The Echo at Rooke Court

by Harriet Smart

  “Women are fickle at the best of times,” said Wytton, finishing his tankard and lolling back on the sofa. He did not make an attractive picture, and Giles could not help remembering his wife’s blushing confession about Fred Pierce’s affections.

  “Thank you for your time, my lord,” he said.

  He walked down to the Rectory, considering Lord Wytton’s denial of intimacy with the family that nursed him. Giles had himself spent his first two years out to nurse, as had his siblings. His mother had no fashionable notions of nursing and his father had been a firm believer in the old system. When he had come back home, he had not been made to neglect his milk siblings and had often gone to play with the boys in the cottage. He knew what had become of them subsequently, but perhaps the Vernons had been peculiar in that regard.

  Carswell was still busy with his little patient and Mr Gray was with him. Instead he was shown into the drawing room where Mrs Gray was resting on the sofa.

  “May I distract you until the consultation is done?” he asked.

  “I wish you would, Major Vernon. It is hard to be made to do nothing in such circumstances, but Mr Carswell is right, and I must submit.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Mrs Braithwaite and her Sunday bonnet.”

  Mrs Gray smiled at that, but only for a moment, saying, “Oh dear, I hope she will be found soon and safe, and I hope there will be no scandal!”

  “Do you think there might be?” Giles asked.

  “I don’t know. It is just that so often when you hear of this sort of thing it’s all a question of an unhappy wife succumbing to temptation – yet...”

  “Yet?”

  “Mrs Braithwaite is the last person one would imagine doing something like that. I have known other women where you might believe it, but not her. And leaving her children! It is a platitude to say that no woman could ever leave her children, but sadly it does happen, and far more often than one would think, but Mrs Braithwaite was truly devoted to them, and to her husband. That is why it is such a puzzle.”

  “It must have been something very out of the ordinary from all I have heard of her.”

  “I am glad to hear you say that,” said Mrs Gray. “I did not think it could be anything wicked or commonplace. Neither of those things strike me as being in her nature. She is such a fine creature, so naturally noble and really something quite extraordinary.”

  “Could you be more specific?” Giles asked.

  “I wish I could. It’s just that she has an air about her, as if she is a lost princess or something. As if she is from a fairy tale – oh, how ridiculous that must sound, but if you had met her, you would know what I mean.”

  Giles nodded and said, “And that Sunday bonnet?”

  “Black straw, trimmed with broad, pinked black ribbon and with a black tulle veiling, trimmed with just the right amount of lace – not too much and not too little. It was most fetching and so nicely done, all in all. I’m ashamed to say I took in all the details and envied her it! And on a Sunday!” She made a grimace that was half a smile.

  “It is excellent that you did,” said Giles.

  At this moment, Carswell and Gray came into the drawing room.

  “How is he, Mr Carswell?” she said.

  “Much improved and eager to see his mama,” said Carswell.

  “Oh, thank God!” said Mrs Gray clasping her hands together. “So I may go to him?”

  “For a while, yes,” said Carswell.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr Carswell,” she said, as she got up from the sofa, assisted by her husband. “And I do promise absolutely to follow all your prescriptions to the letter.”

  “She looks better already,” said Carswell, when Mr and Mrs Gray had left the room. “How did you get on at the forge?”

  “I have something for you,” said Giles and took out the piece of paper in which he had folded the rag strips. “These were made by Mrs Braithwaite to light the fire. Soaked in some mixture of whale oil, lard and perhaps something else. Would it be possible to match this with the rag I found?”

  “Maybe,” said Carswell, sniffing the rag. “It’s certainly similar. And ingenious.”

  “It still might be a coincidence,” Giles said.

  “Noakes was bribed by a woman in a fancy bonnet,” Carswell said. “That adds greatly to the idea it was the missing Mrs Braithwaite. And I ought to be able to see if these are of the same ilk.”

  “We need to find her,” Giles said.

  “Are you going back to Northminster, then?”

  “Not just yet. I want to make a few more enquiries here. There is a vexing lack of gossip about Mrs Braithwaite. Perhaps the village inn will supply some.”

  ~

  Felix settled with a tankard of ale in the pleasant garden of The Lamb Inn and watched while Major Vernon encouraged a variety of village stalwarts to weigh in on the mysterious disappearance of the blacksmith’s wife. He came back from his conversations frowning.

  “This becomes more and more curious,” he said, sitting down next to Felix on the bench. “I cannot get a shred of criticism about her. They are as puzzled as her husband. The King of the Fairies is the principal candidate, and who am I to disagree with that?”

  “Perhaps that was the man Lord Wytton saw her laughing with outside the forge.”

  “I am beginning to think it must be,” said Major Vernon, signalling to the barmaid. “If he is not a creation of Wytton’s imagination.”

  “You think he was lying?”

  “I was not convinced it was the truth, certainly,” said Major Vernon. “So I have no clear leads to go on.”

  “Well, the beer is good,” Felix said.

  “You have left me some, then?” said Major Vernon, peering into the almost empty jug.

  He poured the scanty remains into his own tankard.

  “It’s this heat,” Felix said. “It has made me uncommonly thirsty – and tired.” He yawned.

  “It may be stronger than we anticipated,” said Major Vernon, sipping his own beer with caution. “I wonder if they can make a decent cup of coffee here.”

  “I doubt it,” said Felix.

  “So do I,” said Major Vernon. “We will try tea instead.”

  The barmaid came up and asked for Major Vernon’s order.

  “Do you know Mrs Braithwaite?” Major Vernon asked the girl, having ordered a pot of tea.

  “Known her all my life,” she said.

  “Do you have any idea where she has gone?”

  “No, but it doesn’t surprise me she has, not one bit. I was only saying to my sister that she was always bound to come to trouble, so proud of herself and her only a blacksmith’s daughter.”

  “But you have not heard where she might have gone?”

  The girl shook her head. “No, sir. Will that be all, sir? No more ale?” she added with a glance at Felix.

  He shook his head.

  When she had gone, Major Vernon said, “That is the nearest thing to criticism I have heard. I shall have to press her.”

  “And I ought to go home. But I ought to look in at the Rectory before I do.”

  “Then drink some tea first, perhaps?” said Major Vernon.

  “A good idea,” said Felix. “How did you enjoy dinner at Hawksby, by the way?”

  “There is something I have been meaning to tell you about that. I fear I may have upset your mother-in-law.”

  “That is as easy as breaking an eggshell,” said Felix.

  “I asked Mrs Carswell to put her mind to work on Stockholm. I hope you don’t mind that I did – I thought it might amuse her, and as you know, another pair of eyes is always valuable on any such problem – but Lady Blanchfort was very concerned, and told me to persuade her not to continue with it. She considers such puzzles dangerous for her daughter. So I told Mrs Carswell that it was not necessary to proceed with it. We went for a delightful walk in the gardens instead.”

  “Dangerous? What does she mean by that?”

  “She sai
d that Mrs Carswell might easily be overwrought by such things. Yes, it was a little strange, but she was perfectly sincere.”

  “That sounds nonsensical,” said Felix.

  “I am sure she has Mrs Carswell’s best interests at heart. It was not lightly done.”

  “Perhaps,” said Felix. “It still seems odd. Eleanor does have a talent for such things. I have never seen anyone work out an acrostic as fast as she. She had my parents astonished. There can be no harm in it. What nonsense! To discourage her daughter from rational thinking – what a peculiar woman she is!”

  “As I said, it was not lightly done,” Major Vernon said.

  “The sooner we are free of her and can live as we wish, the better!” Felix said.

  “Even though she orders your house so pleasantly for you?”

  “That is as maybe, but I do not like such interference. And to take such a line with you!”

  “Oh, my pride can take it,” said Major Vernon, smiling. “It was her concern that moved me. It was, as I said, quite genuine, and she must know her daughter’s mind pretty well.”

  “She has sought to control her overly in the past,” said Felix, “and Eleanor has a ragbag of silly notions in her head, which I am sure are all her mother’s doing, and this business only confirms it. To tell her not to think! How absurd!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Felix got back to Hawksby a little before seven, the butler informing him that dinner would be at eight.

  He went straight upstairs and into their bedroom, throwing off his coat. The door to Eleanor’s dressing room was open, and he saw she was sitting at her dressing table in her underclothes, her hair falling down over her bare shoulders. She was not gazing in the glass but bent over some piece of writing. Since she was completely unaware of his arrival, he could not resist stealing up behind her and putting his hands over her eyes.

  He regretted doing so a moment later, for she screamed with genuine distress. At the same time she was so startled that her hand flew out and she upset the ink pot.

  It was all a great mess. She had been scribbling letters and numbers on scraps and strips of paper, and the ink had gone all over them. He attempted to mitigate the damage with his handkerchief, a Turkey red one that Sukey had made for him. Seeing it sopping up the ink, and ruined forever, he was filled with a sudden and startling regret. What had it even been doing in his pocket? Jacob had surely put it there, and he was not to know its history. To him it was simply a handkerchief.

  Eleanor began plucking up her papers with great haste, as if they were about to be consumed by fire.

  “What is all this?” Felix said, stooping to retrieve one that she had dropped.

  “Stockholm,” she said, as if he were a fool, “of course!”

  “Oh, that.”

  “And it is a cipher,” she went on. “I am certain of it, and I was so close – and now you have ruined everything!” She flung out her hand towards the sea of ink on the dressing table.

  “I’m sorry. It was irresistible. You looked – irresistible.” He put out his hands to her but she batted them away. “I’m sorry, truly. And I am sure it can be sorted.”

  “I will have to start again! It is all ruined, utterly ruined.”

  “Let me see – perhaps I can help you? I know a little about these things.”

  But she shook her head and clutched the papers to her. At this moment Stevens knocked at the door and came in.

  “Mr Carswell has upset the ink pot,” Eleanor said to her, as if she were reporting a transgression to the schoolmaster. Stevens began to clear up the mess without a word, gathering up the ruined muslin cover and Sukey’s handkerchief with it, while Eleanor swept into the bedroom. Felix followed her and closed the door behind him.

  She opened her commonplace book and began to tuck the little papers away.

  “Will you let me see?” he said, carefully calm. “We could look at them together.”

  But she closed the book and pursed her lips. There was a knock on the door behind him.

  “Yes?” said Felix.

  “Your bath is ready, sir,” said Jacob.

  “Thank you, that will be all for now,” said Felix. When Jacob had gone, he said to Eleanor, “Will you keep me company?” On their wedding journey they had frequently indulged in this delightful intimacy, but now she shook her head. “I suppose you need to dress,” he said. She opened the commonplace book and began to sort through the pieces of paper. “How long have you been doing this?” he said.

  “What did she say to you?”

  “Who?”

  “My mother.”

  “She said nothing.” She frowned as if she did not believe him. “I have not seen her.”

  “You will not tell her about this,” Eleanor said.

  “I am all at sea,” Felix said, sinking onto the sofa at the end of the bed, suddenly feeling exhausted. “What has been going on? Major Vernon asked you about Stockholm and you have decided it is some sort of elaborate cipher?”

  “It’s not my decision. It’s a fact. Why else would Pierce say it?”

  “Because the man was in a high fever and at the point of death? People say strange things. They do not necessarily mean anything, and I am sure the Major was very clear on that point.”

  “Yes, yes, he was – after my mother had got to him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She has the ridiculous notion that a simple puzzle like this will make me ill. So she told him to dissuade me.”

  “He told me that. But why on earth does your mother think it would make you ill? In what way?”

  “Because she is ridiculous,” said Eleanor. “Simply ridiculous.” She held up a strip of paper and gazed at it. “It is a cipher, I am sure of it. Give me a few more hours and I will have your answer for you!”

  Felix gazed at her. Standing there in her chemise and stays, her red-gold hair cascading down and catching in the beautiful dusk light that now filled the room, she made him ache with longing. But at the same time, he was uncomfortable, feeling that Lady Blanchfort’s caution had some odd truth in it. It certainly no longer seemed ridiculous.

  “Have you thought of Occam’s razor?” he said, getting up and taking off his waistcoat.

  “What?”

  “The simplest answer is usually the correct one,” he went on. “At least in the practice of medicine that is a useful guide, and often enough Major Vernon and I have discovered that in our peculiar line, the theory holds good. A code, delightful though it may be to the imagination, is perhaps stretching it a little far.”

  “Major Vernon told me that Fred Pierce liked puzzles. And when I have this solved, you will see I am right.”

  “And if you cannot solve it?”

  “Of course I shall!” she said. “Do you think I can’t?”

  “No,” he began. “It’s just that sometimes there is no answer to these things. It would be better to forget it, perhaps.”

  He stretched out his hand to her, but she did not take it. Instead she reached for a shawl and wrapped herself tightly in it, concealing all her charms from him.

  “You had better have your bath,” she said, and went back to her dressing room.

  He went into his own dressing room and took his bath, feeling thoroughly wretched. He got out of the bath and knotted the towel about his waist; dripping a little still, he went to find her. To his relief, she had not gone back to the puzzle but was lying on the bed, her shawl still wrapped tightly about her, her back to him.

  He went around and crouched down by the bed so that they were face to face. He ventured to stroke her cheek and she did not flinch. She moved a little to make space for him.

  He climbed onto the bed and pulled her into his arms. To his great relief, she relaxed there and soon permitted the intimacies he had learnt she was fond of. She liked nothing better than for him to pet and fondle her, and he was happy to oblige her. The abstinence of the last few days had spiced the sauce.

  “It’s all right
now,” she murmured. “I am quite well again, you know.”

  Even as she said it, he knew he must restrain himself, however deliciously eager she was and how hungry he felt for her. He carefully detached himself and got off the bed.

  “Perhaps we should dress,” he said.

  “Do you not want –?”

  “Not just yet,” he said. “Perhaps later? To be frank, I feel we cannot until we have decided how we will go on.”

  “Do you mean until I have decided to go along with you?” she said. This he could not answer. He reached for his towel and knotted it about himself again. “And I know I’m supposed to obey you, Felix, but I find that idea so difficult,” she said. “But if I don’t obey you, then it will spoil everything between us.” She gave a sob. “That’s not what I want.” She curled herself up and rolled away from him again, dissolving into tears.

  “And that’s not what I want,” he said, sitting down beside her and turning her to face him. “I do not want anything spoilt, believe me. And I don’t want you to have to obey me – please, please do not let us talk in those terms!”

  “But you do want me to do what you want,” she said, “don’t you?”

  “Because it’s good sense! And why you can’t see that, I don’t know!”

  “It is not. It’s disgusting, and if I were to tell anyone about it, which I might feel obliged to do, they would be shocked. If I were to tell –”

  “But you will not,” he said. “This is a private matter. Why would you even think of doing it? Do you think you can bully me into agreeing with you by threatening that?”

  “And neither can you!” she said. “And I know it’s my duty to submit to you, but how on earth am I to submit to something so unnatural and immoral, something so disgusting? No nice woman could be expected to – and I shall not!”

  “Then that will be your loss!” Felix said. “And you will regret it soon enough. I know what you are like! I’ll sleep in my dressing room – it’s just as well your mother had it fitted out so comfortably for me.”

  “That’s because she didn’t expect you to make me into your mistress! She expected you to treat me with discretion, like a gentleman! And no gentleman would ever suggest such a way of going on with his wife as you have. It’s disgusting! You are disgusting! Get out!”