by Anne Ashley
‘In the Duke’s defence, though, it must be said, that Beatrice owed the comfort of her widowhood, her later life, entirely to his generosity. He bought his brother and bride a fine country mansion soon after their marriage. Naturally enough, the house retained no happy memories, so Beatrice sold the place within a twelvemonth of her husband’s demise and removed to Somerset. I believe I’m right in saying the late Duke also ensured that she was to be paid a handsome quarterly allowance for her lifetime.’
Memory stirred and Ruth vaguely recalled Lady Beatrice’s man of business remarking on this, and on the fact that her quiet lifestyle had enabled her to save a goodly portion of this allowance over the years; more than enough to ensure that Ruth herself would want for nothing throughout her life, providing she did not foolishly spend to excess time and again.
All at once those pangs of guilt over Lady Beatrice’s demise returned with a vengeance. Her future comfort had been assured only through another’s bitter unhappiness.
‘Poor Lady Bea,’ she found herself murmuring aloud. ‘If only someone could have helped.’
Surprisingly enough Lady Constance betrayed scant sympathy, swiftly reiterating, ‘As I’ve mentioned before, child, she was warned against marrying that man. Moreover, she could have fled the house at any time had she truly wished to do so and I don’t suppose for a moment her husband would have forced her return.’
Again she shook her head. ‘I do not doubt she suffered during her fifteen-year marriage at that brute’s hands. But the fact remains she chose to stay locked in the loveless union... And one cannot help but ask oneself why?’
‘One can only suppose that life with Lord Charles Lindley seemed preferable to an existence of near poverty and obscurity in some hidden corner of the land,’ Hugo announced, breaking his long silence and proving at a stroke that he had been concentrating on everything that had been said.
‘And there you have it, Colonel!’ Lady Constance agreed wholeheartedly. ‘You may remember, sir, that Lady Beatrice was the daughter of an earl. Like her two younger sisters, she had grown accustomed to social position and luxury. It’s my honest belief that she was prepared to put up with her husband’s bouts of drunken brutality, which it must be said became increasingly less frequent as the years passed, in preference to a life of obscurity.
‘Oh, I must seem quite unfeeling!’ the Dowager declared, when both her listeners continued to sit quietly digesting everything they were hearing. ‘And it would be wrong to think me so. I did attempt to help in my own small way. Unlike poor Beatrice, who sadly never bore a child, I produced four offspring in my first five years of marriage. As a result my dear husband bought a most charming little house at a small coastal town not too far distant from Brighton, where I would stay yearly in the summer, enjoying the benefits of sea air and walks along the cliffs. I thought Beatrice would benefit from the change of air. She sometimes stayed at my little retreat on the coast, in preference to remaining in the country, once the Season was over. Her husband never accompanied her. So I’m sure she attained some solace, though it must be said she never remained for more than a few weeks at a time. Beatrice, I’m afraid, had one thing in common with that husband of hers—both were social creatures.’
Something the Dowager had revealed had succeeded in touching a chord of memory, but it was the last comment made that remained at the forefront of Ruth’s mind.
‘If that was, indeed, the case, ma’am,’ she returned, puzzled, ‘what on earth, do you suppose, prompted her to up and leave London for the tranquillity of Somerset to live the life of a virtual recluse? As Colonel Prentiss remarked earlier, it just doesn’t make sense. Lady Beatrice had endured years trapped in a loveless union. She was free of the chains of matrimony. Why on earth didn’t she remain in the capital with her friends and enjoy her widowhood?’
Lady Constance smiled wryly. ‘Ah, my dear, I suspect there were several reasons, none of which redound to the credit of shallow society... And in that I suppose I must include myself, I’m ashamed to say.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, I do not perfectly understand,’ Ruth prompted, determined still to discover all she could, even at the risk of embarrassing her kindly hostess.
‘For all Lord Charles Lindley was a blackguard of the highest order, he did, right up until his death, retain some influential friends and few doors were ever closed to him. He left a mountain of debts, which resulted in his widow becoming wholly dependent on his brother’s generosity. Poor Beatrice soon discovered that even the wife of a dissolute lord wielded more prestige than that of a respectable, if sadly faded, widow. Invitations to those prestigious parties she had once enjoyed no longer came her way. A few close friends retained contact and stood by her, but her life was a mere shadow of what it had once been and so she removed to the country, well away from shallow society. And I for one never blamed her for doing that.’
* * *
And neither could Ruth, a fact she made clear to her companions, later, during the carriage ride back to the Lansdowns’ town house. ‘It’s little wonder she grew so bitterly resentful. She must have felt that society as a whole was slowly abandoning her. And that, after years of enduring a dreadfully unhappy marriage. I’m beginning to appreciate just why she was so keen for me never to take the matrimonial plunge,’ she added. ‘Women have few rights under the law, and fewer, it would seem, after they wed.’
As she had turned her head to stare meditatively out of the window, Ruth quite failed to see the troubled glance Sarah shot at her brother’s impassive countenance, before asking, ‘Did you happen to discover anything that might shed light upon Lady Beatrice’s demise?’
Ruth shook her head. ‘And to be perfectly honest I thought she might become suspicious if, on so brief an acquaintance, I attempted to delve too deeply into certain aspects of her friend’s past.’
‘On the contrary, my dear,’ Hugo corrected, with the faintest edge of disapproval in his voice. ‘Evidently, you were paying far too much attention to comments made on the evils of matrimony to absorb the very interesting fact Lady Constance disclosed about a property situated on the coast that offered long cliff walks and solace to a tortured soul.’
Ruth sat bolt upright, accepting the mild rebuke with a good grace, as he had spoken no less than the truth. She had paid more heed to the perils in store for any woman should her judgement prove faulty when it came to choosing a future mate.
‘Yes, you’re right, Hugo! I had almost forgotten that very interesting detail.’ Narrow-eyed, Ruth fixed her gaze on the intricate folds of his cravat. ‘So Lady Constance once owned a small house on the coast, or rather her husband did. And Lady Beatrice stayed there on several occasions without her husband. And, if I remember correctly, it was while enjoying a coastal cliff walk that she witnessed an altercation between two persons, later to discover that one had been found at the foot of the cliffs.’
‘It would certainly be beneficial to discover the identity of the poor unfortunate who met his death that day,’ Hugo commented, after his sister, at a complete loss, had demanded an explanation and had been regaled with the few details known. ‘From something that was said, I’m fairly certain the deceased was a man, but I cannot recall any mention of the year he died.’
Ruth shook her head, confirming this. ‘All we do know is that the incident took place some time during Lady Bea’s marriage. She married Lord Lindley in 1786, and the marriage lasted fifteen years.’
Ruth paused to consider for a moment. ‘The person who might know, of course, is the abigail Lady Beatrice employed during the last years of her marriage. It stands to reason she would have accompanied her mistress on those trips to the coast.’ She sighed. ‘Sadly, though, she left Lady Bea’s employ shortly after the removal to Somerset, before I went to live at Dunsterford Hall, and I’ve no notion of where she might have gone. Or even if she’s still alive, come to that.’
&n
bsp; ‘Oh!’ Sarah gave a visible start, instantly capturing both her companions’ attention. ‘I just might be able to help you there.’
‘Do you mean you know what became of the wench?’ Hugo asked, thinking it a stroke of great good fortune if it turned out to be the case.
‘I’m fairly certain my good friend Marjorie Gilmorton mentioned to me once that she’d employed Lady Beatrice’s maid. Said how very efficient the woman was...though whether she’s still in my friend’s employ, I couldn’t say.’
‘Should be easy enough to find out,’ her brother suggested. ‘Is she spending the Season in town this year?’ After receiving a confirming nod, Hugo added, staring at them both, ‘Then pay a call on her tomorrow, if possible. And it might be worthwhile taking Aggie along with you.’
‘What a capital notion, Hugo!’ Ruth agreed. ‘Aggie knew her, briefly. It would be quite natural for her to raise the subject of Lady Beatrice, as they were both employed by her.’ She looked across at him hopefully. ‘Will you be accompanying us?’
Disappointing her, he shook his head. ‘No, I think my time would be better spent paying a visit to a particular firm of lawyers. I’m certain some believable reason for making an impromptu call will have occurred to me before morning.’
* * *
Although Hugo left the house promptly after breaking his fast the following day, he did so with distinctly mixed feeling, and a decidedly heavy heart. Only his conscience had forced him to continue helping solve the mystery of the widow’s demise. He had given his word and had no intention of breaking it, even though he was brutally aware that once the mystery was solved, there was nothing to keep Ruth in London and any hope of them forming a serious attachment would be gone.
As he turned his head to stare sightlessly out of the grimy window, he couldn’t help wondering whether something more meaningful between them was a forlorn hope. Poor Ruth hadn’t had what one would call a normal upbringing. Furthermore, for the last ten years she had lived with an out-and-out man-hater. It would be something marvellous, indeed, if she’d remained impervious to all that vitriolic loathing. And, it didn’t help, of course, when she was being continually reminded of the perils of contracting an unsuitable alliance!
He hadn’t missed that look of doubt, of fear, almost, when Lady Constance had touched upon her late friend’s disastrous union. Yet, he wouldn’t have said that Ruth betrayed the least dislike of his sex. In fact, he’d go as far as to say she at least enjoyed his company.
He wasn’t oblivious to the way her face lit up whenever he walked into a room: an indication, had he needed one, that she was always pleased to see him; that she was, perhaps, growing more than just fond of him. Yet, she had never once, either by word or gesture, offered him the least encouragement to further their relationship. It was almost as if she was constantly attempting to remain just that tiny bit aloof, friendly, but no more. His eyes narrowed. Was that because she was so terrified of contracting a disastrous union? Or was there some other underlying reason for that faint air of reserve in her?
* * *
When the hackney carriage drew to a halt outside the premises of Messrs Blunt, Blunt & Caldecott, Hugo was obliged to consign the conundrum to the back of his mind to ponder over on another occasion, as he wasted no time in seeking out his particular quarry. As luck would have it Mr Henry Blunt was available to see him at once and Hugo was immediately shown into a small and somewhat grimy back office.
‘I see you remember me,’ he remarked, as the little lawyer, not attempting to conceal his surprised recognition, rose from behind his desk to take Hugo’s outstretched hand.
‘But, of course I remember you, sir! If you’ll pardon my saying so, you’re not the sort of gentleman one easily forgets,’ he admitted, after watching Hugo lower his much taller-than-average frame on to a chair. ‘I shan’t attempt to deny I’m somewhat surprised to see you here in town. I seem to recall your remarking on the fact that you seldom visit the capital nowadays.’
‘Your memory serves you well, Mr Blunt. But I’m hopeful that in the future I’ll have reason to make the trip more often. You see, I’m seriously considering acquiring a property here in the not-too-distant future, if not this year, then possibly next, and was wondering whether you might be interested in dealing with any legal aspects on my behalf?’
‘I’d be delighted to do so, of course!’ Mr Blunt assured him, before offering a glass of port. This was precisely the companionable reaction for which Hugo had hoped, for it granted him the opportunity to turn the little lawyer’s thoughts to their first encounter and the sad event that overshadowed it.
For a moment or two the lawyer appeared genuinely bewildered, then raised one finger. ‘Indeed, yes! Unlike you, though, sir, I’d never encountered the lady before.’
‘It was business, was it not, that took you to that part of the world?’ Hugo remarked in a light, conversational way.
‘Indeed, it was.’
‘And does your profession oblige you to travel about the land a good deal?’
The lawyer shook his head. ‘No, sir, most all the firm’s business is conducted, here, in the capital, I’m pleased to say. I’m not too fond of travel myself. Too many—er—imponderables involved, so to speak. Although roads are much improved, at least some of them, travel remains a risky business, not to mention a tiresome one.’
After nodding in agreement, Hugo paused to sample his port, while continuing to assess the little man on the opposite side of the desk. ‘So you’re not one to desert the capital to sample the fresh sea air, as some of the professional classes are inclined to do during the summer? Spa towns used to be the favourite visiting places, but I believe their popularity has been diminishing in recent years. Sea air, not to mention a spot of sea bathing, is all the rage nowadays, or so I’m reliably informed.’
Although he fell short of a grimace, there was no doubting the prospect of such activity didn’t appeal to Mr Blunt. ‘Oh, no, sir. I’m more than content to remain in London throughout the year. Being a confirmed bachelor, I’ve only myself to consider.’ He appeared to ponder for a moment. ‘Would you believe, until that trip I made last year, I’d never glimpsed the sea in my entire life, though I did once travel very close to the mouth of the Thames... But I don’t suppose that really counts as visiting the coast, does it?’
‘I think we might agree it does not,’ Hugo responded, well satisfied with the outcome of his visit, as he’d discovered precisely what he wished to know and could cross the lawyer’s name off the list of suspects.
* * *
Ruth was equally satisfied with her visit to Sarah’s friend. If possible, Mrs Marjorie Gilmorton turned out to be even more easygoing than Sarah. Once the subject of personal maids had been raised and it was confirmed that she had engaged the abigail previously employed in the Lindley household, the lively matron was only too happy to allow Agatha to take tea with the maid Dwight in the small parlour at the rear of the house so that they might be private together to chat over old times.
Although Ruth found Mrs Gilmorton to be a most likeable matron, she could hardly wait for the visit to end so that she might learn what, if anything, Agatha had managed to discover from the bird-like little woman who had remained with her former mistress throughout those last unhappy years of marriage.
She was destined not to be disappointed, either. The instant they had returned to Sarah’s fashionable town carriage, Agatha confirmed that Edith Dwight had, indeed, accompanied her former mistress to the coast on several occasions. She had also remembered very clearly a certain Sir George Hilliard having been discovered one morning among the jagged rocks at the foot of the cliffs, though she was quite unable to confirm whether his demise had occurred when she and Lady Beatrice had been staying at the coastal retreat.
‘Sir George Hilliard...?’ Ruth echoed. Of course, the name meant absolutely nothing to her, so
she cast a hopeful glance in Sarah’s direction.
‘Oh, yes...yes, I do now recall the incident, vaguely,’ Sarah confirmed after a moment’s thought. ‘It must have been fifteen, maybe sixteen, years ago. It happened during my very first Season, if my memory serves me correctly. There was some mystery surrounding his death, I seem to remember. His wife couldn’t understand why he should have been at that coastal town, when he was supposed to be staying with friends in Brighton. It was strongly rumoured at the time that he might well have been kidnapped and murdered. By all accounts he had made cuckolds of several gentlemen, so there was no shortage of suspects. But no charges were ever brought against anyone.’
Were all husbands unfaithful to their wives? Ruth couldn’t help wondering, before she concentrated her thoughts, once again, on solving the mystery that had brought her to the metropolis in the first place.
‘Are you, perchance, acquainted with the family, or the widow?’ she asked hopefully, but was destined to be disappointed.
‘Sadly, no. Lady Hilliard retired permanently to the country, after her husband’s death, to bring up her children. I believe her only son visits the capital from time to time, though I’m not acquainted with him, personally. Whether he’s in town at present, I really couldn’t say. Hugo, I think, is better placed to discover more. I dare say the late baronet is remembered by some. Perhaps he might learn a thing or two about him at his club.’
* * *
That evening Hugo, accompanied by his good friend Viscount Kingsley, entered White’s and quickly found a secluded corner table. Although the Viscount intended to return to his country estate the following day, he was willing to assist his friend in the matter of discovering more about the late, if not lamented, Sir George Hilliard.
‘As I’ve already mentioned, old friend, I was more than happy to accompany you here tonight, as you’re not a member,’ his lordship began,’ but I’m damned if I know what else I can do to help. Sir George’s death was a bit before my time. I wasn’t precisely a scrubby schoolboy when it happened, but I hadn’t embarked on the social scene either.’
