The Dowager did not respond. Not even to blink or sputter.
“There’s nothing we can do,” whispered Lucy in my ear, all the while waving the smelling salts under the woman’s nose. “She’s too far gone. Totally unresponsive. I’m simply stalling for time until the doctor arrives. Grab a napkin and fan her to keep everyone distracted.”
I nodded and did as I was told but I couldn’t help noticing that Lady Ingram’s eyes were flat as shale tiles. The electricity that surrounds living creatures had quickly departed. Her mouth hung open and her eyes stared fixedly.
“Dear, dear,” muttered Lady Conyngham, fanning herself furiously.
Meanwhile, Blanche seemed to have realized this was more than a swoon. She got on her knees, pushing Lucy and me to one side. “Mama? Speak to me! Is it your heart? Come on!” When that garnered no response, she turned and shoved me hard. “Go away. Don’t touch her.”
I did as she asked.
“Mary?” Blanche shouted. “Where is my sister? Mary!”
Miss Mary Ingram entered, carrying a small muslin bag. Her steps were quick but tremulous, as if she were walking on ice, and her face was white as an Easter lily. She peered around me, glancing down at the floor.
“Mama! Mama?” Mary lost her grip on the bag, sending orange and yellow rose hips bouncing along the carpet. Ignoring them, Mary ran to her mother’s side and grabbed at her mother’s hand. “Why, she’s cold. How can this be? I only went to get the rose hips!”
“Yes, and you took your sweet time. She was in pain! Now see what you’ve done? Her heart couldn’t take it!” Blanche said cruelly.
Mary moaned. In an instant, she started peppering her mother’s face with kisses. “No, Mama! Don’t leave me! No! Please, no!” she cried.
Blanche sank back on her heels, covering her face and sobbing into her hands. Her sister collapsed in a heap next to their mother.
The Marchioness sighed and shook her head.
“What’s going on here? I heard shrieking.” Mr. Waverly came to the door of the drawing room. One look told him all he needed to know. He squatted and pressed the fingers of one hand to the Dowager’s neck, never relinquishing his grip on his baton. Then he leaned his ear to her mouth and listened. Finally, he glanced up at me and I knew what he was thinking.
“It’s no use. She’s dead.”
Chapter 22
“She is in God’s hands. My condolences,” Waverly said, as his fingertips closed the Dowager Lady Ingram’s blank eyes. We all stared at the prostrate form on the floor. Whatever her faults, Lady Silvana Ingram had doted on her children—well, on her daughter Blanche and her son, Lord Ingram, at least. Poor Mary was rather an afterthought, but even so, I remember the Lady’s pride three years ago when they appeared at Thornfield Hall for a weekend party. No mother could have thought more of her children than she had.
And now she was dead. How curious it seemed that a woman so lively and opinionated could be rendered so still and silent so quickly. Death had crept among us like a thief and had stolen her spark of life.
My own mother died when I was so young, I scarcely remembered her. She was more of an impression than a person. However, as a mother myself now, I could feel the wrench of pain caused when I contemplated leaving Ned. My heart crowded my throat, and I pinched the spot between my eyes to hold back the tears.
In her last breath, did Lady Ingram realize she’d been denied the chance to say good-bye?
I shook my head to clear it. This was not the time or the place to give in to grief. There was too much to be done. The practicalities of death would keep us all busy, moving forward, until the reality of the loss could be admitted.
“I have sent a footman for Mr. Lerner,” Stanton said, as he appeared in the doorway. The butler ran a shaking hand across his jacket. Habit, really, because his jacket rested perfectly on his broad shoulders. He stared at the woman on the floor but reserved his real attention for his mistress.
“On behalf of the staff, I share my deepest sympathies with you, Lady Grainger, and of course, the young ladies. I shall prepare the house for mourning.”
“Thank you, Stanton.” Lady Grainger’s voice was raspy with emotion. She touched her handkerchief to her eyes. “But for right now, please wait here. We might need you.”
“As you wish, ma’am.” He lingered by the door, standing at attention, his eyes trained on the hallway to give us privacy.
“Could you bring us a sheet?” asked Waverly.
Stanton seemed startled. Obviously, he had not thought of that, and I could tell by the red spreading across his face that he was chagrined by his oversight. “Certainly. Immediately, sir.”
The Ingram girls were crying softly now. Each had sunk deeply into a chair, turning away from each other. Lady Grainger glanced at Waverly, then at Stanton as he left, and looked puzzled, as if asking herself, How could this have happened?
“Waverly? I want to go home,” said the Marchioness suddenly. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “I offer all of you my condolences. I shall leave now.”
Waverly bowed deeply and his finger traced the tip of his black baton where the crest of the sovereign was embossed in gold. “Would that I could escort you, ma’am, but I can’t. My duty is to the Crown. I cannot go until . . . until certain things are seen to. There will have to be a report filed and submitted to the magistrate. Since I’m here, it might be easier . . .” He glanced at the sobbing Ingrams “. . . if I get this done myself. A courtesy to the family.”
The Marchioness sent him a sour look. “If you must. Are you sure? Well, then, carry on. At least until someone else can take over for you.”
“As usual, ma’am, you have the King’s best interests at heart,” said Waverly without the slightest trace of irony. Pulling a crumpled notebook from a back pocket, he continued, “Can we start with the lady’s full name?”
“Lady Silvana Ingram, wife of the late Baron Ingram of Ingram Park,” said Lady Grainger. The words were written on a sigh.
Suddenly I felt very, very sorry for Lucy’s friend. Here she’d arranged this visit as a courtesy to Lucy, an attempt to make peace, and look what had happened! The unexpected visit from Lady Conyngham should have been a triumph for her as well—certainly Lady Grainger had no reason to suspect the Marchioness’s more sinister motives.
But now, this lovely place, this welcoming room, would forever bear the imprint of this tragic event.
In fits and starts, Lady Grainger answered Waverly’s questions. She explained to the Bow Street Runner that her sister-in-law had long suffered from a bad heart. “Mr. Carter and then Mr. Lerner both treated her at home, back in Ingram Park. Of late, however, it was her neuralgia that had been bothering her. For that Mr. Lerner had prescribed rose hips and left a bag of them for her use. Mary had been dispatched to bring them back so that Silvana could steep them in with her tea.”
“I did my best!” Mary said. “I tried to find them! But they had been moved!”
“Your staff,” said Blanche in a petulant tone. “Incompetent. Every one of them.”
“Blanche, please, not now.” Lady Grainger sounded bone weary. “Girls, I share your sorrow. I, too, am heartbroken! But trying times expose one’s character. So we must carry on, as your mother would have wanted, and be kind to one another.”
Blanche pulled back slightly, as if she’d been slapped, but a sullen look came over her face.
“Mary, everyone knows you did your best. It’s not your fault that your mother’s heart was weak. She looked perfectly fine, except for the pain of course, before . . .” Lady Grainger stopped.
“A hackney has just arrived. I believe Mr. Lerner is here.” Stanton held a white bundle. Together he and Mr. Waverly solemnly opened the sheet, unfurled it, and gently settled it over the remains of Lady Ingram.
Mary and Blanche began to sob even more loudly. Lady Graing
er touched her eyes repeatedly with her linen handkerchief, but she missed a few tears, and they streamed down her face, dripping off her chin.
“What has happened? Who is hurt?” A young man carrying a tattered and overflowing satchel appeared in the doorway. He was stopped in his progress because Stanton and Mr. Waverly had retreated to the threshold, and they blocked his way. Once I had a good look at the newcomer, my hand flew to my mouth in surprise.
Mr. Lerner, the young doctor recommended to Edward by Mr. Carter, was the same man whom I’d witnessed arguing with Mary Ingram in Hyde Park just this morning.
I could also tell by his change of expression that he recognized me, although the confusion that came next suggested that he could not recall exactly why I looked familiar.
Despite the slap she’d dealt him earlier, Mary’s eyes couldn’t hide her adoration for the doctor. Now I put together how it happened. Mr. Lerner had called on Lady Ingram, leaving the rose hips for her pain, and Mary had followed him into Hyde Park. He must’ve been on his way to Boodle’s to meet with Edward and Mr. Douglas when Miss Mary had waylaid him.
“Mr. Lerner, I take it? I’m Phineas Waverly from Bow Street.” The constable offered his hand for a shake. “I happened to be here in my capacity as escort for the Marchioness Conyng-ham, a dear friend of His Royal Highness. I’m afraid it’s one of your patients, Lady Ingram. I believe this woman’s weak heart got the best of her.” And with that Mr. Waverly led the young man over to the body but continued with, “You know, of course, Lady Grainger? And the Ingram daughters? As I understand you have been here before?”
Mr. Lerner gave a brief nod.
I averted my eyes as Mr. Lerner knelt beside the still form on the carpet, but I still heard the sheet rustle as he folded it back. Out of the edge of my vision, I noticed that he moved swiftly, pressing his fingertips here and there. The whole procedure lent the Dowager a vulnerability she had not owned in life. Death robs us of our individuality. No modesty is accorded the spent carcass that was once a vibrant member of the human populace. With impersonal haste, the doctor checked for her heartbeat at her neck, held a mirror under her nose, and listened at her chest. Sinking back on his heels, he admitted defeat. “My deepest condolences,” the doctor said to everyone and no one in particular. “Her heart was always irregular. I fear it finally beat its last.”
Blanche continued her soft sobbing, but Mary wailed loudly. Mr. Lerner cast a glance at the younger sister but carefully kept his distance.
“I’ll stay here until the undertaker arrives, but I suggest that all of you adjourn to another room.” His manner was matter-of-fact but firm.
“Lady Grainger, would you kindly lead the way?” asked Mr. Waverly.
“Yes, yes, of course.” After mopping her face, she slowly stood up, gripping her chair for balance. The recent events had robbed her of her color, and she seemed a bit lost, as though she’d suddenly awakened in someone else’s house. It took her a minute to gather her wits. Lucy and I rose to our feet. Lady Conyngham planted her cane and hoisted herself up. The Ingram girls uncurled from their spots and stood wearily but kept crying. We were all ready to leave when Lady Grainger looked around her feet. “The dog. My dog. Where is Mags?”
“She must be hiding under your chair. Probably frightened, poor dear,” said Lucy. “Too much commotion.”
“I’ll fetch him, Lady Grainger.” Stanton crossed the floor and knelt under Lady Grainger’s chair. “Come on. Here, Mags.” When she did not answer, he rummaged in his pocket for a treat. “Biscuit?”
But the dog did not obey.
“I can see her, but she’s being stubborn. Ignoring me.” Stanton reached under the chair skirt. He tugged at the dog and then stopped abruptly. “Oh my.”
“What is it?” Lady Grainger gripped the chair arm and leaned over to watch the procedure. “Oh, Stanton, just grab her.”
He sat back and shook his head. “Lady, I . . .” Very slowly the butler thrust both arms under Lady Grainger’s chair. As he crawled backward, a mass of silky white fur followed in the same direction. But something was amiss. Something was not right.
The dog did not move.
Chapter 23
“Mags?” Lady Grainger peered down at the dog in her butler’s arms. As the man lifted the dog toward the Lady, the pup’s head rolled back on its neck. All of us watched in horror as its mouth fell open and a pink tongue dangled from one side.
“Mags,” Lady Grainger said wonderingly, as though trying to understand. “What is wrong with Mags? Oh, oh!” she said, and she sank back into her chair.
Stanton stood up, holding the limp beast. The expression on the butler’s face was one of horror. “She’s . . . gone.”
“This tears it,” muttered Waverly as he stepped over the dead woman to examine the dog more closely.
“Please? May I . . . hold her?” Lady Grainger sounded childlike as she turned to her servant. No one spoke as Stanton gently transferred the pup to the woman’s arms. Something broke loose inside of Lady Grainger; even the grief she’d felt for her sister-in-law did not compare to this. She moaned, a sound that came from deep in her heart.
“My dear, dear little Mags! My friend. How could you have left me?” Lady Grainger repeated. Lucy rushed to her friend’s side and embraced Olivia Grainger with great strength. The lady turned to Lucy. “Something is wrong. First Silvana, and now Mags. What is happening? Do you know?”
One blow after another had been dealt Lady Grainger, and her mind was struggling to catch up. Her eyes were vacant, her face slack, and she moved like an automaton.
Lillian and another female servant had come to the door. They stood wide-eyed on the threshold, peeping around the doorsill to watch.
A quick glance at the Marchioness told me that she was surprised by this turn of events. I could almost see a sparkle in her eyes as she pondered what it might mean—and how she might use the situation to her advantage.
“Someone fetch me a glass of water,” Mr. Lerner snapped at them. “She’s had a shock.”
The young man reached into his messy satchel, disturbing several sheets of paper. After a search, he withdrew a small brown bottle. When the water appeared, the doctor added a few drops of laudanum. With great care, he guided the glass to Lady Grainger’s lips. “Drink this. Come on. Good. That’s right.”
Setting the glass down, the doctor spoke to Stanton. “We need to get her to her bedroom and see that she lies down. She needs to stay quiet. Once she’s there, I can attend to her in privacy.”
Waverly moved closer to our hostess, his presence offering aid.
“Ma’am?” said Stanton, and he held out his arm to his mistress. Still clutching the dog, Lady Grainger wobbled to her feet, but when it was obvious that she might collapse, Stanton and Waverly reached behind her, forming a sort of chair with their arms. Lady Grainger did not seem to notice that she was being carried. As the men moved her, she clutched the soft white curls even closer to her breast. Her lady’s maid fell in behind them.
Mr. Lerner turned his attention to the rest of us. “Ladies? I suggest you remove yourselves to the library.”
Lucy led the way. Blanche stopped in the middle of the hall, wrapping her arms around her waist and whimpering, “I feel light-headed. I think I’m going to . . .”
But Mr. Lerner caught her before her knees buckled.
Mary gave her sister a hard look before following them into the library.
I waited beside the Marchioness. She stared up at me snappishly. “Fetch Waverly. Tell him I have had enough. We must leave! Right now.”
“Of course, Lady Conyngham,” said Mr. Waverly as he returned to the drawing room. “But first I must make certain of your safety. Lady Ingram is dead. Miss Ingram nearly collapsed just now. Lady Grainger is incapacitated, and her dog is dead as well. Don’t you see? I can’t take you back to Carlton House until I know what
is happening here. I can’t risk it. Not for your sake or for our sovereign’s.”
She did not like it, but she could not argue with him. Leaning on Waverly’s arm and grumbling in his ear, she stumped her way into the library. Once there, Lucy helped Mr. Waverly make the Marchioness comfortable, bringing her cushions and adjusting a footstool. Then he turned to me. “Mrs. Rochester? Will you accompany me to Lady Grainger’s room? I think it improper for me to go alone.”
I nodded. Of course, Waverly’s explanation was nonsensical because Lady Grainger would be attended by her lady’s maid, but he pronounced it with such seriousness that Lady Conyngham took him at his word. I suspected that as long as she felt herself to be cosseted, she would concur with him.
With due haste, I rose and followed the man down the hall.
The lady’s maid responded to our quiet knock on the door. Lady Grainger rested under her covers with her eyes half closed. However, she had not relinquished her hold on Mags. In fact, the dog was wrapped in her arms, tightly, as a child holds a stuffed toy.
“What is your name?” Mr. Waverly asked the abigail.
“Dorsey, sir. Dorsey Evers.” She kept her chin tucked down and her gaze on her feet.
Something caught Waverly’s attention, and he craned his neck to get a better look at her. It was the first time since arriving that I’d seen the abigail up close, and when I followed his gaze, I saw what intrigued him.
“Your face,” he said. “What happened?”
Dorsey kept her eyes on the floor. “Lady Ingram struck me.”
“Why? What incurred her wrath?”
“I canna please her, sir. I tried, but I canna do it. May she rest in peace.”
“Yes, well.” He shook his head. “Please assist me. I need to look at the dog. I don’t need to take him.”
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