by Nagle, Pati
—statement of inquest issued by William Danby,
Coroner of the Queen’s Household,
1st day of June, anno Domini 1593
Kit Marlowe died at the hands of one Ingram Frizer, in an argument over the bill.
Perhaps.
He was murdered at the behest of Sir Walter Ralegh; of Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex; of William Cecil, Lord Burghley, and his son Sir Robert Cecil. He was murdered on the orders of the Lord Admiral and the Lord Chamberlain; of Audrey Walsingham, Thomas’s wife; of Queen Elizabeth herself.
Perhaps.
He did not die at all, but went overseas, and returned two years later under the name Le Doux. He wrote the plays of William Shakespeare, because his pride could not allow him to abandon poetry.
Perhaps. Or perhaps not.
He vanished from history’s page, and for a man of his temperament, perhaps that was no different from death.
As the sun set on the thirtieth day of May, in the year of our Lord 1593, a man lay on a bed in Deptford, with a knife wound in the bone above his right eye. Twelve men witnessed the body, under the direction of the queen’s coroner, and swore their oaths upon the matter.
That much is certain—no more.
Lady Invisible
Patricia Rice
I love the Regency era for society’s attempt to enforce behavioral rules on a culture that just emerged from the hedonistic Georgian era. Culture clash meshes beautifully with character conflict so even a short story can offer a full spectrum of laughter, tears, and love. In “Lady Invisible,” I play with my favorite kinds of characters—the proper military man and the harum-scarum woman who defies him. Hope you enjoy this as much as I do!
∞ ∞ ∞
Cotswolds, 1816
“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife,” quoted Mrs. Higglebottom, the vicar’s wife, reading from the novel on her husband’s desk.
Ill at ease, Major Lucas Sumner stretched his shoulders against the confinement of his civilian attire. He had hoped Reverend Higglebottom might be available for consultation. He did not remember the vicar’s wife being quite so . . . enigmatic . . . in her younger days. They’d both grown up here among the rolling hills of Chipping Bedton, but Lucas obviously had been away too long. He must adjust his military sense of order to village idiosyncrasies.
“My fortune is a major’s pension and a small inheritance,” Lucas corrected. “I am in want of a wife because I have a daughter in need of a mother.”
Mrs. H—Lorena, as he’d known her—waved a careless, plump hand. “The extent of your fortune does not matter these days. The village has lost most of its available young men to war and to the city and to marriage. You can have a choice of ladies, from fifteen to fifty, I daresay. The task is to find the right one.”
“Well, yes, that is why I thought I would consult with Edgar—”
“Edgar did not grow up here as we did,” Lorena admonished. “My husband has a worthy, virtuous mind, but not necessarily one connected to the realities of life. Women are far better at matchmaking than men.”
Lucas granted that possibility. He’d married in haste as a young man, and the result was currently uprooting daffodils from graves in the churchyard, if he did not mistake.
With an apology, he rose, pushed up the vicar’s study window, and shouted, “Verity! Stop that at once. Where is your aunt?”
His seven-year-old hoyden waved a bunch of yellow flowers and dashed off. Lucas could only hope it was in the direction of his much put-upon sister.
“I have a lot to account for in this life,” he said, striding back to the chair. “Verity’s mother died far too young, and I’ve neglected my daughter’s upbringing. Now that the war is done and I’ve come home, it’s time I find a mother for Verity who can teach her to be a lady and turn my bachelor household into a home.”
Lorena nodded and consulted the list she’d evidently drawn up in anticipation of his visit. “Jane Bottoms is still unmarried. She’s a bit long in the tooth, but a very respectable, proper sort.”
Lucas tugged at his neckcloth. He remembered Jane. Thick as a brick, they used to call her. “My daughter needs someone a little more—”
Lorena cut him off, as she seemed to do regularly. “Yes, yes, of course. Verity would tie her to a tree and forget about her. How about Mary Loveless? She’s a bit plump and her mother tends to dictate . . . ” She caught Lucas’s eye and hurriedly looked at the list again.
Impatiently, Lucas snapped the paper from her hand and scanned the names. “Harriet Briggs is still unmarried?” he exclaimed in amazement. “How is that possible? She’s the squire’s daughter and had a dozen beaux before I left, but she was much too young to be interested in any of them.”
Lorena crossed her plump hands on the battered desk. “She is still not interested in any of them. She has not changed since the child you remember. You need a mature, proper lady to teach your daughter manners. Harriet is totally unsuitable.”
This time Lucas was the one to interrupt. “I remember her as a spirited little thing. Perhaps she was a bit of a tomboy riding to the hounds because her father never told her no, but she could argue intelligently. Verity needs a smart woman to guide her.”
Lorena vehemently shook her head. “Now that her mother has passed on and all feminine influence is lost, Harriet has become quite impossible. Rumor has it that she called off two perfectly respectable arrangements while she was in London, even though her looks are nothing to brag about.” She shook her head and cut herself off. “Her father has refused to give her another season.”
Lucas conjured a mental image of Miss Harriet Briggs the last time he’d seen her, when she wasn’t quite sixteen. He had been twenty and sporting his newly purchased officer’s colors. He’d been home to say farewells to family and strutting about in hopes his new uniform would impress the ladies.
The squire’s daughter been sitting on the doorstep of one of the village houses, showing a youngster how to feed a baby pig. She had not been impressed by his uniform but had appreciated his aid when the pig had squirmed free. They’d had a rational discourse on the care and feeding of abandoned farm animals, a conversation that he could not imagine having with any other female of his acquaintance.
Hope surged, despite Lorena’s warning. His household was in dire need of the discipline a lady could bring to it.
“She must be twenty-three or -four by now?” In the eight years of his absence Harriet should have grown into her lanky limbs at least. Lucas didn’t think he’d care for a skinny woman, although a mother for Verity should be more important than attractiveness.
Well, perhaps not, or he’d have hired a nanny. So he needed a wife who appealed to him, as well as a mother for Verity. Doubt crept in at the seeming impossibility of that task. Perhaps he should have gone wife hunting in London.
His sister should not have to deal with Verity while he danced through society. There had to be someone local, who would want to live here and raise his child among his family.
“Harriet should be a good age for looking after a child.” A man of action and decision, Lucas rose from the chair. “I don’t think anyone younger would be up to the challenge.”
Lorena looked harassed. “No, really, Lucas. Don’t be foolish. I do not wish to speak ill . . . Look, here is Elizabeth. She’s an extremely attractive young lady . . . ”
Having made up his mind—and worried that Verity would be digging up the dead next—Lucas was already halfway out of the door when Lorena leaped up, waving the list. “And Mary Dougal! Mature, quiet, and very lovely . . . ”
“I will consider them all, of course,” Lucas said, making his bow, although he privately thought Elizabeth to be a simpering ninny and Mary Dougal to be a pinchpenny prude. Verity was a bright child. She needed a disciplined woman up to the challenge of taming her. And a patient one to ease them into their new domestic routines.
“I told you not to climb the trees!” he roared after departing the vicarage. He crossed the graveyard in long strides to where his sister stared upward in dismay. He could see the bright blue of his daughter’s gown several limbs from the ground. “Come down from there at once, you little monkey.”
He nearly had failure of the heart when Verity’s small foot slipped and missed the branch below her. Without a second’s thought, he swung up on the lowest limb, heedless of his best trousers, caught Verity by the waist, and lowered her to Maria.
“I have three of my own, Lucas,” his sister called back. “I cannot do this much longer. You should hire a circus trainer.”
“I am amazed you did not hire her out to a zoo before this,” he said in exasperation as the child took off running before he could climb down. “Does she never speak?”
Maria shrugged and followed Verity across the church lawn at a slower pace. “She can talk if she must. Mostly, she does what she wants rather than ask, because she knows she’ll be told no. I have three young boys. It’s all I can do to keep up with them. I hate to burden you, Lucas, but now that you’re home safe and sound, she’s your responsibility.”
“I agree. And someday I hope to repay you if possible. You have been a saint, and I don’t know what we would have done without you.” He caught up with Verity when she stopped to pet a shaggy mutt. She was no longer a toddler for Lucas to heave over his shoulder and carry off as he had the few times he’d been home when she’d been younger. He’d missed almost her entire childhood.
“Your safe return is payment enough,” Maria promised. “If you never go to war again and can provide a home for Verity, that will ensure our happiness.”
∞
Lucas thought of his sister’s request as he knocked at Squire Briggs’s door the next afternoon. Now that Napoleon had been routed, he would not be going to war again, but that meant he had no other purpose.
His father had died before Lucas could attend Oxford or obtain any type of training. Other than the cottage and the lot it sat on, he had no lands of his own. The only trade he knew was soldiering. It was a problem he must solve after he found a mother for Verity.
Before setting off on this visit to the squire, he’d left his daughter with Maria, had his hair properly barbered, and had his old cutaway coat with the broad lapels brushed and pressed. And still he squirmed like a raw lad on the brink of courtship.
He had been far too young to have encountered Squire Briggs regularly before he’d left for war, so he didn’t know the man well. The unfamiliarity of civilian life threw him off balance, forcing him to recall that he had earned his major’s epaulets and fought battles far worse than the encounter ahead.
A maid led Lucas inside to a fusty parlor in dire need of a lady’s care. He frowned over that. Even if Lady Briggs had been deceased for some years, should not Miss Briggs have directed the servants in cleaning? Or at least replaced the cat-tattered pillows?
Cat hair was everywhere. He declined the maid’s offer of a seat.
Lucas liked to do his own reconnaissance and had made several inquiries before setting out on this call. From all reports, Squire Briggs was a hearty man who loved his horses and his hounds. His lands were fertile and well-tended, and his tenants spoke well of him. Lack of funds or servants did not explain this lack of order.
The tenants had spoken well of the squire’s daughter, as well, but with a certain degree of caution. Lucas trusted that was out of respect, but Lorena’s warning rang in his memory.
He heard the squire roaring at a rambunctious hound somewhere deeper inside the house and smiled to himself, thinking taming a dog was very much like taming Verity. He’d nearly broken his neck falling over her this morning when she’d darted out from under a table on her hands and knees.
“Sumner!” the squire boomed as he entered the parlor. “Good to see you home, lad! Major now, ain’t ye? Made the town proud, you did. Shame your father is no longer about to brag on you.” He pounded Lucas on the back and gestured toward the door. “C’mon back to m’study. We’ll have a bit of brandy and celebrate your return.”
Brandy was an excellent idea. Lucas thought he needed fortifying before he explained his presence. He was starting to think he should have sought out Harriet first, but he’d forgotten the protocol, if he’d ever known it. How did one woo a lady without going through her parent? He was no dab hand at courtship.
Outside, several hounds gave voice at once, and a woman shouted sharp commands.
The squire ignored the commotion, reaching for a decanter on a dusty tray. Cat hair seemed less prevalent here, Lucas noticed. An ancient basset lay sprawled and snoring in front of the empty grate.
“You’re a military man. What do you know of hounds and hunting?” the squire inquired, handing Lucas a glass.
“A great deal, as it happens, sir. I’ve spent the better part of these last years on horseback, chasing enemies wilier than foxes.”
Outside, the dogs howled louder, and a screech resembling a brawl between penned pigs and enraged hawks ensued. The woman’s shouts escalated.
Lucas had begun to wonder if he shouldn’t investigate, when Briggs threw open a sash of his double study window and shouted, “Harriet, get them demmed hounds back in the pen where they belong and shoot the peacocks!”
Lucas blinked. Things had changed mightily if one shouted at young ladies these days and ordered them to perform a stablehand’s duty.
In coming here, he’d had some vision of a benevolent, ladylike Harriet gliding into the room carrying a tea tray and somehow divining why he’d called. After all, Lorena had said he was an eligible catch, and the squire’s daughter was the most eligible female around. The purpose of his call should be obvious.
Perhaps he should have listened a little more closely to Lorena.
A childish shriek raised the hair on the back of his neck. Lucas dashed to the other window and threw open the second sash.
“Dashitall, Harry, I told you to get them hounds back in the barn!” the squire was shouting in frustration while Lucas scanned the grounds for some sight of the origin of the childish scream. “We’ve got a guest! You need to get back in here.”
A pair of peahens and a cock flapped around three baying beagles, who were racing around the base of an oak as if they’d treed a squirrel.
Surrounded by the circling hounds and birds, a slender female in honey-colored riding habit, with the skirt scandalously rucked up to reveal her tall boots, and her jacket missing, smacked the snout of the nearest dog. Lucas couldn’t hear what she was saying, but the animals crouched down and wagged their tails in anticipation of some treat.
The wildly colorful birds scattered to alight on various bits of shrubbery.
The young lady turned her uncovered head upward to study the tree’s branches, and Lucas’s gut lurched. His gaze followed hers.
The child he had thought he’d left securely at his sister’s house was instead perched on the lowest limb of the oak, swinging her toes and watching the dogs, probably with interest, if he knew his daughter. The earlier scream had been for effect. Verity was fearless.
“Verity Augusta, get down from there this instant!” Lucas roared, heedless of the squire’s startled reaction.
“That your young one?” Briggs asked. “What the devil is she doing in my tree?”
“As if I know what goes through her mind,” Lucas muttered, pulling his head back in the window. “I’d best pry her down and take her home.”
“Harry can do it.” Briggs stuck his head back out the window again and roared, “Harriet, bring the girl inside to her papa.”
The half-dressed lady sent her father what appeared to Lucas to be a look of exasperation, before crouching down to scratch the hounds and sending them scampering toward the kennel.
Verity, on the other hand, climbed to her feet and appeared to be considering the next highest branch.
Lucas didn’t think shouting at the females had put a dent in their behavior
.
If he’d had an undisciplined soldier who disobeyed him like that . . . He’d already confined Verity to quarters without result, and he couldn’t court martial her. And he’d never resort to whipping. How did one command loyalty and obedience from a female?
As if in answer to his guest’s unspoken question, the squire poured their brandies and handed Lucas one. “Never understand women. Contrary lot, don’t know what’s good for them. Don’t suppose you’ve come to take Harry off my hands, have you? Good girl, but damned if I can make her see sense.”
Lucas took a healthy swallow of his drink. Did he need two contrary females on his hands? He thought not, but he was a man who required information before making a life-altering decision. Discipline could be instilled in anyone, eventually.
This wife-getting business was more difficult than he’d anticipated.
“After all these years, I can’t say that I know Miss Briggs well,” Lucas replied circumspectly. “It would be a pleasure to become reacquainted.”
Briggs snorted again and leaned back in his chair. “I offered a handsome dowry, told everyone that she will inherit all I own someday, and she still garnered only two offers in London. And she turned those down. Take her off my hands, and you’ll be the son I never had.”
Studying the lady’s attire, Lucas suffered an uneasy notion that Harriet wanted to be the son her father never had.