The Lacemaker (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  He was so sunk in thought that he had passed through the gates to Starlingford and was beyond the farm before he began to take note of his surroundings. Only the high wail of a baby brought him back to awareness. He knew, however, where he was bound. If there was one person in the world who could tell him what a gentleman was, it was his father.

  As so often these days, he was dozing beside the fire in his book room, but he woke at once and greeted Charles with apparent pleasure.

  “What a delightful surprise. Do come in, Charles. Would you like some Canary? This latest supply is a very good sort, and I can recommend it.”

  He meant, of course, that he would like some himself. Charles poured two glasses, set one glass within easy reach of his father and then settled himself on the matching chair to his father’s.

  “I offered for Miss Milburn, but she would not have me,” he said without preamble. “She said I am not a gentleman. What do you think she means by that?”

  His father looked at him, lifted his glass and sipped, then set it down again. Finally, he closed the book that still lay open on his lap, put it on the table and carefully removed his glasses. Thus prepared, he said, “You are not… disappointed?”

  “Disappointed?” For a moment he could not think why he might be disappointed, until he remembered that his proposal had been rejected. “I know Mama will be, but—”

  “Mrs Leatham will have some strategy to help your suit to prosper,” his father said. “She is of such an optimistic nature that failure does not enter her thoughts. But what of you? It is a blow to a man’s self-esteem to be thus rebuffed.”

  Had his self-esteem been dented by his unceremonious dismissal? “I cannot say,” Charles said slowly. “I believe I have always been prepared for such an eventuality, so it does not entirely surprise me.”

  “Ah.” His father sipped his Canary thoughtfully. “So it is her opinion of you, that you are not a gentleman, which rankles.”

  “Rankles… not exactly. I am merely… puzzled. What does she mean by it? I am of gentrified stock, I am educated, I wear appropriate clothing for my station, I know how to behave in society and I carry out the obligations of a landowner. What more is expected of me?”

  “Perhaps,” his father said gently, “it was your manner of addressing her which fell short of her expectations. You can be… a trifle brusque at times.”

  “Hmm.” Charles tugged at his ear thoughtfully. “She always rubs me the wrong way, that is the Devil of it. I never know what to say to her, and then, somehow, we end up at loggerheads. Do you think I should have sweet-talked her? Used flattery? For I am no good at that sort of thing, and I cannot think she wants it. She is too sensible to respond to high-flown phrases.”

  “Not flattery, exactly, but when a gentleman is offering marriage to a lady, it is customary to explain just why he feels she is the perfect wife for him. To expound on her many virtues, and so forth.”

  “Miss Milburn has no virtues, that I can see,” Charles said gloomily. “She is a termagant.”

  “Now that cannot possibly be true,” his father said, with his gentle smile. “Come now, tell me three things you admire about her.”

  “She can play whist,” he said at once. “If ever she is desperate for the readies, she could make a handy living at the gaming tables, I wager.”

  His father laughed. “Very good. What else?”

  “She takes care of her sisters. Mind you, they need the Devil of a lot of looking after. Elinor is full of wild schemes, and Poppy is so up in the clouds that her feet barely touch the ground. Caroline is a good protector, like a mother hen.”

  “A little too good, perhaps. It would do the younger girls no harm to take their share of the burdens of adulthood. That is two virtues. What else?”

  For a moment Charles could think of nothing, until he remembered how she had answered him, not an hour ago. Those treacle-coloured eyes! How they had upbraided him. “She says what she thinks,” he said slowly. “And do you know, I think she is mostly right. I was rude to her, and offered her insult, and that is no way to speak to one’s future wife.”

  “No, indeed,” his father said gently.

  “I wish I knew how to talk to her… or to any woman, really, but they just seem like some strange creatures from another continent. Fascinating and exotic but impossibly alien. And incomprehensible.”

  “Ah, that is all because of family history,” his father said sadly. “Because your poor mother died bringing Felicity into the world, and I could not look after all six of you, the girls went to your Aunt Jane, and you, Ben and Alfred went off to school. You were only eight, far too young, really, but I was distraught and not at all able to cope with you and… well, it was done for the best. But it meant that you grew up without very much contact with the female of the species. Until I married again when you were sixteen, I daresay you scarcely saw a single female from one month to the next. It does not lead to easy discourse with the other sex. And then there is the Leatham shyness. I had it in abundance, and your mother was a timid creature, too. We were well-suited in that regard! But such a marriage does not produce lively children. The girls had the benefit of Aunt Jane’s outgoing nature and then your step-mother to introduce them to society, but you boys were left to my taciturn care, I regret to say. Ben found his strength in God, and Alfred in books, as I have, but I think you have not yet found yours.”

  Charles said nothing for a while, considering all that his father had said. Before he could get his thoughts in order, his step-mother peered round the door.

  “Oh, Charles!” Her voice was surprised. “Heaton was right — you are back. But what have you done with the carriage?”

  “The carriage? Oh! The carriage! I quite forgot I went to see Miss Milburn in the carriage. Oh Lord, I have left Whitelaw kicking his heels at Bursham Cottage. I had better go and fetch him.”

  “Let Edward do it. Tell me at once, did you offer for her? What did she say?”

  “What? Oh, she will not have me. I will tell you all about it later.”

  So saying, he swept past his astonished step-mother, grabbed his hat from the hall table — where were his gloves? That was odd — and rushed out of the house. His long legs carried him back down the drive, past the farm where the baby still wailed, and onto the Corranford road in no time, where the first person he encountered was Miss Milburn herself, walking towards the village. She started when she saw him, then inclined her head the smallest amount in greeting.

  “Your gloves are on the hall table, sir,” she said.

  “My gloves? Did I leave them there?” he said, too bewildered even to remember to bow.

  “You abandoned them in the parlour. Good day to you.” She began to walk past him.

  His head was filled with the memory of her angry words to him, and he could not easily stand aside and watch her walk away from him. Perhaps she would rebuff him, but he had to say what was in his mind. “What did you mean?” he blurted. “When you said I was no gentleman, what did you mean by that? What embodies your concept of a gentleman?”

  She turned narrowed eyes on him. “Do you care what I think?”

  “I do! Truly I do. Miss Milburn, I have no idea what I am, but I should like to understand what I am not. Will you explain it to me? Please?”

  Her face softened and he thought there was amusement in her eyes. “I have a letter to get to the Wheatsheaf before the mail cart leaves. You can walk with me, if you want.”

  He fell into step beside her. “Thank you.” He hesitated, then added, “May I apologise for—?”

  She waved him into silence with a short laugh. “If we’re going to apologise for every insult we’ve hurled at each other, we’ll be here all day. I don’t bear grudges, Mr Leatham. If we can conduct a rational conversation without snapping at each other for the five minutes it will take to reach the Wheatsheaf, I’ll be satisfied with that.”

  He laughed, too. “Very well. Then will you tell me, Miss Milburn, what is your idea of a
gentleman?”

  She sighed gustily. “I’m going to annoy you, so please don’t get angry with me, but it’s not something I can describe. I’ve not had much experience of such people, and certainly not socially until recently, but quite a number of gentlemen used to patronise Papa’s shop to buy their neckcloths, or linen for their shirts. Papa used to say of them, ‘He’s not a proper gentleman’ or ‘That one’s a real gentleman’, and sometimes I couldn’t see at first what the difference was. I suspect that much of his approbation depended upon the speed with which they settled their bills. But there was one man… he was different. Even I could see that he was superior to the rest.”

  “In what way?” Charles said.

  “That’s just it, it’s hard to say. It wasn’t that his clothes were better, or his manners, or his way of speaking. He had an air about him, that’s all I can tell you. Although he did have good manners. Mama always said that whenever he met her, he made her feel like a lady, even though she wasn’t.” She bit her lip, and glanced up at him mischievously. “So there is one difference. You not only don’t make me feel like a lady, you tell me to my head that I’m not.”

  He pulled a rueful face. “That was very bad of me. I do not know what it is about you, but you bring out the worst in me. I am not normally quite so… so…”

  “Obnoxious? Rude? Bad-tempered? Boorish? Abusive?”

  A bubble of anger rose inside Charles, but those dark eyes were twinkling at him. She was right about one thing — she did not bear grudges. There was no hint of resentment in her manner. “I daresay I am all of those things,” he said slowly.

  “But not always,” she said. “You can be quite polite when you set your mind to it, or perhaps when I am nowhere near you. Truly, Mr Leatham, I cannot imagine why you asked me to—” She broke off abruptly, for they had almost reached the inn, and there were several people about. “Never mind,” she said hastily. “Thank you for your company, sir.” She dipped him a farewell curtsy and vanished into the inn.

  ‘I cannot imagine why you asked me to marry you.’ That was what she had been about to say, and in truth he could not imagine himself, except that it was his duty to marry and his step-mother thought she was suitable. As always, he felt as if a lead weight were settling in his stomach at the thought. Being married, like managing the estate, seemed an impossibly confining business, choking all the joy out of his life. What would he not give to be back in the army and far, far away from all these dispiriting decisions. He sank onto the bench outside the inn. He would allow himself five minutes to wallow in misery, then he would get up and go home and pretend that all was well with him.

  So he wallowed, and a few people tipped their hats to him as they passed by or offered him a respectful bow or curtsy, recognising him, and whispering his name to each other. He knew most of them, too, but nobody spoke to him, leaving him to his thoughts.

  “Good heavens, Mr Leatham, are you still here?”

  “Miss Milburn? That was quick. “He jumped to his feet, clutching his hat. Wherever were his gloves? They seemed to have vanished.

  “The letter was dealt with quick enough, but I was talking to Mickey in the stables about the goat and kid his sister is to send for Poppy. I must have been twenty minutes or more. I thought you’d be long gone.”

  “I was just feeling sorry for myself.” Impulsively, he offered her his arm and to his surprise, she took it.

  “Now, what have you got to feel miserable about?” she said. “You have a fine home, a father and step-mother who are fond of you, enough money to live on…”

  “I have no purpose,” he said. “That is my problem. In the army, I knew who I was and what I needed to do. So long as I followed orders, everything would be fine. But now… there are no orders.”

  “Except from your step-mother when she tells you who to marry,” she said, and the acid tone was back in her voice.

  “Those are not orders,” he said tersely. “Merely… suggestions. Strongly-made suggestions, sometimes, and taking no account of my objections, but in the end, the decision is mine.”

  “Is it?” Before he could answer that, she went on, “Do you miss it very much? The army, I mean?”

  At her words, he was swept with such longing to be back that that he was almost overwhelmed. Unable to speak, he merely nodded.

  “What do you miss most? The killing? The screams of men dying? The blood?”

  “The comradeship, the constant physical activity, the importance of the enterprise,” he shot back. “A year ago I was defending this country, our whole way of life, from possible invasion by hostile forces. Now I am trying to decide between reroofing the smithy or a row of cottages. And then there is the fence to be replaced at Mr Ascot’s field, because his cows keep wandering. It is all so petty.”

  “Not to Mr Ascot or the smith or the cottagers. It’s not on the level of defence of the realm, I’ll grant you that, but it’s important to be a good landlord, and to be seen to be so. That’s purpose enough for any man, I’d have thought.”

  These words seemed, in his present mood, to be so wise that he said impulsively, “What would you do, Miss Milburn? The smithy or the cottages? One family helped or six? And if Mr Ascot’s fence is to be replaced, then there will not be enough money to fix the smithy until next year. What on earth is anyone to do?”

  “Fix the smithy roof, fix the worst cottage of the six and send two men from the farm to patch up the fence.”

  He gasped at the speed of her answer, then his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “The smith is too important a man to be left with a leaky roof. Even I have heard rumours of the smith and his discontent, and how much he dislikes Mr Hapgood. Not you, and not your father either, but Mr Hapgood is widely known as a nipcheese. As for the cottages, if you repair one of the six, everyone will be pleased that you are doing something at last and hope it will be their turn next. And Mr Ascot grumbles worse than an old spinster. There is nothing wrong with his fence that a few planks wouldn’t fix. One cow escaped once, and now he wants the whole fence replaced.”

  “How do you know all this?” he said wonderingly.

  “There are advantages to not being a lady, Mr Leatham. When I meet the apothecary’s wife, or the baker, or the woman who does the laundry for Mr Ascot, they talk to me as an equal. Which I am, of course. No one would tell you any of this, although if you were to visit your tenants without Mr Hapgood, you might find them more forthcoming.”

  They had reached the gates to Starlingford by this time. “Yes,” Charles said slowly. “Smithy, one cottage, patch up the fence. And talk to the tenants without Hapgood.”

  She chuckled. “Now you are following my orders, Mr Leatham. Please remember that until recently, my entire domain was two rooms and a shared back yard. It doesn’t exactly qualify me to advise on estate management, although I do have some experience with leaky roofs, it must be confessed. I suggest you talk it over with your father.”

  “Yes, yes, but this is so sensible, Miss Milburn. How wise you are! I thank you most sincerely for your thoughts on the matter. I must talk to my father at once. I bid you good day.”

  He made her a most respectful bow, and set off briskly along the drive for home. He was within sight of the house before he realised he had forgotten to retrieve the carriage again. With a sigh, he turned round once more.

  13: Mysteries

  Caroline had another visit from the lawyers appointed by the Benefactor. This time they wrote to her to make an appointment, arriving precisely at the agreed hour. All three sisters were there to meet them, Lin and Poppy feeling that the occasion warranted a retreat from the garden and hen-house for once, and the effort of scrubbing muddy fingernails and donning a respectable gown. Was it possible that there might be another thousand pounds to be given to them?

  The sisters sat in a row behind Caroline’s desk, while Mr Willerton-Forbes took the primary visitor’s chair on the opposite side, Mr Neate self-effacingly retreated to the window seat and Ca
ptain Edgerton lounged against the mantel.

  “My visit is a matter of courtesy only,” Mr Willerton-Forbes said when the preliminaries had been dispensed with. “We have been attempting to gain admittance to Valmont, but his lordship is not minded to see us. Since we were to be passing your door, we felt it the perfect opportunity to ensure that all is well with you, and to enquire if there is any other matter with which we may assist you.”

  Lin and Poppy sighed with disappointment. No more money, then. Caroline was sorry too, but they now had more than enough for their needs.

  “Such as what, sir?” she said, puzzled.

  “For example, the investment of your fund from the Benefactor, although I imagine that the estimable Mr Stratton has advised you in that regard. But any matter that has arisen as a result of the sinking of the Minerva which is troubling you, and upon which we might perhaps be able to render assistance.”

  “There is one thing…” Caroline said slowly. “We have found large sums of money buried in the garden, and—”

  “Buried in the garden?” Captain Edgerton said, springing to attention. “Truly? That is extraordinary!”

  “How large were these large sums?” Mr Willerton-Forbes said.

  “Five hundred pounds in each,” Caroline said. “We have found five so far. One was in the safe when we first moved in here, and four were dug up from my sister’s herb garden, the latest only yesterday. Each was a roll of bank notes in a netted purse, and the ones in the garden were in a waterproof bag inside a tin box.”

  “Do you have any of this for us to examine?” Captain Edgerton said eagerly.

  Caroline opened the safe to retrieve the latest find, and produced the other four purses, now empty of their contents, from a desk drawer. “I don’t have the boxes any more, or the waterproof bags. They were too horrid to keep. But everything else was sound.”

  The three men peered at the bank notes and the purses.