The Mystery at Falconbridge Hall

by Maggi Andersen

  “My, how pretty you look in blue, Miss Blythe,” Vanessa couldn’t help saying. The child’s skin was the color and texture of a peach. She would surely grow up to be a beauty.

  “Blue is my favorite color.” Blythe tugged at her skirt.

  “Vanessa put down her cup. Let’s see.” She bent to examine the hem. “If it’s a favorite, it can be let down. You might get another season’s wear out of it.”

  “Oh? I would like that.”

  “Do you fancy some scrambled eggs? They are delicious.”

  “No, thank you.” Selecting a roll Blythe sat at the table.

  “We’ll begin English studies later this morning. After I’ve seen your father.” Vanessa forked the last of her egg into her mouth, savoring the buttery flavor.

  Blythe screwed up her nose. “Miss Lillicrop was fond of poetry. She read it a lot.”

  “Yes, poetry will be part of your studies. We shall begin with English, however.” Vanessa wondered if Miss Lillicrop had taught botany. She must have a fine grasp of entomology to draw butterflies in such exquisite detail.

  Mrs. Royce entered the room. “Your father insists you eat eggs, Miss Blythe. And be sure to drink your milk.” She motioned to the maid. “Serve Miss Blythe some eggs.”

  Blythe’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “I don’t like eggs.”

  “Come now, you know you haven’t been well,” Mrs. Royce said. “The doctor insists on an egg a day.”

  Having finished her breakfast, Vanessa put down her napkin and smiled reassuringly at Blythe. “We’ll begin in the schoolroom at eleven,” she said, pushing her chair back. “During the afternoon, we’ll read a new story, and then you can take me on an exploration of the gardens.”

  As she left the room, Mrs. Royce said, “Please eat some egg, Miss Blythe. If you don’t, I’ll have to inform your father.”

  Vanessa remembered passing the library on her first day. She located it without difficulty, pleased to find it empty. It had been designed for masculine comfort and there was a lingering smell of cigars and pipe smoke. Bookshelves covered all available wall space. A tan leather chesterfield and a pair of chairs were grouped together before the hearth. The Times, The Daily Telegraph, The London Daily News, The London Standard, and the Penny Press were neatly stacked on the wide desk by the window.

  A variety of magazines were placed in a rack beside the sofa. Vanessa sorted through The Gentleman’s Magazine, Punch, The Strand, and the London Sunday Journal. She selected Punch and the Penny Press to take back to her room.

  She roamed the shelves searching for suitable books and found several on botany, including an impressive tome by Lord Falconbridge on Lepidoptera. She placed them on a mahogany table, along with the books and the notes she’d fetched from her room. Searching further, she spied Plato’s Symposium and climbed the ladder. It was just out of reach. Not wishing to climb down, she leaned across. Her fingers touched the binding, and she leaned farther. She almost had it.

  “You read Ancient Greek, Miss Ashley?” Lord Falconbridge’s voice came from behind her.

  Vanessa jumped, and her foot slipped off the rung. She lost her balance and fell into a pair of strong arms.

  He set her on her feet.

  Lord Falconbridge had held her for barely a few minutes, but the sensation of a hard, male body and musky smell lingered. Her heart beat madly. She huffed a wisp of hair from her eyes, sure her face was crimson. “Not with any degree of expertise, my lord,” she managed to say.

  His lordship moved the ladder, climbed up, and took down the book she’d been trying to reach. He held it out to her. “Here. To make amends. I’m sorry I startled you.”

  Still thoroughly disconcerted, Vanessa took it from him. “Thank you. It was only for a moment.”

  He walked to the table and went through the books she’d selected. “You are interested in reading Darwin?” He raised his head from Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of the Species. “You aren’t bothered by the religious ramifications of his evolutionary ideas?”

  “I cannot offer an opinion. I am yet to read it, my lord.”

  He nodded. “When you do, I should like to hear your thoughts. I approve of these, except for this one.” He held up a favorite of her mother’s. “Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus. I trust you’re not planning to turn Blythe into a suffragette?”

  Discomfiture flooded her face with heat. “No. But I’ve long wished to read it.” She wasn’t aware he knew about her mother. She hoped it wouldn’t become a bone of contention between them. Many men did not approve of the women’s suffrage movement.

  He gestured to the settee. “Sit down, please, Miss Ashley.”

  “I thought you might care to see what I have planned.” She gathered up her notes. “This is a list of subjects I intend to cover and the books I brought with me.”

  Sitting in a chair, he took the notes and read them. Without comment, he flicked open the books.

  She took a deep breath, knowing she must broach the subject. “My lord, I have to tell you I had not thought of botany. I’ll need some time to prepare.”

  “I gathered as much,” he said, without looking up. After several minutes, he closed the books. “These seem appropriate.” He gave a brief smile. “No need to concern yourself. I will teach my daughter botany.”

  Then why hadn’t he mentioned it? Did he enjoy making her feel awkward? She bit her lip before a note of outrage escaped. She’d spent hours worrying about botany lessons before falling asleep. She was sure it had caused her disturbed dream. “I should like to learn something of botany, myself.”

  “You may attend the lessons if you wish.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Your choice of reading material surprises me. I too enjoy reading the Classics. Shakespeare most particularly.”

  “I am delighted to see you have his complete works here.”

  “You have a favorite?”

  “Henry V.”

  His eyebrows rose. “I was expecting Shakespeare’s more romantic plays, As You Like It or Twelfth Night.”

  “They are vastly entertaining, but I like his more powerful dramas.”

  “Indeed.” His blue eyes studied her as he rose. “I think we’ve covered everything. What do you plan for Blythe this afternoon?”

  “I understand that she has been under a doctor’s care. I thought a walk in the fresh air might be beneficial.”

  “An excellent notion. But please refrain from entering the wood.”

  “Oh? Poachers, my lord?”

  “We’ve had the odd poacher setting traps in the past, but I’m afraid a more serious incident happened some months ago. After a young woman from a nearby village went missing, her body was found in our wood. She had killed herself.”

  Vanessa drew in a sharp breath. “How sad.”

  “Indeed. I’d prefer Blythe not to know.” He walked to the door.

  It shut behind him, leaving Vanessa alone. She was horrified. What would cause a woman to do such a thing?

  Chapter Three

  Vanessa rose before breakfast and dressed in the divided skirt she’d worn when cycling in Cornwall. She left the quiet house and rode around the estate enjoying the titter of swallows in the trees, past gnarled old apple trees, the grass dotted with fallen fruit after the harvest, and along the lime tree walk. The wind had risen in the night, the air sweetly scented with fallen blossoms covering the ground.

  As she followed the gravel drive, she thought about what she had discovered in the early edition of the Penny Press last night. An article critical of Queen Victoria’s son, Edward, the Prince of Wales, described his life of notorious luxury, and how he was known to have had a number of public affairs, most notably with the celebrated beauty and actress, Lillie Langtry, as well as Mrs. Alice Keppel. The prince had pursued society beauty, Clara Montague, daughter of the Hon. Clive Montague, cabinet minister, before she married Viscount Falconbridge of Falconbridge Hall. A grainy picture showed the elegant Clara at the A
scot races, wearing a wide-brimmed hat decorated with feathers and flowers. What a handsome couple Lord and Lady Falconbridge must have made.

  Vanessa rode back to the shed that housed her bicycle, planning to change before breakfast. She startled two female servants walking up the path. They stopped to stare as she rode past, whispering together. She reluctantly returned to the house, hating to be watched and criticized. She’d never before come under such scrutiny. This world was so formal and so different to the carefree life she’d lived. In Cornwall she sometimes went out without shoes!

  When she entered the kitchen, talk abruptly ceased only to begin again when she left the room. Let them talk. They’d soon tire of it when there was nothing of interest to say. She straightened her shoulders and refused to let it upset her. A governess was a difficult position, wedged betwixt the family and the staff. She hoped in time she would come to be accepted and make friends here.

  By the third day, Vanessa and Blythe had settled into a routine. Lessons in the morning, lunch followed by a walk in the gardens, the afternoons taken up with Blythe’s music lesson with a visiting teacher and reading or an art lesson with Vanessa.

  When Lord Falconbridge gave notice of a botany lesson at three o’clock, Vanessa attended.

  He put on his glasses, stood at the blackboard, and picked up a stick of chalk. “I must confess I know more about Amazonian vegetation than Britain’s flora and fauna.” He turned to the board. “Now we’ll begin with….”

  An hour passed, and the lesson altered focus with Blythe’s insistent questions about his upcoming expedition. He described the supplies they needed to take with them—bedding, tents, mosquito nets and medicines—and the mules and the native bearers they’d acquire before entering the Amazon. Once Blythe had run out of questions, he began to talk about the butterflies, animals and bird life that inhabited the jungle.

  Vanessa was fascinated. No wonder his lordship was eager to return.

  “Do they really have snakes that big?” Blythe’s eyes were like saucers.

  His lordship appeared to be enjoying himself just as much as his daughter. “They are called boa constrictors. They squeeze their prey to death and swallow them whole.”

  Blythe gave a wild squeal. “Tell me about the leopards again.”

  “All right. But next time the lesson must be about flora rather than fauna,” he said, with a sheepish glance at Vanessa.

  She looked down with a smile. It could not be described as botany, but he had spiked the child’s interest and drawn her out of herself. Vanessa only wished her lessons had the same result. Blythe usually said little, completing her sums, and spelling without complaint.

  Increasingly, Vanessa had felt there was something wrong. The child was unnaturally glum even though there were no black-draped mirrors or signs of mourning in the house. Surely, losing her mother some time ago would no longer lie at the heart of this sadness. Her father clearly doted on her.

  At lunch the next day, Blythe looked heavy-eyed. She yawned several times.

  “Didn’t you sleep well last night?” Vanessa asked.

  Blythe shook her head. “It was too hot.”

  “Yes, it was. Surely the weather must change soon.”

  “Soon we shall have autumn winds then winter frosts and snow, I suppose.” Blythe toyed with her plate of custard.

  “I like the autumn. The leaves turn beautiful colors like ochre, crimson, and amber.”

  Blythe’s mouth pulled down. “I hate that.”

  “Hate is a very strong emotion.”

  “My mother left us in autumn. I remember because I was pressing leaves in a book.”

  “Oh, my dear!” She reached across and patted Blythe’s hand. She was unsure if she meant her mother had gone away or she had died. Lady Falconbridge wasn’t spoken of, and Vanessa had yet to learn the circumstances of her death.

  “Mother waved to me from the carriage, but she never came home again. Her portrait is in the upper corridor, wearing a green dress. She was very beautiful.”

  “I must go and see it.”

  “She died in Paris. That’s in France.”

  The child’s flat, unemotional tone disconcerted Vanessa.

  “How sad. I am sorry.”

  “I didn’t see much of her,” Blythe said, a catch in her voice. “She was always very busy.”

  “I expect she had a lot of responsibilities,” Vanessa said.

  Blythe wiped the tears clinging to her lashes. “I didn’t mind her going out all the time. She made Father unhappy when she was here.” Her little face crumpled. “And I don’t think she loved me.”

  Concerned, Vanessa moved her chair closer and placed an arm around Blythe’s shoulders. “Of course, she did. How could she not love you, silly?” She gave her a squeeze.

  “Why, you are so loveable, and all mothers love their children.”

  “Do they, Miss Ashley?”

  “Of course, they do,” Vanessa said firmly.

  Blythe rested her head against Vanessa’s bosom and cried hot tears. Holding the child’s sobbing little body, Vanessa bit back her own tears. Blythe had carried this for such a long time. Society couples did lead busy lives. They weren’t always as involved with their children as the lower classes. She stroked Blythe’s hair and tried not to despise her mother. Marriages failed, and it was impossible for others to cast blame, but the neglect of a child was unforgiveable.

  “You have elf-locks.” She smoothed back the dark tresses that had escaped Blythe’s braids.

  Big tear-washed blue eyes gazed into hers. “What are elf-locks?”

  “Your hair is tangled. Have you heard the fable of Queen Mab and her night fairies?”

  Blythe shook her head.

  “They created mischief while everyone slept. Mercutio says so in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliette. ‘She is the same Mab that plaits the manes of horses in the night; and bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, which once untangled much misfortune bodes.’”

  Blythe gave a watery giggle and wiped her eyes.

  “Shall I brush and braid your hair for you?”

  “Yes, in a little while.” Blythe uttered a heavy sigh and leaned against her. “Will you read to me?”

  “Let’s begin another book,” Vanessa said. “How about The Light Princess? It is a story about a princess who floats in the air and must be brought down before the wind carries her off. Alas, she cannot cry, and a cure must be found to break the curse.”

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  “How about one more spoonful of custard?”

  Blythe obliged adding an extra one before pushing the plate aside.

  “Shall we go then?”

  Blythe nodded with an eager smile.

  In the schoolroom, Vanessa fetched the book. She sat down and opened it at the first page while Blythe moved her chair closer.

  They were still reading it two hours later because Blythe interjected often with questions, which resulted in lengthy discussions. Vanessa’s throat was dry, and she was glad when Dorcas brought in the tea things.

  She was relieved the story distracted Blythe from her sad thoughts. It was a light-hearted silly tale. A perfect distraction. She would think of other books in the same vein.

  After tea, as Vanessa undid Blythe’s braids and brushed her long ebony hair, the door opened, and Lord Falconbridge came in.

  “Father!” Blythe leapt from her chair, her long tresses flying as she ran to him. “We have been reading the best book.”

  Vanessa handed the book to him, hoping he would not disapprove of something so nonsensical.

  He looked carefully at Blythe then nodded and handed it back. “Carry on, Miss Ashley.” He left the room.

  While Blythe was with her music teacher the next afternoon, Vanessa cycled to the village. Passing the Black Horse Inn and a smithy’s, she rode across a narrow stone bridge over the river that ran through Falconbridge land. The church sat on a rise at the end of the village. A fine row of Georgian houses g
raced the south side of the green. Opposite was a cluster of shops some of which were old wattle and daub dwellings, and a teashop with a fine bow window. A farrier and stables could be seen farther up the street.

  As she turned the bike and cycled over the green, shopkeepers and their customers paused in conversation to watch her. Women gossiping in the street pulled their shawls closer and stared. Trying to ignore such a surprising reaction, Vanessa continued past the post office and the butcher and pulled up at the general store. A sign over the door said James Fernley, Esq. Proprietor. She parked her bike against a lamppost and entered, intent on purchasing the few items she needed. The store offered a variety of services and products from grocery items to buttons and silks, hosiery, stationery, hardware, medicines and even toys. The heady aroma of fresh baked bread wrestled with the less attractive odors of boot polish and coal. A vacant barber’s chair sat in one corner.

  With the growth of Clapham Junction only a few miles away, she wondered if Mr. Fernley’s store still did good business.

  “You’re from the Hall,” grizzled haired Mr. Fernley said, smoothing the white apron at his waist.

  “Yes. I’m the new governess.” News traveled fast in small villages. “Miss Ashley, pleased to meet you, Mr. Fernley.”

  “How’d you do.”

  She wandered around the store. A pretty lace collar and a small bag of lavender for her underwear drawer caught her eye, and she added them to her purchases of hair pins, stockings, pencils, needles, and thread the perfect color to match Blythe’s blue dress.

  Mr. Fernley packed her cloth bag with the items and handed it to her.

  “Got quite a history, that place,” he said.

  “Has it?” Vanessa waited for him to continue, but he just shrugged.

  “What’s that contraption you’re riding?” an elderly man asked her as he came in.

  When she explained, he laughed and shook his head. “It will never replace the horse.”

  She wondered what he would make of the new horseless carriages she’d read about in the newspaper. They were tarmacking the roads–the article said–in anticipation that they would one day replace horses.