Amethyst to be the model young gentleman. They conversed easily during the carriage ride, which gave some relief. The rest of the occupants demonstrated a determination to freeze Amethyst out, whispering and giggling like mindless schoolgirls.
“A little on the young side for you, isn’t he?” Willimena whispered as she deliberately knocked past Amethyst.
“We gather you like your men older,” Charlotte whispered from the other side.
“And you are a little old yourself.”
“Time’s running out.”
The two girls laughed together and swept on. Amethyst became aware of being scrutinized and turned to find Maker looking at her. For a second, his lips and brows compressed in an expression of pain, then he offered Violet his arm and, with great care and a lack of speed, the two headed to the church.
Amethyst hung back, wanting to be last, and to be as far from the others as possible. Then only Bobbie was at her side.
“Well, this is going to be fun.”
That seemed unlikely, but she walked in with her friend and with relief found that the Chalmers’ had filled a pew and they slid in to the row behind and separate. Lord Montgomery, Edwina and Felix took the front row, with Maker, Violet, Lady Garrington-Smythe and Great-Aunt Flora. The Chalmers’ and Lovesey sat behind with a couple that Amethyst did not recognise squeezed into the end. She and Bobbie were flanked on both sides by strangers.
The priest was everything Amethyst had come to dread from a village parson, everything Jane Austen would have vilified with joyous and elaborate description. His sermon was some florid rhetoric about the sanctity of marriage. This quickly turned into a diatribe about sex being sinful. “He’s probably not getting enough,” Bobbie leaned in to comment softly.
Willimena and Charlotte giggled lightly together. Amethyst noted a tut from the woman at her side.
Now the parson quoted Hebrews 13:4, saying that sex outside of marriage was particularly sinful. Charlotte looked over her shoulder and pinned Amethyst with a glare.
“Take note.”
Another woman shushed her.
Amethyst ignored that, smiled and simply said. “I’m intact. Are you?”
The pastor headed for a crescendo when he reached Romans Chapter 1 verses 26 and 27, speaking of the unholy and unnatural relations of men with men and women with women. Amethyst knew these lines, she’d heard them thrown like daggers at her own brother. She had already searched the crowd, not at all surprised to see Jade not here. She had never doubted his belief in God and that had been a source of internal conflict for him in being what he was. Unsurprisingly, he no longer attended church. One of this Hell and damnation type would be particularly unappealing.
The preacher finished with 1 Corinthians verse 6 chapters 9 and 10. “Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God!” He slammed his fist on the lectern and various voices rose up in “Amen.”
Willimena and Charlotte looked around at Bobbie. “Well, that’s you damned for all eternity.”
The man next to Bobbie leaned forward, loud enough to be heard by more people than Amethyst was comfortable with.
“Proverbs 18:7, ‘A fool’s mouth is his ruin, and his lips are a snare to his soul.’”
Willimena just lifted her nose and sat forward, Charlotte paled and turned away. There might be hope for one of them. Bobbie nodded her thanks to the man, and they all turned their attention back to the service.
Great-Aunt Flora seemed to appear out of nowhere as Amethyst stood outside the church walls. The old lady put a death grip on her elbow and led her to the green.
“Are you sure all is well, deary?” Great-Aunt Flora asked.
She nodded. “There is much work to do with Stephen and I’m worried I’m not up to the job.” It wasn’t the biggest concern in her life, but it was one.
“Is it true that Maker slept in your bed last night?”
Amethyst blushed. “But I didn’t.”
Great-Aunt Flora reared. “I never thought you did. But the gossip‒”
“Gossip is just that. I swear to you, Great-Aunt Flora, I am intact. Maker has dishonoured neither me nor his marriage.”
“Shame the same can’t be said of his wife.”
Not knowing what else to do, Amethyst decided to be led by her heart and she leaned down to squeeze the older woman. “Love you, Great-Aunt Flora. You’re the best.”
“Yes, well…” Her shoulder was patted, as though the old woman wasn’t at all sure what to do with the compliment.
“Great-Aunt Flora, I am going to take a long walk, I need to clear my head. Think about what I can do for Stephen and his family. Please advise Mrs Oxbridge I won’t be joining you for luncheon, but will be back for dinner.”
Before any objection could be raised, Amethyst strode away.
Chapter 40
Although refreshed by the solitude and clear air, Amethyst still felt out of sorts after the service that morning. Even a few hours with Jade hadn’t washed that distaste away. Of course, that wasn’t the only thing on her mind. At some point, she had to give Montgomery an answer. She needed to clear her head and work out what she would say. She hoped the three miles back to the estate would help.
While the road offered the easiest way, it wasn’t the most direct, which was a path through the woods. Humus scents jumped at her with every step, the sound quality was muted. She carried on into the shadows under the full leaf cover. The darkened mood matched her darker thoughts.
A hand clamped her mouth.
She was dragged against a solid human body.
Panic washed over her as she was picked off her feet and pulled behind a thick oak. The man’s head pressed next to her ear. Her elbow punched into his side, her heel connected resoundingly with a shin.
A controlled grunt. “Amethyst, it’s me.” A hoarse voice whispered.
Dean?
She stopped struggling and his muscles relaxed around her, though he still carried her the last step to the oak and leant them against the rough bark. He was so close behind her, she was to all intents and purposes leaning on him. At least that warmed her, the leaf cover kept out the heat of the sun as well as the light. He pointed through the trees and she realised that people were standing in the small clearing there. One of them was Lord Montgomery.
Her view wasn’t clear enough to recognise others, but she could hear what they said…
“…the money?”
“I’ll get it.”
“How?”
“I’m getting married. She’s rich.”
Someone seemed to have taken the bones from her body, Amethyst sagged against Jenson.
“When?”
“Soon, I’ve only just asked her. I can’t push, she’ll just say no. There are rules about these things.”
“I don’t care about your rules. I want the money.”
“It won’t take long, soon she’ll be so desperate to clear her own name, she’ll have to marry me. And quickly.”
“And then you’ll clear all you owe?”
“Ah.”
Montgomery stumbled back; the man who had grabbed him was in the high five-foot range, thick-bodied and rough-looking. He had Montgomery by the front of his shirt, pushed him until he jammed into another tree trunk. Montgomery looked pale, wide-eyed and frankly terrified. Jenson stepped to the side, muscles coiled and ready to run into the fray if he had to.
“Bu-bu-but there’ll be more. As soon as we’re married, I’ll move her up here, sell her house in Belgravia, that will release a load of ready cash, and with her business connections, I’ll be able to borrow the rest. You’ll get the money.”
Acid bubbled in her stomach. Amethyst didn’t want to believe it. Suddenly her muscles bunched, but they wouldn’t stay that way. She pushed away from the tree, ran in the opposite direction from the clearing. She ran and ran. Out from the cover of the trees, her cheeks grew cold despite the warmth of the sun, her tears cooling her face.
A vice attached itself to her arm and slowed her. She heard Jenson trying to talk to her, but she dared not face him. Wriggling and twisting, she tried to break free.
“Just don’t kick me again, my shin is bruised enough.”
For a moment she stopped, and then he guided her in a different direction. Silent, he led her through a stone wall and into an enclosed garden that, though obviously tended, seemed designed to be more of a wilderness. His pace slowed to a wander, and they moved together for a few moments until he directed her to a wrought iron bench, on which she sat down, heavily, like a collapse of will. He still didn’t say anything as he offered her the folded square of white cotton.
Uncertain and numb, she stared at the offering.
His hand dropped. He sat beside her, turning her face to wipe her eyes.
Finally, she found her voice. “It never occurred to me.”
He frowned at that statement.
“That Montgomery proposed to me for my money. I assumed he had more than enough of his own.”
“We all did.” Jenson patted her hand. “Makes me wonder about the rest of this.” He glanced around him and back towards the house. “How do you keep all this going without money?”
“Erm, according to Maker, these estates are largely self-propagating. They spend what they earn. A lot of transactions are on paper only; they sell the wheat to the mill who sell them back the flour; they sell the cows to the butcher who sells them back the meat. The carpenters make what they need, but they supply the wood. And everyone pays rent to the family for their homes. But it’s often discounted against debts. It’s all cyclic. There’s enough to keep going, but very little actual cash changes hands.”
When he looked back at her, he smiled. “Maker said all that?”
“Well, not in one go.” From somewhere, she found a small laugh. The short-lived mirth died away, and she found herself leaning forward to put her head on his shoulder. “I should have known, though.”
His arms went around her, warm and gentle. Jenson relaxed against the back of the bench and held her softly.
“You couldn’t have known,” he whispered. “We all believed Montgomery had significant financial reserves.”
“I meant‒” her voice was muffled against his jacket. “‒I should have realised that he wasn’t interested in me.”
The squeeze reassured her a little. “If all he sees when he looks at you is a bank balance, the man is an idiot. Amethyst, you are a very special young woman. You’re intelligent, imaginative, capable, generous, forgiving, courageous and kind. Yes, you happen to have come into money, but there is so much more to you than that. Anyone can see that.”
She huffed out a laugh and sat up. “You just listed all the faults my father finds in me.” That elicited only a frown. “His complaints are that I’m intelligent, capable–though he calls it ‘too independent by half’ and his version of courageous is ‘foolhardy.’”
“I prefer my version.”
How could she not smile at that? “So do I.” She looked over the cotton in his hand, the darker patches where her tears had caught. “You and Maker are spending time together, after dinner. The backgammon games. Does he talk to you?”
“Maker barely talks to anyone,” said Jenson, trying to lighten the moment, but as she watched him, he seemed to see her need to understand. “Yes. He talks to me, but he’s still a very private man.”
She nodded and sucked in her bottom lip. Dare she ask what she needed to? She had to. “It’s just that I don’t understand it. Him. I don’t understand how he can let Violet attack him that way and yet not strike back.”
Jenson looked away. He understood more than she did. Would he say?
She thought back to when she had first started living in Belgravia Square. “He told me she is of a delicate nature and asked me not to argue with her, for his sake. And I have tried. I really have.”
“I’ve seen that.”
“But there is nothing delicate about the way she treats him. Someone who can do that belongs in an asylum.”
In the pause, she wasn’t sure Jenson would respond. Then she felt the heat and weight of his hand over hers. A deep breath. “When I first met you and Maker, it was during a murder investigation. It was my job to investigate any potential suspect, that includes you and him. I know a great deal about Maker’s history that I cannot reveal to you, but I promise you he has good reason for doing what he does. As for an asylum, do you understand what that would mean?”
She had some idea. “That he wouldn’t have to suffer h
er attacks anymore. You saw his back last night, what we saw wasn’t a one-off. And if she’s hitting him with some implement, she might break his back, kill him. She’s mad.”
“She’s disturbed, I agree. But what I think you don’t realise, what a lot of people don’t realise, is that if someone is declared insane and put into an asylum, they are deemed unfit to create legal relations.”
“So what? They are unfit to agree to any kind of contract.”
“They are also considered unfit to break certain kinds of contracts. Like marriage contracts. If she were in Bedlam say, he would never be able to divorce her.”
Amethyst searched Jenson’s face, desperately looking for a loophole. Of course, there wasn’t one. People lived, if that was what you called it, in those places for years. Maker would be alone but forever tied to a mad woman. “Less Mr Darcy, more Mr Rochester.”
“Who?”
She shook her head. “Never mind. It makes no difference, you know. He’ll never divorce her. At least the walls of an asylum would give him some protection.”
“From the gossips?”
If her experiences today had taught her anything, it was that nothing, not even the truth, saved anyone from them.
“You are aware that he keeps the shame of the truth hidden. And we all help him do it. Lady Garrington-Smythe, especially.”
She sagged back against the bench. “And we’ll all continue to do so. But what about what Montgomery said? That I’ll soon be so desperate that I’ll have to marry him?”
“I see nothing in what’s happening to make that the case.”
“It can’t be the things people said this morning, can it?”
Jenson’s expression darkened. “Depends what they said.”
“Well, it seems common knowledge that Maker slept in my bed last night.”
“But not common knowledge that you didn’t?”
“People don’t seem to care so much about adding that fact to the story. Nor the reason why he was there.”
“Something we can’t shame him by revealing either.”
She turned to him and offered him a sad smile. “How much we must conceal, you and I?”
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