The Dead Queen's Garden

by Nicola Slade

  Earlier, Lily had been exercised on how to keep her warring guests at arms’ length on the short journey to and from Brambrook Abbey. Between them, she and Charlotte came to the conclusion that, as the stable cat had now removed her family, it would be politic to bring out the brougham once more. Accordingly, Charlotte, Sibella, and Lady Frampton were tucked in to it, while the groom solicitously spread fur rugs across their knees against the biting cold. As with yesterday’s expedition to church, Lily and Barnard took pride of place in the landau, which Lily hated as having been her mother-in-law’s choice and too new and expensive to replace, though she had to admit that it permitted her to spread her crinoline skirts in comfort. She and Barnard sat facing the horses while Captain and Mrs Penbury, with the doctor squeezed between them, sat less comfortably opposite.

  Within a very few minutes, Lady Frampton resumed her afternoon doze, while Sibella lapsed into abstracted silence, leaving Charlotte at the mercy of her jangled thoughts. Increasingly at the back of her mind was the untimely death of the younger sister, but now the idea that had occurred to her – namely that Edward Armstrong’s disgrace might be somehow allied to the opportune arrival of the longed-for heir to the Granvilles – refused to go away, no matter how often she told herself that it was surely nonsense. The horrible death of Dunster the maid was still unresolved and now there was the mysterious and utterly unexpected departure of Lady Granville’s hitherto devoted slave. Charlotte pictured Miss Cole, with her looped plaits and fiddly little side-curls, her plump pink cheeks and her permanently aggrieved pout, as well as her irritating habit of flapping a handkerchief as though beating time when she spoke. Had she been fond of her mistress Charlotte wondered, or had she merely suffered that lady’s indifference – which at times had amounted to rudeness in public – for the sake of what appeared to be a comfortable position of many years’ duration? If that were the case, no wonder she had jumped ship at the chance of a change of employment, though the timing and manner of her departure might almost be construed as a slap in the face for Lady Granville. Then again, what woman of straitened means would leave a comfortable situation on Christmas evening? Surely she would have waited until the festivities were over? Or had Miss Cole, so conveniently placed to startle the pony, also had a hand in old Maria Dunster’s death? Certainly, by Oz Granville’s account, the companion’s behaviour had been peculiar on that occasion.

  At this point in her deliberations Charlotte realized that Lady Frampton was awake and watching her, intelligence sparkling in her shrewd, protuberant, brown eyes.

  ‘It’s to be ’oped we don’t get served with anything like that punch we ’ad at young Algy’s christening,’ she remarked. ‘I certainly came to no ’arm,’ she continued, ‘but I doubt ’er ladyship will risk it, tasty though it was. What did you think of the wassail brew, Char?’

  ‘I, er, it was a trifle too spicy for me,’ Charlotte replied, feeling a little bewildered. Was there something on Gran’s mind?

  ‘I didn’t drink it.’ Sibella had clearly roused herself from her introspection. ‘I don’t care for the taste of cinnamon,’ she explained. ‘I had no wish to offend Mr Richmond as he was so pleased with his mixture, so I was happy to relinquish it to my sister.’

  Could this be important? Charlotte struggled to place this snippet of information into the jumbled story that occupied her anxious thoughts. ‘Do you mean, I beg your pardon, Sibella, but are you saying that Barnard himself served you with a glass of punch?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Sibella’s expression was mildly puzzled as she turned to Charlotte. ‘I merely mentioned Mr Richmond because of his kindness. I really have no idea who it was who handed me a drink. Why do you ask?’

  Charlotte managed a laugh. ‘No reason at all,’ she shrugged, ‘I was just picturing the scene at the christening party and realized that I have no idea exactly who was grouped around the wassail bowl as we drank a toast to dear little Algy.’ She shrugged, and took care to wander away from the point that interested her so greatly, realising that such intensity might strike others as slightly odd. ‘Lily was wondering.’

  To her relief, Sibella lost interest and stared out of the window at the snow-covered hedge they were passing. Charlotte, however, was lost in thought; what made me say that, she wondered. And why did Gran suddenly think of that?

  The horses’ hooves clattered as the carriage left the lane and turned into the clean-swept drive to Brambrook Abbey. All speculation must, Charlotte realized, await a more suitable occasion. For now, her duty was to make sure that Gran enjoyed herself, which meant the old lady must be well supplied with delicacies for her tea. She must also look after Sibella Armstrong who was, after all, a stranger in their midst.

  There was a flurry of greeting as Charlotte and her party entered the Great Hall. The lord and lady of the great gothic pile surged towards the Richmonds and their guests, his Lordship beaming all over his hospitable ruddy face, his hands held out in greeting.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ he cried. ‘This is a delight upon my word. Welcome, welcome one and all upon this auspicious day. We are glad to have so many friends joining us, are we not, Hélène, my dear, as we celebrate the birthday of our dear young lad.’ He shook hands, manfully surviving the sadly clammy fingers offered by Melicent Penbury and won Charlotte’s approval by maintaining an air of apparent interest in the face of the captain’s booming monologue upon the weather.

  This was the first opportunity Charlotte had been given of observing the Granvilles’ manner with their former young friend. Sibella’s tale of her brother’s disgrace and exile had wrung sympathy from Charlotte’s soft heart and a glance at the other girl showed that she too was apprehensive about her reception. It was with relief, therefore, that Charlotte could see nothing more than a slight hesitation, natural enough in the circumstances, as Sibella managed a polite murmur and dropped a curtsy.

  Charlotte, observing the meeting carefully, thought Lord Granville certainly displayed a shock of recognition on meeting his erstwhile acquaintance, but beyond a slight paling of his usual high colour, he took his cue from her and his wife, and made no comment, apart from a general mumble of greeting.

  Lady Granville struck Charlotte as somewhat distracted, which was unusual in one so habitually composed, but no doubt her companion’s desertion had upset her. The lady’s dark eyes burned with an intensity that illuminated her haggard, dark, beauty and once again Charlotte was reminded of Lady Macbeth. It was impossible to discern whether her ladyship felt any greater emotion upon nodding to Sibella Armstrong, than for any other of her guests. However, her eyes lit up and her mouth ceased to droop when her son rushed to greet his friends.

  ‘Mrs Richmond! This is capital, I’m so glad to see you.’ He stammered a little in excitement and, reminded by a nudge from his mother, he turned to greet the rest of the party from Finchbourne Manor. ‘Sir,’ he whispered to Barnard. ‘My father wants to talk to you privately, very privately,’ he glanced apprehensively in his mother’s direction. ‘He has fixed upon the day after tomorrow for our own rat hunt and I do hope you can come?’

  He bowed a little awkwardly to the other ladies, reserving a particular smile for Lady Frampton who greeted him in high good humour and Charlotte was amused to see the boy’s eyes widen as they shook hands. Knowing Gran, it was not difficult to deduce that a sovereign had passed from one to the other, a suspicion that was confirmed by a wink from Lady Frampton.

  A servant led them to a side room where the ladies could shed their outer wrappings, but Charlotte was grateful for the impulse that had made her pick up her new cashmere shawl. Good manners demanded that she lay aside her evening cloak when indoors but as she had anticipated, she was thankful for Lily’s Christmas present as the stone walls did not improve the overall cold. Even on so short a journey her lace cap had become slightly flattened under her hood so she fluffed it up in the looking glass thoughtfully placed for such titivation and ventured out into the party. It was a relief to see several friends and
acquaintances clustering around the huge fireplaces at either end of the Great Hall. Charlotte had harboured an apprehension that the party from the manor might be the only people invited to the birthday tea and, considering the mourning state of two of the guests, she worried that conversation might be difficult.

  She shook hands with Dr and Mrs Perry who were good friends and anxious to know how she was enjoying her first taste of an English winter.

  ‘I’m enchanted by the snow,’ she assured the doctor, adding, ‘particularly so when I’m looking at it through the window of a warm, comfortable room!’

  ‘You’re looking very smart, my dear,’ said Mrs Perry, admiring the green silk gown. ‘It must have been quite a feat for Lily to pull off a visit of this nature when she has two guests in such very immediate mourning, but I gather nobody has seen fit to put on their blacks?’

  ‘It did give Lily some moments of mental struggle,’ admitted Charlotte. ‘She was torn, but as neither the poor young lady’s husband or sister appears transported with grief and, in the husband’s case, actually expressed an interest in attending the party, Lily concluded that the rest of us could turn up with a clear conscience.’ She grinned and gestured towards her sister-in-law, ‘At least Lily’s chosen a decently sober gown for once and not her latest cerise satin.’

  Lily was wearing a sumptuous purple dress, flounced and frilled and arranged over what was by far the widest hoop in the room. She had reluctantly agreed with Charlotte’s suggestion that her new diamond necklace, a present from Barnard to celebrate the birth of little Algy, would not be suitable for a tea party. Instead she wore a more discreet parure of amethysts: necklace, earrings, brooch, and an amethyst star in her hair.

  Sibella Armstrong had borrowed a half-veil from Lily and was demure in dark blue over a modest hoop, and with a high neck and long sleeves, topped by a soft grey shawl, while Lady Frampton was monumental in black brocade, hung about with strings of jet beads. As she wondered whether she should act as sheepdog to the bereaved governess, Charlotte was relieved to see her other sister-in-law Agnes, the vicar’s wife, surge forward to greet Sibella, ready tears of sympathy falling freely as she did so.

  Dear Agnes, Charlotte smiled and turned away, disinclined for conversation at present. She went back to looking at the fashions on display. Most of the neighbours were elderly, the ladies in black, or grey, or sometimes a daring dark red, rarely with any regard to fashion. Agnes, at five months pregnant, was swathed in shawls but looked so happy, and was so much loved, that everyone overlooked her usual dowdiness anyway.

  Strolling round the hall, nodding and smiling as she was hailed by neighbours, Charlotte gratefully seized a glass of wine from a silver tray offered by an obliging footman. Perhaps it would alleviate the chill. She was about to return to circling the room when she was waylaid by her host, looking conspiratorial.

  ‘My dear Charlotte,’ he said, glancing round to make sure his lady was not in earshot, ‘I believe you did say I might call you that?’ She nodded cordially and he continued, ‘I merely wished to say that, as I believe Oz has already told you, our own Brambrook rat hunt is arranged for the day after tomorrow. It would give him great pleasure, and me too, my dear young lady, if you would attend the event?’ When she exclaimed in surprise, he hushed her, looking even more furtive. ‘I realize it’s an unusual invitation for a lady, but Oz is so sure that you would enjoy it. He’s been telling me that you once shot a crocodile, so ratting will not faze you in anyway. But I have to keep it a little under wraps as my dear wife would not approve. And in any case,’ his eye lit upon Melicent Penbury, at that moment languishing unattended in a draughty corner,‘I doubt that the older ladies would enjoy it, so it is to be a secret.’

  Charlotte hid a sigh. Ratting held no attraction for her these days but not for the world would she hurt young Oz’s feelings, so she smiled and agreed to the engagement. His lordship peered round and she wondered if he could be looking for Sibella. What if my speculation is correct, she mused. Suppose I’m right about Edward Armstrong’s part in all this, might Lord Granville have some inkling? If he has, he might hope to waylay Sibella, to question her.

  He showed no sign of doing so, however, and she remembered Miss Nightingale’s comment about his sanguine nature. Perhaps he did suspect something but was content to let sleeping dogs lie, after all.

  By some fluke of fortune, Charlotte had turned away and was talking to the vicar when Lady Granville’s stately progress around the room brought her up to Charlotte’s side. It was clear from her warm greeting that the lady had not observed her husband in close conversation with a young woman or the dark brows would have met across the noble beak of a nose.

  ‘How kind of you, Mrs Richmond, to give Osbert such a valuable gift. Ah, here he is, to thank you himself.’

  ‘It’s capital, Mrs Richmond,’ he told her, opening up each attachment so that she could admire them. ‘I’ve always wanted a knife like this but Mama said I was too young.’

  Oh dear, Charlotte’s hand flew to her mouth to conceal a guilty grin but Lady Granville seemed unperturbed. ‘I hope you will prove worthy of Mrs Richmond’s trust, dear Osbert,’ was all she said. ‘Your papa and I rely on you not to damage yourself or anyone else.’ She turned, with a gracious smile, to greet a newcomer. ‘Ah, Mr Knightley, how kind of you to come, how do you do? May I enquire after Mrs Knightley’s health?’

  Kit nodded briefly in Charlotte’s direction while bowing over his hostess’s outstretched hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘She is resting today.’

  ‘What’s that? Your wife unwell, sir?’ It was Doctor Chant, who bustled up and shook Kit’s unwilling hand. ‘Perhaps I might have the pleasure of prescribing for her?’ He glanced round and lowered his tone to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Dr Perry is an excellent enough man, for a country physician, but I fancy he is a trifle behind the times when it comes to the latest methods. Has Mrs Knightley tried hot and cold water treatments? I can promise you miraculous results, if you will place the lady in my hands. Why, only last month, His Royal Highness, the Prince….’

  ‘My wife is dying,’ Kit snapped, and Charlotte, in response to a concerned glance from Lady Granville, took his arm and marched him unceremoniously out of the doctor’s reach.

  ‘Come and sit by Gran,’ was all she said, as the gong sounded and the assembled guests were ushered towards the lofty diningroom. ‘She won’t allow anyone to harry you.’ He bit his lip and nodded, clearly unable to speak, and Charlotte continued, ‘I’ll go and see Elaine tomorrow morning. She’ll like to hear about the party, if – if she’s well enough.’

  Charlotte saw him safely under Lady Frampton’s wing and moved away, to find her hostess smiling approvingly.

  ‘Thank you, my dear,’ was all she said, then she nodded complacently at the guests who were finding seats. ‘It seemed sensible to have tea in the dining-room today,’ she pronounced. ‘So much cosier than in the Great Hall and of course there are too many of us to fit comfortably round the tea-table in the drawing-room.’

  Cosy? The room was vast and Charlotte stared round-eyed at the table that looked at least half a mile long.

  ‘Charlotte?’ It was Dr Perry, a frowning concentration visible on his brow. ‘A word, if I may?’

  ‘Of course.’ Charlotte looked anxious. ‘Is it about Mrs Knightley?’

  ‘What’s that?’ He shook his head. ‘Oh no, poor soul, that will come at any time; you’ll feel it sadly, poor child. No, this is another matter entirely.’ The furrows in his forehead deepened as he chose his words with care. ‘Char, this is in confidence but I know you can be trusted. Have you heard of anyone else being indisposed after that party at the manor? No?’ He shook his head. ‘Nor I and that surprises me. That healthy young woman had no symptoms other than some kind of food poisoning, but her sister insists that they ate the same food. I know this because the Winchester doctor who attended her in her last hours is a great friend of mine, and he is both perplexed and mortified at he
r death.’

  Charlotte stared at Dr Perry in dismay, his sentiments chimed so familiarly with her own. It was one thing, she discovered, to conjure up nightmares, but quite another to have not one, but two sensible, experienced medical practitioners suffering from the same uncertainty.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she breathed, and could not decide whether to be relieved or even more anxious when he replied:

  ‘I have no idea.’

  At that moment, the guests were called to the table and the slight delay caused by her encounter with Dr Perry meant that the only available seat was beside Captain Penbury who was delighted to see her.

  ‘How are you feeling today, Captain?’ she enquired with a smile. In spite of her reservations about his wife, Charlotte was quite fond of the bluff sailor and felt genuine concern for his health after the fright at the christening. ‘No trouble amidships with the musket ball?’

  ‘Not a suspicion of it, Mrs Richmond – well then, Charlotte, if you wish, that’s very civil of you.’ He patted her hand, a smile of genuine pleasure brightening his large red face. ‘No, as I was saying, Charlotte, I’m happy to say I find myself hale and hearty at present. In fact I gather there is talk of skating on the local gravel pit tomorrow if the ice holds, and as I consider myself proficient in the art, I shall enjoy myself a good deal.’ He glanced across at her other neighbour, Dr Chant and addressed him, with a gesture of apology to Charlotte. ‘I say there, Doctor. Have you ever come across a case like mine? Hey? I carry a musket ball around, d’ye hear? A relic of the battle when our gallant navy captured the Chesapeake from the Americans in the year ’13.’ He smiled reminiscently, as he went on, ‘Of course, I was only a midshipman at the time, a mere lad, but here we are still to tell the tale, that Yankee musket-ball and I.’