Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place)

by Claudia Harbaugh

  Mrs. Bigelow suddenly tired of the argument, thrust the keys into Isobel’s hands and stalked off. Isobel did not waste any time watching her go. She opened the door to Lady Tyndale’s rooms. The small sitting room was neat and sparsely furnished. And empty. Isobel and Mrs. Endicott opened the door to the bedchamber. Lady Tyndale lay on her bed, soaked in sweat, her greasy hair a matted mess. They ran to her and Isobel noticed Lady Tyndale’s rash. She put a hand to the ailing woman’s forehead.

  “She is burning up. I believe it is measles. Do you know of a physician nearby?” Isobel asked Mrs. Endicott.

  “Yes…” Mrs. Endicott voice was reticent.

  “Mrs. Endicott, if there is something you must tell me, please do. We do not have time to waste.”

  “I do not trust him. I do not think he is a competent doctor.”

  Isobel thought for a brief moment and came to a decision. “Please run down to my carriage and ask for my two men, Renfrew and Griffin to come up.”

  “Oh, but Mrs. Bigelow would never allow gentlemen in the house!”

  “They are not gentlemen. Renfrew is a butler or footman, depending on the task, and Griffin is a valet. Besides, Mrs. Bigelow will have nothing to say on the matter. Now please, fetch them. Quickly.”

  Mrs. Endicott flew from the room and was back in within minutes with Renfrew and Griffin, though Mrs. Bigelow had made a token protest. Isobel had wrapped Lady Tyndale in her sheets and then a blanket to make a sort of cocoon. She began issuing orders as soon as they appeared.

  “Mrs. Endicott, could you please pack up any belongings that Lady Tyndale might need. I am having her move in with me for the time being.” This seemed to distress the young widow, tears filling her eyes. “I am sorry, Mrs. Endicott, but I cannot leave her here in this condition. I can take care of her much more effectively at my home.”

  “I understand. It is just that I will miss her,” replied the young woman, holding back her tears and carefully placing various items in an old portmanteau.

  Isobel reached into her reticule and pulled out a few coins and handed them to the valet. “Griffin, hail a hackney and go to fetch Dr. Fillmore on Harley Street. Have him meet us there as soon as can be. But first you must help Renfrew carry Lady Tyndale to the coach.”

  Renfrew moved to pick up the lady waiting for Griffin to help.

  “Do you think it wise to move her, Miss?” asked Griffin.

  “No. But it is better than leaving her here to die. I cannot care for her properly here. I must take the chance. I have already had the measles, thank God, and so has Aunt Maude.”

  “Measles!” cried Griffin jumping back from the infected woman.

  “Griffin!”

  “Never mind, Miss,” said Renfrew. He had picked up Lady Tyndale on his own. “I don’t need Griffin’s help. She’s as light as a feather.” He walked out of the room with the precious bundle.

  Isobel glared at Griffin. “You had best be on your way to Harley Street, Griffin. Take that portmanteau down with you and give it to William before you leave.”

  “Yes, Miss,” he answered both relieved and ashamed. He looked at the coins in his hand. “I am sorry, Miss, but I will need extra coin for the toll bridge.” Isobel handed it to him and he left on his mission of mercy.

  “Mrs. Endicott, I thank you for your help. I am sorry to rob you of your friend, but we must consider her health. We are moving her to 65 Woburn Place in Bloomsbury. You and your daughter are more than welcome to visit. Now I must get my aunt and go.”

  “Thank you, Miss Kennilworth, for taking such good care of Laura. You must be a very good friend, indeed.” Isobel’s guilt surged to the surface, but she smiled wanly at Mrs. Endicott.

  Isobel retrieved her aunt and bade farewell to the Endicott’s. Little Charis hung onto Lady Whitcomb and screamed, “Wady, wady don’ go ‘way!” Mrs. Endicott herself looked as if she wished to cling to them as well, but obediently pulled her daughter away, giving them a feeble smile as they left.

  “Do come and see us,” said Lady Whitcomb cheerfully. She reached in her reticule and pulled out a guinea and handed it to Mrs. Endicott. “For coach fare,” she explained with a smile and was hurried off to the waiting coach.

  Chapter 16

  “Measles,” pronounced Dr. Fillmore. “I hardly know what you were thinking in moving her, Miss Kennilworth, but the deed is done. She is dehydrated and malnourished. It is important to get barley water down her as often as you can, even if you must spoon feed it. Time will tell if she pulls through. If the fever breaks, she will have a fighting chance.”

  Isobel did not bother to defend her actions, not really knowing with certainty if she had done the right thing. It had seemed right at the time. Nevertheless, Lady Tyndale was here now. They had bathed her body with cool water, put her in fresh nightgown, and brushed her tangled, stringy hair away from her lovely, if spotted, face. The doctor left after giving more instructions and promising to return in the morning.

  Isobel had insisted that Lady Tyndale be put in her own bedchamber. She would sleep on a truckle bed in the dressing room to be near her patient. She also ordered that Lord Charles’ bed be moved from the third floor to the library so that he need not be carried up and down the stairs. If this was to be a convalescent hospital, she meant to make it as easy on the staff as possible.

  Too tired to change and reticent to leave her patient, though she was sleeping, Isobel had a tray in her room. It was quite late by the time she finally ate. Lady Whitcomb joined her.

  “I am quite proud of you, Isobel,” said that Lady after she had finished a hearty meal. She watched her niece push her food around her plate with her fork, her mood melancholy.

  “Do not be proud of me, Aunt. Were it not for me, she would be married to some noble lord and not be ill at all.” Isobel put down her fork and pushed her plate away.

  “You do not know that, my dear. Even the ton can catch the measles. They are not immune. And we cannot know what might have happened. We must concentrate now on what might happen. Now there is something thrilling to ponder.” Isobel looked anything but thrilled.

  Lady Whitcomb sighed and rose. She went to her niece who sat at Lady Tyndale’s bedside, her food tray pushed to the side. She placed her hand on Isobel’s shoulder. “You are looking a bit peaked, my dear. I fear you are looking out of the carriage focused on where we have been. Look ahead!” When Isobel said nothing she gently squeezed her shoulder. “I will spell you in the morning. I will not even try and argue with you about taking turns in the night. I would lose. You are very determined to do penance and this will do as well as the next thing. Goodnight, my dear.”

  Isobel looked at the sleeping woman whose life she had ruined. Penance. Could she ever truly atone for what she did? She doubted it, but was determined to do everything in her power to make amends.

  It was a long night. Lady Tyndale woke periodically and cried out. Whether in pain, or fear or whether it was some other emotion all together, Isobel did not know. But she cooled Lady Tyndale’s body with a wet rag and spoon fed her as much barley water as she was able. Isobel lay down on the truckle bed a few times and fell into a short, restless sleep, but mostly, she sat in the chair by the invalid’s bed and spoke and read to her. She did not speak of the problems between them, but merely of frivolities and interesting tidbits. She read her poetry and encouraging verses from the Bible. She read and talked until her throat was raw.

  When Lady Whitcomb arrived very early the next morning, Isobel was sound asleep her head on Lady Tyndale’s bed, clutching her hand. She gently woke her niece and pronounced herself ready for duty. Isobel wanted to protest, but knew she needed rest to function.

  “I will just take a brief nap. An hour or two. I will have Manning wake me.” Isobel stretched her aching limbs and rubbed her sore neck with her hand.

  “You will sleep till you awaken. I slept soundly and I know what I am doing. Who do you think nursed you through the measles? Certainly not your mother!” Lady Whitco
mb reminded her.

  “You did, dearest Aunt. And how did I repay you? By giving you the cursed disease.” She went to her aunt who had taken the bedside seat, put her hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “I will sleep till I awaken, but you must promise to waken me if something happens.”

  “Of course, my dear,” her aunt assured her.

  “And I have been reading to her,” she added by way of suggestion.

  “The very thing. I shall continue your excellent work. Now, off with you!” And Isobel went.

  It was late the next afternoon that the fever broke. Isobel was reading from one of her favorite books by Miss Austen, called Emma, about a young lady who also was prone to scheming. She did not notice at first, for she was looking at the page, but when she looked up, she saw that Laura was staring at her in shock.

  “Laura. Lady Tyndale. You are awake! You are better. Oh, I am so glad.” Isobel babbled on while the weak and bewildered young woman simply looked at her in surprise.

  “Lady Warwick? What are you doing here?” She looked around the room. “Or what am I doing here? Where am I? I do not understand.”

  “You were ill, Lady Tyndale. I found you at your boarding house and brought you here. We were all very worried about you.”

  “I am at Wren House?” Lady Tyndale asked, horrified. Isobel realized that, tucked away in Lambeth Laura did not know of Isobel’s change in circumstances, so she briefly explained what had happened. “And so I am Isobel Kennilworth again. And I live in Bloomsbury. On Woburn Street; and that is where you are.”

  “Why did you bring me here, Miss Kennilworth?”

  “The answer is neither simple nor brief. I fear now is not the best time to speak of it. I would have you stronger so you will be able to rant and rave at me.”

  “I would not…” Lady Tyndale began.

  “I know, My Lady, I know. Let me just say, for now, that I wanted to do this, more than anything. So please, just get well and we will have that talk soon. Now, do you feel you could eat something. How about some nice broth.” Lady Tyndale agreed to the broth and ate nearly half of it when it came, but was so tired that she fell asleep before she could finish.

  The next few days passed. The doctor pronounced Lady Tyndale out of danger and Renfrew was sent in the carriage to get the rest of Lady Tyndale’s belongings from the boarding house. Lady Tyndale was getting stronger and was drinking broth and eating gruel; she had even managed some tea and toast. She also was adamant about being moved to a guest bedroom. Isobel reluctantly complied and Lady Tyndale was relocated to the third floor.

  Lady Joanna still came almost daily for visits to see Isobel, or more likely Charles, but Isobel could not think about that now. She would have to do something soon, but now she must concentrate on helping Lady Tyndale get well. That morning Isobel had noticed a marked improvement in the lady’s health and was heartily grateful for it.

  Now, Aunt Maude was sitting with Lady Tyndale while Isobel was taking a few minutes for herself, reading in the sitting room. Reading might be an overstatement since her mind continued to wander as she read the same sentence over and over again. She was tackling the first sentence of chapter 3 yet again when Renfrew entered.

  “There’s a young lady come to see you, Miss.” Renfrew looked uncertainly at his mistress.

  “Lady Joanna again, Renfrew?”

  “No, Miss, that one from Lambeth, with the little girl. She’s asking for you. She’s got bags with her, Miss.”

  “Oh?” said Isobel in surprise. “Well, let us see what this is all about, Renfrew, put her in the parlor. I will be down presently.”

  “Ah, Lord Charles and Lady Joanna are in the parlor, Miss.”

  “What? Good God, Renfrew, did I not tell you they were not to be alone?”

  “Miss Parrish is there also and a Captain Danvers. Lady Joanna brought her maid, too, Miss.”

  “Oh, very well. Send her up here, the lady from Lambeth, and have Mrs. Kitchen send up tea.” Renfrew left and Isobel had a few minutes to stew about Lady Joanna and Charles. Whatever was she to do about that?”

  “Mrs. Serena Endicott and Miss Charis Endicott,” intoned Renfrew, evidently hoping to impress the newcomers.

  “Thank you, Renfrew,” Isobel said in dismissal. To the uneasy Mrs. Endicott she gave a welcoming smile. “Mrs. Endicott and Miss Charis. How glad I am you have decided to call. Our Lady Tyndale is doing immensely better. I am highly optimistic about her full recovery.”

  “That is wonderful news,” said Mrs. Endicott with a brief smile, but she remained jittery.

  Just then Lady Whitcomb entered and beamed at the visitors. “Well, well! You have finally come. Come and say hello, Miss Charis.” Charis ran to Lady Whitcomb and grabbed at her fuchsia satin gown . “Hewo, wady!” Lady Whitcomb sat on one of the couches and Charis climbed up to join her, and began playing with the huge silver buttons that adorned Lady Whitcomb’s colorful gown.

  “I just left Lady Tyndale sleeping soundly. Anna is keeping an eye on her. Now, tell us how you get on.”

  Mrs. Endicott opened her mouth to speak and abruptly dissolved into tears. After a moment, during which Isobel did her best to comfort the woman, she attempted to explain through her tears. “I am so sorry Miss Kennilworth, Lady Whitcomb. I am truly glad that Lady Tyndale is recovering. It is just that…” she stopped, hesitant to continue.

  “Please tell us your difficulties, Mrs. Endicott. We cannot help if we do not know what troubles you,” Lady Whitcomb said sincerely.

  “You see, that is my dilemma. Why should you help me? You barely know me. And I have sunk below the confines of Polite Society, so you should not even associate with me.” Mrs. Endicott renewed her weeping. Thankfully, Charis was easily amused and paid her mother little mind.

  Isobel looked at this very young girl, who was most probably very alone in the world. “Why do you not tell us all and let us decide whether to help or not.”

  Mrs. Endicott drew a breath, gathered her composure, and with very few interruptions told her story. Her name was actually Lady Serena Leighton, daughter of the Earl of Leighton, and she had been sixteen when she had met Lord Henry Endicott. He had come to her home in Sussex to attend a house party given by her parents. Though everyone thought him to be a charming gentleman he was not. He did charm the young debutantes that attended the house party, but he had become enamored with the beautiful, but underage Lady Serena. He composed sonnets to her, wooed her, and kissed her illicitly in the garden, in the stone folly, and in the barn. It was the barn that had been her undoing, for Lord Endicott could not seem to stop at kissing. The naïve Lady Serena believed herself to be in love and she assumed that he would offer for her. He did not, but left Sussex without so much as a goodbye.

  Two months later, she had found herself with child. Her parents were incensed and blamed her, calling her names she had never heard before. Her father, Lord Leighton went to London to try to force Lord Endicott to marry his daughter, but it was too late. Endicott had come to the house party already engaged, though secretly, to the heiress Lady Penelope Rivers. By the time Lord Leighton reached London, they were married. Lord Leighton, at wit’s end, had hastily arranged another match with Baron FitzHugh, who was fifty, fat, and fatuous. Lady Serena was appalled. She could never do what she had done with Lord Endicott with that disgusting old man. Her parents insisted and she held her ground. Then, the ultimatum was given: marry FitzHugh or leave their home. A few days later, with every valuable she owned, she had left Sussex and fled to the outskirts of London to live with her former nanny, Miss Pike and her sister Mrs. Tibbins.

  Until Charis was five months old Lady Serena lived there quite happily, though Mrs. Tibbins was none too pleased to have her. Then, Nanny had gotten sick and shortly thereafter died, leaving Lady Serena one hundred pounds in her will. This did not make Mrs. Tibbins like Lady Serena any better, having only been left fifty pounds by her own sister. Mrs. Tibbins had flung the mother and child out into the co
ld, hard world the day after the funeral. With the hundred pounds in her wallet, Lady Serena had felt she could survive for a while, but knew enough to change her name to Mrs. Endicott. Carefully husbanding her hundred pounds, she had managed to make ends meet, living at the house on Webber Street. She had found sporadic work at the local milliners, cutting ribbon and the like for the bonnets, but it had been difficult with Charis. Then Lady Tyndale had come and they had become friends. They had shared meals and laughter and Lady Tyndale, now Laura, would care for Charis from time to time if Serena had any work at the milliners. Then Laura became sick.

  “After you left a few days ago, Mrs. Bigelow was very angry with me for telling you about Laura’s having paid her rent. She has already rented out Laura’s rooms and yet she blames me for losing her money. She ranted at me mercilessly and finally decided that I should pay the ten pounds that you did not pay her. She claimed I owed it to her! She hounded me for days, and finally, this morning, I refused and she tossed me and Charis out. I have nowhere to go, and very little money. And so I came here.” Exhausted from her tale, the young woman fell silent.

  “You did the right, thing,” said Lady Whitcomb as she held the sleeping Charis in her arms. Serena, as she had given them leave to call her, had inadvertently lulled her child to sleep with the sad story of her life. Serena looked to Isobel for confirmation.

  Isobel considered the situation. Under her roof, she housed her darling, but sometimes exasperating, Aunt Maude, who had a total income of 300 pounds per annum. And, of course, there was the incapacitated non-brother-in-law, who had no income whatsoever and owed thousands of pounds to the moneylenders. She had purposely added Lady Tyndale to the household, who had not a sou. And now, Serena and two year old Charis? And they all had 800 pounds to live on; her five hundred and Aunt Maude’s three hundred. Isobel shook her head and smiled. Why not? The more the merrier.

  “You are welcome here. Would you like to see your room?” Serena nodded her assent. “ I shall introduce you to the housekeeper, Mrs. Riggs, and you can get settled in while Charis and Aunt Maude doze on the couch.” For indeed, Lady Whitcomb had joined the child in slumber. “I will take you in to see Lady Tyndale a bit later.”