He seemed so solemn, not at all like his usual irreverent self. Mystified, she seated herself upon one of two facing elegant birch sofas, and he seated himself across. He still had not smiled, and she could see he was in no mood for light humor. “How is your canal?”
“Wet.” He flicked a disgusted glance toward the rain out the window. “Very wet. All work is stopped until this hellish storm passes.” His eyes drilled into her. “How are you?”
“Very well, thanks.”
“I do not want platitudes. I want to know if you’ve come ’round yet.”
What a question! How rude. No gentleman would ever think of asking such a question, or lady either, for that matter. She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. “How impertinent! How—”
“You women ... I swear to God. Just answer the question and don’t go all feminine on me. Stop blushing. Although, I must say, you need some color in those pale cheeks of yours.”
Despite his rhetoric, she detected an underlying current of concern in his voice. She could not imagine what, but he must have a good reason for asking, so she wouldn’t be coy. “No, I have not. In fact, I am ten days late, which, if you must know, worries me sick.”
“I see.” He remained silent, his face expressionless, except for a troubled glint in his eye.
“What on earth is the problem?”
He abruptly switched sofas, sat next to her and took her hand. “Have you ever heard of oil of pennyroyal?”
“No.”
“It’s what they call an abortifacient.”
“A what?” She had never heard the word.
“An abortifacient is a solution used to end a pregnancy. It can be dangerous if not used correctly.”
She began to feel a tightness in her stomach. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Your sister-in-law is desperate. She does not want you bringing the next Earl of Lansdown into the world. If what I hear is correct, and I believe it is, she has recently obtained a vial of oil of pennyroyal. Indications are she plans to use it on you.”
Jane sat silent until his words sank in. When they did, a soft gasp escaped her lips. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure.”
“How do you know?”
“Beatrice made the mistake of enlisting the help of that lady’s maid of yours.”
“Bruta?”
“Yes, Bruta, who, you will recall, used to work for Beatrice and apparently is still loyal. From what I understand, she’s the one who actually procured the oil of pennyroyal. Unfortunately for Beatrice, Bruta has a dalliance going with one of the footmen at Lancaster Hall.”
“Bruta?” Jane was amazed. She could not picture her ugly, dumpy lady’s maid cavorting in bed with anyone. “You must be mistaken.”
“We all have our moments,” Douglas equitably replied, “even less-than-attractive lady’s maids. At any rate, Bruta mentioned Beatrice’s request for the oil of pennyroyal to the footman, who told Rennie’s valet, Frederick. He told Rennie, who obviously passed the information on to me.” He frowned with concern. “I wanted to tell you immediately.”
So Granny was right about Beatrice being a threat. But perhaps she was using the oil of pennyroyal for something else. “Tell me, what exactly does it do?”
“A light extraction makes a pennyroyal tea, which is supposed to settle the stomach. A heavier dose causes severe cramps. If you actually were expecting, you would lose the baby. Aside from all that, if not diluted correctly, oil of pennyroyal is a lethal poison. The wrong dose could easily kill you.”
“Dear God,” she whispered, “like the Spanish Fly killed Arthur.” She rose and walked to the window. For a time, she stared out at the rain, attempting to pull her jumbled thoughts together. “The funny thing is, I don’t want the earl’s baby, either. Beatrice and I think alike on that score. But for her to ... I find it hard to believe. No one could be that vile, not even Beatrice.”
Douglas came and stood close behind her. “She hasn’t done it yet, Jane. Perhaps you’re right and she’s using it to settle her stomach, but the circumstances reek with suspicion.” His hands encircled her upper arms. The strength of his grip gave her an instant feeling of calm and security, as if a warm blanket had been wrapped around her. She liked his using her first name, too, as if he recognized the intimacy that existed between them. His closeness ... his simple touch ... made her almost forget her sister-in-law. She fought the urge to lean back against him.
“You should not stay here,” he said softly in her ear. “God only knows what that woman will do. Come to Lancaster Hall. Rennie wants you to come. You can stay as long as you like.”
His words brought her back to reality. She turned to face him, shaking her head. “I cannot come now. Better to wait and see what she does. This is probably all a mistake. Besides, how can I leave my family behind? Beatrice would have them moved to the servants’ quarters in the blink of an eye. I certainly can’t leave my sister to the charms of Percy, as well as James. Do you know what a lecherous old man he is?”
“No, tell me.”
She related her disgusting encounter with James and how he offered to take her as his mistress and move Beatrice down the hall.
They both laughed at the thought, but Douglas quickly grew serious again. “If you won’t come, is it possible you can find a way to get the Eltons to leave? After all, he’s not the earl yet, is he? You are still the countess.”
“Granny said I should throw them out.” She thought a moment. “I wonder what Sir Archibald would say. After all, he’s in charge of the estate.”
“Go see him. It’s worth a try. While you’re there, you can ask him why he’s raised the rents on all the tenants.”
“He what?” Her voice rose in surprise.
“You heard me. I see the Twimbys from time to time. They were barely getting by as it was, but this new rent increase may cause them to lose their farm.”
“I had no idea.” She recalled how grim Meg looked when last she saw her. Now she knew why. “I’ll see what I can do.” She had no idea what good she could accomplish, but she meant what she said.
“Keep in mind you’re in danger every second you stay here. Constantly be on guard, and if you’re given a beverage that has the smell of mint, for God’s sake, don’t drink it.”
“All right, I shall do as you say.” She would hold to her promise, of course, but she still thought Douglas had to be wrong. “You went to a great deal of trouble to see me and I’m very grateful.”
He bowed slightly. “My pleasure, your ladyship.”
His sudden formality felt like a slap in the face. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, why so formal all of a sudden?”
“Because for a moment I almost forgot we were not going to see each other anymore. Let’s just say I’ve come to my senses, and a good thing, too. You and I both know this is neither the time nor the place for anything more between us.”
She gazed into his dark, compelling eyes, and couldn’t resist. “I have missed you, Douglas.”
“You have missed me?” His mouth twisted wryly. “Well, I have missed you, Countess. How much, you have no idea. Did you think I forgot?”
Suddenly his arms encircled her, pulling her close, and his mouth crushed against hers with a hunger that caused her heart to pound. She had no sooner wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting more, much more, when he broke away. He looked down at her, hunger in his eyes, and said in a ragged breath, “No, we won’t do this.”
Far be it from her to beg! She instantly decided she would match his determination with her own. “You’re right. We must not see each other again. Besides, what would be the purpose? You’re not a marrying man, are you?”
“No.” He walked to the table to fetch his hat and cane. “I’ll leave you now. Watch yourself every moment.” He started to turn, then caught himself as if just remembering something. “How is your sister?”
She cocked her head. “I didn’t realize you were concerned about Millicent’s health, or could i
t possibly be it’s really Lord Rennie who wants a report on her well-being?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“Tell your friend my sister is in good health, although,” she sighed regretfully, “Rennie hasn’t a chance. He may be rich and titled, but if I may be brutally frank, not nearly handsome enough for Millicent. I heartily wish my sister’s standard of values could be otherwise, but ...” She made a little moue and shrugged.
“I understand. It’s her loss, you know. No finer man than my friend Rennie ever lived.”
He turned and was gone. She watched after him, her knees so weak she was forced to clutch the back of one of the satin birch sofas for support.
The next morning, Jane dragged from her bed cloaked in a shroud of gloomy thoughts. Eleven days late ... the rain would never stop ... Beatrice might poison her ...
For a while, she gazed pensively out the window, wishing she had someone to talk to, but she chose to keep her worries to herself. Why share Douglas’ warning with her family when it probably wasn’t true? He could well be wrong. In fact, he had to be wrong. No one, not even Beatrice, could plan something so horrible.
Bruta helped her dress, insisting she wear a black, high-necked muslin that was no less ugly and depressing than the bombazine. She went downstairs, hoping she could eat a quick breakfast and leave before Beatrice arrived. No such luck. When she walked into the dining room, there sat Granny, Millicent, and Beatrice, who, despite her black gown, seemed especially bright and energetic this morning, her plump cheeks rosy, her chirpy little ringlets bobbing on her forehead. “Jane!” she bubbled. “How are you this morning?”
“I am just fine.” She walked to the carved mahogany sideboard where an array of breakfast dishes awaited, each kept warm in a silver chafing dish. She picked up a crested china plate and helped herself to a spoonful of eggs and a piece of toast. Griggs, who ordinarily supervised the breakfast, was not in sight. “Where is the butler?”
“I have sent him off to the wine cellar,” Beatrice replied. “We need to do an inventory and he might as well get off to an early start.”
Granny remarked, “You should have waited ’til we ate.”
Mama entered the dining room. “Didn’t you think we would need him at breakfast? Must we now serve ourselves?”
“It won’t hurt just this once.” Beatrice’s eyelashes fluttered like an innocent debutante’s.
Jane agreed with her mother. Couldn’t Beatrice have waited until breakfast was done? No matter. She brought her plate to the table and set it down, intending to return to the sideboard for her tea, but Beatrice quickly arose from the table and gestured at Jane. “Sit down, dear. I will get your tea, since I’m getting some for myself.”
“Why thank you.” Jane stretched her lips into a smile. She hoped it looked genuine because Douglas’ warning began screaming in her head. No, it could not be happening. It just couldn’t. Since when had her selfish sister-in-law ever offered to bring her anything in the dining room? What had happened to Griggs?
Beatrice went to the sideboard. Jane stared at her back, assuming Beatrice was pouring tea from the gilt, lily-of-the-valley teapot that sat at one end of the sideboard. One thing for certain, her sister-in-law was taking an extra long time. Finally, she turned and approached the table carrying two cups and saucers. She set one in front of Jane. “There you are, my sweet.” She set the other cup down at her place and slipped into her chair. She gazed around the table. “My, my, do you suppose it will ever stop raining?”
Amidst desultory comments on the weather, Jane sat frozen, her gaze fixed on the china cup and saucer in front of her. How pretty it looked, painted with rosebuds and dainty purple violets. How all-of-a-sudden deadly it looked, too. How could she know for certain? She remembered Douglas’ words: if you’re given a beverage that has the smell of mint, for God’s sake, don’t drink it.
She reached for the cup. Pinching the delicate handle between two fingers, she raised it halfway to her mouth, bent her head and sniffed. Dear Lord. The unmistakable smell of mint assaulted her nostrils. She set the cup down. Now what should she do? She pictured picking up the cup and hurling its contents into the stone fireplace behind her. Amidst a collective gasp of astonishment throughout the room, she would point an accusing finger at Beatrice and exclaim, “You tried to poison me!”
No, that would not work. Beatrice would deny it, of course, and aside from actually drinking the contents, how could she prove it?
“Is something the matter, Jane?” asked her mother. “Why are you just sitting there staring at your tea?”
“Nothing’s the matter.” She had better decide what to do, and fast. If she were her mother, she would pretend everything was fine. She would make a show of not liking the tea as an excuse for not drinking it. Anything to avoid a scene and disturb the tranquility of the household.
I am not my mother. Her thoughts came together. I am absolutely not my mother! She stood abruptly. Grasping the cup firmly, she stepped to the stone fireplace and hurled the tea into the flames.
“My goodness, Jane.” Mama stared at her. “What are you doing?”
“Just getting rid of this poisoned tea.” Jane directed a contemptuous gaze at Beatrice. “It seems my dear sister-in-law has loaded it with oil of pennyroyal.”
“Bloody hell,” Granny exclaimed.
For once, Mama did not try to correct her. Instead, her mouth dropped open and she stared at Jane in amazement. “What is oil of pennyroyal?”
“It’s an abortifacient. That means if I had drunk it, I would have lost the baby. That is, if I were carrying a baby, which I highly doubt. I don’t care how many days late I am.” She turned to Beatrice. “How desperate can you get?”
“Now see here!” cried James from the head of the table. “You cannot accuse my wife like that.”
A babble of voices filled the room. James still bellowing, Mama and Granny both talking at once, while Millicent, close to tears, kept repeating, “Oh, Jane!”
It seemed the whole table was in an uproar, everyone talking at once. The only two people who remained calm were Percy, who sat smirking, and Beatrice, who sat listening with—hard to believe it—a little smile playing on her lips.
The chatter died down. “Poor, dear Jane.” Beatrice shook her head with pity. “It’s obvious you have not recovered from Arthur’s death. Your hysterics are perfectly natural, simply a manifestation of your deep grief. I do forgive you.” As if nothing had happened, she speared a piece of sausage with her fork. “I suggest you go lie down. You need to calm yourself.”
Jane still stood before the fireplace. Despite everything, she felt a satisfaction, call it a sense of fulfillment, for having stood up to her sister-in-law. “You can act as blasé as you please, but I know whereof I speak. You recently acquired some oil of pennyroyal, and I know you just sneaked it into my tea. I could smell it.”
“Really?” Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “That would be hard to prove, don’t you think?”
Jane directed a steady gaze at her sister-in-law. “You and I know the truth of it, don’t we? Just don’t try it again.” She caught sight of her poor mother’s face, pale and tight with concern over what to her must seem one of those horrible scenes. Millicent still had tears in her eyes. Percy sat with a smirk on his face, as if enjoying all the discord. Only Granny had returned to her meal, casually buttering her toast as if nothing unusual had occurred.
Jane forced a smile. “Well now, enough has been said on the subject and we’re not going to let it ruin our breakfast, are we, Beatrice?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “I am not going to go to my room and lie down. Instead, I shall eat my breakfast and have some tea, but this time I shall fix it myself.” She headed for the sideboard. “Granny, have you ever seen such a rain in all your life?”
For the next few minutes her grandmother regaled everyone at the table with childhood memories of Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Battle of Culloden, which took place in Scotland in 1746
. Exactly what that had to do with rain, Jane didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. By the time Granny finished, the tension that had gripped the table had ebbed. The color had returned to Mama’s face, and she was happy again. Everything was right again in her tight little world.
For the rest of the day, Jane hid her distress with a smile, carefully masking the heaviness she felt in her chest. Later that evening, she went to her grandmother’s room, not only to bid her goodnight but to unburden her heart. As usual, she found Granny propped up in bed, spectacles low on her nose, reading her Bible. After seating herself by the bed, Jane frowned. “Should I have accused Beatrice like that?”
Granny peered over the rim of her glasses. “Of course you should have. I was proud of you for speaking up. If it had been your hen-hearted mother, she would have kept her mouth shut.”
“What should I do now?”
Granny snickered. “I think you should be very, very careful.” She grew serious. “I told you to throw the Eltons out.”
“How can I do that? They would not go.”
“Then make them go. Get that solicitor of Arthur’s, Sir What’s-his-name—”
“Sir Archibald.”
“Yes, whatever his name is. He’s in charge of the estate, is he not? Go see him. Tell him what occurred. If the man has a lick of sense, he’ll see it would be best all around if the Eltons leave until all is settled.”
Jane heaved a sigh. “When will it be settled? I cannot believe I’m eleven days late, but I am, and I’m starting to worry.”
“Whether or not you’re carrying a child is in God’s hands.” Granny cocked her head and regarded her with wise, old eyes. “You can do something about Beatrice, and I suggest you had better. That woman would sell her soul to become the countess. I wouldn’t put anything beyond her. That includes murder.”
“Someone else told me I should go see Sir Archibald.”
“You mean Douglas Cartland.”
Jane nodded. Of course, Granny would know. “If anyone has the power to boot out the Eltons, it is Sir Archibald.”
The Last of Lady Lansdown Page 13
