A Woman's Estate

by Roberta Gellis

  Violet had decided there was no need for Griselda to see the apothecary and had stopped to tell that to Abigail before she went home, but there was something to do with Griselda that nagged at the back of Abigail’s mind. Then she recalled her fear that the attacker would think Griselda could identify him. That might not occur to Griselda, Abigail realized. Because the girl knew she had not recognized the man, she might feel as if he knew it, too—and that was not at all true. Griselda must be warned.

  Thus, instead of going down the stairs, Abigail began to cross the balcony that connected the two wings of the staircase to reach Griselda’s room in the other part of the house. She was about halfway across when the front door burst open, without a knock to herald the invasion, and Arthur strode in. Surprise robbed Abigail of defenses so that she cried out with relief and longing. The sound betrayed her, although it was not loud. Arthur looked up, crossed the hall, and ran up the stairs. Before Abigail could gather her wits enough to decide what to do, she was caught tight in his arms.

  “Are the children all right?” he asked.

  Whatever shreds of resistance Abigail had left were melted away by that question. Had he asked if she were all right, she would have been able to pull away and answer him calmly, even make false, civil conversation—like asking when he had returned to Stonar. Instead, she clutched at him and began to tremble, although she managed to say, “Yes, I left them arguing about whether to play tennis or go riding after luncheon. Oh, Arthur, do you think it is safe for them to go out? I didn’t want to frighten them by telling them they must stay in the house—”

  “You did just right,” he assured her, kissing her hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something to occupy them if you want them to stay in. How is Dick?”

  “Mrs. Franklin stepped up to say he seemed to be quite well,” Abigail said with a sigh of relief, “except for a bad headache, of course. The apothecary sewed up the wound and told her that the skull did not seem to be injured. Dick is quite sensible and remembers everything that happened, but his grandmother will keep him abed until we are sure there is not more wrong than appears. Oh, I forgot to send anyone to tell his mother and father. I must—”

  “My mother has taken care of that. In fact, I met Price coming over here. He is wild. He seems to think the two shooting incidents are connected and that the intended victim is Dick.”

  Abigail lifted her head to stare at Arthur. “It is possible. Dick isn’t much taller than Victor, and their hair is about the same color. If the man only saw the back of Victor’s head… Of course, Dick is a good deal broader, but Victor’s coat was spread over a bush…”

  “Let us go where we can sit down, Abigail,” Arthur suggested.

  His face was so hard and his voice so grim that Abigail murmured, “The library,” and was grateful that Arthur retained his comforting grip on her while they went down the stairs and closed themselves in the room.

  “The answer might be as simple as Price believes,” Arthur said, “because there are some local people who have a grudge against the man—but Abigail, I am having trouble believing that anyone sane would attempt to shoot Dick in the middle of the day when he was accompanied by three others. Think how many opportunities there have been to shoot Dick when he was alone.”

  “Sane?” Abigail echoed, and then her breath caught. “There were two shots,” she whispered, starting to shake again, “and I think the second was fired after Dick fell.”

  “Steady, love,” Arthur pleaded. “I know you have had about all you can take today, but can you tell me what happened?”

  “Yes, of course I can,” she said, drawing a deep breath to steady herself. Actually it took only a few minutes to describe the events from when they had reached the mill to the moment when Daphne had seen Griselda. At that point, Abigail’s voice faltered, and then she cried, “Griselda! Oh, Arthur, she saw him! She said she did not recognize him, but will he know that? I was just going to warn her when you came in.”

  “You were going to warn Griselda? May I ask about what?” Hilda’s strident voice startled Abigail so much that she cried out, and even Arthur jumped. Both turned furious faces on her, but she stared back disdainfully, secure in the knowledge that she had done no wrong. If people were stupid enough to embrace in public rooms where anyone might enter, even servants, whether the door was closed or not, then they deserved to be embarrassed.

  “And what is going on in this house?” she went on. “The servants seem to have gone insane. It is quite time for luncheon, but none is served. No one answers my bell. I am forced to come looking for you myself, and I must say, Abigail, that I am shocked at—”

  “Someone shot at us from the old mill and wounded Dick Price,” Abigail interrupted, holding on to her temper with an effort. “The servants have been busy—”

  “All of them?” Hilda made an ugly grimace. “Oh well, naturally they would take any excuse to shirk their duties,” she remarked sourly, and then asked, “What has any of this to do with Griselda?”

  Abigail was furious with Hilda for her complete indifference to everything beyond her own comfort and for the way she was now staring at Arthur’s arm, which he had defiantly left around Abigail’s shoulders. Nonetheless, she hesitated before she answered, remembering how Griselda had said she would try to “slip out and join them” at the old mill. Although she was reluctant to betray the fact that Griselda had intended to meet them, she realized there was no way to conceal what had happened. What could Griselda say to explain the bruises she bore? And all the servants had seen her come back with them.

  “Griselda saw the man who shot at us,” Abigail said. “He knocked her down when he made his escape.”

  “Do you mean to say that wicked girl went to the mill with you?” Hilda screeched. “I forbade her to go anywhere with you. I told her if she ever again connived privately with you, as she did over that disgusting dress, she was no daughter of mine and could leave this house and make her own way in the world.”

  “Are you mad?” Abigail gasped. “You threatened to put Griselda out of my son’s home? Do you think I would permit Victor’s aunt to beg for charity from other friends or relations?”

  As the enormity of what Hilda said made its full impact, Abigail’s voice had grown louder and louder, and she had risen to her feet. Now she understood why Griselda had been avoiding her since Violet’s dinner party, and she was not certain which infuriated her more—Hilda’s nearly insane desire to dominate Griselda or Griselda’s stupidity in believing her mother’s threats.

  “She is my daughter!” Hilda shrieked hysterically. “Mine! I can do whatever I like with her. I will not have a disobedient daughter in the house with me.”

  “Fine!” Abigail bellowed. “Then you can go. Go live anywhere you like, but leave Griselda here. I need Griselda. She manages the house and garden for me. You—”

  Arthur was standing by Abigail’s side and now he took a painful grip on her arm, interrupting her. “Lady Lydden,” he said, his deeper, stronger voice overriding even the strident tones in which Hilda was attempting to answer Abigail, “you are overwrought and saying what you do not mean. No affectionate mother could wish to punish a daughter as obedient as Griselda so severely for such a small fault. And this is no time for a discussion so important to your comfort. Abigail has had a dreadful experience and is naturally upset. Let me call your maid to you. When you have recovered yourself, we can talk more calmly.”

  Fury still distorted Hilda’s face, but the habit of bowing to male authority had made her listen to what Arthur was saying. Moreover, Hilda realized that Arthur’s remark about Griselda might seem true to anyone who did not understand the circumstances. She had never thought it would be necessary to carry out her threat. In the past she had boasted to all her friends about how her careful training had made Griselda the perfect daughter. Hilda did not want to be laughed at for deceiving herself. She would need time to make clear to everyone how Abigail had poisoned her da
ughter’s mind and how unnatural and cruel Griselda had become.

  Worse, it had penetrated Hilda’s mind that her generosity in having Griselda continue to run the household had made the girl more important to Abigail than she was. And there was nothing she could do about it! Impotently Hilda glared at Abigail, but she dared say no more, so she turned on her heel and left the room.

  The moment she was gone, Abigail wrenched her arm out of Arthur’s grasp. “I can fight my own battles,” she snapped.

  “Don’t be an idiot!” Arthur snapped back. “You were in such a temper, the next thing you would have done was order her to go. Then where would you have been?”

  “Shot of Hilda,” Abigail yelled. “Do you have any idea what it is like to eat dinner every evening with that—that—”

  Arthur laughed. “I’m sorry, love. If I thought it would have worked, I would have let you say it. But you know she will never go willingly, and if I had let you order her to leave, you would have been faced with the choice of backing down or calling in the bailiffs to put her out physically.”

  “Oh,” Abigail cried, stamping her foot in frustration, “I don’t know who enrages me more—Hilda, with her monumental selfishness, Griselda, with her unbelievable stupidity, or you, with your damned male superiority.”

  Upon which, she burst into laughter, and he seized her and kissed her. But when their lips parted, she pushed him away gently, and her expression was worried. “I don’t know why we are quarreling about who will live here,” she said with a sigh as she sat down. “I am growing afraid to be here myself.”

  Arthur nodded as he seated himself beside her, his expression also serious. “Yes. There is something very unhealthy going on.” He hesitated for a moment and then continued quickly, “Abigail, I hope you do not think I am trying to take advantage of the situation, but I would like you, the children, and Dick and Griselda too, to come to Scotland with me.”

  “Scotland!” Abigail repeated. “I was going to visit Lydden and—”

  “Too close, too populous,” Arthur objected. “In each case there are large towns where a stranger could stay without drawing notice. My dear, I cannot believe this violence is truly directed at you or your children for any real reason, and yet…”

  Abigail stared at him without replying, and he took her hands comfortingly in his. “I will not stay if you feel you cannot trust me—or I will stay on any terms you like. I have not given up, Abigail. I still want you as my wife, but we can quarrel about that when we have solved this mystery.” He smiled wryly. “I would rather have you to quarrel with than not have you at all.”

  “Oh, you vain creature,” Abigail said with a smile, “thinking I was hesitating because I feared you. It is perfectly true, of course. I ran away in London because I knew if I remained, I would yield—and that would have been a tragedy for both of us in the end.” He started to speak, but Abigail shook her head at him and went on firmly. “I said I could not explain. If we are to…to be able at least to quarrel, you must accept that. In any case, I was not thinking about us, which was why I called you a vain creature. I was wondering whether it would help to run away to Scotland. Sooner or later we must return.”

  “Yes, but there would be two months in which to try to discover who is doing this. And even if no answer is found, in September the children will be off to school, where you may be sure they will be well protected. Once they are safe, we will be less vulnerable.” He stopped and looked away, then went on, “Abigail, I do not want to increase your worries, but I feel I must warn you—do you realize that the person was deliberately lying in wait at the mill and must have known you would be going there? That means—”

  “Oh yes, I realized,” she interrupted. “But it does not narrow the field much. I suppose all the servants knew. Victor and Daphne run about in servants’ hall pretty freely and talk about everything. The grooms knew because we were discussing it in the stable. And any one of them might have mentioned it to others.”

  “So we come back to the fact that either Dick or you or one of your children was the target.”

  “It was Dick who was shot,” Abigail said, her voice shaking only a little.

  “Yes, but if your memory is correct and Griselda screamed before the first shot was fired, her cry may have spoiled the man’s aim.”

  “I thought of that too,” Abigail whispered, “and if he missed his real target, that target must be Victor, and that first shooting was not an accident. But no one could want to shoot Victor—unless for the inheritance? Eustace?”

  Arthur took her back into his arms, and one part of him responded with joy because her arms slid so naturally around him, but actually he had embraced her as much to hide his face from her as to comfort her. He was afraid she would see the sick fear in his eyes. Bertram had left the house early that morning. He had told Arthur that he wanted to visit a property some distance away that was being managed by a new bailiff whose accounts did not satisfy him. Abigail’s question had reminded Arthur of that, reminded him that if Eustace were accused and convicted of killing his nephew, Bertram would inherit. Arthur could not tell Abigail—not until he had questioned the bailiff and others and discovered when Bertram had arrived.

  Once again Arthur fought the monstrous suspicion. He told himself it was ridiculous. It was more likely that Price was right and Dick was the target. And there were other possibilities that were certainly no more farfetched than that a man who had always been honest and honorable should plan to murder a child. Whoever the real culprit was, Arthur decided, it would be dangerous for Abigail to fix her suspicions on Eustace and think Victor was safe when his uncle was not around.

  “It was the first idea into my head when I heard,” Arthur said, muffling his voice by pressing his lips to her hair, “but—no. Whatever Eustace’s faults, stupidity is not one of them. He would be the first person to be suspected. If Victor had been having accidents, I might suspect Eustace was behind them, but he would not shoot Victor. All I can suggest is that whoever attacked you is not sane.”

  “But why attack Victor?”

  Arthur was silent a moment. It was better for Abigail to be wary of everyone than to fix her suspicions on the wrong person. “It is possible someone has a grudge against the earl of Lydden or against the whole family. The old man was not bad or cruel, but he would suddenly come to a sticking place—as he did with Francis. After paying his debts time and again, he suddenly refused and would actually have let Francis be sent to debtors’ prison. It might have been something very minor—a tenant whose lease was not renewed or the terms not eased, a poacher sent to prison or a petty thief transported. In some men, a seed of hatred can last and grow.”

  “But Victor is only a little boy,” Abigail cried. “Who could blame him?”

  “Only a madman,” Arthur said grimly. “That is why I want you in Scotland. Madmen are persistent and can be damnably clever. It would not be difficult to find out about the other Lydden estates and follow you there. It is not likely, but I do not think we should take that chance. You will all be safe in Scotland. The estate is well away from any large place a stranger might come on business. The villages are small, and every person is known to every other—not to mention the speech. Any Englishman would be noticed immediately.”

  Arthur went on, soothing her by telling her more about the Scottish estate and how Daphne and Victor could move around without restraint and yet be carefully watched. His mind skidded again into its personal pit of fear, and he reminded himself that what he had said was especially true for Bertram, who was known to everyone. Bertram could not come within miles of the place without being reported. Abigail hardly listened, aware of little beyond the ebbing of the fear she had finally faced—that someone was trying to kill her son. It was enormously comforting that Arthur had the means and the will to protect her children.

  It was not until he asked, “Then you will come?” that Abigail realized there was one problem she had not considered at al
l—Griselda. Because the attacker might think that Griselda could identify him, she was in as much or more danger than the rest of them and must leave Rutupiae. But if she had a hopeless love for Arthur, it would be torture for her to accompany them. Abigail had grown fond of Griselda, but not fond enough to refuse Arthur, and she knew that if she and Arthur were living in the same house, it would be impossible to conceal their relationship from Griselda.

  Abigail sat up and let her arms slide from around Arthur’s neck to his shoulders. “The children and I and Dick, if he is well enough—yes. I will have to talk to Griselda. If she does not wish to accompany us, perhaps she can go to London or someplace else. She could start out with us and then—”

  “Whatever you like,” Arthur said quickly. He kissed her once more, then let her go and stood up. “I must go home and send an express to Glendessary to tell them we are coming. We will leave in the morning—and that should be reason enough for Daphne and Victor to stay in this afternoon. They will be busy packing. It will be a long trip and some of it very rough and better done on horse-back, so Victor can also oversee getting the horses ready. Anyway, I will be back this afternoon to cover any details we may have missed.”

  He was halfway to the door by the time Abigail had got to her feet. “Arthur,” she called after him. He stopped and turned, about to come back, but she shook her head. “I only wanted to say—I love you.”

  His eyes, under their heavy lids, smiled. Abigail had no idea how he created that expression, but it was the only description that fit it. And then his lips curved, just a trifle at the corners, making him look quite wicked. “I intend to take gross advantage of that statement, you know,” he said softly.

  Abigail laughed. “Why do you think I made it?”

  A comical expression of chagrin rapidly replaced the naughty invitation on his face. “Damn!” he exclaimed. “I forgot I was the one who was supposed to be resisting. It is very unnatural.”