“Jackson,” Celia murmured as they took seats next to each other on the settee. “Look at that!”
He followed her gaze to the mantel, which held a motley assortment of baby shoes, notes with childish illustrations, tiny dresses, and lace caps—all proudly displayed beneath a framed print of Halstead Hall.
Celia’s eyes filled with tears. “I remember that cap, the sweet one with the scalloped edges. It was my favorite when I was eight. Gran must have given it to her when I outgrew it.”
She started to rise from the settee, but he placed a hand on her arm. “You’re not Celia right now, remember? You don’t know this woman.”
A shuddering breath escaped her. “Of course.”
Her gaze dropped to his hand, and he jerked it away.
“Perhaps you should give me your notebook and a pencil,” she went on. “Since I’m supposed to be taking notes.”
“Right.”
He’d just passed it over when Anne appeared in the doorway to usher in a portly lady of about seventy, dressed all in gray, except for her snowy mob cap, her net tucker, and her white lace cuffs. He bit back a smile. His aunt, though quite a bit younger than this woman, kept just such a pair of fancy cuffs that attached under her sleeves for “company.”
As he and Celia rose and Anne made introductions, Mrs. Duffett peered at them with a smile. “How delightful to make your acquaintance, sir! And you, too, Miss Pinter, of course. How is his lordship? I heard that he has finally married, along with two of his brothers and one of his sisters. I was so glad to hear of it. He was always a good boy.”
“And he has become a fine man, too,” Jackson said, conscious of Celia’s gaze on him.
As they all sat down, he slid a glance at Celia, wondering if she could contain her reactions to a woman who must have been like a mother to her. Though Celia wore a carefully bland expression that gave nothing away, he noticed that her hands trembled in her lap.
Best get right to it, before she betrayed herself. “Mrs. Duffett,” Jackson said, “his lordship has asked me to gather information for the family about the day of their parents’ deaths. New evidence has come to light that what we believed happened that day might not be entirely correct.”
“My, my,” she said, touching one gray-gloved hand to her throat. “Do you think it wasn’t suicide after all?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
“It just seemed so odd. Her ladyship wasn’t the sort to shoot herself. Drown herself, perhaps, but never shoot herself.” She smoothed out her skirts. “She was always elegant, very aware of her appearance. Shooting is just so … messy, don’t you think?”
“Quite,” he said dryly. “Let’s start with the events of that day in the nursery. I’d like a clearer picture of where his lordship and ladyship—and the children—were at every moment of the day.”
“The children?”
“Yes. It would help with my mapping out the scene, you see.”
“Oh.” That seemed to confuse her momentarily, but then she said, “Well, I can tell you where the children were, but I’m not sure I remember the whereabouts of his lordship and ladyship at every moment.”
“Anything you remember would be a help.”
She pursed her lips, then glanced at her granddaughter. “Annie, dear, would you mind putting the kettle on for tea? I’m fair near to being parched, and I’m sure my guests are, too.” As Anne rose, she added, “And when it’s ready, bring some of that good quince pie, too.”
“Yes, Granny.” Anne left the room.
Mrs. Duffett smiled at Jackson. “A young man like you needs to keep up his strength. My Annie makes delicious quince pie.” She leaned forward. “She’s unattached, you know.”
“You don’t say,” he muttered with a glance at Celia, who was clearly struggling not to laugh. “Now, about that day at Halstead Hall…”
“Of course. Let me see…” With a faraway look in her eye, she settled back against her chair. “Miss Minerva and Master Gabriel rose early as usual, the little rascals, but Miss Celia slept quite a while. She had a cough, you see, and whenever it plagued her, I gave her something for it that made her sleep.”
“Paregoric elixir, you mean.”
“Exactly.” Then she caught herself and stiffened. “In my day there was none of this nonsense about its being bad for children. Sleep is important when a child is sick.”
“Of course.”
Her papery cheeks got pink. “She slept right through breakfast, she did. She was still fast asleep when her ladyship came in to check on her—”
“Her ladyship?” he broke in, a sudden chill running down his spine. “You mean, Lady Stoneville?”
“Of course. She always came in to check on the children when they were ill.”
When Celia caught her breath beside him, he shot her a warning glance. “And what of his lordship? Did he do the same?”
Mrs. Duffett gave a tinkling laugh. “Don’t be silly. He never rose that early. Sometimes he would come in at night right before dinner and give them a little fun, but I daresay he was still abed that morning.”
Perhaps it had been a dream, after all. “So you and her ladyship were alone with the children.”
“Well, of course. I suppose someone might have come in later after I left with Master Gabriel and Miss Minerva—”
“You left the nursery?” Celia asked from beside him.
Mrs. Duffett looked startled at Celia’s speaking up. “I took the children for a walk at her ladyship’s insistence. She said she’d look after Miss Celia.”
The ramifications of that hit him all at once. Celia had insisted that it was her father in the nursery that morning. But what if it hadn’t been? What if it had been her mother?
What if her mother had arranged the assignation at the hunting lodge? It would explain why she’d ridden off before his lordship.
“Was her ladyship alone when you returned to the nursery?” Jackson prodded.
“Yes, but she only stayed a moment longer. She mumbled something about having to see to her guests and hurried off.”
He thought back over what Celia had described. It was possible that while trying not to alert Nurse to her cough, Celia hadn’t noticed her mother still there. Memory could be inexact in a young child.
Or the whole thing really had been just a dream.
Confound it all. He had to know more, but if he led Mrs. Duffett through the whole day, it would take forever, and they didn’t have that long before people back at Halstead Hall would notice Celia’s absence.
Perhaps it was time for another tack. “Let me ask you something. You seemed skeptical about Lady Stoneville taking her own life. If you were to hazard a guess as to what happened in the hunting lodge, what would it be?”
She lifted a hand to her throat. “I could never presume…”
“Humor me. It might lead the investigation in a new direction. And if, by some chance, the Sharpes were murdered, wouldn’t you want to see their killer brought to justice?”
“Murdered!” she exclaimed.
He shrugged. “If her ladyship didn’t kill herself…”
“Oh! I take your meaning, sir.” She stared up at the print over the fireplace. “My word. Murdered?”
“It’s quite possible. So tell me about the gossip at the time. What did you hear of the Sharpes and their affairs that might have led to murder?” When she looked uneasy, he prodded her. “I understand that his lordship was … indiscriminate with his affections?”
She colored. “Well, I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but…” She leaned forward. “He did have a lady friend or two.”
He forced himself not to look at Celia for her reaction. After all, she knew of her father’s indiscretions. “That must have upset her ladyship terribly.”
“It did.” She lowered her voice meaningfully. “Though there was talk that he wasn’t alone in his entertainments. Some said that her ladyship had decided that what was sauce for the gander was sauce
for the goose, if you take my meaning.”
His blood pounded in his ears as everything Celia had told him flashed through his mind. The “mia dolce bellezza” could just as easily have been spoken by Lady Stoneville’s lover, to tease her with words her husband might have used. That could have been why the woman got angry over it. And it would explain why her ladyship had been in the nursery when Mrs. Duffett came in. If his lordship had been there, he would have felt no need to leave. He would just have shooed his mistress out.
The way her ladyship must have done with her lover.
It would also explain why his lordship’s valet had insisted that the man hadn’t been involved with Mrs. Rawdon. Because he hadn’t.
Apparently Celia had come to the same conclusions, for she jumped to her feet and said hoarsely, “No, Mama would never have … she could never … it’s a lie! I don’t believe it!” She cast him a frantic look. “Jackson, tell her it’s not possible!”
Damn, damn, damn.
“‘Mama?’” Mrs. Duffett squeaked. “Wait, I thought you were Mr. Pinter’s … oh, dear, you can’t be … I didn’t realize—”
“Forgive me for the subterfuge,” he said hastily. “But as you’ve probably guessed, this isn’t my sister. This, I’m afraid, is Lady Celia Sharpe.”
And she’d just sent his interrogation all to hell.
Chapter Fifteen
Celia could tell from Jackson’s stony expression that she’d ruined his plans for how this discussion should go, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t let such an idea stand! Mama would never have taken a lover. Never! Not when she hated Papa’s infidelities so.
“Miss Celia?” Nurse squinted as she too rose from her seat. “Little Elf?”
“Papa was the one to call me Elf,” Celia said absently, thumbing through her memories, trying to make sense of them in light of what Nurse was claiming about Mama.
“Aye. That’s why we started doing it. It fit you then—you were such a tiny thing.”
But she hadn’t been a tiny thing in a long while. Even her siblings didn’t call her Elf anymore, so it felt strange to have Nurse do so.
Nurse shocked her by seizing her in a great hug. “Oh, my dear girl, I can’t believe it’s you!” She peered at her with a misty gaze. “Look at you, all grown up. Why, you’re so tall! And so elegant-looking, too. What a fine lady you’ve turned out to be.”
“I … I … thank you.” Celia was torn between wanting to embrace her old nurse and wanting to shake her for what she’d said. She stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do.
“Oh! I’ve got something to show you. Come!” Grabbing Celia by the hand, Nurse drew her to a trunk and opened it to reveal a trove of baby dresses and shoes and the like. “Your grandmother was always so kind about letting me keep a thing or two after you children outgrew it.”
She began to rummage through the trunk. “Now where is it…” She picked up a worn primer. “Oh, look, this was your brother’s. Master Gabe carried it everywhere after your parents … Well, anyway, he liked the pictures.”
Shoving it into Celia’s hand, she searched some more. “And here is Miss Minerva’s red handkerchief.” She shot Celia a knowing glance. “Your sister always did like the colorful ones. You liked the dainty ones—lots of lace. You loved them to be pretty and feminine.”
“Did she?” Jackson sounded surprised as he came to stand beside them.
She felt his steady gaze on her, but couldn’t return it, her mind still too full of turmoil.
“Oh yes,” Nurse said. “It was strange really. She liked girlish clothes, but she wasn’t squeamish like most girls. She was curious about everything, even bugs and spiders. Minerva would scream at the sight of a snake, but Miss Celia wanted to pick it up and examine it. She wanted to know how things worked.” She cast Celia a sly smile. “That is, until Master Ned caught her attention when she was nine. Then she turned all simpering and silly.”
Jackson went rigid. “Ned Plumtree?”
Heavens, Celia had forgotten that her infatuation for Ned had started so early. Or that she’d often confided in Nurse about it.
“Yes, indeed.” Mrs. Duffett patted Celia’s hand. “How is your cousin? He made all the girls swoon in his day, and you were the worst, as I recall.”
“Ned is fine,” she said tightly, unable to meet Jackson’s gaze. Swiftly she changed the subject. “What is it you were looking for in the trunk?”
“Oh!” Nurse rummaged a moment more, then pulled out a bedraggled fashion doll with one glass eye missing and half its hair worn off. “Do you remember this, dearie?”
“Lady Bell!” Tears stung Celia’s eyes. “But I threw it away!”
“I know. I fished it out and kept it in case you missed it. You loved that doll so.”
Celia held it close, her heart full as she stared at the ragged leather arms and the wax cheeks with the pink worn from them. “I remember the day Mama gave it to me. She’d returned from a shopping trip to London with gifts for us all.”
But that was the Mama of her fondest memories. Not the frustrated woman who might have stood in the nursery making an assignation with a man other than Papa. She blinked back her tears.
Could it be true? Mama and another man, together?
Nurse touched her arm. “Forgive me, dearie, for gossiping about your mama. I am so very sorry.”
“No,” she said hastily, seizing Nurse’s hand. “Don’t be sorry. It’s important that I hear it, even if it means…”
It was time to grow up, time to look at her parents with a hard eye. That’s what it might take to find their killer.
Celia swallowed hard. “I’m not a little girl anymore. I need—” She glanced at Jackson. “We need to hear the truth. Please tell us whatever you remember. Any piece of information might be crucial.”
Nurse stared into her face with worry in her eyes, then nodded. “Well then, come sit down. I’ll see what I can recall.”
When they were seated, Celia asked, “Was there ever any evidence that Mama had a … lover? Or was it just gossip?”
The old woman sighed. “Cook claimed she saw her ladyship kissing a man in the pantry late at night, but couldn’t see who the man was. She knew it wasn’t your papa because he had already gone to bed.”
And sadly, their previous cook had been dead for some years.
“When did she see this?” Jackson asked. “During the house party? Or some other time?”
“She never said. Or if she did, I don’t remember.”
“Did she have any idea who it might have been?” Jackson prodded.
Nurse shook her head no. “We joked that it was Mr. Virgil. He always spoke glowingly of her ladyship.”
“Not always,” Celia put in, remembering her dream.
Her memory?
“Nurse, on the day my parents died, did you and Mr. Virgil discuss it while you rocked me to sleep?”
“You remember that?” Nurse said, looking startled.
A chill coursed down Celia’s spine. “I think so. Mr. Virgil called Mama a coward, and it made me cry. And then I asked you to sing ‘William Taylor.’”
Nurse grew very agitated. “Oh, dearie, that fairly gave me goose bumps.”
“Why?” Jackson asked.
Both Nurse and Celia eyed him askance.
“I’m not familiar with the song,” Jackson said defensively. “I asked my aunt about it after you mentioned it, Lady Celia, but she didn’t know it either.”
“It’s an old English ballad that used to be one of our favorites,” Celia explained. “William Taylor is on his way to be married when he’s impressed. His bride-to-be dresses as a sailor and goes hunting for him in the navy. She serves aboard a ship, and in battle it’s discovered that she’s a woman.”
Nurse took up the tale. “The captain asks why she’s there, and she says she’s looking for her true love. He tells her that her true love has married another, and she can find him walking the beach nearby. So she lies in wait for William, find
s him with his new bride, and shoots him.” She cast Celia a long glance. “It was downright spooky that you asked for that, dearie, given what had just happened.”
“Not at all,” Celia said. “You and Mr. Virgil were talking about people being shot. That was the only song I knew about such things. Besides, I always liked it because of what happened to the woman who shoots William.” Celia gave Jackson a rueful smile. “The captain makes her the commander of a ship.”
Jackson arched an eyebrow. “That would appeal to you.”
“The important thing,” she said, “is that it means my dream probably isn’t just a dream.”
“Probably,” Jackson agreed.
“Dream?” Nurse asked.
Quickly Celia described the entirety of it, starting with what had happened that morning.
Nurse looked troubled. “To the best of my knowledge, that’s a fair account of what happened that day. I didn’t realize anybody was in the nursery with her ladyship that morning, but I suppose it’s possible.”
“Even if it is,” Celia said, “we still don’t know who it was. And we can’t be sure he had anything to do with the murders. Why would he shoot Mama if he was in love with her?”
“I have some theories about that,” Jackson said enigmatically. “But I’ll need more information.” He rose. “And we should be getting back anyway.”
Anne came in just then, with an amply loaded tray. “You’re leaving?” she said, disappointment on her face.
“Not yet, they aren’t!” Nurse exclaimed. “You just put that tray down over here on the table,” she told her granddaughter with a stubborn set to her chin. “We’re going to have tea, we are.”
“Mrs. Duffett, I do regret this, but—” Jackson began.
“Come now, you can’t leave yet. I’ve barely had the chance to talk to my little girl here.” She seized Celia’s hand as she faced him down. “I want to hear all about the family—what they’ve been doing, how everyone is faring … what the people they married are like…” She brightened. “Did they come with you to town, Mr. Pinter? I mean, what with Lady Celia being unmarried, I know you didn’t come here alone with her.”
A Lady Never Surrenders Page 16