Undoing of a Lady

by Nicola Cornick

  “There is nothing going on between Johnny and me,” she said. “It was a dull evening and I drank more than I ought and now I have the headache, which I suppose serves me right.”

  “Mary said that Nat Waterhouse was also there,” Laura said, passing Lizzie her glass of lemonade and cutting a slice of the cake for her. “I was surprised to hear it—I did not know that he was a friend of the Wheeler family.”

  Lizzie felt the jealous bile rise in her chest as it had done the previous night. The others were all looking at her and she tried to keep her face blank. She had never been particularly good at hiding her feelings although she suspected she was getting better at it lately. She had certainly managed to deceive Nat as to how she felt about him. But she wished she could stop thinking about him. That would be a step forward.

  “I believe that Nat was there at Lady Willoughby’s invitation,” she said. She stumbled a little over Nat’s name, which was odd. She could not call him Lord Waterhouse, of course, for they had been friends for years and everyone would think it odd. But nor could she apparently talk of him with the same casual carelessness she had always used. She felt very self-conscious, all the more so as Lydia’s steady gaze was on her and was making Lizzie feel horribly vulnerable.

  “Lady Willoughby is Lady Wheeler’s cousin and I understand she is also an old flame of Nat’s,” she added hurriedly.

  “I wonder then if Lady Willoughby had anything to do with Flora jilting Lord Waterhouse?” Lydia said. “Perhaps if he met her again before the wedding and they rekindled their romance—” she broke off. “That would not be like Lord Waterhouse, though. He is far too honorable to trifle with a lady’s feelings like that.” She turned her inquiring gaze back to Lizzie. “Has he confided in you, Lizzie? We are all quite puzzled as to why the wedding was called off.”

  “He has said nothing to me,” Lizzie said. She stared hard into the depths of her lemonade glass. “I have no notion.”

  “He won’t tell Miles or Dexter, either,” Alice said. “It is very odd.”

  “Perhaps,” Laura said, “it is Flora who has another beau. I hear she has been walking up near High Top Farm lately, Alice.”

  Alice laughed. “I have heard that, too. There is not a secret to be kept in this village! Lowell will not talk to me about it, though.” She turned to Lydia. “You do not mind, Lydia? I thought at one time that you and Lowell might make a match of it.”

  Lydia laughed. “You must know that I will not make a match of it with anyone, Alice! Lowell is a dear friend to me and I value him enormously, but there is nothing more to it, I assure you.”

  “Well, if Flora is the jilt here at least Lord Waterhouse is not lacking consolation,” Alice said, with a sideways glance at Lizzie. “What is Lady Willoughby like, Lizzie?”

  “She is rich, widowed, spiteful and frightfully beautiful,” Lizzie said sharply. “May we talk of something else?” She realized from the arrested look on Alice’s face that she had sounded as irritable as she felt and tried to moderate her tone. “I am sorry. I feel preoccupied today. There are only two months left before Monty can take half of the fortunes of any ladies who are still unmarried.” She nibbled some of the plum cake and realized with surprise that it was so good that her appetite was coming back. “In addition to the Dames’ Tax, Monty is planning to extort ever more greedy and pernicious fees,” she added with her mouth full. “I heard him talking to Tom about a tax on chickens. People will have to pay or he will eat their livestock! His avarice is insatiable. We have to do something.”

  Laura sighed. “I asked Mr. Churchward, my lawyer, to look into this months ago, but he tells me that unfortunately Sir Montague is within his rights. These taxes existed in Fortune’s Folly in medieval times and they were never repealed. The only way we could get them annulled is to go to parliament and that would take years.”

  “He will pocket a cool seventy-five thousand pounds if neither Flora nor Mary nor I marry before the time is up,” Lizzie said. “That is bad enough, but it is the other taxes that are more burdensome where people have so little to start with. Mrs. Broad now has to pay a tax on her three chickens or see them in the cooking pot. Monty has already eaten her sheep! She has little income and can barely survive. When I see cases like hers it makes my blood boil!”

  “I agree,” Alice said. “We must find a medieval law that frees us from the tyranny of Sir Montague! Either that or murder him!”

  “I would do it myself, but it would not do any good,” Lizzie said, “for Tom would inherit both the baronetcy and the right to inflict his will on us and he is even worse than Monty. I would rather marry ten times over than give half my fortune to Tom!”

  They were still laughing when there was the sudden sound of masculine voices and the quick rap of footsteps on the terrace and then Dexter An-struther, Miles Vickery and Nat Waterhouse came around the side of the house and up the steps to join them. Lizzie’s breath caught and her heart did a ridiculous somersault. She realized that Lydia had noticed her reaction, and she looked away hastily, affecting indifference. Except that it was impossible to be indifferent to Nat. He looked so virile and alive, and in his casual sporting attire so dark and handsome. The jacket accentuated the broadness of his shoulders and his trousers clung to his muscular thighs. Lizzie found she was staring—staring at Nat Waterhouse whom she had seen a thousand times before. Her heart somersaulted again and she tried and failed to calm her fluttering pulse.

  Nat’s gaze sought her out at once. Lizzie could feel him watching her with that long, intense scrutiny that was so disconcerting. She tried very hard to avoid his gaze but the harder she tried the more she found herself drawn back to him.

  “Every chaperone’s nightmare,” Lydia was saying mischievously. “Aren’t they handsome, Lizzie, and almost too overwhelming to be allowed out together? Though it is touching to see how devoted Miles and Dexter are to their wives.” Lizzie caught the undertone of wistfulness in her voice and for a moment she was distracted from her own feelings. Her heart bled for Lydia, for Tom had never been devoted to anything other than money and his own pleasure and now it was Lydia who was paying the price for that.

  “Dexter!” Laura was smiling as she beckoned to the footman to fetch some more chairs. “How charming that you could all join us. Will you take tea—” Her voice dwindled away and in the same instant Lizzie became aware of the curious tension surrounding the men. Alice caught Miles’s hand and gave him a questioning look, but Miles shook his head and turned toward Nat. As Nat started to move toward Lizzie she had the terrible conviction that something dreadful had happened. A feeling that was icy-cold and hard formed in her heart. Nat dropped to his haunches beside her and took her hand in his. Lizzie could feel the tension coiled within his powerful frame.

  “What is it?” she said, her voice coming out as a whisper from between dry lips.

  “It’s Sir Montague,” Nat said. His tone was very steady and there was tenderness in his eyes and gentleness in his voice that made Lizzie’s heart falter. “Lizzie, I am very sorry. He was found murdered this morning. He had been stabbed to death.”

  There was absolute silence for a moment and then Alice gave a gasp and clapped her hand to her mouth. “We were talking of murdering him just now,” she said, “but only in jest!”

  Lizzie shook her head. It felt muzzy, as though she was still suffering the effects of too much wine. “Monty dead? Murdered? But who—” She stopped, for even in her shock and horror she could see that it was more a question of who did not want Sir Montague dead rather than who did.

  Alice came across to her in a rustle of silk and put her arms about her. “Lizzie,” she said, “I am so sorry. I know he was a difficult man—”

  “He was loathsome and unpleasant and greedy and rude,” Lizzie said, her voice a little choked, “but I do not have many relatives and I did not wish to lose him.” Her eyes felt hot and hard with unshed tears. “Damn Monty for getting himself murdered like this!” she said unsteadily. “I w
ould kill him for it if it were not already too late.”

  Laura pressed a cup of tea into her hands and she gulped it down, feeling the hot strength of it steady her a little. Both her brothers were despicable men, she thought despairingly, but they were all that she had. She might have wanted them to be different, but she had not wanted to be without them. She had lost too much of her family ever to desire it.

  “When did it happen?” she asked, looking up at Nat. His dark eyes looked tired, she thought. The lines she had noticed on his face the previous night seemed deeper still, grim and harsh.

  “We do not know for sure yet,” he said. “Sometime in the night, we think.”

  “But you will be investigating?” Laura looked at her husband. “Or is it a case for the constable?”

  “We’re taking it on,” Dexter said. He looked at Lizzie. “The Home Secretary has been taking an interest in what has been happening in Fortune’s Folly and—” he paused “—forgive me, Lady Elizabeth, but we had already had reason to warn Sir Montague that he might be in danger. A great many people have taken against him as a result of the punitive taxes he has been inflicting.”

  “He had received letters,” Miles put in. “Death threats.” His hazel eyes were grave. “Were you aware of this, Lady Elizabeth?”

  “No!” Lizzie was shocked. “He said nothing to me,” she said. “But then, we did not talk much. He was usually either drunk or asleep.”

  “We need to ask you some questions, Lizzie,” Nat said gently. He released her hand and straightened up and Lizzie felt shockingly bereft. She desperately wanted him to hold her so that she could take comfort from him but knew she could not without showing how much she needed him.

  “Of course,” she said. “Here? Now?”

  “That is up to you,” Nat said. “If you were rather it was in private—”

  Lizzie looked at Laura and Alice and Lydia. “I would rather have the support of my friends about me,” she said, and saw Lydia and Laura smile. Alice squeezed her hand and sat down beside her.

  “Tell us what happened last night,” Miles said. He glanced at Nat. “We know that you were at the dinner held by Sir James and Lady Wheeler.”

  “We all were,” Lizzie said. “Monty, Tom and I.” She glanced unconsciously at Nat, wondering how much he had already told Dexter and Miles.

  “Monty was drunk when he came back from dinner last night,” she said. “I asked Spencer, his valet, to make him comfortable and then to leave him to sleep it off.”

  Dexter nodded. “Spencer told us the same. He said that he and the footman between them managed to get Sir Montague up the stairs and onto his bed. They did not attempt to undress him but left him to sleep.”

  “Did you retire yourself after that?” Miles questioned.

  “I did,” Lizzie said. She looked at him. “I’m sorry, Miles. I heard nothing. I can’t believe—” She stopped. “My room is at the end of the corridor,” she said, “so an intruder would not need to pass it to reach Monty’s chamber. That is probably why I knew nothing of it.” It almost beggared belief, though, that someone had crept along those uneven treads of the landing on their way to stab Sir Montague to death. Lizzie shuddered and felt Nat shift beside her. He was standing by her chair, one hand resting protectively on the back of it. Lizzie wanted to touch him in order to draw strength from him but once again she denied herself the comfort. She knew she could not do it, not without giving her feelings away not only to Nat himself but also to all her friends.

  “You did not go to Sir Montague’s room this morning?” Miles continued.

  “No,” Lizzie said. “The door was closed. I did not want to disturb him. It was not unusual for him to sleep until noon or beyond if he had had too much wine the previous night.”

  Miles nodded. “And Tom?” He asked. “Did he come back with Sir Montague?”

  “No,” Lizzie said. She flicked a look at Lydia. She did not want to add to her friend’s bitterness or misery if she could help it. Although Lydia had no illusions about Tom now, it was quite another thing to talk of his conquests in front of her.

  “I do not think Tom came back last night,” she said quickly. “I do not know where he was or with whom.”

  Dexter and Miles exchanged a look. Miles got up and walked across the terrace before turning back. Lizzie felt her nerves tighten further. She could feel the tension in Nat, too, wound tight as a spring.

  “The servants,” Miles said slowly, “tell us that ten days ago, on the Friday, someone called on Sir Montague late in the evening. They could not tell us who it was but they heard raised voices in the library and thought Sir Montague might be quarreling with someone. Were you present, Lizzie?”

  Lizzie closed her eyes for a moment.

  Ten days ago, on the Friday night…

  She felt Nat shift again and fiercely resisted the urge to look at him. On that Friday night she had been locked in the folly with him, lost to everything but the touch of his hands on her naked skin, the taste of him and the absolute searing need to make love with him…She swallowed hard.

  “I know nothing of any visitors,” she said carefully. “I am sorry, I cannot help you.”

  Miles’s hazel gaze was very keen on her face and Lizzie could feel herself blushing as though she was guilty of the murder herself.

  “But you were at Fortune Hall that night?” Miles said.

  “I…” Lizzie hesitated, unwilling to lie. “I was…I saw that Monty had had a visitor because there were two wineglasses on the library table, but…” Again she hesitated, seeing that the more she tried to help the deeper she was digging herself into trouble.

  “Lizzie was with me that night,” Nat said. He took a deep breath. “She was with me last night as well, before Sir Montague returned home. I can vouch for the fact that after we talked she helped her brother inside the house.”

  There was a very long silence. Miles looked at Dexter and raised his brows. Laura and Lydia and Alice also looked at each other and then, simultaneously, looked at Lizzie. The atmosphere was suddenly alive with speculation though no one said a single word.

  Lizzie bit her lip hard. A wash of panic took her, depriving her of breath, followed by a second wash of fury. She looked at Nat. His expression was dark and unyielding.

  “For pity’s sake, Nat,” she snapped, “there was no necessity for you to say that.”

  “Did you want me to lie?” Nat snapped back. There was tension in the line of his shoulders and his expression was hard. He met Lizzie’s furious gaze with a fierce one of his own. “I don’t think you understand, Lizzie,” he said. “This isn’t a parlor game, it is a murder inquiry. Miles’s next question was going to be whether or not you killed your brother.”

  “Well, not quite,” Miles said ruefully. He rubbed a hand over his hair. “May I clarify? Lady Elizabeth—” Suddenly he sounded extremely formal, “I apologize for the necessity of asking you this, but it is very important. Is it correct that you spent these two nights with Lord Waterhouse or is he merely trying to protect you?”

  “Damn you, Miles—” Nat sounded absolutely livid. He took a step forward, but Dexter caught his arm.

  “Nat,” Dexter said, “it seems that you are scarcely objective in this. Keep out of it.”

  Nat set his jaw. He looked ready to explode, but he kept quiet. He was looking at Lizzie and his expression was dark and hooded, challenging her to deny the truth. Lizzie trembled beneath his gaze.

  “To clarify,” she said. She cleared her throat. “I was with Lord Waterhouse on both occasions, although not all night.”

  Miles inclined his head. “Thank you. The two of you were, I take it, alone?”

  “We were,” Lizzie said. Her gaze slid to Nat’s furious face. He had himself under tight control now, but there was a pulse pounding in his cheek. He shook Dexter’s hand from his arm. “Lady Elizabeth is going to marry me,” he said.

  “To clarify,” Lizzie said again, angrily, “I am not.” She looked at Nat. “We
have had this conversation, Nat. You proposed. I refused.”

  Nat swore under his breath. Lizzie sensed rather than saw the look that flashed between Alice and Laura. She knew that all her friends were absolutely desperate to brush the men aside and to ask her what on earth was going on. Alice knew—and no doubt Laura did, too—that she was in love with Nat. Alice had realized it before Lizzie had herself, and had challenged her about it months before. In fact everyone except Nat himself must know and she could only pray that he remained in ignorance, for she was not sure that her pride could take the blow.

  “I am relieving you of your part in this investigation, Nathaniel,” Dexter said courteously. “You must see you have a major conflict of interest.”

  Nat said something very sharp and to the point that made the ladies wince again and stalked over to the edge of the terrace.

  “Lady Elizabeth,” Dexter said, turning to her, “I don’t think we need trouble you any further at the moment. Thank you for being so honest with us.”

  “I don’t think Lord Waterhouse gave me much option,” Lizzie said bitterly.

  “I will escort you back to Fortune Hall to start making the arrangements for Sir Montague’s funeral,” Nat said, coming forward.

  “No,” Lizzie said. The panic clutched at her again. She did not want to be alone with Nat, not now that he had made their association public and would surely use it to press her to marry him. “No, thank you. I would rather do things alone.”

  This time Nat swore aloud. “For God’s sake, Lizzie, must you always reject my help?”

  They stood staring at one another as though the others were simply not there.

  I cannot, Lizzie thought. I cannot take your help, Nat, I cannot rely on you as I want to, draw comfort from you, trust in you, love you as I want to do because it hurts too much. I will always want more than you can give.

  She stood looking at him, seeing the puzzlement and the frustration in his face, seeing how much he cared for her and how that very deep concern and protectiveness only served to emphasize that he did not love her as she loved him. The pain of it felt like a red-hot coal against her heart. She had to send him away before he hurt her all the more, unknowing but none the less painful for that.