Because it took Stella to suggest it.
The first footman laid the tea service they’d brought from Morrington in the middle of the linen cloth draping the long folding table. Mother reached for the teapot and began to pour.
“Will you please inform Lord Atherly and his guest that tea is ready?” Mother told the footman as he set out several silver, three-tiered stands laden with all the usual delectables: small sandwiches of salmon and mayonnaise or cold beef and butter, wild mushroom tarts, buttermilk scones, jam tartlets, and sponge cake.
Except for the sun sparkling off the silver service and the contented nickering of the horses nearby, they could’ve been sitting in the drawing room, instead of the grazing lawn beside Moyles Court bowl barrow, the recently dug, unexcavated one near Ibsley.
Although the picnic had been Stella’s idea, the spot had been Papa’s brilliant suggestion. Set on a slight rise, with a wood at their back, it afforded them a sweeping view of the heath, blanketed with purple, flowering heather as well as the sinuous, sparkling water of the distant River Avon. It was all that the Forest had to offer, yet far from George Parley’s land, far from the Blackwater, far from the site of Harvey’s burnt hut, far from Outwick House. A fresh, new beginning within the ancient borders of their homeland.
And after the revelations and wretchedness of the past few days, they were all in desperate need of a new beginning.
“Why couldn’t we have had tea like civilized people?” Mother said, dropping two lumps of sugar in a teacup and handing it to Stella. “At home, we aren’t likely to soil our skirt hems or accidentally swallow an ant.”
Despite Mother’s grumbling, the act of serving Stella first was a concession, the grudging acceptance that Stella was an honored guest, a soon-to-be member of the family and wasn’t going anywhere. It was as close to an apology as any of them were likely to get.
“Consider this lovely day, Frances,” Papa said, popping his head over the embankment of the barrow. “I think Miss Kendrick’s suggestion was brilliant.” Stella rewarded him with a smile. While they’d waited for the footmen to prepare the table, Papa and Professor Gridley had headed straight for the barrow, hoping for better luck in finding another Equus spelaeus bone than they had in the last site. Stella’s concession to Mother was not to follow them. “At least try to enjoy yourself. What about over here, Professor?” Papa said before disappearing behind the dug-out hill again.
“William, your tea will get cold,” Mother called, handing Alice her cup.
Alice took a sip, her hand resting on the cover of the magazine in her lap. It was the McClure’s Stella had found at Pilley Manor and returned to Alice. Supposedly a maid had mistakenly mixed it in with a stack of newspapers Miss Cosslett and Kendrick were consulting.
Who would’ve guessed imposters had infiltrated their circle? First Miss Cosslett, then Cecil Barlow. Alice frowned as she bit into her sandwich as if she’d read Lyndy’s mind.
Poor Alice. She’d set her heart on the cad. Even now, she couldn’t let go of the magazine. She’d thrown the more recent ones, the ones written about the plant hunter’s miraculous reappearance, in the fire. Perhaps she held out hope, that one day, the real Cecil Barlow, the one in the pages of the magazine she held, would reappear.
Stella, sensing his sister’s sadness, patted her on the shoulder. It wasn’t what any of them would’ve done—they avoided touching each other when possible—but Stella wasn’t like them. Thank goodness. Alice, appreciating the unexpected gesture, returned Stella’s smile.
“You’re thinking about Mr. Barlow?” Stella asked sympathetically. To her surprise, Alice shook her head.
“No, I was thinking about Lady Philippa. I’ve known her for years. And yet, I didn’t know her at all. None of us did.”
Lyndy opened his mouth to disagree. He’d known her to be manipulative, conniving, and shameless. But even he had no idea of what she was truly capable. In that way, Alice was right. Philippa had been yet another imposter. Lyndy counted himself fortunate to have been spurned by her. Lord Fairbrother hadn’t been so lucky.
Mother gave an imperious sniff. “Lady Philippa certainly wasn’t the right sort, after all, was she? Deceiving us all, as she did. The daughter of a marquess, nonetheless. Who could’ve possibly known she’d turn out to be . . .”
“Lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut?” Stella’s Aunt Rachel said, leaning her cane against the table and settling into her chair. Lyndy stifled a chuckle. He couldn’t have said it better.
“I wonder how Lady Philippa managed it,” Alice mused as she reached for a mushroom tart. “I can see Lord Fairbrother. He wouldn’t have suspected anything if his wife embraced him, and thus getting close enough to stab him. Though why do it by the river and not in his bed?”
“To throw suspicion on someone else,” Stella said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew about Lord Fairbrother’s midnight meetings at Blackwater Bend. Any one of those men Lord Fairbrother had been blackmailing could be suspect, including Cecil Barlow.”
“But what about the poor snakecatcher?” Alice asked, taking a nibble of her tart. “How did she get close enough to kill him?”
Stella sighed. “I asked Inspector Brown the same thing. As you remember, Mr. Barlow told us Lady Philippa had seen Harvey at the river on their drive over to Morrington Hall. What he failed to say, and Inspector Brown learned, was that Lady Philippa had driven him herself in her phaeton. So, once she delivered Mr. Barlow to his dinner engagement, she must’ve returned to the river to face Harvey.”
“The phaeton the fishermen saw,” Lyndy added. Stella nodded.
“And as she’d used one man to make another jealous, Lady Philippa used his affection for me to coax Harvey into her carriage. According to Inspector Brown, she bragged about how easy it was to convince him I needed his help again.”
“We do know how much the old fool was fond of Miss Kendrick,” Mother said patronizingly.
“Mother!” Lyndy chided. “The snakecatcher’s death is not Stella’s fault.”
“Did I say it was?”
“It would explain why he’d left his trout,” Lyndy said.
Stella nodded. “He was in a great hurry to help me. But instead of meeting up with me, Lady Philippa drove him to the barrow and . . .” Stella didn’t continue her thought. Lyndy knew she couldn’t. The snakecatcher’s death had broken her heart. Instead, she squared her shoulders and called toward the barrow. “If it is all right with you, Lord Atherly, I’d like to house Harvey’s pony next to Tully in your stables.” It had been Lyndy’s idea. After all the upsets, he would’ve suggested painting every room in Morrington Hall bright orange if he’d thought it would bring a smile back to her face. Gratefully, offering to stable Harvey’s pony had been enough.
“Pardon?” Papa looked up from brushing the dirt from his trouser leg. He and Professor Gridley had reappeared and were traipsing back to join them. “Yes, of course. That’s fine. Speaking of ponies, Professor Gridley has come up with an excellent idea.”
“Which is?” Mother said suspiciously, knowing she wasn’t going to like what was said next.
Mother offered Papa his tea as he settled into the seat across from her. Mother handed Professor Gridley his tea, which he took and then sipped without sitting down. Mother purposefully filled her plate, avoiding having to acknowledge the American’s faux pas. One never stood while drinking tea.
“Please, Professor Gridley, sit here,” Stella said, patting the chair beside her. Having more than once made the same mistake, Stella must’ve recognized the breach in etiquette.
“Well,” Professor Gridley said, accepting the chair and filling his plate, “as you have proved to be such an enterprising archaeologist, Miss Stella, we wondered if you and Lord Lyndhurst might consider joining me on my next expedition.”
“Consider it an alternative to the grand tour for your honeymoon trip,” Papa added enthusiastically, before biting his beef sandwich in half.
Lyn
dy was speechless. Mother sputtered what sounded an awful lot like “over my dead body.”
“Of course, we haven’t had a chance to mention this to your father,” Professor Gridley said. Mr. Kendrick, still embittered over the fiasco that was Jane Cosslett, had declined their invitation to join them. To everyone’s relief.
“By then, Stella will be my wife,” Lyndy said. “She won’t need to consult her father about anything.” Stella smiled at him. It was a happy prospect for them both.
“Quite so,” Papa continued. “You’re a horse lover, Miss Kendrick. Wouldn’t it be a lovely way to spend your first weeks together, uncovering bones of extinct horses under the wide-open sky of Montana?”
“It does sound tempting,” Stella said. “And I do miss home, but—”
“Amen to that,” the old aunt mumbled with food in her mouth.
“But why would you, Miss Kendrick, when you could spend it dancing and dining across the civilized world, Paris, Venice, Prague, cultivating social ties and friendships that will serve you in good stead for a lifetime?” Mother said, wiping her fingers on her napkin, leaving a half-eaten scone on her plate.
“That too sounds wonderful,” Stella said. “But—”
“Besides, I didn’t think there was to be another expedition,” Mother admonished. “Look at all the trouble this last one caused.”
“But,” Stella said, determined to say her piece, “Lyndy and I haven’t talked about it yet. We first need to finalize the wedding details. Then we can plan our honeymoon.”
“Of course, of course,” Papa said, appreciating her not rejecting his plan outright.
“Just keep it in mind,” Professor Gridley said, drinking down the remainder of his tea in one long gulp, “you are always welcome.”
“Thank you.” Stella rewarded the professor with a smile.
Lyndy’s whole body tingled. He loved that smile. How he fancied to be alone with her and show her how much. Philippa’s caustic insults about his qualities as a lover were just that, lies and bitterness spewed by a woman scorned, but they hurt nonetheless, and with all this talk of honeymoons, he couldn’t wait to show Stella how wrong they were.
As if reading his mind, Stella rose, laid her napkin on her chair, and said, “If you’ll excuse Lyndy and me for a moment.” She stayed the old chaperone with a raised palm. “Don’t worry, Aunt Rachel. We’ll stay in plain view.”
Mother pursed her lips. Although she’d grudgingly come to accept that she was stuck with Stella, she might never reconcile with Stella’s bold, often rule-breaking behavior. Lyndy loved it. Who else could get away with sneaking off in the middle of tea?
Stella led him past the horses, making sure to pat Tully and offering each animal a peppermint she’d kept in her leather handbag, to the shadows just inside a copse of trees. She reached for his hand the moment the thick girth of an ancient oak hid them from the others. She was breaking her promise to stay in the chaperone’s line of sight, but who was Lyndy to argue? She reached into her handbag again and instead of a peppermint, pulled out a box, tightly wrapped with a bright green silk ribbon. She held it out to him.
“Consider this my engagement present to you. I had them made in Lyndhurst.”
What could it be? He accepted the box without taking his eyes from hers.
She fiddled with the engagement ring he’d given her, swirling it around and around her finger as he pulled the ribbon from the box. It fell away easily. He lifted the lid of the box, brushing back the tissue paper, revealing perfectly folded linen squares. In the center, embroidered in the color of new leaves was an L, while each corner contained a tiny horseshoe of the same color. “I thought you could use some new handkerchiefs.”
Lyndy laughed, snatched the one from his lapel pocket, the one identical to the one he’d given Philippa once, and tossed it away. It floated like a tiny parachute, catching on a bracken frond on the ground. He plucked a new one from the box and stuck it where it belonged, in the pocket over his heart. Then he slipped his arm around her tiny waist and urged her toward him. She yielded willingly, and their lips met, their bodies pressing together in a long, passionate embrace. Somewhere a pony whinnied.
Breathless, Stella tilted her head back, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed. A sly smile spread across her glossy lips. “I guess you like the gift.”
“I do.” He wanted to say more. He wanted to say what he truly felt, but he was an English gentleman, after all. Instead, he caressed her flawless cheek and added, “I don’t fancy waiting to marry. Let’s wed as soon as possible.”
So Mother, or anyone, can’t get between us again, he thought but hesitated to say.
“Why, Lord Lyndhurst, you read my mind.” Stella beamed at him. His heart skipped a beat. She unpinned her hat, whipping it off her head. It landed somewhere in the verdant undergrowth. He dipped his hand into her silky hair. “If I thought your mother wouldn’t skin me alive, I’d elope tonight. After the fiasco at the engagement dinner, it would save me from having to attend the wedding breakfast.”
Lyndy laughed, her quip so unexpected, so refreshingly Stella.
“But she would, so we can’t. But we can ride,” she added with a conspiratorial smirk on her face. Stella grabbed his hand and they ran to the horses, leaped into their saddles, and were galloping across the expanse of the Forest before anyone’s calls to come back could reach them.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I recently traveled to the New Forest again. By everyone I met, I was welcomed, I was befriended, I was humbly made to feel a part of this incredible community. Thank you. I would be remiss not to mention a few who made my visit one I’ll never forget: The Honorable Mary Montagu-Scott, for inviting me to participate in a night of “New Forest Fiction-Past and Present,” fellow author and real-life commoner, Sally Marsh, for inspiring me and befriending me, and event organizer, Nancy Fillmore, for her hospitality despite my jetlag. To these women and all of the volunteers, staff and patrons of the New Forest Heritage Centre, I thank you. I can’t wait to visit again!
Despite having visited and done research on the New Forest, there are always details I’ve missed. To find those answers, I’ve continued to turn to the staff of the Christopher Tower Reference Library. Thank you, Dr. Kath Walker, for graciously answering all of my inquiring emails and providing me with more historical insight and details than I could have hoped for. A thank you also goes to Zoe Cox, Community Manager of the Forestry Commission, South England Forest District for helping me with details pertaining to the Deputy Surveyor’s offices in Lyndhurst. If I embellished anything or got it wrong, it’s on me.
On this side of the pond, I’d like to thank Joan Loan for being my first reader and biggest cheerleader, my friend Dorothy Kirkland who proofread for me and is always there with a much needed cuppa, and my fellow Sleuths in Time writers who are quick to encourage, advise and commiserate with me. I’m also grateful to have such a wonderful team at Kensington: John Scognamiglio, my editor, Larissa Ackerman, my publicist, Robin Cook of the production department and an art department who consistently creates covers I love.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Writing historical fiction, to me, is the best of both worlds. I get to blend historical fact and figures I’ve discovered in my research with my imagination to create authentic-feeling stories. I try very hard to get my details right. But since the stories are fiction, I allow myself to take liberties on occasion. In this story, the most blatant example pertains to the river in the book’s title. Although there is a stream named the Black Water in the New Forest National Park, and a lovely one at that, the river I describe in the book more closely resembles the River Test, a larger chalk stream, known for its trout fishing, found in Hampshire but further to the east. The second relates to Peter Pan, the play by James Barrie. Although it did premiere at the Duke of York’s Theatre in London in 1904, it did so in late December, months later than indicated in my story.
I also borrowed heavily from the pantheon of colorful his
torical figures that populated the beginning of the last century in creating several of my characters. Dr. Amos Gridley is based on Dr. James Williams Gidley (1866-1931), who was a renowned American vertebrate paleontologist who discovered the ancient horse species Equus scotti in Texas in 1899 and collected the first fossils of the three-toed horse genus Neohipparion in Nebraska in 1902. Harvey Milkham is based by the real-life snakecatcher Henry “Brusher” Mills (1840-1905), a beloved character from the New Forest. There’s even a pub named for him in Brockenhurst. Cecil Barlow is not based on a single “plant hunter” but an amalgam of people, including Baron von Humboldt, whose real-life adventures and sometimes very words are usurped by my pretender.
Finally, I would like to note that Sir George Lewis, 1st Baronet, Lord Fairbrother’s solicitor; Professor Hatcher, the paleontologist; Baron von Humboldt, the naturalist; Princess Margaret of Connaught; Lord Derby, Lord Ellesmere, and Colonel Walker, the racehorse owners; and Lord Montagu, the 2nd Baron of Montagu of Beaulieu, mentioned as a guest at Stella and Lyndy’s engagement party, were prominent figures that I did not invent.
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