Clearly accustomed to being the center of attention, Lady Elizabeth Conyngham leaned on her ebony cane patiently while we curtsied to her. Lady Grainger introduced us one by one.
“You may go, Waverly.” Lady Conyngham dismissed the Bow Street Runner with a flutter of her fingers, causing the numerous rings on her hands to glitter.
“I shall wait for you by the carriage, ma’am. If you need me . . .”
As Mr. Waverly turned to leave, his eyes sought mine and clearly bade me to follow. With an almost imperceptible raised finger, I signaled that I understood, although we both knew it might take me a while to join him.
“Oh, my dear young friends!” The Marchioness Conyngham opened her arms.
At first I did not realize that she was signaling a planned embrace of Lucy and me. Not wishing to embarrass ourselves, or her, we submitted to her affection. She gathered us to her copious self, where it was impossible to avoid the pungent scent of ambergris and patchouli. Amidst the cover of the Marchioness’s many ruffles and furbelows, Lucy’s eyes went wide and met mine. The situation was highly uncomfortable, but regrettably unavoidable.
At last, the august visitor released us and studied us as though Lucy and I were both long-lost friends of the highest order. “Dear Mrs. Brayton, you look lovely as always. And dear, dear Mrs. Rochester! What a pleasure to be in your company again!”
This shocked me. I had not reckoned on her taking note of my name. I had assumed last night was an aberration, a one-off event, and it would never happen again. But here I was, and the King’s lover acted as if I was dear to her in every way. I worked hard not to let my feelings show on my face.
What, I wondered, is the cause for this? I had only just met the woman. Why is she making such a fuss over me?
Behind the woman’s back, Blanche and her mother watched this pantomime. I detected a sense of defeat, an acceptance of my newly improved status. With the wiles of a skilled hostess, Lady Grainger launched a tedious discussion of the weather. To the relief of us all, the Marchioness chimed right in.
“Oh my!” I said with a start, as I lifted a hand to the side of my head and slipped one of my earrings into my palm. “I do believe I dropped one of my ear fobs. Ladies, please excuse me while I search for it.”
“I can ring for Dorsey, my abigail.” Lady Grainger smiled at me kindly. The atmosphere in her drawing room had changed from one of discord to acceptance, and inwardly I thanked our hostess for seeing to this turn of events. Although Marchioness Conyngham’s fulsome greeting had much to do with the shift, none of this would have happened without Lady Grainger’s interference. The tired lines around her mouth suggested there had been much haggling behind the scenes to bring us to this happy juncture.
“Thank you kindly, ma’am. No need. I believe I can recollect exactly where it might have happened. I shan’t be but a minute.” With that, I took off to find Mr. Waverly.
I found him leaning one shoulder against Lady Conyngham’s lavish purple and gold carriage. A troubled frown creased his forehead, and one hand was jammed deep into his pocket, while the other twirled his black baton in a spinning circle.
“Mrs. Rochester! Thank goodness you came!” He withdrew his pocket handkerchief and wiped his brow. Waverly is not a man given to nerves. In fact, his character would best be labeled steady or resolute. Yet, a tremor in his fingers gave me pause, as did the uneven timbre of his voice. “I must ask: Do you still have the letters we once discussed?”
“Why?” I hesitated to answer him.
“I must know. This is important. Do not toy with me, Mrs. Rochester. I think a great deal of you, but my job is to protect our King, and right now, you stand in the way of that.” He bit off each word as he spoke it.
“Yes. I have the one,” I told him. “The others I burned.”
“Did the King ask you about its disposition?”
I wondered what Waverly knew, what the King had said, and why Waverly seemed to suffer from his nerves. After all, if the King was happy to have me hold on to his letter, why should it bother the Bow Street Runner? “Yes, but he did not ask for it to be returned.”
Mr. Waverly responded by running a shaky hand through his hair. “Just as I expected. This grows worse and worse. Who else is aware of its existence?”
“Lucy knows of it. Edward does. Mr. Douglas knows because his sister shares everything with him, and I trust him implicitly.”
“Lady Conyngham knows about the letter, too. She likely listened in while you conversed with the King, and I suspect she queried him afterward.” He groaned. “You saw the copious spirits and laudanum she dispenses to him. The man was never good at holding his tongue, but under the influence of such agents, he is helpless, and puts himself—and our nation—at great risk.”
“But why does that cause you to worry? He called her his treasure. Why would she want to hurt him? Isn’t it to her advantage to keep him on the throne?”
“My good Mrs. Rochester, while deception is foreign to your character, others wear it as a cloak to hide their true intentions. I cannot discuss this with you further. Not now. But you must listen to me carefully: Promise to keep the letter safe. Give me your word! You cannot imagine the problems it might cause—nor can you guess at how eager Conyngham is to procure it.”
“Whatever for?”
“In truth, I am not sure why she is so determined, either, since it might threaten her blissful position as the King’s ‘dear friend.’ But that’s neither here nor there. She is wholly dedicated to its retrieval. I suspect that’s why she came to visit today, to judge your mettle. To calculate how best to persuade you. I asked to accompany her because I suspected her motives. I told the magistrate I should be assigned to her, and he agreed when he heard my reasoning. Swear to me that you will keep the letter hidden.”
His urgency served to increase my fears. “I promise. But if the letter is so important, why did the King not demand that I return it to him so he could destroy it himself?”
“Because he is never alone. Ever. She has surrounded him with spies. Granted, he sent couriers to buy the other love letters, but those were not so explicit. Embarrassing, yes, but not dangerous. Those he did destroy. But this letter is different. Vastly so. If he were to gain possession of it, a courier would surely snatch it away and deliver it to the King’s enemies. The spies around the King are well-paid, well-placed, and although it appears that they serve His Majesty, in actuality, they work for others. And as you have seen, our King is weak. He is often in a confused state, his health is poor, and I regret to say this, but he applies all his alert moments to planning his coronation.”
“So the most powerful man in the world is really also the weakest,” I said.
“Yes. That sums it up nicely. He would rather put you at risk than take on that risk himself. So you must promise me that you will be careful. Do not travel anywhere alone. Never go to the park again with only your son! Do you understand me?”
A cold breeze lifted the hem of my skirt and set my teeth to chattering. I rubbed my arms and wondered, How did he know where I’d been? And that Ned and I had been alone?
I longed to ask him, but the longer I was away, the harder it would be to explain my absence. So I had to make do with nodding vigorously and returning to the drawing room, where I took my place in the circle between Lady Conyngham and Lady Grainger.
Chapter 20
The Marchioness was holding forth. It was not a conversation, because a conversation requires give-and-take. This was a soliloquy, and the Marchioness was center stage, commandeering the visit. In short order, she nattered on about problems with the Irish, the deplorable conduct of Queen Caroline, and new fashions from Paris, “Women there are wetting their muslins and letting them dry on their bodies. Très revealing!” She paused to catch her breath.
“Ah, the refreshments have come! Thank you, Lillian.” Lady Grainger smiled as
a bovine-faced maid set down a silver tea service and the accoutrements for our enjoyment. On the maid’s heels came the butler Stanton carrying a three-tiered serving plate piled high with scones and crumpets. Lady Grainger had been juggling Mags but finally gave in and put the excitable dog on the floor. The pup ran from chair to chair, waving his tail merrily. Mags sniffed at the pastries with hope-filled eyes, but Stanton gave the pup a warning look that withered the dog’s bright interest.
“What a wonderful evening we had at the opera last night. Signora Corri-Paltoni did a splendid job, don’t you think?” said Lady Grainger.
“His Majesty enjoyed Tancredi immensely, especially since it was written by his good friend Rossini,” said the Marchioness as she heaped several spoonfuls of sugar into her tea. “Musical ability is the hallmark of a cultured individual, is it not? The King himself plays cello admirably. All of my children took instruction in voice and piano.”
“Speaking of children,” said Lady Grainger as she poured a cup for her sister-in-law, “Mrs. Brayton was just telling us her good news as you joined us, Lady Conyngham. Please, Lucy, do repeat it for the Marchioness. I am so pleased for you!”
Lucy again explained about the letter she had received from Evans’s nanny. She ended by saying, “The boy is due to arrive any day now.”
“My dear, dear girl. I know how much Olivia thinks of you, and I know that your own mother has long since passed, so I must speak to you from my mother’s heart.” The Dowager Lady Ingram set down her cup and tilted her head while considering Lucy carefully. “And I tell you in all honesty that I would rather die in this chair than have one of my daughters saddled with an illegitimate child by her husband!”
A long silence followed. The Dowager’s framing had been so clever that no one could accuse her of cruelty. But the result was as she had intended. Lucy’s mouth quivered and her eyes blinked rapidly.
“Actually,” I said, because I could not let this go unanswered, “I respectfully disagree with you, Lady Ingram, in the strongest terms possible. To my way of thinking, there is no such thing as an illegitimate child. A liaison might be unrecognized by the church and the state, but the child of such a relationship is not responsible for the method of his arrival. Every child is a blessing from God. How could any of God’s gifts be illegitimate? We are all precious in his sight.”
“Well said!” Lady Conyngham nodded at me, her effervescent response changing the mood entirely. “Exactly right, Mrs. Rochester. I agree with you wholeheartedly, and I, for one, am excited to meet this young fellow. I know the King will be, too. He has a special fondness for children. In fact, we have had many conversations about how to involve them in his coronation ceremony. We are thinking they might scatter rose petals along the carpet before the King processes.”
I sighed with relief as the subject changed to discussion of the upcoming coronation details. The Ingrams perked up considerably at this topic.
“Of course, His Majesty has requested that I help him make a list of those who will be invited,” said the Marchioness. “Actually, there are many lists. One is for those to be honored by the King for their service. Another for those who will be participants in the ceremony. Yet another for those invited to view the ceremony at Westminster Abbey. And of course, we also create a list of those who would be invited to the fete afterward.”
“I am sure there is no difficulty in finding room on your list for beautiful young ladies from well-bred families. Families with a history of service to our Crown,” said Lady Ingram coyly. “Such as our own.”
“Alas! It is my sad duty to cull names from the list. I think it so important that the King be surrounded by youth, since they represent the future of the realm.” A sly smile played on Lady Conyngham’s lips. I remembered what Lucy had said about Blanche Ingram’s spinsterhood lasting far too long. The game that she and her mother had played was about to catch up with them. And Lady Conyngham had handily reminded them of that, although she’d done it so deftly that I couldn’t help but marvel.
Blanche’s face turned first dark red and then white as chalk.
Her mother responded with a grimace. If she had expected reassurance from the Marchioness, she’d been sorely disappointed. Instead, the Marchioness had reminded the Dowager that her daughter was eight and twenty, well past the age when most girls marry.
The knowledge must have hurt. As we watched, Lady Ingram shifted her weight in her chair restlessly, wincing as she did.
“Mama? Is your neuralgia bothering you?” Blanche asked.
“I shall fetch the rose hips.” Mary spoke for the first time in our long visit. “The ones that Mr. Lerner left for you.”
My ears perked up at the sound of the familiar name. Although on reflection, it wasn’t surprising, at all. Mr. Lerner had come highly recommended by our own Mr. Carter, who also served the Ingrams at their Yorkshire estate, so it stood to reason that he might also have recommended the man to care for the Ingrams while they were here in town.
“Go on, Mary. Why didn’t you remember them sooner? I am sure that more than an hour has gone by—you know how often I should have them!” Lady Ingram waved her younger daughter away with a flicking motion of her hand, as if batting away an annoying insect.
Mary bolted from her seat and ran out of the drawing room as an uncomfortable silence followed.
“Lucy, pour another cup of tea for me, please?” asked Lady Grainger. “Ladies, please help yourselves to the pastries. Cook is an excellent baker.”
When Lucy lifted the pot to pour, Blanche snatched her cup away. “Thank you, but I’ve had enough tea. I much prefer coffee. All the best people are buying theirs from Fortnum and Mason. In fact, I recently purchased a bag with hazelnut flavoring. Marchioness Conyngham, would you like some?”
Although the effort was not subtle, it did the trick. The Marchioness considered the offer and then said, “Thank you, but I prefer tea.”
“Oh, you’ll at least want to catch the scent of it!” Blanche hopped up, disappeared, and came back directly, carrying a small tray. On it she had placed a bright blue tin and an unusual sort of glass vessel.
“Where is your sister?” said Lady Ingram to her older daughter.
“She had her head stuck in a cupboard, still searching for those rose hips. I can’t imagine how she could have misplaced them. No matter, Mother, I’ll serve you coffee instead. I’m sure it will help.”
Blanche lifted the lid of the tin and a robust fragrance wafted our way. “Ah! The fragrance is so rich!”
She passed the open tin to Lady Grainger, who handed it quickly to me. Even though I had not been invited to do so, I smelled the contents and found them enjoyable. I passed it on to Lucy. My friend breathed deeply over the tin and then handed it to the Marchioness Conyngham.
“His Majesty and I adore Fortnum’s,” said the Marchioness, smiling with approval as she handed the tin back to Blanche. “Their picnic baskets are divine!”
Blanche used a teaspoon to scrape along the bottom of the tin. She managed a few spoonfuls of a finely ground meal. These helpings were carefully poured into a cloth bag and placed into the glass vessel, which I could now see was actually two glass globes set on top of each other. Last of all, she added hot water onto the grounds and clapped the lid down securely.
Lady Ingram rustled about in her chair, moving this way and that, wincing as she did. “That girl. Why is Mary taking so long? Oh, my legs. The pain is nearly intolerable.”
“Mama, I wager this coffee will do you more good than those silly rose hips. Come, let us share this pot. Mrs. Brayton, please hand this to my mother.”
“My flower, my loving Blanche,” said the Dowager Lady, beaming at her child. “I have been blessed with a wonderful daughter, a paragon of young womanhood. Of course, my family line can be traced back a hundred years, and good breeding always shows, doesn’t it? One can tell.”
Lucy and I exchanged quick glances under our lashes. A smile played on her lips, but I didn’t dare stare at my friend for long lest we both display our amusement. If the events of the night before were an example of “good breeding,” then their stock needed an infusion of genteel blood. But to quell my desire to laugh at her ironic assertion, I added sugar to my tea, as did the Marchioness while Lady Grainger took hers plain with cream.
For a few minutes, we were each content to enjoy our hot beverages.
“Ah, this is delicious. So invigorating,” said Lady Ingram, first sipping and then resting the cup on the arm of her chair. “Blanche, you always take such good care of me . . . Oh!”
Lady Ingram released her hold on the handle of her coffee. The cup dropped to the carpet and bounced twice before rolling under her chair. And then before our astonished eyes, the Dowager Baroness Ingram fell face-first onto the floor.
Chapter 21
Blanche screamed but stayed glued to her seat, while Lucy went immediately to the fallen woman’s aid. I joined her on the carpet. Together we rolled the Dowager onto her side. Lucy patted the woman’s face to rouse her. “Lady Ingram? Ma’am? Can you hear me?”
Lady Grainger yanked hard on the bellpull. “Stanton?” she yelled. “Stanton! Come quickly!”
Blanche cried out, “Mama? Mama!”
“Come on,” said Lucy as she slapped the woman a little harder. In the melee, Mags darted out from under Lady Grainger’s chair and lapped up the spilled coffee.
“No, no!” said our hostess, grabbing at her dog’s collar. She dragged the pup back to its spot under her chair, and tossed her napkin over the spot.
“Olivia, do you have smelling salts?” Lucy asked.
But Lady Grainger was distracted by Stanton’s appearance at the door. “Get a doctor! Hurry!”
The Marchioness dug around in her reticule and retrieved a small frosted bottle with gold trim. “Here,” she said as she handed it to Lucy. Once uncapped, the noxious fumes caused all of us to gag. All of us save Lady Ingram. Through watering eyes I watched as Lucy waved the bottle under the woman’s nose.
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