A Poisoned Season

by Tasha Alexander

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know, madam; she wrote only to inform me of her safe arrival in Paris.”

  “Hmmmm.” His cheeks took on a slight color as he bowed quickly and left the room. I tore open my letter from Cécile.

  Ma chère Kallista,

  There is no joy more complete than that felt when returning to Paris. London has its diversions, but nothing could compare to the beauty of my own city. Monet and Renoir have both inquired after you; Monet has finished the paintings for the villa, and is shipping them to Madame Katevatis, where she will have them ready for your arrival on Santorini in the fall.

  There is sadly little to report to Monsieur Hargreaves, but tell him not to despair. I have made the acquaintance of Monsieur Garnier. He will not be a stranger to me for long. Already I have captured his attention—he is an oddly attractive man—I know I shall enjoy working on him.

  How is Davis? I am being subjected to unbearable waves of melodrama here, Odette mooning about and singing mournful arias from Italian operas. Beware, Kallista, I may be forced to steal your butler, as I can tolerate lovesickness for only so long.

  I smiled as I read this, and then looked through the rest of my mail. The next envelope I opened contained a note from Mr. Sinclair, who single-handedly restored my hope that the work I was trying to do for the British Museum was not futile. He’d consulted with the Keeper of Greco-Roman Antiquities at the museum, Mr. Murray, who agreed with my assessment of the Archaic statue I had seen in Richmond. In view of the piece’s intrinsic value to scholars, Mr. Sinclair had immediately donated it to the museum. It turned out that his wife had never been overly fond of the piece, so the decision did not cause any strife in the house.

  I scrawled a quick reply, expressing my gratitude, and then, my confidence bolstered, penned a message to send to the Times. Not only did I need to uncover the identity of my admirer, and, of course, thank him for the flowers, I had to confirm that he had more of Léonard’s correspondence. You’ve overwhelmed me with flowers. Care to do the same with L’s letters?

  That taken care of, I changed into something suitable for walking and set off for the park, where I was to meet Ivy and Margaret. They were waiting for me in front of the statue of Achilles when I arrived, Ivy a picture of English perfection, her delicate skin shaded by a frilly parasol, Margaret dressed in a modern-looking suit and carrying a stack of books bound together with a leather strap.

  “These are for you, but I won’t make you carry them,” she said. “I’ve decided to bludgeon you with Latin until you agree to take up the study of it.”

  “I’m sorry, Margaret, you’ll not convert me yet. I’m nowhere near being satisfied with my mastery of Greek, and I think I shall turn to hieroglyphs when I want something new.”

  “You’re both so clever,” Ivy said, looking at the ground.

  “Perhaps you can convince Ivy to discuss Latin with you,” I said.

  “No, no, I’ve no head for that sort of thing.”

  “I think you do,” Margaret said. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.” Ivy blushed furiously, and her knuckles turned white as she clutched her parasol.

  “You’re perfectly capable of learning it, but don’t let Margaret bully you. She won’t be satisfied until she’s at Oxford reciting Ovid until all hours of the night.”

  “I wish the Season was over,” Margaret said, slinging the books over her shoulder.

  “I think it’s unfortunate that Jeremy isn’t willing to embrace his classical education. If he were, you might just marry him.”

  “He’d make a decent husband,” she admitted. “He’s a brilliant kisser—”

  “Margaret!” Ivy cried.

  “Well, you knew I’d have to check.”

  “I rather assumed he would be,” I said. “He’s very…” I smiled as I considered Jeremy.

  “Yes, exactly,” Margaret said.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea what either of you is talking about,” Ivy said.

  “That, my dear, is because you are too good,” I said, squeezing her arm. The park was bursting with the best of society, mothers parading their daughters, gentlemen looking as dapper as possible in the heat, young married women bending their heads together, asking and giving advice, gossip, and encouragement to one another. We had to pause every few feet to nod greetings to acquaintances, but it was impossible not to notice that no one seemed interested in actually speaking with us. Until, that is, we came to Lady Elliott, my mother’s bosom friend. She stopped and forced a pained smile onto her face.

  “Mrs. Brandon, Miss Seward, how delightful to see you.” She did not so much as look at me. “Dreadful heat, don’t you agree?”

  Ivy managed a sputtered but genteel reply. Margaret glared at Lady Elliott, who walked on without further comment.

  “Emily, she deliberately cut you,” Ivy said. I felt the unwelcome sting of tears in my eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Lady Elinor and Isabelle approached us.

  “We’re fine,” Margaret snapped.

  “Thank you, Lady Elinor, for asking,” Ivy said.

  “I saw Lady Elliott. Dreadful. Pay her no mind, Emily. She’s a petty, jealous woman.”

  “Thank you,” I said, pulling my shoulders back. “I hadn’t realized I was in such disgrace.”

  “Oh dear,” Lady Elinor said. “You’ve not heard the rumor then?” I shook my head. “Ivy, will you walk ahead with Isabelle?”

  “It must be quite awful if you’re unwilling for her to hear it,” I said, trying to inject into my voice a light tone as Ivy and Isabelle pulled away from us.

  “One would think the fact that the two of you are walking together would put an end to all this, but apparently not.” She looked back and forth between Margaret and myself as she spoke. “The story goes that the Duke of Bainbridge had a large quantity of flowers delivered to you as a gesture of thanks after you had…well…you can imagine what they think.”

  “That is absolutely outrageous!” Margaret cried.

  “Do lower your voice, Miss Seward. Any hint of excitement on your part will do nothing but appear to confirm this rumor.”

  “I received flowers, but they weren’t from Jeremy,” I said.

  “They say that you prominently displayed the card he sent on the center of your mantelpiece.”

  I could not speak. This was beyond awful, more terrible than I could have imagined. People might talk and criticize me for indulging in a romantic flirtation with no intention of marrying Jeremy, but if they believed that the relationship had progressed to an actual affair, and that we were so foolish as to not be discreet—that could ruin me.

  “I won’t stand for this,” Margaret said. “We have to do something.”

  “There’s very little we can do,” Lady Elinor said. Ivy looked back over her shoulder, her face full of questions. “The duke has of course denied it, but no one would expect a gentleman to do anything else.”

  “So Emily is to sit here and allow this trash to fester? No. Not acceptable.”

  “You could perhaps go abroad, let the scandal die down.”

  “That would be tantamount to admitting guilt,” I said. “I shan’t do that.”

  “I see your point, but I do hate the thought of your being subjected to all this,” Lady Elinor said. “I’m afraid that Lady Frideswide has been particularly vocal about you.”

  “I suppose that shouldn’t come as a surprise,” I said.

  “This is my fault,” Margaret said. “I’ve taken advantage of your generosity, Emily.” She turned to Lady Elinor. “Mrs. Taylor and my mother won’t give me a moment of peace. They hover over me mercilessly when Jeremy calls. Emily’s kind enough to let me meet him at her house, and this is the thanks she gets.”

  “Hush, Miss Seward. Telling people that Emily allowed you to have inappropriate interactions with the duke will not help her reputation.”

  “I didn’t say she let us do anything inappropriate.”

  “No, but that would be im
plied, wouldn’t it, after you say that your chaperones are too severe and that meeting at Emily’s house is an improvement?”

  “I hadn’t considered that,” Margaret said, and fell silent.

  “Isabelle, come back, dear,” Lady Elinor called. “I want the three of you to walk with us for a bit. It will do you good to be seen in company, Emily.”

  Ivy did not ask what had happened but drew my arm through hers as we walked. No one whom we encountered would meet my eyes.

  Following Lady Elinor’s advice, we spent three quarters of an hour meandering through the park. Not a single acquaintance offered me more than the most basic courtesy, but at least no one save Lady Elliott cut me. Still, I was thoroughly disheartened when my friends and I returned to the library at Berkeley Square.

  “I don’t care what Lady Elinor says,” Margaret said. “I blame myself entirely for this.”

  “Don’t, Margaret,” I said, letting my head fall against the back of my chair, eyes focused on the ceiling.

  “How could anyone think such things about you?” Ivy asked. We had waited until we reached my house to tell her the story; she was horrified. “What will you do? What will Colin say?”

  “Colin is the last person we need to worry about,” Margaret said.

  “I don’t agree,” Ivy said. “Colin matters more than anything.”

  “Please! I can’t have the two of you arguing.” I wished I could loosen my corset. “Colin will know it’s all nonsense. As for the rest of society, there’s nothing to be done. I shall have to sit out until the scandal blows over.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Margaret said. “You need to fight back.”

  “It won’t do any good to make a spectacle of yourself, Emily,” Ivy said.

  “Fine. Then come to Oxford with me. Or go to Bryn Mawr. University life would suit you.”

  “Thank you, Margaret, but I don’t think so. I’d rather stay and face this than run from it.”

  “You must think carefully about what will be the best way to approach this,” Ivy said. “You don’t want to lose your position.”

  “Her position?” Margaret slammed her hand on the table that stood next to her chair. “I hardly think that her position—”

  “I don’t think you fully understand the situation, Margaret. Emily is in danger of losing everything if she does not carefully consider how to best reconcile herself in society. Perhaps you could host a dinner party, Emily. Your parents would, of course, come, and you can count on Robert and me. A royal guest would work wonders for your reputation. Colin’s with Bertie so often these days because of Mr. Berry, and your mother’s friends with Princess Alix—”

  “You can’t be suggesting that hosting the Prince of Wales, a notorious profligate, is going to improve Emily’s situation.”

  “I am well aware of the prince’s flaws, Margaret, but you know that people are more than willing to overlook them,” Ivy said.

  “Can you bear this hypocrisy, Emily? You are falsely accused of having an affair. To save yourself, you should invite to dinner a man with more mistresses than sense.”

  “There’s no need to insult the prince,” Ivy said.

  “You can’t agree with this nonsense!” Margaret exclaimed, turning to me.

  “That’s quite enough, both of you.” I rubbed my temples. “I shall have to figure this out on my own.”

  “You could marry Colin,” Ivy said. “All these problems would disappear.”

  “Marriage does not make problems disappear,” Margaret said.

  “I’m not about to marry Colin simply to save my reputation.”

  “That wouldn’t be the only reason for doing it, but perhaps it’s the push you need to finally make a decision.”

  I was appalled to hear my friend say this. “Is that how you feel? That I need to finally make a decision?”

  “Oh, Emily, no, I just—” She stopped. “I’ve never wanted anything but your happiness.”

  “When will you understand that her happiness does not depend on finding a husband?”

  “Margaret, don’t,” I said.

  “I’m not advocating husbands in general, just Colin in particular,” Ivy said. Margaret rolled her eyes, and I was too tired to continue the argument. “I’m going home. I’m sorry, Emily, I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

  “I know.” I embraced her.

  “Send for me if there’s anything I can do,” she said, then left us. Margaret watched her go, a look of supreme dissatisfaction on her face.

  “Does she really consider husbands a panacea?”

  “I don’t know, Margaret,” I said, thinking about the strife in Ivy’s marriage.

  “I like her very much, Emily, but I can’t help but wonder if you’ve outgrown her friendship.”

  I’m ashamed to admit that I said nothing in defense of my dear friend.

  Colin came to me that night, in evening kit, astonishingly handsome. His eyes were all seriousness as he dispensed with the usual greetings and refused to hand Davis his top hat, silk scarf, and walking stick. “Change your dress. We’re going to the opera.”

  “It’s lovely to see you, too,” I said.

  “We’ve no time, Emily. I don’t want to be late.” His voice had taken on the calm tone it always did in situations of extreme gravity. I did not question him. Meg dressed me as quickly as possible, lamenting all the while that she did not have time to do my hair justice. Despite her frustrations, she managed to work such a miracle that I do believe Colin’s breath caught in his throat as he watched me descend the staircase into the hall.

  “‘She walks in beauty, like the night /Of cloudless climes and starry skies…’” he said as he watched Davis slip a cape around my shoulders.

  “Byron. Very nice.”

  In short order we arrived at Covent Garden. As we entered Colin’s box, where Margaret, Jeremy, and Mr. and Mrs. Seward were waiting for us, an uncanny hush fell over the theater. All eyes were on us as the gentlemen shook hands and Margaret and I embraced. Our audience began to chatter once again.

  “They will not defeat you,” Colin said, handing me a pair of opera glasses. The lights dimmed, the curtain rose, and I did my best to pay attention to the performance, despite being sadly distracted. The music was glorious, but the story of Aïda’s doomed love was not the thing to lighten one’s mood. This did not trouble me in the least. I was comforted in the knowledge that, no matter how bad things got for me, the odds that I would ever be shut up in an Egyptian tomb, waiting to suffocate, were very, very small.

  17

  MY APPEARANCE AT THE OPERA SAVED ME FROM BEING COMPLETELY ostracized by society. Margaret and I were both considered eccentric enough to remain friends despite my alleged affair, but the fact that Colin and Jeremy were on good terms cast doubt on the veracity of the rumor. Both gentlemen were highly respected, and it made little sense to believe that a man of Colin’s stature would seek out the friendship of someone who was flaunting me, the woman everyone presumed he wanted to marry, as his mistress. Truly, the most infuriating part of all this was that Jeremy suffered not at all for the rumors. Dalliances, after all, were expected of a gentleman, and while he might be criticized for not having been as discreet as he should have been, his social standing was not compromised in the least.

  I was also helped by the distraction caused by another theft. This time, it was not an object owned by Marie Antoinette that was stolen but a portrait of her, by Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, one of the queen’s favorite painters. Charles Berry’s outrage over this event captured everyone’s attention for almost a week, and I welcomed the respite from being the centerpiece of society gossip. Still, invitations to social events came almost as infrequently as they had when I was in mourning for Philip. This was not an entirely bad thing; it left me plenty of time for my investigations.

  I’d had no response from my admirer since my last notice in the Times, but imagined that he had been too busy with the planning and execution of this latest theft to tend t
o romantic matters. After the incident of the flowers in the carriage, Colin had spent a good hour teaching me the best ways to avoid being followed, as well as the techniques he employed when he tailed someone. Although I did my best to persuade him, he would give me no descriptions of the circumstances in which he had used these fascinating skills.

  As I thought more about my situation, I decided that I wanted to be followed, to draw out this mysterious man. I was tired of waiting for another note, and I thought if I could at last meet him face-to-face, I could persuade him to give me the rest of Léonard’s letters. One thing concerned me, however: He had tailed me the day I went to Oxford Street in search of information about the letters. When I left Oxford Street, I’d had my encounter with Mr. Berry, whose hands had been too forcefully thrust too close to my neck. Surely if the thief cared for me, he would not have stood by and watched another man threaten me. Had he stopped following me before I’d reached the park? Or could it be that Charles Berry was the man for whom I was looking?

  It seemed unlikely that he could pull off such a scheme, but I began to consider him more carefully than I had before. His licentious behavior might be deliberately contrived as a cover. Hadn’t Cécile and I both ruled him out as a suspect almost immediately because of it? Furthermore, he’d made no secret of the fact that he wanted me for a mistress, and I had rebuffed him at every turn. Could he believe that taking a mysterious approach might endear himself to me? The idea that he would consider such a course of action seemed ridiculous, but I refused to dismiss it out of hand. Certainly he had reason to want all the stolen Marie Antoinette objects. Who, in fact, had better motive?

  My butler tapped on the door and entered the room. “I’ve removed all the flowers, madam.”

  “Thank you. I’ve no doubt that you’ve heard this latest rumor about me?”

  “Yes, madam, I’m sorry to say that I have. None of the staff lend it any credence, and I’ve ordered them not to speak about it to anyone. I will not tolerate gossip coming from this house.”

  “I’m concerned because I believe the story did come from this house. Only someone who knew where you put the envelope that came with the flowers would have known to include that particular detail.”