The Chaperon (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  “How dreadful!” Lucy said, in genuine horror. That one sister should attack the others was quite sickening.

  “That was more difficult to cover up, as you may imagine, and we agreed we could not stay. We hoped that a change of scene would help Caroline come to terms with the loss of her betrothed.”

  “And so you moved here.”

  “Yes. Arthur arranged it all, finding this place with the cottage where Caroline could be kept safe, if need be. It was prescient, for the change broke her mind completely. I was not out then, so I was able to hide in the kitchen, which was as I preferred anyway, and in time I rose to become cook.” She gurgled with merriment. “And Maria… we discovered she was with child, but Laurel also was with child, so we were able to pass off the two babies as twins. But after that Maria had more babies — Lord, the footmen we have had to let go! And two grooms, and even an under-gardener, once. And the babies kept coming. Arthur insisted they be dealt with, and the physician was in his pocket, so…” Lucy guessed she was talking about the little row of grave markers. “Poor little mites! But then we had a better idea. Laurel hated the whole business of baby-making, whereas Maria loved it, all of it. So… you can guess how that worked out, and Arthur did not mind in the least. Laurel wears padding under her gown, but it is Maria who has the babies now. And no more little graves. So everyone is happy, you see?”

  Lucy was too shocked to say a word.

  “We were all very settled, for a while. Arthur and Laurel mingled in society — not the highest levels, but then Arthur is not really gentry, so that was all right. Bankers and attorneys and linen drapers and so forth — that was the company where he felt happiest, and as long as he had money for the gaming tables, he was quite contented. Laurel would never have gone into society at all, if she could have avoided it, so she was contented too. I had my kitchen, Maria had her babies and Caroline was safe with her family around her. It was unconventional, perhaps, but it suited us very well.

  “And then Augusta arrived, married to Peter Kingsley if you please. Well, that upset the apple cart and no mistake. But at first it seemed as if we would get away with it. Arthur and Laurel moved in such different circles from the Kingsleys that they seldom met, and when they did, Augusta did not recognise Laurel, and no one else seemed to know of the connection. But of course, it was bound to come out eventually that they were half-sisters, and then there was no avoiding the acquaintance. I made Arthur go to Kingsley and tell him the whole story, for once he knew, we could depend on him to protect Augusta from it, and that way Leo would never know.”

  “I do not understand why you wish to keep this from him,” Lucy said. “You are his sisters, surely he has the right to know the truth?”

  “No, no!” Martha cried. “He must not know! He would start meddling, talking of asylums, and asking questions about the dowry money, and then there would be lawyers and court proceedings and a terrible scandal, and we are all agreed that we must avoid him knowing at all costs.”

  “But he is perfectly amiable,” Lucy said, hurt on Mr Audley’s behalf. “He would understand, I am certain he would.”

  “He would interfere,” Martha said firmly. “Whatever happens, he must hear nothing about it. He has the power to destroy us utterly, all of us. He must never know.”

  ~~~~~

  Leo and Tom spent their first evening at Stoneleigh Hall at Henry Dunbar’s small house on the fringe of the estate. The Dunbars had an apartment within the Bath house, too, but this was their real home, where they spent the summer months. Tom had never seen it before, but he exclaimed in delight over the well-proportioned rooms, furnished in the modern style but with an unusual degree of artistry.

  “This is as beautiful a room as I have ever seen,” Tom exclaimed, when he and Leo were shown into the drawing room. “Who designed it for you?”

  “All my wife’s work,” Henry said complacently. “She has a great eye for style, do you not agree?”

  Mary Dunbar was as tall and slender as her husband, and dressed, as usual, with exquisite elegance. Leo always felt inadequate beside her, despite his own fashionable attire, but he bowed over her hand with genuine pleasure.

  “Mary, how kind in you to take pity on us, all alone as we are in that great house,” Leo said.

  She laughed, a gentle, musical sound. “All alone, but for several dozen servants. How many is it now, Henry? Twenty five? Thirty?”

  “Thirty two, including the gardeners and the gamekeeper,” her husband said complacently. “And thirty three on Tuesday, when the new under housemaid arrives. You instructed me to keep on the full complement of staff, Mr Leonard, and so I have done.”

  “I have no objection. I always wished the place to be kept in good order, even the parts that Mr Nightingale never saw.”

  “Very sensible,” Mary said. “Now you may move in immediately, and find no deficiency. Shall you make changes at once? Or perhaps you may choose to wait until you marry before undertaking renovations.”

  “I cannot say,” Leo said, gloomily. “Who knows if I may ever marry?”

  The Dunbars exchanged glances. “Your suit is not proceeding well?” Henry said.

  “In all honesty, I cannot say that it is proceeding at all,” Leo said. “She will not have me, and there is no more to be said.”

  “You have offered already?” Mary said, her face alight with interest. “And she refused you?”

  “How extraordinary!” Henry said.

  His wife chuckled. “How like a man, to find it impossible to conceive that a lady might refuse an offer of marriage. She is very young yet, Leo. She will think better of it, if you give her time.”

  “You know, then, who the lady is?” Leo said.

  “Oh, certainly, for you told Henry you would bring her to Stoneleigh, and there was only one lady who could possibly have captured your affections, so fastidious as you are. I understand your tastes, Leo.”

  “And you approve?” Tom put in. “She is not Leo’s usual style at all.”

  “One does not choose a wife in the same way that one chooses a flirtation, Mr Coylumbroke, and choosing a mistress for Stoneleigh is not a matter to be taken lightly. She must be a great beauty, and accomplished, naturally, and from a long-established family, for anything less would be an insult to the Audley name, but she must also be one able to take her place by Leo’s side as a leader of society, setting the standards for others to follow. She must be imbued with serenity, and able to impart her own calm good sense to others, knowing when to speak words of encouragement, and when to remain silent. She must be wise beyond her years, and although the lady in question is young and may not meet all these standards yet, I have every confidence that she will, in time. So indeed I approve Leo’s choice.”

  Leo could not help laughing, for a less accurate portrait of Lucy could scarcely be imagined. A leader of society! Nor was she a great beauty, or accomplished, and she was never able to remain silent. But there was a serenity about her, or at least, he felt serene when he was with her, which was almost the same.

  Tom laughed too. “Then you do not know.”

  A flash of doubt crossed Mary’s face. “It is not Miss Smythe-Hunter?”

  “It is not,” Leo said, who was struggling to bring the lady’s face to mind. He had a brief vision of a pale, blonde girl, ethereally pretty but without a thought in her head beyond the commonplace. “Would you care to guess again?”

  Dinner was announced at just that moment, and they went through in silence. It was not until the soup had been removed and the footman had withdrawn that Mary took up the subject again.

  “Then it must be the younger Miss Smythe-Hunter. No one else was remotely eligible.”

  Tom chuckled. “Wrong again. Leo’s choice is not in the least eligible, but he has set his heart on her.”

  Mary puzzled over it. “There was no one else, for Miss Jarvis is too young and the Miss Watfords are— Oh! You cannot mean Mrs Price? Oh, my dear Leo, you cannot be serious!”

&n
bsp; “I thought her a pleasant, unassuming girl,” Henry said. “It crossed my mind she might be the one, but you were so sure it was the Smythe-Hunter girl.”

  “But Mrs Price! And why on earth would a woman like that refuse you?” Mary cried. “It is not as if she has any other prospects. Naturally you do not need a large dowry, Leo, but she is penniless! A poor widow who must needs take a position as a paid chaperon! Good grief, what are you thinking?”

  Leo smiled, not in the least discomfited. He had thought much the same of Lucy himself, once, until he began to know her better. “Thinking has very little to do with it, Mary. You are quite right — Miss Smythe-Hunter would be an infinitely more sensible choice, if all I wished for were a mistress for Stoneleigh and a leader of society. But, irrational creature that I am, I want a wife who will make me smile over the breakfast tea cups, and bring warmth and kindness and joy to my miserable existence. And love. I find I cannot face the prospect of a marriage without love, and not the everyday, gentle kind of affection that I might find with Miss Smythe-Hunter and her ilk, but a deep, abiding passion that rules my every waking moment, and steers me through life in utter contentment. The sort that you and Henry enjoy, Mary. And that kind of love I can only find with Lucy Price. If she would have me.”

  Mary said no more, and the conversation turned to other subjects, but when the men joined her in the drawing room for tea, she said at once, “I have been thinking about your Mrs Price, Leo. Now that I consider the matter, it is clear to me that she is not at all as unsuitable as I had initially supposed. Her family is a respectable one, I understand, even if she now lives in reduced circumstances, and she is not at all shy, which is always a mercy. There is no doing anything with a girl who never opens her mouth. But if you will place Mrs Price in my hands, then I will undertake to polish her up a little, improve her dress and deportment, and instruct her in her duties as mistress of Stoneleigh. With application, we may improve her deficiencies to an acceptable degree.”

  Leo smiled but shook his head. “You are all generosity, Mary, but I do not think you quite understand. I love Lucy just the way she is. In my eyes, she has no deficiencies. If I were so fortunate as to secure her hand in marriage, I should be very sorry to see her polished up, as you put it. She might spend a little more on her clothes, if she pleases, but she needs no other improvement.”

  “I see,” Mary said, but Leo could tell by her bewildered expression that she did not see at all.

  He laughed. “That does not mean she will not benefit from your advice, Mary. You have impeccable taste, and when it is time to make improvements to Stoneleigh, you may exercise your skills in that direction, with my goodwill.”

  “Oh, yes!” she said, her face lighting up. “I have some ideas already that may be of interest. The grand saloon, for instance—”

  “Not yet!” he said laughing. “Let me but secure my bride, and you may have a free rein, but not yet, I beg you.”

  As Tom and Leo walked back to Stoneleigh Hall later that night under the light of the almost full moon, Tom said diffidently, “Do you truly believe Mrs Price is perfect? Is that what love is, thinking the loved one is perfect?”

  “No one is perfect,” Leo said at once. “Certainly not I, and not Lucy either. Perfection would be very dull, I think. But I do not want her to be turned into just another vapid society lady, more concerned with her gowns and her next card party than anything else. Do you know which part of Stoneleigh she liked best? The walled kitchen garden. We walked all around it, and she was quite delighted with its rows of beans, and neatly clipped herbs. But there was nowhere to sit… she would like a bench to sit upon, I think. Tomorrow I shall tell the gardeners to have a bench put in. Or perhaps an arbour…”

  “But will you tire of her?” Tom said. “How does one know if love will last for ever or is just a passing fling?”

  “That I cannot answer,” Leo said. “All I know is that with Lucy, I want to try to make it last for ever.”

  24: Confinement (August)

  AUGUST

  The dreary weeks passed by. Leo could not summon the enthusiasm to begin any work on the house itself, for if ever Lucy were to be mistress of it, he would want her help to decide what changes to make, and if she were not, he cared nothing for the place. In vain Henry suggested this architect or that builder, and in the end, Leo agree to allow some repainting to be done, where the existing paint should be peeling off the walls, but nothing beyond that.

  Instead, he spent his days riding to the remoter parts of his domain, talking to the tenants and labourers, inspecting roofs and wells and windows, while Waterstone, Leo’s secretary, made copious notes and Henry, who had wondered only that morning whether Leo might like to add a ballroom or an orangery or an entire new wing to the Hall itself, sucked his teeth and pouted over the expenditure of fifty pounds to stop the windows rattling on some farm cottages.

  The local worthies saw that he was settled for the summer, and a steady stream of callers, followed by the inevitable inflow of invitations, saw Leo and Tom effortlessly absorbed into the society surrounding Stoneleigh. Two young men, one in full possession of a sizable fortune, and the other heir to one, could not fail to please the local families, and Leo found himself introduced to a succession of blushing hopefuls.

  “It is astonishing how generous these people are,” Tom said as the carriage conveyed them home one evening. “Not only do they open their doors to us, two strangers in their midst, but they have invited every unmarried niece and cousin and grand-daughter they can find. How thoughtful of them.”

  Leo laughed. “I would not mind if any of them were interesting, but they all simper and blush and find it impossible to construct a coherent sentence. One fears for the future of England if this is the best we can manage to raise the next generation.”

  “You are too harsh,” Tom said, sombrely. “These are not the sophisticates of Bath, and they have probably never seen anyone quite like you before.”

  “Not seen anyone like me? Am I so outlandish?”

  “You have a degree of town bronze unusual here in the hinterland, let us say. You are as far above their reach as the moon, and just as dazzling. Naturally they are tongue-tied. Such reticence is rather charming.”

  “I find it tedious rather than charming. Do you like such behaviour?”

  Tom shrugged. “Not especially. Conversation is hard labour with such girls. I like a lady one may talk with freely, but still innocent enough to blush when paid a compliment.”

  “Ah,” Leo said, amused. “Winifred, perhaps?”

  Another shrug. “Perhaps. I like her better than these simpering misses, certainly. They do not attract me at all.”

  “Nor me,” Leo said.

  They ended the journey in silence, Leo with his head full of Lucy, and Tom no doubt thinking of Winifred.

  Leo was in some anxiety now for Gussie. She wrote to him regularly, her letters filled with her troubles of the moment. He knew immediately when Lucy had returned to the Priory, even before he broke the seal on the letter bearing the news, for Gussie wrote with a more regular hand. Lucy’s serenity and good sense calmed even Gussie’s nerves. The twins had complained so greatly of her loss, and their difficulties in getting about, that Kingsley’s nerves had yielded to their entreaties and brought Lucy back to the Priory. For several days, Gussie’s letters were happier, with fewer complaints.

  But then the letters ceased for several days, to be followed by a terse missive from Kingsley to report that Gussie was safely delivered of a son.

  “Another boy!” Tom said, hearing the news. “No one can fault your sister’s efforts to secure the succession.”

  “No…” Leo said, barely attending. “This happened days ago. It is as if Kingsley did not want me to know. I must go to her, I think.”

  “You can do nothing useful, Leo. Infants are women’s work.”

  “Nevertheless, I must go there. If anything should happen to this baby… and I do not trust Kingsley to deal kin
dly with Gussie. He means to take the child from her, and I must be there to offer her what comfort is in my power.”

  “Of course,” Tom said. “May I…? It is presumptuous of me, I know, but may I come with you?”

  “Well, I shall hardly leave you behind, all alone here, with only a hundred unmarried females to entertain you. But they may not want us in the house, so we must be prepared to put up at an inn if so. Ring for Mrs Grace, will you, Tom? We must leave at once.”

  They were on the road within the hour, both valets rigid with indignation at the short notice. They drove in silence, and Leo felt every lurch of the carriage, every pot hole seemingly twice as deep as usual, every delay put there expressly to slow his passage. He was impelled with a terrible urgency, and yet he could not say why, or what he would do when he arrived. Kingsley was master of his own house, his own wife and his own child, and Leo was powerless to prevent him from doing whatever he wished with them.

  The Kingsley carriage waited at the door as they arrived, the coachman and groom whispering together at the horses’ heads. Leo barely waited for his own carriage to cease moving before throwing open the door and leaping to the ground. He took the steps two at a time, racing past the surprised footman at the door and strode into the hall.

  He heard the screams from upstairs as soon as he crossed the threshold. The first person he saw was Lucy, white-faced, her skirts flying as she hastened down the stairs towards him.

  “Thank God you are come! He is sending her to an asylum! She has locked herself in her dressing room, but he swears he will break down the door. You must reason with him, Mr Audley. He must not do this, he must not! You can convince him otherwise, I know you can.”

  Leo flew up the stairs. It was just as she had said. On the landing, a cluster of anxious servants hovered, distressed. The door to Gussie’s boudoir stood wide open, and from within could be heard continuing screams, and then, ominously, a loud thump. Leo found Kingsley, his coat off, his face red with exertion, hurling himself against the inner door to the dressing room, while the butler and a footman stood by, horrified expressions on their faces. From behind the door, Gussie emitted a high-pitched wail, over and over again, like a wounded animal.