by Jude Bayton
I was at a complete loss. I expected her irritation, not sorrow. She stood by the hearth, and I quickly went to her and touched her arm. “Forgive me if I was harsh, Evergreen. I did not mean to upset you.”
She sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from her reticule, simultaneously waving me away. “’Tis not you who upsets me.” She smiled through tear-filled eyes. “But this whole mess. Father is home and has the countenance of a bear with a toothache, Marabelle mopes after him like a love-sick limpet, and Perry and Marik have gone off to spend a jolly weekend at a spa in Bath.” She gave her nose an unladylike blow. “I am bored and lonely, and there is absolutely nothing to do. I think I shall go mad.”
“Where is your father?”
She plopped down into the armchair and sniffed. “With Kemp, the damned solicitor. Discussing Billy—again.”
I took a seat in the opposing chair. “You cannot hold that against him, Evergreen. He is trying to make sure justice is done. If Billy is convicted, he will hang.”
“Then he shouldn’t have killed the bloody blacksmith, should he?”
I was shocked at her outburst and language. Was she so unfeeling then of her half-brother? I resisted the impulse to remark upon it and held my tongue, as I had promised Dominic.
“Why is Marabelle love-sick?” I remembered her comment.
Evergreen gave an unkind laugh. “’Tis my father. She is in love with him, and he notices her as frequently as he does our cook. Father thinks of Marabelle as family. She’s part of the furnishings at Hollyfield, yet she is besotted, and ridiculously annoying to boot.”
For a moment, my heart went out to the dour, sour-faced cousin. But then I looked at Evergreen LaVelle and her tear-streaked face. Compassion got the better of me. “Where is it you are going, and why on earth must I go along?”
Victorious, she grinned; all tears forgotten.
THE TOWN OF KENDAL HAD BEEN my first introduction to the Lake District. It was to this railway station I had come on my way to Ambleside. I had not returned to Kendal in the few short weeks since moving in with Uncle Jasper.
As we left Evergreen’s carriage, I felt a rush of excitement joining the hustle and bustle of a busy, well-populated place. The air was charged with an energy absent in Ambleside Village. We alighted onto the main street, which was bordered with shops of many types.
“There now, are you not pleased you came along?” Evergreen smirked as she saw me smiling. I was rather pleased. In the weeks since I had lived in Ambleside, I had forgotten how exciting it felt to be among so many people. The sights, smells and sounds of a hamlet were a welcome change from the quiet of my new home—at least for a short while.
Our first stop was a Milliners, where Evergreen tried on several garish hats which I thought looked ridiculous. She bought three, much to my horror and the shopkeeper’s delight. From there we went into a shoe shop. The lady who assisted us gave a brief history of the shoe industry and how important it was to the area.
“Kendal manufactures shoes which are exported all over England,” she bragged. “You won’t find a better-quality shoe made anywhere.” Evergreen agreed and promptly purchased several pairs. After another hour, this time in a dressmaker's, I begged for a reprieve.
“You aren’t used to all this shopping, are you?” Evergreen said, handing her parcels to the coachman as we made our way to a nearby tearoom.
“No, I am not. It is more exhausting than washing laundry or tending the vegetable garden. I do not know how you manage to decide what to buy and what not to?”
“Hah,” she giggled. “’Tis such a heavy burden for me to bear—but I manage.” We both laughed out loud.
“Here we are,” Evergreen announced and opened the door to a small tearoom. We were seated near a window. There, we could watch the shoppers going by. Sandwiches and cakes were ordered, and by the time our pot of tea arrived, I was both thirsty and hungry. Our conversation lagged while we ate and sipped our drinks to revive ourselves.
“Jillian, have you always been poor?” My companion asked as she took a bite of a delicious custard tart. I almost choked on my mouthful of Victoria Sponge.
“That is rather a blunt way to ask.” I dabbed at my mouth with a serviette. “For all your wealth and education, Miss LaVelle, your manners are somewhat lacking.” I said sternly. I glared at her and then noticed a large dollop of custard hanging from her top lip. She looked ridiculous, and I burst out laughing.
“What?” she asked, brows drawn. I gestured to her face, and she wiped it away. “I didn’t mean anything bad, Jillian. I am simply curious. You are such an odd duck. You don’t come from a wealthy family, yet you are educated and intelligent.”
“And you are typical of the upper-class, Evergreen, who must equate intelligence with financial status.” I took another sip of tea. “It may shock you to learn that money does not necessarily relate to being clever. You of all people should know that. Look at what your father has accomplished.”
“Oh, you mean his rags to riches story?” She put down her fork. “There is some truth to that, but if he had not married Mother, he would never have been so successful.” She sat back in her chair. “Father is an adept businessman, but it was my mother’s fortune which founded his company. So, you see—” she arched one brow. “There is a correlation between money and brains, after all.”
“Perhaps,” I replied. “Yet your father’s acumen was there long before his fortune. I do not equate wealth with intelligence whatsoever. I argue intellect is either there to be nurtured through education, or absent. I have met many rich people who are as ignorant as a tree stump.”
“Do you count me as one?” she said quickly.
I shrugged. “Only when it comes to your taste in hats.”
UNCLE JASPER AND MRS STACKPOOLE had already supped when the carriage dropped me home. I made myself a sandwich, and once I had finished eating, joined my uncle. He was alone in the parlour with his snifter of whisky. Mrs Stackpoole had popped next door to have a word with our neighbour, Mrs Parker. I sat down on the sofa and loosened my shoelaces.
“Well, how was it?” he asked as I removed my shoes and sat back with a sigh.
“My feet ache as though I have been dancing a jig all afternoon. Goodness, Uncle, Evergreen LaVelle shops like a starved dog in a butcher shop. I should not care if I saw one more milliner in this lifetime.”
Uncle Jasper laughed as he lit his pipe, then relaxed back in his chair as aromatic smoke spun into the air. “I am sorry you had no coin to purchase anything pretty for yourself, Jilly dear.” His wrinkled face was apologetic, and I felt a twinge of guilt.
“I did not have need of anything, Uncle,” I soothed. “Truly, there was nothing I saw I could not live without. Though I did enjoy the tea and cakes more than I ought.” As he smiled, I pulled out a small box from my pocket. It was true I had little money to buy a fancy hat or fashionable dress, but I had enough to purchase a small gift for him. I passed it over, and he looked up in question.
“What is this?”
“A present for you.” He began to speak, but I held up my hand to silence him. “Please, do not say anything, just open it. ’Tis only a little thing, but it is a large thank you for all you have done to make me feel I have a home once more.”
His chubby fingers clumsily opened the box, and then he glanced up at me in utter delight. My heart swelled with happiness. I had been thrilled to discover my find in the back of a cluttered shop selling trinkets and odds and ends. When I spied the dusty, fossilized toadstool, I knew my uncle must have it. Fortunately, it was cheap.
He held the piece of limestone and smiled at me. “Well, I’m blowed! What a wonderful gift. I’ve not got one of these in my collection. ’Tis marvellous, Jilly. You are too kind to think of me.” His pale eyes shone. “I shall treasure it always.” He looked at me fondly, and then the moment passed, and he set the gift down upon a side table and drew again on his pipe.
“Though I am not overly fond of shopping, Uncle
, it was a pleasant change going somewhere different. Were you able to spend time preparing for the lecture?” The long-awaited meeting at Mountjoy Manor was but three days away, and Uncle was submerged in all things fungal.
“Indeed, I was. Though I am content with my progress, there still remains much to do. There are new notes on my desk, ready to transcribe as soon as you are able. ’Tis the last of it. Once you have finished my report, I have only to organize which samples I need to take along with me and pack them accordingly.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “Mrs Stackpoole has offered to help in that department. She plans to attend the lecture and assist me with my lichens.” Uncle Jasper’s cheeks turned a shade of pink, and he was at once bashful.
“Uncle.” I smiled. “I think it singular you have a special friendship with her. I wish you would not feel uncomfortable speaking of it. I do not judge. I am pleased for you both.”
“We are merely friends, Jilly. Pray do not read more into it than that.” He attempted to sound convincing, but I was not fooled.
Uncle Jasper leaned over and tapped the ash from the bell of his pipe into the fireplace. “I forgot to mention to you about tomorrow.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“We are invited to Hollyfield for dinner. It came this afternoon from Victor LaVelle.”
“Did you reply?” I had mixed feelings about spending even more time at the House, though I could not explain why precisely.
“I accepted, of course. It will still be daylight when we arrive, and I’ve a mind to take a stroll through their gardens and see what I can spy.” As he beamed at the prospect, I could almost envision the child’s face which had been there long before the wrinkles and whiskers.
“I haven’t spoken to Victor in an age. It will be good to see the man and hear his news.”
I nodded in agreement. But then a thought came to me. What did my uncle know of the true relationship between Victor LaVelle and Billy Wolfe?
Chapter Thirteen
IT WAS A DIVERSE GROUP THAT assembled at Hollyfield House for dinner. Marabelle and Evergreen were there, but instead of Perry and Marik, as on the first occasion, it was Victor at the head of the table, with Lord Montague Mountjoy next to him, and across from Uncle Jasper. I sat beside Lord Mountjoy, with his wife directly opposite.
Lady Louisa Mountjoy was several years her husband’s junior, at a guess at least two decades. His lordship was of an age with Uncle Jasper. Though where my uncle was short, stout and bald, ‘Monty’ Mountjoy was tall and regal, with a full head of white hair. He and my uncle were delighted to be in one another’s company, and in the full regales of a discussion on the upcoming lectures which Lord Mountjoy would host.
Consequently, Lady Louisa, was only too happy to chat with me. I was glad of her attention yet felt extremely self-conscious in my dowdy dress.
“Well, Miss Farraday,” she said through rouged lips. “I daresay you have found Ambleside to be rather more entertaining than you might have originally expected?” She smiled, and her dark brown eyes sparkled. She was a striking woman, with the enviable complexion of a Mediterranean or some other exotic nationality in her blood. Her jet-black hair shimmered in the lamplight, her olive skin smooth.
“You could say that, Lady Mountjoy. Though I am saddened by what has transpired since I arrived here. It is a tragic set of circumstances for everyone involved.”
“Do you know the Wolfe boys?” she asked and placed a spoonful of syllabub into her mouth.
“I do, though not well. Billy, I have met once, but Dominic and I are friends.”
One thick black brow arched. “I see. Then I am sure you are relieved by Victor’s involvement assisting the boy and his upcoming trial?”
“I am.” I looked at her without being able to read her expression. Did she pity Billy, or perhaps she believed him guilty? Was Louisa Mountjoy privy to Victor’s genuine relationship to him?
“For someone like Billy, it would prove difficult for him to articulate his innocence when in a strange place, and so terribly frightened.” I added.
“Then you think him innocent?”
“I do.”
“Yet you stated only meeting him one time. How are you convinced when you do not know the boy well?”
Did Louisa Mountjoy intend to bait me? “Well, I am no authority on the matter, Lady Mountjoy, but you asked a question, and I answered honestly. In my short time speaking with Billy Wolfe, I found him to be a kind young man, gentle and unassuming. To view him as a cold-blooded murderer is beyond my capacity.”
“Well said,” Victor spoke loudly from the table’s head and I was shocked to realise the others had been listening. My face warmed.
“I disagree.” Evergreen sat at the foot of the table facing her father. Her face contorted into an unbecoming scowl. “That boy has always been strange. I mean look at him, he’s unnaturally strong for a lad of fifteen. He would be a force to be reckoned with, were someone foolhardy enough to cross him.”
Victor LaVelle glowered at his daughter. “What a spiteful thing to say.” An undertone of anger laced his words. “For a gentle-born woman who has had the benefit of an education, and is considered to own some intelligence, you speak like an ignorant plebeian.”
Evergreen glared at her father, unfazed by his stern comments. She nonchalantly picked up her glass of wine and sipped.
He continued. “I thought better of you than to stoop so low, Evergreen. That was badly done.”
Much to my surprise, she shrugged her shoulders and brushed off her father’s reprimand.
Marabelle joined the discussion. “Billy has never misbehaved to my knowledge.” Her eyes gazed at Victor, and even I could see how hard she wanted to please the man. “In all the years he’s worked at Hollyfield, his manners have been exemplary. Why, the boy is usually off in his own world, that of the gardens and tending livestock.” Marabelle’s expression was soft and sanguine, almost unrecognizable from her usual sharpness.
“Oh, for goodness sake, stop sucking up to Father,” Evergreen snapped with irritation. “You dislike Billy every bit as I, so don’t be disingenuous, Cousin.”
“Enough.” Victor banged his fist upon the table and the room fell silent. The moment grew awkward.
I quickly turned to the man beside me. “Tell me, Lord Mountjoy, how do your preparations for the Pharmaceutical Society’s meeting fare? Are you ready for the grand event?”
“Indeed I am.” The older man fixed his gaze upon me. “And I do hope you will be in attendance, Miss Farraday, as it promises to be a most delightful evening. Several prominent members of the society will be present, and there is much excitement about your uncle’s speech.”
Monty Mountjoy had once been a handsome man. His eyes were still a piercing blue, his profile aquiline and haughty. Yet he had a pleasant way about him, and I did not feel uncomfortable conversing, even with the vast gap between our class.
“Do you have any interest in flora, Miss Farraday?” Louisa Mountjoy asked as the hint of a smirk played at the corner of her mouth. Did she mock me? Perhaps.
“Not in the slightest,” I stated, and Victor burst out laughing.
“My but you are such a blunt young lady,” he said, dabbing his serviette against his mouth as he set down his glass. “Jasper, is your niece always so—forthcoming?”
Uncle Jasper nodded. “I am afraid so. Indeed, I can assure you sir, Jilly is on her best behaviour this evening. Usually, she would be far less polite, especially about flora and the like.”
“I have to agree with her, for I find the subject rather tedious,” Lady Louisa said huskily. “Dear Monty can expound upon the topic of a leaf until I am almost in a coma.”
“Like Father and his blasted steamships,” Evergreen added. “He can go on all day about engine pressures. Men are easily amused by simple subjects.”
“I find the shipping industry interesting.” Marabelle countered with a glance at her host.
“Of course, you do dear.” Evergreen thre
w her cousin a wilting look.
Victor rose. “Well, if we are finished at table, let us adjourn to the parlour for coffee,” he suggested. He glanced at the men. “Unless Monty, Jasper, you prefer to remain in here for cigars?”
Lord Mountjoy smiled benevolently. “No, Victor. I’m happy to accompany the ladies. I’d rather look at them, than you and the professor.”
We settled in the parlour. I found myself seated next to Lady Mountjoy while Marabelle hovered close to Victor as he conversed with the two other men. Evergreen sat in her chair observing the guests, her expression that of a hungry cat determining which bird to pounce upon.
“Are you originally from this area, Lady Mountjoy?” I struggled to make polite conversation.
Her mahogany eyes contemplated me. “Good lord, no. I hail from Taunton, in Somerset. I am a long way from home—much like yourself.” Our eyes met and locked, and I realised Louisa Mountjoy was not exactly a mean-spirited woman, for I detected a little glint of amusement there. In a moment of sudden comprehension, I recognized what it was. She was bored. And not just with the evening’s entertainment, but with everything. At once, I became far less intimidated by her demeanour.
“What activities do you partake of, I mean, to keep yourself occupied while Lord Mountjoy attends his hobbies?”
A brow lifted, and she studied me. Then she gave me a conceding nod as though I had passed some type of test. “Why, dear girl, I am a writer.”
I leaned forward—interest piqued. “How fascinating. Do tell me, what do you write?”
She shrugged. “I write a weekly column for our local paper, and short stories which have been in various publications, both local and also in London.” She took a sip of her coffee.
“How marvellous.” My interest was sincere. “It is time women were able to contribute to the news of the day. Bad enough ’tis a man’s world we share, and tragic we have no voice nor vote.”
“You speak as though you are part of the suffrage movement.”
