The Mistress of Trevelyan

by Jennifer St Giles

  When I slipped the note under the door, I sneezed. My heart nearly exploded when Stephen opened the door immediately. He appeared rumpled and surprised as well. “Miss Ann?”

  “F-forgive my intrusion, but it is important that I speak with you, privately.” It took me a moment to find my balance. He looked more like a big sleepy boy than a murderer, and I took a deep breath, calming myself.

  “Uh, certainly.” He looked about as if he were lost a moment.

  “I will await you in the sitting room at the end of the hall,” I said.

  Relief smoothed his brow.“I will be only a moment.”

  Unfortunately, I was too tense to enjoy the full effect of the sunny area. Taking up the entire width of the wing, with a multitude of windows on three sides, the sitting area was wonderfully cozy and warm. The scent of oil paint and linseed oil emanated from my left, and when my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I saw an easel set up to catch the full rays of the sun. Curious, I wandered over to the painting, only to find the canvas covered with a cloth. I considered peeking beneath it, but Stephen walked into the area, and I turned to face him.

  “Is there something wrong, Miss Ann?” He was holding my note, frowning.

  “Yes, Mr. Trevelyan.” I held out Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s book of poems. Stephen paled. Instead of taking the book, he sat quickly in the nearest chair as if his legs would no longer support him. My note requesting to see him fell to the floor, but neither of us picked it up. Nor did he look at me. He kept his gaze upon the book in my hand, staring as if I held a snake.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “Among other books in the library.”

  He sighed.“I have looked for it everywhere.”

  “Please, take it.” I held the book closer to him.

  His hand shook as he grasped the slim volume.“I did not mean for it to happen, you know. Cesca did not either.” Fingers trembling, he opened the cover. Tears filled his eyes as he stared at the inscription. “I do not think she ever read past what I had written. I do not think she understood what I meant. Her pain was too great.”

  My throat tightened with emotion so heavy I thought I’d choke. “How could you?” I whispered. “How could you do this to your brother?”

  Stephen lifted his gaze to mine. I knew at that moment that I looked into the tortured eyes of a man living in hell.“I do not know. But she is dead because of it. Because of me.”

  “How?”

  “She haunts me from the grave, you know. Just as she said she would.” His words broke on a sob of pain.

  I ran from him, from the bright sunny room so full of darkness, my sniffles increasing tenfold as tears fought their way to my eyes. Stephen didn’t stop me from leaving. I don’t think he was capable of stopping anything, even his cries.

  Katherine exited her room just as I dashed by, but I didn’t greet her. I was too upset. Francesca’s murderer lived within Trevelyan Manor’s walls. I was sure of it. But who?

  I have nothing but dishonor to offer a woman. Benedict’s tortured words from last night loomed like a funeral pyre over my spirit. For I realized why I was so burdened with the tragic past, why I nearly swooned from his kiss, why I couldn’t bring myself this morning to promise never to ask for his touch.

  I loved him.

  16

  By the time I reached my room, I’d slowed my pace to a brisk walk, but my thoughts continued to race. How could I have been so impractical to fall in love with Benedict, a man I could never hope to have? A man whom others believed capable of murder, but I couldn’t?

  Stephen had said Francesca died because of him, but he hadn’t actually said he’d killed her. But then why would Francesca haunt him if he hadn’t?

  Why did Benedict have nothing but dishonor to give? When it came to him, my heart was a jumble of agonizing knots. I was so blind with the emotions swirling inside me that I didn’t even see Constance until she called to me.

  “Ann. I was just at your door, looking for you.”

  I stopped abruptly. “Is there something you needed, Constance?”

  “Company. I am having Dobbs set up tea in the garden and thought you would like to join me.”

  A chat over tea was the last thing I wanted at the moment, but it seemed rude not to accept her offer. After their morning riding lesson, the boys were resting under Maria’s care, so I didn’t need to worry about them. But I had planned to work on their lessons this afternoon, my usual routine for Sunday afternoon. After speaking to Stephen and my looming meeting with Benedict this evening, though, I seriously doubted I’d be able to comprehend a thing.

  And shamefully, having Dobbs see me enjoying the fruits of his labor had an irresistible appeal. “That would be lovely. Give me a moment to freshen up, and I will be right with you.”

  Unexpectedly, Constance followed me to my room, giving me no choice but to invite her in. In quick order, I went to the washstand and bathed my face, feeling as if I was a bit more flushed than usual, an understandable condition considering my agitated state.

  In the mirror I saw Constance wander over to the bed curtains and run her hand across the cloudy blue silk. “She slept here often, you know. My sister. Though this wasn’t her room, she loved the color blue. I think she came here to dream, like a child who has a favorite spot to pretend the world was nothing but sunshine and rainbows.”

  A chill racked my spine. Francesca slept here? Dreamed here? Spent time here? Benedict had assigned me his wife’s favorite room? Had insisted upon me using it despite my protests?

  I shivered again. And what about last night’s passionate encounter upon the blue bed? Was I a substitute for a wife who left him mired in scandal?

  “I did not know she came here,” I whispered.

  Constance turned and smiled firmly. “Of course you wouldn’t. It was silly of me to even say anything. I just could not help but remember.”

  “Your sister sounds as if she liked to smile a lot.”

  Constance shrugged. “To her, happiness was like stars in the heavens. She would gaze and gaze. She would dream and dream. But in the end they were never hers. I do not think happiness ever belongs to any of us here on earth. Are you ready for tea?”

  My mind reeled. I blinked twice, then tried to focus on Constance. She’d already moved to the doorway, waiting for me. “Yes, tea would be good,” I said, but in my mind I was thinking I needed a good dose of Benedict’s brandy.

  Dobbs waited in the garden. Chairs, small tables, and a silver tea service graced the ground next to the angelic fountain. Dobbs’s expression drooped when he saw me with Constance.

  Glad that I’d ruffled his cocky feathers, I pasted a smile on my face and took the chair he was forced to ready for me. After seating Constance, he inquired if anything else would be needed. He clearly addressed Constance, even going as far to angle his back to me. I noted that only cream and sugar accompanied the tea and biscuits.

  I was not about to let him ignore me, or my own needs. “Yes, Mr. Dobbs. My throat is a tad scratchy this afternoon. Would you mind bringing me some lemon and honey to have with my tea?”

  He turned my way with his long nose lifted high enough to be a bird’s perch. I immediately imagined Puck sitting on it with his prickly claws digging in.

  “Honey and lemon?” Dobbs’s mouth puckered with disapproval.“Will there be anything else?”

  “Some jam, please.”

  “Jam?”

  “Strawberry if possible.”

  “Anything else?” he asked, his voice rising with annoyance.

  I blinked innocently at him. “An extra napkin would be quite nice.”

  He opened his mouth as if he were about to ask again, but then gritted his teeth and turned on his heel. As soon as he stalked inside the house, I was surprised to hear Constance giggle.

  “You are not easily daunted,” she said, humor lighting her dark eyes.“We have more in common than I thought.”

  “I think if a woman does not stand her gro
und, especially in the West, she will end up like a tumbleweed being blown across the desert.”

  “True, but the results can sometimes be detrimental. Many who stand their own ground are buried beneath it.”

  I nodded, realizing there were probably more pine boxes in the ground than tumbleweeds on the desert. It was not a reassuring thought.

  Sunshine, spread about in warm fingers of light, cast a golden glow throughout the garden. Roses, bursting spots of red, pink, and yellow, crowned the bellflowers and phlox. The day was as serenely bright as it had been this morning when I’d laughed with Benedict, Justin, and Robert during the riding lessons. Only instead of warm, I felt chilled.

  Dobbs returned with honey, lemon, a worn napkin, and blackberry jam, then left without a word. I preferred Cook Thomas’s blackberry jam, and outwitting him was sweet indeed.

  Constance poured the tea, and I added a healthy dose of lemon and honey to mine, hoping to soothe myself. But the turmoil within me seemed to repel any warmth and refuse any comfort as it held my mind captive to images of Stephen, Francesca, and Benedict caught up in a tragic and deadly play. The play ended in Francesca’s murder just before the curtain closed, leaving Benedict holding a smoking gun. Yet I couldn’t believe that to be true.

  “Speaking of standing ground to one’s detriment, Stephen and I encountered the governor’s sister, Mrs. Harriet Hampton, this morning. She wore an appallingly antiquated bloomer outfit and was handing out notices of a meeting for the Women’s Equal Suffrage Society. The woman has no sense whatsoever.”

  I took another sip of my tea before commenting. Her opinion surprised me. Though my mother and I had had little opportunity to publicly discuss the unfairness of women’s place in society, we’d read every article that we could find on the subject. She’d been disappointed that the suffrage movement had made no difference in her life. Twenty-five years ago, accounts of the Women’s Rights Convention had promised so much more, but very little victory followed. “You do not believe women should be given equal consideration?”

  Constance shook her head. Her teacup rattled, and she set it down, then folded her hands with deliberate slowness. “Experience has taught me that real power lies in not letting a man know what you want. Then he can never stand in your way. I do not waste my time with dreams of the impossible, which is exactly what women’s rights in a man’s world are. I thought you too smart to believe in fables.”

  “I believe in truth.”

  “What is a fable but an unobtainable truth?” She paused, smiled sadly, then picked up her tea. “Francesca believed in truth and love.”

  Learning about Francesca was more important than philosophical differences. I seized the opportunity.“Tell me about your sister. Perhaps I could help Justin and Robert more if I knew what she was like.”

  Constance set down her tea, picked a biscuit, and spread a bit of jam on it, her expression sad. “What was Francesca like? A delicate flower too fragile for this world. I loved her. Growing up she was always ill, and I always tried to help her, make her happy. But she was sad.”

  “Stephen said her favorite game to play with Justin was ‘making sunshine.’ That sounds like a woman who loved to smile.”

  “Stephen’s a man, and men only see what they want to in a woman, whether it is true or not, no? Now, you must tell me what you know about steamships.”

  “You mean steamboats?” I questioned, thinking Constance had more than just a leisurely chat over tea in mind before she asked me. The conversational change was too abrupt, or her grief over losing her sister was still too painful.

  “Ah, yes, steamboats. I am so used to speaking of vessels as ships, forgive me. This morning Stephen took me for a ride on one in the bay, and I find that I was quite taken with the experience. I say to myself, Constance, these steamboats Benedict is investing in may be a good thing.”

  I explained what I knew of how pressure from steam forced parts of an engine to move, which in turn propelled the inner workings of boats and trains. Constance shook her head and waved her arm.

  “You misunderstand me. I have no interest in such things. I would like to know more about the usage of the steamships.”

  I shrugged. “Steamboats have been essential to travel and the shipping of goods along rivers for years. I know here in the bay, they ferry cargo and passengers from ships to docks all along the bay. More than that, I cannot tell you. Why don’t you ask Stephen or Benedict?”

  She waved her hand with annoyance. “Stephen will tell me anything, whether he truly knows the answer or not, just to make me happy. And Benedict is worse. He does not think I should ever concern myself with business and will not tell me anything at all. I used to be able to count on Alan, then he…”

  Her voice trailed off, and I waited for her to continue. I recalled their encounter in Holloway Park, and once again I wondered what they had fought about. “You mean Mr. Henderson?” I prompted.

  “Yes. An infuriating man at times. He seemed to be quite taken with you, once he accepted your role as a governess. He is not one to put a tremendous amount of importance on class. You would do well to encourage his interest.”

  I nearly dropped my teacup and had to set it quickly down.“I beg your pardon?”

  Constance settled a firm expression on her face, her gaze piercing. “Though from different stations in life, we are both women without a man in a man’s world, Ann. A very difficult position to be in, no? I merely mentioned that should you wish to improve your lot in life by marrying… well, he is a good man. I believe Alan is due to visit again soon.”

  I stared at her a moment, completely unsettled. “I am surprised to hear you say such a thing, considering the apparent intimacy of the argument you had with Mr. Henderson in Holloway Park.” I lifted a questioning brow.

  “We merely settled an old argument.”She set her cup on the table and stood, brushing imaginary crumbs from her skirt. “My, I have no idea where the time went, but I am afraid I must go now. I will see you at dinner shortly. Thank you for joining me.” She nodded a smile and turned to leave.

  The argument hadn’t looked old or settled to me. I stood, feeling as if I had to say something. Her suggestion that I’d form any kind of an alliance just to improve my station in life disturbed me greatly. Never would I do such a thing. She had to know that. But I saw Dobbs coming our way, and I had to let the subject drop until later. Nodding curtly in Dobbs’s direction, I decided to go rest in my room a short while before dressing for dinner and meeting Benedict in his study.

  For the first time in my entire life, except for the morning I’d first gone to the stables, I was late, and not by mere minutes. I was over a quarter of an hour late. I’d fallen asleep while resting on the settee and had awoken just minutes ago. My cheeks were hot from embarrassment and my mind fuzzy with sleep. Indeed, I likened myself to a cart behind a runaway horse that would upend and crash at any moment.

  And I knew that moment would be in Benedict’s study. This time I was determined to own up to my behavior and to assure him no such lapses would occur again.

  I marched right to his study and knocked firmly. He opened the door.“Mr. Trevelyan. It is of utmost importance that I speak to you immediately about a matter. Last night when you—”

  “Miss Lovell,” Benedict’s voice boomed over mine. “You are late for our appointment, but it is just as well.” He motioned to the room behind him. “Stephen and Alan needed to consult with me on a matter, and we were just finishing.”

  “Oh,” I gasped, blinking at the shadowy images standing in Benedict’s study. I am not sure if my eyes had trouble adjusting to the dimmer light, or if shock over almost revealing what happened last night had me unsettled.

  Mr. Henderson came my way.“Miss Lovell. It is so lovely to see you again.” He took my hand in his. His greeting of me seemed so much different than when I’d first met him. Before he’d made me feel as if I didn’t belong at the Trevelyan family dinner, but now he didn’t seem to shun me at all
.

  “Thank you,” I said, pulling my hand back before he could bow to kiss it. Constance’s observation rang in my ears and made me leery. His smile stiffened, and I chastised myself for being so cautious. Surely Constance had to be mistaken. I sought to repair my slight. “Your trip to the north went well?”

  “Extremely well.” Mr. Henderson’s gaze seemed to search my face, making me wonder again about Constance’s comment. “In fact, several new opportunities have arisen, and Ben has graciously invited me to stay at the manor while I look into them. Perhaps I can tell you about them later.”

  “Yes,” I said, feeling a little dizzy. Had his voice taken a personal tone?

  “Miss Ann. Might I speak with you a moment in the foyer?” Stephen, looking as ragged and worn as a Confederate flag in Federal hands, joined Alan at my side. I’d deliberately avoided looking his way, hoping to escape having to face him yet. He seemed completely oblivious to the awkward position in which he’d placed me. Both Benedict and Mr. Henderson had raised their brows.

  I cleared my scratchy throat and winced as a twinge of pain shot to my temples.“Only for a minute. I need to speak to Mr. Trevelyan about planning a party for Justin’s birthday.” Even more heat fired my checks.

  “A party?” Stephen said with surprise.“An excellent idea, and I promise not to take more than a moment.”

  “Very well,” I said, following him into the foyer, thankful to note that Dobbs was not standing guard at the front door.

  Stephen grabbed my hands, pulling me close to him. “I beg of you. Before you speak to my brother, please, let me explain about Cesca,” he whispered, so low that I could barely hear him. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, and his hands shook.

  Heart pounding, I stepped away, snatching my hands from his. “You embarrass us both. I have no plans to speak of it to your brother. As I see it, his pain is already more than any man should be forced to bear. Please don’t mention the matter again.” When I turned to the study, I saw a dark shape slip quickly out of sight. Had Benedict stood in the doorway, watching?