“Only business matters,” said Ambrose. “Otherwise, of course, he would be calling on you as well. In a few months, he and I will be family, after all. And during his visit a few days ago, we found that we both have connections that may be mutually beneficial. He knows a few people of high standing in Boston, and I am hoping that people at the university there may be interested in some of my books and papers. It would be a singular opportunity to be published in America.
“As for Mr. Baxter, I know a few gentlemen from my club in London who may be interested in investing in some of his mining projects. Also, I am interested in this sickness his workers encountered. I can’t resist a botanical puzzle, I suppose.”
“Would you tell me anything you figure out?” said Robert.
His father’s fork stopped on the way to his mouth. “I don’t think that will be necessary. You ought to be keeping up on your regular studies while we find you a new tutor.”
“Yes, father,” said Robert, and again, Chloe saw the flash of anger as he looked down at his plate.
For the rest of supper, Chloe’s thoughts churned. She had brought evidence to Inspector Lockton that the zoetrope found with Camille and in the hound’s mine came from the Aynesworth house. That would have little or no connection to Mr. Granger, unless he had stolen the thing on one of his visits. And what cause would he have for that? Mr. Granger may have had the motive, means and opportunity, as the police said in the shilling shockers. But, as Inspector Lockton had noted, the evidence was still circumstantial. Had his superiors pressured him for an arrest, or did he have information that she did not?
“I suppose you are pleased that the hound has been found innocent?” asked Ambrose as they climbed the stairs after supper. He paused on the landing to catch his breath.
“Yes and no. I don’t think that Mr. Granger killed her.”
“Because of the zoetrope?”
“Yes. I don’t know. I suppose it could be nothing. A servant could have stolen it and sold it and it ended up out on the moor. It could be unconnected.”
He took her arm and climbed the rest of the stairs. “It seems like too much of a coincidence to be nothing,” said Ambrose. She helped him to his rooms and into bed. The effort of going down to supper had taken a toll on him. She pulled the blankets up over him. His eyes were already half closed.
“I’ll let you sleep,” she said. She refilled his water glass and left him to rest.
She was about to go to her laboratory, when she paused. She was fond of Beatrice. Though she had smiled at Dora’s cruel comment over supper on the first night of her visit, otherwise she had been pleasant company. She must be suffering terribly.
Chloe knocked on Beatrice’s door. No sound came from inside, but then the door flew open. Mrs. Malone scowled at her.
“I came to see Beatrice,” said Chloe.
“She is not feeling well.”
“Let her in, Mother,” called Beatrice from behind her. “I’m sure she has figured it out.”
Mrs. Malone stepped aside and Chloe passed into Beatrice’s room. It was larger and more opulent than Chloe’s room but then, this was no guest room. It was half of the grand master suite. Alexander’s rooms would be through the side door. Beatrice caught her looking at the door and buried her face in her hands. She slumped on a settee under the window, the light behind her making a frizzy halo of her disheveled hair.
Chloe realized that she had not thought of a single thing to say. She seated herself beside Beatrice and put an arm around her shoulders. Mrs. Malone took the chair across from them.
“Mrs. Sullivan, you’ve been married a while, haven’t you?” asked Mrs. Malone.
“Three years.”
She pressed her lips together lightly and nodded. “Now Bea, when I had been married three years, there were rumors.”
“About Father?”
“Yes, but I paid them no mind.”
“Because they were untrue!”
“No, because I am a lady. And so are you.”
Beatrice shook her head and Mrs. Malone reached her hand to pat her daughter’s knee. “It’s a hard truth, Bea. But one you will grow accustomed to.”
“I don’t want to be accustomed to it! It’s shameful.”
Mrs. Malone glanced at Chloe for help. Chloe was taken aback. She had never seen the old woman be anything but in complete control.
“It’s no shame on you,” said Chloe. “Everyone knows that you are a good wife. It’s just the way some men are.”
“Not your husband, surely,” Beatrice snapped and glared at her. “I would bet he doesn’t have dalliances with other women.”
How to respond to that? Beatrice’s anger was not directed at her personally, but the woman’s fierce stare was unsettling. Then Beatrice’s shoulders fell and she shook her head.
“Not all men are the same,” Mrs. Malone said. “And Mr. Sullivan is also a lot older than Alexander.”
Chloe doubted that Ambrose had betrayed his first wife, even when he was young. And age would not stop an unfaithful man until he became too decrepit to do any more damage. It was a sad fact of life that many women had to accept.
“But Alexander says he loves me.”
“And no doubt he does,” said Mrs. Malone. “You don’t know for certain that the letters were from him. It’s just gossip.”
“But everyone else thinks they’re from him.”
“And what if they do? Your best recourse is to hold your head up and act with grace. Then if they are correct, you can keep everyone’s respect. And if they are wrong and the letters are from someone else, it will seem as if you knew all along that it wasn’t your husband.”
Beatrice sniffed and blew her nose delicately into a handkerchief and then wadded the damp thing in her fist. “I think they are from him,” she said, barely audible. “I … suspected. I saw them together, laughing. She came over often, sometimes a few times a week, to see Dora or me, but she would eventually find him, or he would find her, and they’d talk and laugh over things.”
Mrs. Malone’s face darkened. “Well, that’s not real proof. Alexander laughs with many people, men and women.”
“Oh Mother. How can I keep from it happening again?”
“If I knew the answer to that, my poppet, I’d tell you in a heartbeat. But sometimes the only way a man can find to reinvent himself is to see a new man reflected in a different woman’s eyes.”
“You said that before.”
“Because it is true. Just watch. Once Dora is married, I would bet you’ll hear a rumor or two. And she’ll ignore the rumors, just as I did and just as you will do.”
“But I married for love. Dora has entrapped Mr. Baxter with her wiles and by saying cruel things about other women. Neither of them are entering into the arrangement with an expectation of his fidelity.”
Ah, so the Aynesworth family was aware of Mr. Baxter’s character. Chloe was relieved that she was not tasked with revealing it to them.
“We really are fortunate, the three of us,” Mrs. Malone said, looking to Chloe and then to her daughter. “We are secure and both of your husbands are kind to you. If you hope for perfection, you will be miserable all of your days. Many women have cruel husbands. Vicious husbands. Gamblers who leave them in cruel financial straits. And those men spend time with other women on top of that.” Mrs. Malone was warming to the topic. “The best you can realistically hope for is security and respect. Alexander respects you, and you are taken care of. A true gentleman won’t flaunt his indiscretions and he would never be deliberately cruel.”
Beatrice wiped her eyes and fixed a steely gaze on a painting on the wall. A flicker of something passed in her face, just for a moment, and then it was gone. Then her face was again a mask of pain and she dabbed the corners of her eyes. She rose and smoothed her dress.
“I’m going to freshen up,” she said.
“You do that,” said her mother. “It will make you feel better.”
Beatrice passed through a side door, the one on t
he opposite side from Alexander’s room. Chloe saw her approach a mirrored vanity and heard the splash of water in the basin. How fortunate she was that Ambrose was nothing like those other men. He never would have caused her so much pain. And even if he could have been certain that she would have remained ignorant, it was simply not in his internal makeup to do such things.
Mrs. Malone heaved a heavy sigh. “I knew the day was coming. I knew before they were married that Alexander might do this. And though Beatrice isn’t a young girl, she still holds some girlish notions. I suppose it was time for her to grow up and learn the way things are.”
“She said she suspected something before. Do you think she knew?” Chloe recalled with a chill the look on Beatrice’s face.
“I do not know. If she knew, she didn’t speak to me about it. But sometimes we suspect things, deep in the back of our minds and we don’t recognize them until they come true.” Mrs. Malone’s hands clenched in her lap. “As a Christian woman, I should not say this, but perhaps Mrs. Granger’s death wasn’t all bad. She is no longer around to disrupt the household any longer. She was so charming and lovely, even if she was a little older. Men can’t help themselves around a woman like that. And for her to come over, accept Bea’s hospitality, and then lure her husband away. It’s terrible. Simply revolting.”
Chloe was not tempted to defend her friend. If Camille had tempted Alexander, then she was not the person Chloe had thought her to be. But then, so much of Camille’s life had been a shock to her. Days ago, Mrs. Malone had been correct in her assessment that Chloe had not known Camille Granger at all.
Chapter 31
The next morning, the family gathered for breakfast before going to church. Only Ambrose and Mrs. Malone were absent, the latter taking her time in descending from her room. Beatrice looked fresh as she nibbled at her toast. Her husband sat beside her, his manner cautious even as he leaned toward her and spoke in low tones. Though her cheeks were pink, her small smile reminded Chloe of a marble statue, whole of form, but without life.
Fascinated with the pattern on the rug, Giles walked the perimeter, pawed at a corner and walked the perimeter again.
Upstairs, Ambrose was in bed, his eyes dull and his skin ashen. Chloe had not needed to persuade him to stay home from church. She hesitated to leave him, but aside from ensuring that he ate and drank a little, there was nothing more for her to do. She set a few interesting-looking books on his nightstand and asked his valet, Mr. Frick, to check on him.
Mrs. Malone strode into the dining room and nearly tripped over Giles, who leapt sideways with a metallic yowl. Mrs. Malone cried out in alarm and bumped into a chair, losing her balance. Chloe darted forward, grabbing Mrs. Malone’s elbow and held her firmly until Mrs. Malone managed to steady herself. No sooner was the crisis averted, then a crash sounded from behind Mrs. Malone.
A serving mechanical swayed drunkenly in the doorway. Giles scrambled for purchase on the mechanical’s flat top, finding his balance amid the teacups, saucers and a steaming teapot. The mechanical teetered sideways as Giles shifted his weight, his legs splayed and his tail pointing straight up.
“No!” Chloe cried and ran to grab the cat. Thankfully, Giles did not struggle as she lifted his stiff and straining body, but as she lifted his weight from the still-wobbling tray, the serving mechanical overcompensated for the sudden imbalance and tipped sideways. She lunged for the tea set, throwing her arm around the mass of dishes to try to catch them all. The teapot was the heaviest, and as it hit the thin brass railing at the edge of the mechanical’s flat top, it flipped over, pouring boiling water over her arm.
Her burning sleeve clung to her skin. She sucked air in through her teeth, only just managing not to scream. Pulling desperately at the cloth, she managed to peel her sleeve up to her elbow. The delicate skin of her inner arm was a furious red, and hurt like the devil.
Alexander was at her side in an instant. “Are you all right? Let me see.” He took her arm with gentle fingers and shook his head. “Mrs. Block can help with it. I think it’s bad.”
Chloe knew that already. “Thank you. I’ll find her.”
Alexander insisted on walking her to the kitchen. Pots and pans hung from rows of hooks and all of the dishes were dried and neatly stacked in preparation for luncheon after church. Mrs. Block was chatting with the cook. She turned, and her smile faded as she saw Chloe clutching her arm. She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried forward to get a better look.
“Ah, that’s a good one. How’d it happen?”
“I knocked over the teapot. It was stupid of me.”
“Now, now. I can’t count on both hands the number of times I’ve been distracted and burned myself. See?” She pointed out two old rubbery scars on her own forearm. “No shame in it. Now let me get something before it blisters.”
Alexander saw her to a chair and left her to Mrs. Block’s tender ministrations. Her bulk disappeared into the pantry and Chloe heard her searching through the bottles and boxes that lined the shelves.
“We’ve got onions that I can put on it, but they’re not chopped yet. I do have some treacle though.”
She saturated a clean cloth with treacle and pressed it over the burn. Chloe flinched as the scratchy cloth made contact, but then relaxed as a cooling sensation spread over her skin.
“Now that’s just for now, to take the heat out,” Mrs. Block said. “I’ll make you a poultice, but it takes a little while to prepare.” She disappeared back into the pantry and alternated between rummaging through the clinking bottles inside and pulling bottles from a shelf below the kitchen window. She didn’t appear to read the labels, grabbing instinctively, sometimes opening a bottle to sniff, and then either setting it back or placing it on the table. By the time she finished, six bottles sat in a row on the table.
Robert appeared in the doorway. “Are you going to be coming to church?”
“I don’t think she’ll make it,” Mrs. Block said for her. She was in her domain and Chloe thought of how many scrapes and burns she must have tended in this kitchen over the years. The boy disappeared and Mrs. Block continued to drop pinches of herbs into a ceramic mortar.
“Do you do a lot of doctoring these days?” Chloe asked.
“Ah, not much. Not since the children were grown. Robert hasn’t hurt himself badly in a long time. Broke his arm when he was eleven. I suppose that was the last time he was hurt badly.” Her full face curved into a fond smile. “I do miss those days in a way, though. Alexander always laughing and bringing me bouquets of flowers he picked from our garden, and Ian sitting right where you are now and chatting with me as if he were already grown. That boy was born old.”
She poured a splash of hot water into a bowl, added more herbs and mashed them with a pestle.
“Tell me more about when the children were young.”
“Well, as I said, Alexander was a trickster. Always laughing and making jokes. He ran through a period when he liked to drop little frogs and things in his sister’s shoes and pockets. Poor Dora. He tormented her so. But then one day, like that,” she snapped her fingers for emphasis, “he started acting like a gentleman. He matured a bit, no doubt.” She chuckled to herself. “Either that or she gave him something to think about. Whatever happened, he never troubled her afterwards.”
“Now Ian and Robert, they were both good boys. No playing pranks or tormenting their sister. Robert was such a sweet little boy, always eager to please, but Ian could be a tad prickly. Still can be, in fact. Always telling Alexander what to do, and going on about how he should behave better. Of course, the more he went on, the worse Alexander got. Alexander was stubborn, in his way. That’s why I was surprised when Alexander turned one day from wicked older brother to being kind to Dora. I don’t think Ian had anything to do with it, though. I think Dora put a stop to it herself.”
She shrugged and turned back towards to the pantry. She returned momentarily, carrying a long piece of cheesecloth, which she laid flat on the table then coa
ted thickly with the mass of herbs. She peeled off Chloe’s makeshift treacle-soaked bandage, which was now warm from the heat of Chloe’s skin, and placed the poultice on the pink area. Drawing a piece of lavender ribbon from her apron pocket, Mrs. Block and tied it loosely, making a small, neat bow on top.
“There you go, pretty as you please. But you’ll have to hold it on. The little ribbon won’t be much good for that,” she said, smiling faintly. “I used to do up Dora’s little scrapes like that, with a bow. A pretty little thing like a cheerful bow and she’d forget all about the hurt.” She stopped for a moment, lost in a memory, and then brightened. “Would you like some tea? This time for drinking, not for bathing?”
Chloe laughed and agreed. “Could you tell me about Rose?”
“Ah. Curious about your husband’s sister? She was a lovely lady. Kind. And a fine mother as well. She had dark hair, just the shade of Dora’s. In fact, the older Dora gets, the more she looks like a younger version of her mother.”
Chloe accepted a cup of tea and Mrs. Block settled into the chair across the table from her.
“I do miss her,” Mrs. Block sighed. “Mr. Aynesworth hasn’t been the same since her death. Not that I’d expect him to be, but you’d think he would heal in time.”
There was a scratching at the door, and then a muffled, “Brrr?”
“That’s my cat.” Chloe opened the door and Giles came in, tail high. He strolled around the room, completely unaware of the chaos he had caused.
Mrs. Block watched him. “Now that’s a strange little thing. I’ve never seen its like.”
“And probably never will again. Although I hope that someday engines like his can be improved upon to allow mechanicals to perform more dangerous tasks.”
“Like serving hot tea?”
“Precisely.” Chloe thought of Ambrose upstairs. “Do you think I could bring some tea up to my husband? He’s not doing well today.”
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