The Echo at Rooke Court

by Harriet Smart

“And that this task fell to you. Of serving him his dinner.”

  “Yes, it did.”

  “Although this house has so many servants? Why was the mistress of the house forced to serve dinner to her brother-in-law?”

  “I was glad to do it,” said Mrs Hurrell.

  “Although it meant you had to wait for your own dinner, which you then ate alone, with not even your sons to keep you company? They were not allowed to join you.”

  “They are not old enough to dine downstairs,” she said. “Why are you asking me about this?”

  “Because I’m astonished you stood for such treatment, ma’am. When Mrs Maitland told me this was the usual habit of the house –”

  “She told you this?” said Mrs Hurrell, stiffening. “How did she know?”

  “She was concerned for your welfare. She felt you were unhappy, and spoke to the servants.”

  There was a little silence and Mrs Hurrell said, “She has been telling you tales, Major Vernon! She is a wicked woman – I hate to say it, but better late than never. She was shockingly forward with Sir Morten. She set her cap at him. Fortunately Sir Morten had better sense.”

  “And he told you that, I suppose? Perhaps when you were serving him his soup one day. I hope he let you sit down when he ate, Mrs Hurrell.”

  “Of course!” she said. “What strange ideas you have, Major Vernon!”

  “So what exactly did he say to you about my fiancée, Mrs Hurrell?”

  “That she had – oh, I do not like to tell you this, it will distress you.”

  “You have already been quite blunt,” said Major Vernon. “Tell me what he said.”

  “He said that she was a fine woman but rather warm in her manner. He thought that she fancied being Lady Hurrell – a favour which he would never grant.”

  “Never?” said Major Vernon. “Are you sure about that? After all, she is handsome, and her family connections are excellent. She is certainly his equal in position, if not in fortune. And she is not beyond childbearing. What an ornament to this house and his old age a woman like that might be! Of course, I’m partial to her charms and it doesn’t take a great deal for to me to imagine another man taking note of them.”

  “It sounds as if you are a little jealous, sir,” said Mrs Hurrell.

  “Ah yes, the green-eyed monster – a dangerous thing, certainly. Perhaps you felt that yourself, each time Sir Morten cast a glad eye over some attractive woman?”

  “Why should I feel jealous?” she said after a moment.

  “Because of what you are to him. You have been more to him than a sister-in-law.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Mrs Hurrell.

  “You are still young, Mrs Hurrell, and handsome,” said Major Vernon. “It’s strange that you have stayed here, a widow.”

  “I have never had any wish to marry again. And why would I need to? I have all I need here, and my boys are being brought up in their father’s old home. That is enough for me.”

  “Your late husband did not leave you enough to live independently, though,” Major Vernon said. “You were forced to come here and take Sir Morten’s charity. And there have been conditions attached to that charity. Not merely having to serve him his dinner?”

  There was a long silence but Mrs Hurrell said nothing, wrapping her arms about herself.

  Major Vernon went on gently. “I know that Sir Morten was a man with particular appetites, Mrs Hurrell. I suspect that you have been made to pay a high price for your board and lodging.” Mrs Hurrell pulled her arms around her more tightly and looked resolutely down. “Is that not so?”

  She was shaking now, and tears rolled down her face. She began to rock back and forth to soothe herself.

  “What else was I to do?” she said at last. “That first time, when he came into my bedroom, he said he meant to comfort me for the loss of my husband. He was grieving too. He said we ought to comfort one another. That there was no harm in it, and although I did not want that sort of attention...”

  “You got it anyway?”

  Now she looked up and gazed over at Major Vernon, her face glossy with tears.

  “Yes.”

  “And he was a large, strong man so you could not refuse him?”

  “No,” said Mrs Hurrell. “No, I could not. It just had to be borne, you must understand me, I had no choice! I was with child twice from it, and that was my fault, he said, and then I lost them and that was my fault too. I could do nothing right. And all the time it was never enough. He was always carping and threatening. He said he would send my boys away, put them into trades, that they would never get anything from him unless I behaved better towards him. That he would tell them that I was wicked and immoral for allowing him to do what he did. And so it went on and on, until he met your fiancée, Major Vernon, and then, how he was taken with her! Oh my, he would not stop singing her praises! He was set on marrying her, and getting her with child and then I would be put out entirely, so he said. All I could look forward to was a cottage on the estate if I was lucky, and my boys sent off to New Zealand so they would never see me again, and so... I had to do something!”

  “Of course,” said Major Vernon. “It had all become intolerable. So what did you do, ma’am?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot tell you.”

  “You must. Everything will be better if you tell me now. You cannot carry this burden, Mrs Hurrell. What did you do when he threatened to send your boys away?”

  She hesitated, and then said in a tiny voice, “I got some rat poison.”

  “Where from?”

  “The housekeeper keeps it locked up in a cupboard in her room, but I have all the keys so there was no difficulty. And I put a little in his soup, very little, but it was enough to make him ill.”

  “When was this?”

  “A day or so after Arthur was killed. I was surprised how well it worked. And for the first time in years I felt happy because I had struck back, and I thought, why did I not do this years ago? Why?” She had spread open her hands towards them. “I thought that then I could be free, and so I continued. This morning he asked for a bowl of gruel. It was so very simple. I sat and watched him eat it and thought how I would soon be free of him forever.” She broke off and rose from her chair, and walked across the room to the window. “But now you are here and I know I will never be free!” She began to cry again and sank onto her knees, and seemed to be praying, her elbows resting on the window seat.

  “What will you do?” Felix said to Major Vernon. They had gone out into the hall. “She has saved the hangman a job.”

  “I cannot arrest her,” Major Vernon said. “I don’t have the authority, but I shall have to tell Lazenby. Dear God, that will stick in my throat. Perhaps if...” They went back into the room.

  “Mrs Hurrell?” said Major Vernon.

  She got up from her knees and turned slowly back to him.

  “You understand that I cannot keep what you have said to us in confidence?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I would suggest you talk to Captain Lazenby, in the presence of solicitor. I can recommend a good man. Tell him what you have told me. It is for him to decide how to proceed. It will be better for you if you are straight with him. A full confession is always looked on well by a judge.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded.

  At this moment, there was a rap at the door and Lewis, the younger of her boys, came dashing into the sitting room, carrying a basket. He had a triumphant look on his face.

  “Look, Mama, the first plums are ready. Parkinson just gave them to me to give to you! I have only eaten two but Morten had three! Why are you crying?”

  Chapter Forty-one

  “You contrived this meeting with Sir Morten, then?” Captain Lazenby said.

  “Yes,” said Major Vernon.

  “With the greatest respect, Major Vernon, have you understood nothing I have said to you recently?”

  “Yes, perfectly. This is why I am being so f
rank with you now.”

  “In the hope I will show mercy?”

  “No, I have little hope of that. I only wanted to make sure the record was straight and the facts clear. Events overtook us, as Mr Carswell has pointed out. I know I ought not to have questioned him, strictly speaking –”

  “No, you ought not.”

  “It was not my intention to do so. I had other business to discuss with him, but when he was taken so violently ill, it seemed the only path to pursue, for the sake of justice.”

  “And do you think by being so frank I might overlook this?”

  “No, I do not expect anything of the sort.”

  Lazenby picked up the account of the affair that Major Vernon had written out for him, gazed at it for a moment and then laid it down again.

  “And Mrs Hurrell is sitting downstairs with a solicitor. I have you to thank for that as well, I take it?” Lazenby said.

  “I advised her to come and talk to you.”

  “And it was definitely arsenic administered by her hand that is responsible for his death?” Lazenby said, turning to Felix.

  “Without doubt,” said Felix.

  Lazenby shook his head and walked to the window.

  “This is all most unfortunate,” he said after a moment. “It would be a great deal easier on everyone if you were perhaps to consider pursuing a different occupation, Major Vernon. Then you might leave here without fuss, without any scandal attached to your name.”

  “I stand by what I did,” Major Vernon said. “And I would rather fight for my position, if you don’t mind, inconvenient though it might be. I will take the risk of being dismissed, but I should like to give my side of the matter first.”

  “As you wish,” said Lazenby. “I will initiate disciplinary proceedings and notify you in due course. Was there anything else?”

  “No,” said Major Vernon, and with that they took their leave.

  “Do you think you might –” Felix began as they walked down the corridor.

  “Lose my post? I have no idea, but I will take the risk. I really have no choice. I need the money. I do not want to present myself as a penniless bridegroom.”

  “I don’t suppose Mrs Maitland would mind.”

  “No. She threatened to give German lessons to keep me.”

  “A fine plan,” said Felix. “You might have little cards printed and put them up in shop windows.”

  Major Vernon laughed. “Yes, she would certainly do that! However, I would rather she did not, so I must stay and fight this one out.”

  “Lord Rothborough was wondering if he could not get Lazenby sent off somewhere. India, perhaps?”

  “Ah yes, one of those promotions that are nothing of the kind. That would be a little cruel. Especially on Mrs Lazenby and the children.”

  “But he is being such a –” Felix broke off. They had reached the door and outside he could see Eleanor’s carriage. The top was down, and she was sitting, waiting for him. “Can we drive you anywhere?”

  “No, thank you,” said Major Vernon. “You are going home to rest?”

  “Yes, as ordered,” said Felix. “But we are going to Ardenthwaite. You will come and see us?”

  “Certainly, and soon.”

  They went outside. Felix got in beside Eleanor, and they drove off.

  “You see, I was not late,” he said. “Major Vernon was very to the point in the meeting.”

  “And did it go well?”

  “Not entirely. He still may lose his post. We must do something, but what?” He sank back on the seat, feeling the exhaustion of his illness in both his limbs and his mind. He needed to think, but he could not. Instead his eye fell on the pile of parcels on the seat opposite.

  “You’ve been busy,” he said. He was glad to see she had amused herself.

  “Yes, there are some nice shops here – almost as nice as Edinburgh’s. And all the shop men are so kind!”

  “Of course they are – to you,” said Felix.

  “I bought a beautiful piece of old lace,” she went on. “There is a shop up by the Minster full of the most delightful old things – Mr Lipscombe’s. Do you know him?”

  “Oh yes,” Felix said. “Lipscombe is quite the antiquarian.”

  “The lace is seventeenth century,” she said. “I have never seen anything like it. Oh, and he had some candlesticks which would look very well in the drawing room at Ardenthwaite, so he may bring them out for me to see them in place. And I asked him about tapestries.”

  “Tapestries! Why?”

  “I want some for my dressing room. Remember the ones at Holyrood, in Mary, Queen of Scots’ closet? Something like that. Mr Lipscombe knew exactly what I meant. He is a great Jacobite, you know.”

  On their wedding journey they had visited all the famous spots in Edinburgh, but it was Holyrood and the romantic chambers of Mary, Queen of Scots that had enchanted Eleanor the most. He remembered her charming, awestruck enthusiasm as they had toured the rooms, and how he had stolen a kiss or two on the tightly twisting turnpike stair, near where the unfortunate Rizzio had been murdered. Afterwards they had walked in the ruined cloisters and he had wondered at that moment if he would ever be as happy again, with her leaning on his arm, gazing up at the ribbed vaults, the Edinburgh air bringing such brightness to her complexion. Now she had the same look, her bonnet framing her face so elegantly. Her hand had slipped into his as they drove through the town. “I think Northminster has a great deal more to recommend it than I first thought,” she said. “Perhaps we should take a house in the Precincts. That would be convenient for you, would it not?”

  “Yes,” he said. “And you could make Lipscombe a rich man. But you will probably do that anyway.”

  “He does have the most lovely things,” she said.

  “We should look there for a wedding present for Major Vernon and Mrs Maitland. I don’t know what, though. Lipscombe cannot sell us Captain Lazenby’s resignation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lazenby is being unreasonable. A man in his position ought to see that there are situations when one cannot play by the rules. There were lives at stake. What else could he have done?”

  “Oh,” said Eleanor. “I’m sure it can all be sorted out. Surely Lord Rothborough will do something?”

  “He will certainly try, as will I. I do not at all like the idea of going on here without him!”

  “I suppose not. Even if he does set one on curious tasks,” she said.

  “Do you mean Stockholm?” Felix said after a moment. It was not a topic he particularly wished to raise.

  She gave a sigh. “I was so certain it must mean something.”

  “You were right,” he said. “It did. It just wasn’t a cipher.”

  “Perhaps I may be more useful to him in the future.”

  “I think that very likely,” Felix said. “He does not like any of his friends to be idle.”

  ~

  Giles met Emma by arrangement in the Minster Precincts, and together they walked over to Rooke Court.

  She looked up at him questioningly.

  “So was anything decided?”

  “Not in any real sense. There will be an enquiry of some sort. He suggested I fall on my sword and I declined to do so.”

  “Quite right,” she said.

  He glanced up at the front of the house.

  “There is a chance,” he said, gesturing towards Rooke Court, “that what we want may become impossible.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said, taking his arm, “but I am sure that once the facts are laid out it will be clear enough to any intelligent person that there was no misconduct on your part. Allow me to have faith in your vindication, please.”

  “But if that is not enough –”

  “I will bear whatever misfortune comes my way. It will be an honour to do without for your sake. But let us not plan for disaster, but for success! Justice will take your part. She must, when you have been her devoted, obedient servant.”

 
“You should not talk to me like this,” he said. “I would do better for being scolded.”

  “Then I shall take you to task for being a pessimist, Giles Vernon,” she said, breaking free of him and going to open the hand gate. It creaked and groaned. “Another job to be done,” she said.

  They went up the path and found the front door open.

  “Mr Hopkins?” Giles called out as they went into the hall. They had arranged to meet him there.

  There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and Mark Hurrell appeared.

  “Oh, good morning, Mr Hurrell,” Emma said. “Forgive me – Sir Mark.”

  “I don’t know if I shall ever get used to that,” said Sir Mark, shaking her hand. “Ma’am, it is good to see you, and you, sir. Hopkins said you were looking over the place today. I wanted to speak to you both about it. Shall we go up?”

  So they followed him upstairs. He went into the drawing room with the echo, and Giles would have followed, but Emma caught his arm and stopped him on the threshold.

  “Perhaps he does not want to let it to us,” said Emma in a whisper. “After what happened to his mother here, perhaps he wishes to keep it for himself.”

  “That is perfectly within his rights,” Giles said.

  She gave a rueful smile and said, “Of course it is.”

  “It may be for the best,” he said. She sighed at that but also nodded, and they went into the room together. Giles was glad to see that the floor had been scrubbed and the boards nailed back down.

  “I understand you came to some agreement with my father about an improving lease,” Sir Mark said.

  “Yes, we exchanged letters to that effect, but we did not sign any formal documents,” Giles said. “Which is just as well. My future is somewhat uncertain. I may not be able to go through with the tenancy, at least not in the short term.”

  “But we still like the house a great deal,” said Emma. “Might you consider holding it for us until we know we can afford it? But that is a most unreasonable thing to ask of you.”

  “Nothing you could ask of me is unreasonable, Mrs Maitland,” Sir Mark said. “I am already profoundly in your debt.”

  “You are?” said Emma.

  “You have given good counsel to someone I value above my own life. Maria has told me how much your wisdom and kindness have helped her, and in helping her, you have helped me. And as for you, sir,” he said, turning to Giles, “I do not know how I can begin to thank you. Had it not been for your genius, I would surely be facing the noose, and instead I have been given a new life and the possibility of more happiness than I deserve. That is why I wanted to see you both. At first, I thought I would make you a gift of the property, but I find I cannot – it is tied up in the entail. But I can make you a gift of the repairs, and the rent can be a peppercorn.”