“Yes, so I understand.” He cleared his throat. “Ran into a fellow from my club in St James, some weeks ago. Mentioned it. Said he knew you.”
“Might that be Mr. Frobisher? He told me he was a member of your club.”
“That’s the fellow. Had his wife with him. Stayed the night there, I gather.”
“I wasn’t aware that Mr. Frobisher was married.”
His mouth tightened. “He introduced her as such. They were leaving, and as it was first thing in the morning, I assumed she was. Pretty girl. Nice hazel eyes as I remember.”
“Perhaps he decided on a hasty marriage before he left for South America.” She smiled. “As we did.”
“If that’s so, you will learn of it soon enough. If not, it’s not a suitable topic for conversation.”
He was dreadfully proper. Nothing like her father, and she quite understood why they had not gotten on. What had brought him here after ignoring her for so long? It no longer mattered, she decided. She could never feel any genuine fondness for him. Her father had been a proud and stubborn man, but Gresham could have made amends when things were at their worst before he died.
As if he read her thoughts, he cleared his throat. “I regret that your father and I did not see eye to eye.”
“Yes, it was a pity.”
“And I should have… done more, I expect.”
“You have been extremely helpful, Uncle. It was through you that I came here.”
“I’m glad of that at least,” he said with a strained smile.
Vanessa wished he wouldn’t try to smooth things over. He obviously found it difficult, and she wondered why he bothered. It was the old earl who’d violently disapproved of her father’s art, and him marrying a merchant’s daughter. It had made his son irredeemable in his eyes. Both men were proud, and to her knowledge, neither expressed a desire to mend the rift. Her uncle, as elder son, took his father’s side. It gave her no pleasure to realize that she was now acceptable to the family, having married well.
“The house your father was to have is yours when I die, my dear. The rest, of course, is entailed and goes to the next male heir in line. A distant cousin as it stands.”
She wondered if her father would have swallowed his pride and accepted it had it been offered, and whether he would wish her to do so now. She should refuse it, but he seemed such a sad man, and she didn’t want to be ungracious. The family feud had gone on long enough. Her uncle was here to put an end to it, and she agreed. “That’s generous of you, Uncle William, thank you.”
He waved his hand to dismiss any further mention of it. “When does Lord Falconbridge return?”
“Not until well into the new year.” She suppressed a sigh. The months ahead seemed long and bleak.
“If you need anything you must send for me,” he murmured, taking her hand. His cheeks reddened.
“I appreciate that. Thank you, Uncle William.” Contrite because of her ungenerous thoughts, Vanessa kissed his bristly cheek, breathing in damp wool and tobacco. “We should be delighted should you sit down to Christmas dinner with us. Cook is preparing a very large goose with oyster stuffing.”
“Well… that is most generous of you, Vanessa. It sounds delicious.” He coughed. “But I have a prior engagement. Perhaps I can call again.”
“We look forward to it.”
As they headed to the door, he glanced around the room. “You have done well, my dear. You were in my thoughts when your father passed away. The last time we met was under difficult circumstances. You are happy?”
She gave him a reassuring smile. “I am. Very happy.”
“Then I shan’t worry.”
“Please visit us again soon. I have so little family of my own…”
“How charming you are.” He kissed her hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you sooner.”
He took his leave, reiterating his offer of any assistance. He was a childless widower, and she wondered if he might be lonely. It was comforting to know he wished her well. She doubted she’d ever need anything from him. Her life was here with Julian and Blythe, but he was welcome to share it.
Alone in the drawing room, Vanessa thought about his generous offer of the country mansion on twenty acres in Devonshire. Her mother would have loved it. How different their lives might have been if her grandfather had not reneged on his promise. Perhaps her father and mother would still be alive. It was a depressing thought, and she batted it away and continued dressing the tree, refusing to dwell on the past. She couldn’t control her nightmares, but she could, for the most part, order her thoughts during the daylight hours.
The parlor maid entered with more tinsel, and Vanessa requested Blythe be fetched from the day nursery to help her. She hung a golden ball on a branch and stepped back to admire it as she directed her thoughts to Abigail Patterson and the present. Miss Patterson had attractive hazel eyes. Was she the woman her uncle had seen with Frobisher? Had that despicable rapist got her into trouble? It was none of her business, of course, and yet she felt a little responsible, for hadn’t she taken the man Abigail hoped to marry?
Chapter Seventeen
Julian and the others set up a base camp at Iquitos then moved on again through the vast wood-region traversed by the mighty Amazon and its tributaries. They reached their destination, Pebas, within the month. Charles Frobisher was to meet them there. Traveling light, he was expected any day.
They settled into the place they would call home for some time.
It drizzled incessantly, and the vivid green foliage and vines of the luxuriant primeval forest dripped water, splattering over Julian’s soaked fedora. Damp clothing clung, steaming, and smelling strongly of mildew.
“Damn heat rash!” Hewson protested with a tug at his trousers.
Julian grinned. Hewson uttered the same complaints on previous trips. He had brought with him a number of different remedies, none of which appeared to be effective. Worse, now that the rainy season had begun. The Amazon would not reach its highest point until May.
He intended to be back at the coast before it did.
Frederick Parker, shouted a command to the natives as they struggled to raise the canvas tents.
Once the main tent had been erected, Julian, Hewson and Forster gathered around the table on folding wooden chairs with the medic, Horace Carpenter and the field assistant, William Whitby. They studied the maps and outlined their plan to undertake explorations that carried them farther afield once Frobisher had joined them. Then Julian left to check his supplies. When satisfied all was in place, he grabbed his precious Kodak Brownie box camera and took a careful shot of a sloth moving in slow motion along a branch above him. This photo was for Blythe. The camera was a godsend, providing excellent visuals to back up his research.
Somewhere close by, a jaguar roared, making the mules restless and causing the thousands of squawking parrots to rise from the trees like a brilliantly colored cloud. These sights and sounds still failed to weave their magic over him. When I see the butterflies, he thought, I’ll feel it then.
Hewson approached Julian as he prepared to leave the camp.
“Off in search of butterflies?”
Julian nodded. The heat was unrelenting. He removed his hat to wipe the sweat-soaked rim with his handkerchief. He’d been thinking of home. “I just remembered it’s Christmas.”
Hewson’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “So it is.” He grinned. “I’m sorry to miss my cook’s Christmas pudding.”
“Is that all you miss, Hewson?” Julian asked, searching his face.
Hewson shrugged. “Bit overrated, isn’t it? Christmas? Why? We’ve been away at this time of year before.”
Julian picked up his camera. “I know. I never gave it much thought before.”
***
Vanessa couldn’t refuse Blythe’s request to ride Buttercup as the snow had melted away, leaving piles of slush. At the stables, Lovel brought out their horses. Blythe, running over to Buttercup, stumbled on the uneven
cobblestones, and fell onto the icy ground. For a big man, Lovel moved fast. He gathered Blythe up in his arms.
“Did you hurt yourself, Blythe?” Vanessa hurried over to her.
Lovel placed Blythe on her feet and brushed mud from her chin with a gentle finger.
“She’s as right as rain, are you not, Lady Blythe?”
Blythe smiled. “I was in such a hurry to ride Buttercup, it made me clumsy.”
“You could never be clumsy, Lady Blythe,” Lovel said. “You are as dainty as a sprite.”
Vanessa silently agreed. She almost liked Lovel in that moment.
Above them, the violet-gray sky was brushed with wisps of clouds as they rode over the meadow.
“Let’s ride as far as the river,” Blythe called, steam issuing from her lips as she spoke.
The cold bit at Vanessa’s cheeks. Vanessa inwardly groaned. “Very well.”
They trotted over the uneven ground, alert for rabbit holes.
“Isn’t that Miss Patterson?” Blythe pointed. Dense woodland rimmed the meadow along the border between the Patterson property and theirs. Abigail emerged from the trees and crossed onto Falconbridge land. At first, Vanessa thought she was coming to join them. But she looked neither right nor left and rode into their wood. It seemed odd. Was she looking for someone? That trail led deeper into the wood.
On impulse, Vanessa called to Blythe, “Why don’t we join Miss Patterson.” She tapped Flora with her crop. They cantered over to the trees and entered the wood along the same path Miss Patterson had taken.
“Father said we weren’t to go into the wood,” Blythe called from behind her.
“I know, but he would think this important.” There was only one direction Abigail could have taken, the trail barely wide enough for the horses. Brushing aside box and blackthorn, they emerged into a glade, hazy with sunbeams that broke through the tall ash. Abigail’s horse wandered the ground, the reins dangling, while she stood staring up at a giant oak.
“Wait here, Blythe.” Vanessa dismounted.
When Abigail turned, Vanessa gasped at her blank expression. She hurried over to the woman, noting her distress in the way Abigail hugged her arms.
Abigail stared up into the branches. “A woman hung herself from this tree,” she murmured.
A shiver traveled up Vanessa’s spine. She took Abigail’s arm in a firm grip. “Come away.” Abigail appeared to have lost weight. Her fur-trimmed habit of forest green hung loosely on her, and the cold failed to bring any color to her cheeks.
“Away?”
“It’s almost four o’clock. Come and have tea with us at the Hall.”
“I shouldn’t.” She bit her lip, her expression weary. “I’m expected at home. Mama has an important guest coming this evening.” She wrinkled her nose. “She intends me to marry him.”
“Do I know him?”
“It’s the Earl of Sommerforde.”
“You can spare a half hour, surely.”
Abigail straightened her shoulders. “How do you go on without his lordship? You must find it difficult, moving up in the world as you have.”
“We do nicely, thank you.” Although Abigail could still raise a provoking comment, her eyes looked swollen and rimmed with red. As much as Vanessa wanted to free her tongue to reply in kind, she ignored the urge and tried again to break through the woman’s hostile veneer. “You appear troubled, Miss Patterson. Is there something I can do?”
“Why would I be troubled?” Abigail’s shaky voice belied her words. There was something new and disturbing in her gaze. Was it panic?
“Blythe and I are just about to have tea,” she repeated. “We’d love you to join us.”
Abigail stared at Vanessa as if she didn’t really see her. “All right.”
Relieved, Vanessa waited for her to remount, before she stood on a log and scrambled onto Flora. “You lead the way, Blythe.” She guided Flora in behind them as they walked the horses single file out of the wood.
When they dismounted at the stables, Abigail hung back as if she didn’t wish to be there. Vanessa took a firm grip on her arm. “Nothing like a cup of tea, I always say,” she said chattering pointlessly.
Entering the house, Vanessa sent Blythe upstairs to study her French and have her tea in the nursery. The two women sat in the conservatory which was airy and bright. Abigail slumped in her chair. She looked exhausted, the purple shadows beneath her eyes marring her looks.
Dorcas brought a tea tray. “Cook has just taken these biscuits out of the oven, my lady. She says to be careful; they’re still hot.”
“Thank you, Dorcas.”
When the maid had gone, Vanessa poured Abigail a cup. “I can see there’s something wrong. Can’t you tell me what it is?”
Abigail’s fingers trembled as she held the cup to her lips. “You’d never understand.”
“You can trust me,” Vanessa said. “Anything you say will go no further.”
“I’ve been a fool.”
“We all are at some point, especially about men. I suppose it is a man?”
Abigail nodded.
“Charles Frobisher?”
She stared at Vanessa and put down her cup. “Has someone told you that?” she asked in a whisper.
“No. It’s just that you seemed quite close at the tennis party.” Vanessa leaned forward. “Abigail, if it is he, I must warn you against him. I’m convinced he would make you very unhappy. His lordship has told me disturbing things about him that I cannot in all conscience repeat.”
Abigail tugged at her handkerchief, the fragile lace shredding under the force of her fingers. “I am a modern woman, Lady Falconbridge.” She tossed her head. “I have the freedom to do as I wish.”
“If you’ll forgive me for saying so, it doesn’t seem to have made you happy.”
“Disappointed, perhaps, when things don’t go my way.”
The look that flashed into Abigail’s eyes reminded Vanessa that she had wanted Julian. Had she turned to Frobisher on the rebound? “Miss Patterson, I know how hard it can be for a woman—”
Abigail pushed away from the table, rattling the teacups. “I have no idea what you’ve heard about Charles, your ladyship, and I’d rather not know.”
“If you wish to talk to another woman, you know where to find me.”
“You can do nothing for me. And time heals all wounds, doesn’t it?”
“I hope so, Abigail—”
“You can’t arrive amongst us and think you can solve all our little problems. You’re a stranger, an outsider, and marrying Lord Falconbridge will not change that.”
Stung, Vanessa swallowed the hurt. “I had hoped we could be friends, as I’m alone here.”
“I hardly think that’s possible, do you?”
Vanessa gave a defeated shrug. “Then I am sorry for us both.”
She stood. “Could you have my horse brought round to the door? I’ll return home by the road.”
That evening when Vanessa sat at her mirror while Mary brushed her hair, the maid said, “Was it Miss Patterson who came to tea, my lady?”
“Yes, it was, Mary. Why?”
“It’s shocking, my lady. Miss Patterson’s maid Annie is my friend. Annie told me Miss Patterson fears she is with child.”
Vanessa caught her breath. “You do understand how very damaging such gossip can be? You won’t repeat it to another soul, will you, Mary? You must warn Miss Patterson’s maid not to either, for she might find herself let go without a reference.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Vanessa stared into the mirror. She felt a surge of pure disgust for Charles Frobisher.
With constant snowstorms and sleet the frigid winter weather curbed their outdoor activities. Vanessa thought hard to come up with indoor entertainments to keep Blythe occupied. Blythe wrote to her father every week, and Vanessa posted the letters to the organizing committee in London. They would be forwarded in due course to some outpost in Peru. She had no idea if they reached Julian,
however, for no news of the expedition had reached them.
It was quite late when Vanessa prepared for bed. She had been sitting by the fire in her bedroom, penning another letter to Julian. A chill wind sprang up and blew the curtains about, drawing her to the window. Reaching over to close it, she saw a light flickering over the grounds. She stood clutching the curtains as they billowed around her. The lantern was carried into the folly. It was too dark to make out who it was. Apparently, the cold had failed to dampen the lovers’ ardor.
When had it begun again? Vanessa had no way of knowing, but the thought of Lovel with some hapless woman made her angry. Might it be one of the housemaids?
She couldn’t picture any of the maids in his arms. Most, were innocent country girls who would find it difficult to hide such a thing from her or Mrs. Royce. Cook was too old and entirely the wrong type of woman for a liaison, but the older maid was stepping out with one of the gardeners. Might it be them? Mrs. Royce and Mr. Johnson would hardly stoop so low. If it was Lovel, it was likely one of the girls from the village.
Vanessa found it unsavory, and she feared Blythe would see the light from her window again. She wished it to stop, but how could she manage it without confronting the staff and embarrassing everyone including herself? Lovel would not be so easily embarrassed, she was sure.
Tomorrow, she would go and examine the folly. Closing the window, she climbed shivering into bed.
She read through her letter again.
Dear Julian,
I pray you remain in good health. Blythe and I missed you even more at Christmas. Blythe hung up your stocking and filled it with gifts that she made herself –awaiting your return. The house runs smoothly although I doubt I contribute a great deal to it. It has been exceptionally cold and snowed on Christmas Day! Cook excelled with the roast goose, exceeding her normal fare. I daresay yours spent in the jungle would have been far less traditional. I hope this letter doesn’t make you homesick. We go on well here….
It sounded so dull! She crumpled the letter in her hand. She would rewrite it tomorrow, knowing she still wouldn’t reveal what was in her heart, that she loved him dearly and yearned for him.
The Mystery at Falconbridge Hall Page 16