Chapter 61
The entire household was overjoyed to meet little Evans. Mr. Douglas doted on the child, and Edward declared the boy to be his father’s mirror image. Over the next few days, the baby was passed from one set of arms to another as we took turns admiring the newest member of what we called “our family.” As for Lucy, she was positively radiant. Happier than I’d ever seen her.
The arrival of Evans turned the household into a busy beehive of visitors and commotion, as Lucy received numerous well-wishers. In between visits, I tried to keep as still as possible so that my stitches would heal. My wound had turned a variety of colors, but thanks to Polly’s daily applications of poultices and honey, the spot had not grown hot to the touch, and no infection had set in. Still, it pained me.
I sat in the library and worked on my gift for Evans by using my paints to add light washes of color to the piece. The effect had been very pleasing, as my touches brought out the tiny rabbit hidden in the bushes and the robin in the tree and the frog under a bush.
“This is magnificent, Jane,” said Lucy. Her face beamed with happiness as she examined my work while Evans was upstairs napping. “You have done such an impressive job. He will treasure this forever. I know he will.”
“Look who we found on the front doorstep,” said Mr. Douglas, coming into the library alongside my husband, and stepping aside to reveal Mr. Waverly.
“My congratulations to you, Mrs. Brayton, on the newest member of your household,” Waverly said to Lucy.
“Thank you.” She smiled. “How kind of you to come in person to offer them.”
“I wish I could say that had been my intention.” He sighed, sinking into an armchair. “The truth is, however, that while the circumstances surrounding Lady Ingram’s death have been cleared, there is still the matter of the letter Mrs. Rochester possesses, the one that drove Mrs. Biltmore to such extremes. Lady Conyngham continues to meet with the Duke of Cumberland,” he said. “I’ve eavesdropped as often as possible. I don’t know what they’re up to, but it can’t be anything good.” Mr. Waverly took off his spectacles and cleaned them with his handkerchief. “She’s playing both sides against the middle. Coddling the King whilst she plots against him. She’s got a list of demands longer than my right arm. I can only guess they’re trying to figure out some other way to pressure Mrs. Rochester to turn over the letter.”
“The Duke of York has promised Maria Fitzherbert that he can smuggle her out of the country if need be, but Minney has told her mother in no uncertain terms that she will not leave her fiancé,” said Lucy.
“Are they truly at risk?” I asked my friends. “If I hand over the letter, are they likely to be hurt?”
“I don’t know.” Mr. Waverly put his glasses back on.
“It depends,” said Mr. Douglas, “on what the Marchioness and the Duke want, and whether the King is willing to give it to them.”
“Then let us be frank with each other. As long as I have that letter and George IV is our Regent, we can safely presume that someone will want it. It’s simply too valuable as a tool of persuasion.”
“Aye,” said Mr. Waverly. “As coronation day grows closer, the stakes get higher in anticipation of the King announcing his appointments and such. Believe me, everyone and his brother has his hand out. There’s a regular parade in and out of Carlton House.” He rose from his seat. “I can’t tell you what to do with it, Mrs. Rochester, but I wish you the wisdom of Solomon.”
After Mr. Waverly’s departure, Edward and Mr. Douglas left Lucy and me alone in the library once again. I turned to her and asked, “Do you mind taking the letter out of the strongbox for me? I want to look it over. Perhaps some flash of an idea will come to me. Odd, isn’t it? That correspondence purports to be a love letter, yet its purpose has nothing to do with love. The King wrote it to Mrs. Biltmore to get rid of her in the most expedient way imaginable.”
“Have you decided what to do?”
“No,” I said. “I only pray that I might be divinely inspired to come up with a solution.”
After Lucy retrieved the letter, she went to check on her son. I stared at the six pages on royal letterhead. What to do? What to do?
Mr. Waverly had been right. I needed the wisdom of Solomon. I took down a copy of the Bible from Augie’s bookshelves. Opening it, I read out loud: “And the king said, ‘Bring me a sword.’ And they brought a sword before the king. And the king said, ‘Divide the living child in two, and give half to the one, and half to the other.’”
I shuddered, thinking of what might have happened if the child’s true mother hadn’t stepped forward. To divide a child? How horrible! Too ghastly to contemplate. But it did spur my thoughts. The idea of division stuck in my head, whirling ’round and ’round.
Then came my answer: I would divide the letter in two!
But could I? First I would have to ascertain if my skills were up to the task. After tearing two sheets of paper out of my notebook, I went and sat behind Lucy’s desk. Spreading all six pages out in front of me, I pored over the King’s words, occasionally scribbling a phrase or two on my scratch paper. My artistic skills extended to mimicry, and at length, I decided on several simple phrases, concocted from the words he had written. These I copied over and over on my notepaper, using the King’s handwriting as my guide. I took especially careful note of where his strokes began and followed their route to the end.
Next I applied myself to his signature. This proved more challenging, but a reasonable facsimile wasn’t very difficult to create. I only hoped that no one would look too closely. After all, I reasoned, exposing the letter as a “fake” could even end up beneficial. But as I stepped away from my work, doubts plagued me. Yes, it was clear that I could produce a reasonable facsimile, but . . . should I? Was it morally right to do so? Or would I be telling a lie on paper?
This worried me. I thought about the King, about Maria and Minney, about Lady Conyngham and wondered, Is it ethical to divide up this letter and forge the King’s signature?
My musings were interrupted by a visit from Mr. Lerner. After ringing for Polly, I put down my pen, and he examined my wound while I leaned against Lucy’s desk for support. Once he pronounced it “very nearly healed,” he noticed my scattered papers.
“I am glad you are not doing anything too strenuous,” he remarked, as he turned his back on me so Polly could help me readjust my clothes.
“Polly? Could you ask Sadie to bring us tea?” I said, as a method of gaining us privacy. With a gesture, I indicated to Mr. Lerner to take a seat. Remembering how hungry he always was, I added, “And ask Cook to send up slices of mutton, cheese, and bread, please.”
When she had left, I took a chair as well and said, “Mr. Lerner, what does your religion teach about ethics? I know very little about Judaism except from what I’ve read in the Bible, of course.”
His eyes were lively with intelligence. “Why do you ask? Is this about the ethics of tricking Miss Mary into a confession?”
That might do for my purposes, but I was bound to say, “Not exactly. Although I am curious about that, too.”
“Let us start there. The teachings are very clear that protecting and preserving life triumphs over every other consideration, including the Ten Commandments. You did save my life, in that, had Miss Mary’s false accusations resulted in a trial, I might well have been hanged.”
Sadie entered with a heavily laden tray of food. The steam rising from the teapot, the green scent of bergamot, and a delicate hint of ginger in a plate of fresh scones, distracted the young doctor and me. After the maid left, I served Mr. Lerner, pouring hot tea into his cup.
“Did you have other questions?” he asked, once he’d eaten a plate full of food.
“What if you aren’t sure that the other person is in danger? Does your religion still call upon you to act?”
“Absolutely. We are commanded to pro
tect each other, and not to leave each other in a condition that might be harmful. So, for example, if I see a man’s cart about to overturn, it is my duty to warn him and give him aid. Especially if that accident would cause harm to him or even to his donkey.”
As I sipped my tea, I reflected that Maria Fitzherbert’s situation was not so very different from what he described. All my options came to this: I could not stand by and put Maria and Minney’s lives at risk.
After Mr. Lerner left, I returned to my practice. When I was satisfied with my results, I separated the letter’s fifth page from the sixth. To the bottom of the fifth page, I added my version of the King’s signature. To the top of the sixth page, I added a phrase.
And now I had not one, but two letters written by King George IV.
Chapter 62
I came up with my plan not a moment too soon. The next morning, Higgins walked into the breakfast room, bringing me a note on a silver platter.
I opened it quickly. “It’s from Lady Conyngham. She wants to meet with me, alone, in Hyde Park today. And she requests I bring the letter. She doesn’t say what she’ll do if I turn her down, but the threat is there all the same.”
“Darling girl, are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Edward asked.
“No, but thank you. I do not want her to be suspicious. If the Marchioness thinks she has bullied me into submission, if she believes I’ve come with my tail tucked between my legs, all the better. I shall rely on my insignificant size and unchallenging mien to lull her into her natural state of superiority. She will think she’s put a scare into me and determine that I’m incapable of deception.”
“Are you capable of lying? You are such a good girl, my love.”
“You would be amazed at what I am capable of, Mr. Rochester. As soon as my stitches heal, I intend to show you.”
A few hours later, Williams brought Lucy’s carriage to Hyde Park, a place where the bushes were low and no trees blocked the view of us. Taking his time, he helped me out of the carriage, making sure I did not trip over the bright red shawl I had worn for the purpose of making myself more conspicuous.
A few minutes earlier, we had dropped Mr. Douglas off on the other side of the park. He planned to make his way across the acreage to a spot where he could observe my transaction unobtrusively.
The map enclosed in Lady Conyngham’s note had indicated we were to meet at a bench close to the street. That was fortunate for me, although the purpose was surely to make life easier for the heavyset Marchioness.
I did not have to wait long. A handsome maroon cabriolet with a pair of matching black horses clattered down the street before coming to a halt. Twin footmen in maroon livery, with gold epaulets on their shoulders, opened the door and escorted the Marchioness out. This morning her age was obvious as she moved with the sort of hesitation common in older people. When she was close enough, I pushed myself to a standing position and did my best to curtsy, although my genuflection was incredibly painful.
The Marchioness took a seat, and I sat next to her. “Well, we aren’t here to chat. I’ve heard that you managed to best Mrs. Biltmore, and she is locked up. You also managed to determine who actually killed Lady Ingram. One of her daughters is in jail, and the other is touring the Continent. I suppose you are congratulating yourself. I imagine that you think that I no longer have any influence over you,” she said.
“Actually, that’s not the case. I know better.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “Go on.”
“I am fully cognizant that you can still ruin Lucy. Yes, her name is cleared as to the death of Dowager Lady Ingram. And Blanche Ingram won’t be able to gossip about my friend or me. But you are still here. You still have the ear of the King. You have it in your power to do much damage to us all.”
“My, my.” The Marchioness sounded like a contented kitten. A genuine smile lifted the edges of her lips. “You are much smarter than I thought.”
“Therefore, I have decided to give you the love letter.”
Reaching into my reticule, I handed her the missive, folded with the King’s own seal on the outside. She tore it from me and read it quickly:
My Darling Pansy,
I am sorry you find yourself with child; however, I cannot marry you because I am already married.
Pity the poor head that wears the crown! No one can imagine what dangers and pressures assail me on every side. The dreams I have of my time on the battlefield! The terror I relive! Sometimes I fear that I am every bit as mad as my father!
George
What she held in her hand was the last page of the love letter, to the top of which I had merely added a salutation and opening sentence.
Lady Conyngham stared at the single sheet and murmured as if to herself, “I recognize his handwriting and the paper. No other stationery could have that same provenance. But although it was clearly written when Mrs. Biltmore was pregnant, it does not state to whom he is married! It doesn’t name Mrs. Fitzherbert as his wife! He could well be writing about Queen Caroline!”
I said nothing.
“Honestly,” she said, as she pursed her lips, “to hear the King speak of it, you’d think this letter proved he defied the Royal Marriages Act. I should have guessed he wouldn’t do that. He was far too diffident to his father to risk his disapproval, although this does prove he committed adultery.” She flicked the paper with a finger, “You have gone to a lot of effort to safeguard something with very little value. No one expects a King to be a saint!”
I shrugged. “I never suggested it had great value. Everyone else did. And I suppose to some, it might still. If you don’t want it—”
“I shall keep it,” she said quickly. “Though I am not sure it is worth standing up at a baptismal font.”
“But I have done as you asked. Now you must keep your portion of our agreement!” Actually, Lucy and I had concurred that Lady Conyngham’s patronage mattered very little to her and Evans. But I still thought it best to keep up appearances.
“No, I think not. Yes, you have turned this over to me, but it is a worthless piece of paper,” she said. “It’s clear to me that over the years the King has forgotten exactly what he wrote.”
Yes, that was what I had hoped she might think. After all, she had no respect for the man, other than what he might afford her—and he had no respect for her. It stood to reason they would not credit each other with any sense.
I pressed my point. “But you told me you would stand up for Evans!”
“I think not. I am tired of you and your friend. Now that I have the letter, I have no need for either of you.”
To my way of thinking, that was just fine.
Chapter 63
From my seat on the park bench, I watched her carriage drive away. Williams came to my aid. “You all right, ma’am?”
“Never better. Except for my side.”
“Well done, Mrs. Rochester. Bravo!” Mr. Douglas stepped out from a stand of rhododendron bushes.
We returned together in the carriage to Grosvenor Square, where he helped me walk into Lucy’s marble entrance hall. From the drawing room came the sound of happy female voices. I squared my shoulders and walked into the room, eager to join the gathering. The three women did not hear my approach, each was so absorbed in what she was doing.
My friend Lucy was pouring tea. Minney Seymour was cradling Evans and cooing to him. Maria Fitzherbert was marveling over a letter she held in her hands.
A letter that began, “My Darling Pansy . . .”
Author’s Note
Dear Reader, I always wonder what is truth and what is fiction when I read. So come closer and I shall whisper a few of my secrets in your ear:
You are probably wondering if Minney Seymour actually was the illegitimate child of King George IV and Maria Fitzherbert? Scholars are divided on the subject. However, she w
as certainly the child of his heart. The King remained exceedingly fond of Minney his entire life, sending her small presents and settling upon her the sum of £20,000 on her twenty-first birthday.
Yes, there were only eight Bow Street Runners, and their primary charge was to protect the King. Given how disliked George IV was, that would not have been an easy task. As for the love letters, it is true that the King wrote them and bought them back . . . repeatedly. And the Marchioness Conyngham’s family did prosper from her “special friendship” with the monarch.
Did King George IV really marry Maria Fitzherbert in secret—and then publicly marry Caroline of Brunswick? Yes. But his heart stayed true to Maria. In fact, he left instructions that he was to be buried with a miniature portrait of her that he wore around his neck, hanging on a tattered black ribbon. As for poor Queen Caroline, she was barred from attending her husband’s coronation ceremony on July 19, 1821. Eleven days later, she suffered severe abdominal pains and finally died on August 7. Some suggest that she had been poisoned.
What about the Lunarticks? Did they really exist? Yes, and one of their number did recognize digitalis as a possible cure for heart problems. While the original society supposedly disbanded in 1813, they still meet today, which suggests they actually were driven underground.
Cannabis was first cultivated in 4000 BC in China and is considered one of the fundamental herbs of Chinese medicine. It can be effective in treating glaucoma because it lowers inter-ocular pressure. An Irish doctor in Calcutta published a paper about it in 1839, so it is reasonable to assume that word about its healing properties might have spread informally before that date.
The Great Famine occurred in 1845; however, in the years preceding there were many potato crop failures that sent the Irish to London hoping for jobs, including one in 1821.
For more information about King George IV, I suggest Mrs. Fitzherbert and George IV by W. H. Wilkins, Prince of Pleasure by Saul David, and The Trial of Queen Caroline by Jane Robins.
Death of a Dowager Page 27