The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor

by Wendy Burdess

  ‘Goodness, miss,’ exclaimed a wide-eyed Mrs Maguire, the moment Eleanor appeared. ‘It ain’t half a pleasure to see you.’

  ‘And you too, Mrs Maguire,’ smiled Eleanor. ‘I was wondering if I might have a word with Ed?’

  ‘He’s working at Mickey Humphrey’s farm, miss. Come in and have a dish of tea while I send one of the young one’s over to fetch him.’

  ‘Oh there’s no need for that,’ protested Eleanor. ‘I can ride over there myself. But I certainly wouldn’t say no to a dish of tea before I go.’

  The house, now completely free of rats, was cosy, clean and welcoming, full of laughter and the smell of fresh bread. Perhaps, mused Eleanor as she chatted with Mrs Maguire, it wouldn’t be so bad being married with a home of one’s own after all – a happy home filled with love and children: a home exactly like the Maguires’.

  Two hours and several cups of tea later, Eleanor rode over to Mickey Humphrey’s farm. Ed was working alone in one of the fields. As usual he was delighted to see her, fussing around as she dismounted her horse and tethered it to the fence.

  ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you alone, Ed,’ she began. ‘I have quite a … sensitive matter to discuss with you.’

  Ed looked taken aback. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, have I, miss?’ he asked, running a brown hand through his blond hair.

  ‘No, of course not. Quite the contrary in fact. Mr Humphreys informs me you are doing a marvellous job here.’

  Ed flushed at the praise. ‘I’m doing my best, miss.’

  ‘Of that I have no doubt, Ed,’ beamed Eleanor. ‘But what I wanted to speak to you about has nothing to do with your work. I was hoping that you could help me with something. Tell me, Ed, do you know of a young lady by the name of Felicity Carmichael …?’

  At the stable block early the next morning, Eleanor had just mounted the chestnut mare when she spotted James, dressed in his riding attire, striding across the courtyard towards her. She had been relieved that neither he nor Madeleine had been at breakfast. It was difficult to look at either of them without a series of shocking images flooding her mind regarding their furtive night-time activities. She only wondered why he bothered to feign such impatience with the woman during daylight hours.

  ‘Lady Eleanor,’ he said brusquely in greeting. His expression was grave and he looked exhausted. Hardly surprising, concluded Eleanor, with a pang of resentment. Not finding it within herself to smile at him, she merely nodded in acknowledgement of his greeting and trotted straight by him. She had just reached the bottom of the gravelled drive, though, when her horse began to limp. Drawing the beast to a halt, she jumped down from the saddle and secured the reins on the wrought iron gate. Inspecting the animal’s right hind shoe, she found, just as she had suspected, a large pebble. She had removed many such objects at home and could remove this one, too – if she could borrow a knife from one of the grooms.

  Leading the horse by the reins, Eleanor had just reached the courtyard, when there was a blood-curdling scream. She dropped the reins and flew to the stable block from whence the sound had come. Three of the grooms, who had been swilling down the yard, dropped their brushes and buckets and darted into the building before her. The first sight they saw as they entered was James Prestonville with his back pressed to the wall. The second was a pitchfork, standing proud in the ground - inches from James’s booted feet.

  Eleanor’s eyes grew wide. This was yet another ‘accident’ and one which, from the look on James’s face, had given him an almighty fright.

  ‘Lord, sir,’ exclaimed Jack, one of the grooms, breaking the astounded silence. ‘What happened?’

  James swallowed hard. ‘I have no idea. No sooner had I stepped out of Samson’s stall, when this pitchfork fell from the hayloft.’

  Jack removed his cap and scratched his head. ‘Must’ve been rats, sir. But you haven’t half been lucky. Had a right near miss, you have.’

  James raised his eyes to the loft. ‘You’re not wrong there, Jack. Indeed, come to think of it, I have had quite a number of near misses over the last few weeks. I seem to have more lives than a cat.’

  The men chuckled politely, assuming James was making light of the situation. His expression, though, could not have been more serious. Eleanor’s pulse quickened. Obviously it was beginning to dawn on James, too, that there could be more to these ‘accidents’. And that he – rather than Eleanor - could be the intended victim. Recalling all the previous incidents, it suddenly occurred to her that James had been with her at every one of them. Even at the soirée, had he not been distracted by the odious Smithers, then he, too, could have fallen down the open trap door. In fact, if he hadn’t invited her to join him and Madeleine, then the accident would have befallen only him. But why would Felicity want to kill James? Without him it would be impossible for the girl to realize her ambitions. Perhaps then, Felicity was trying to kill Eleanor and someone else was trying to kill James. But that would mean there were two would-be murderers on the loose - which was completely ludicrous. So what on earth was going on? She held her breath as Jack nimbly climbed the wooden ladder to the loft.

  ‘Ain’t nothing to be seen up here,’ he shouted down. ‘Reckon the fork’s been propped up badly and the rats have knocked it over.’

  By the look upon James’s face, it was obvious that Jack’s theory was several hundred miles away from his own.

  ‘Stevens!’ boomed the dowager from her fireside chair. ‘Tell Lady Madeleine that I wish her to join me for tea this afternoon. I have not set eyes on the woman for days.’

  Embroidering in the corner, it suddenly occurred to Eleanor that she, too, had not set eyes on Madeleine for some time. Thankfully.

  ‘Begging your pardon, your grace,’ muttered Stevens, returning to the room some minutes later, ‘but Lady Madeleine says to inform you that she is somewhat indisposed today.’

  The dowager lifted her lorgnette to study Steven’s obsequious face. ‘In-dis-posed? What on earth does she mean by that, man?’

  ‘I believe she has the headache, ma’am.’

  ‘The headache? But she is to meet Madame Aminieux this evening.’

  ‘Apparently she has already sent word of her indisposition to the woman’s husband, your grace,’ informed Stevens, his voice noticeably quivering.

  ‘Has she indeed?’ sniffed the dowager, lowering her lorgnette and pursing her lips.

  Eleanor, conversely, was not the least bit surprised. Madeleine obviously considered an acquaintance with a mere dancing master and his wife quite beneath her. She wondered, as she stabbed at the linen with her needle, if the woman’s headache would be so bad as to turn away her lover this evening. She would wager all she owned that it would not.

  The days were growing decidedly hotter and so, subsequently, were the nights. Eleanor tossed and turned for several hours before admitting defeat and slipping out from under the cover. She pulled her armchair up to the window and, hugging her knees to her chest, gazed up at the clear night sky. The owl, which had awoken her a few nights previously, once again dominated the scene, swooping low in its hunt for sustenance. She watched its graceful form suddenly dive behind a gorse bush and reappear a few seconds later with a mouse dangling precariously from its beak.

  Her attention was diverted by footsteps in the corridor. A cocktail of jealousy and anger pulsed through her. She had to admit that James did an admirable job of disguising his lust for Madeleine during daylight hours. If one didn’t know better, it could easily be assumed that he found the woman intolerable. Despite herself, she padded over to the keyhole and crouched down to it just as the familiar blue robe marched past - and something painful twisted in her stomach.

  *

  ‘James, darling,’ bleated Madeleine, as she buttered her toast at breakfast the next morning, ‘I do so wish to go to Lady Armitage’s party this evening. Please can we go, my sweet?’

  James sighed as he reached for the coffee pot. ‘I have already told you a dozen times, Madeleine, I am
in no mood for parties. Besides, I thought you were ill.’

  Madeleine ceased her buttering and gazed at James in astonishment. ‘Ill?’ she repeated, wrinkling her forehead. ‘Whoever told you I was ill?’

  ‘Was that not your excuse for not seeing the Aminieuxs yesterday evening?’

  Madeleine rolled her eyes and continued her buttering. ‘Really, James, I think it is quite rude of the man to ask me. How on earth does anyone expect me to meet a dancing master and his wife, for goodness’ sake? Now, enough of that, darling. Please let us go to the party this evening. It will be such fun and I have purchased the most delightful gown.’

  ‘I am sure the gown will suffice perfectly well for another occasion,’ muttered James, his tone ripe with impatience, as he raised his cup to his lips.

  Madeleine set down her knife and regarded him through lowered lashes. ‘No it will not,’ she replied in a tear-stained voice. ‘If I do not wear that gown tonight, I may have no other need of it this Season and I could not possibly wear it next year. It will be quite out of mode.’ A lone tear rolled down her smooth cheek.

  Derek Lovell, making a rare appearance at the breakfast table, shot her a sardonic glance. ‘My, my,’ he remarked, loading his fork with scrambled egg, ‘what pressing problems you poor women have to deal with.’

  Madeleine’s tearful eyes adopted an icy glaze. ‘Given that your dealings with women are undoubtedly limited, Mr Lovell, may I suggest you keep your worthless opinions to yourself.’

  Lovell’s lips twisted into a sneer. ‘You can suggest whatever you like, Lady Madeleine, but no woman will ever tell me what to do.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ replied Madeleine archly. ‘You do surprise me, sir. I would have thought that women were forever telling you what to do. Like, for example … get away from me.’

  All at once, James flung down his napkin and thrust to his feet. ‘For God’s sake, if you two cannot be civil, then stay out of each other’s way or, at the very least, out of mine. I am sick to the back teeth of all the bickering in this house.’ And, in a flash, he disappeared from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  NINETEEN

  Lady Ormiston, so Giles had informed Eleanor, had been ordered to her bed again. Eleanor had had to bite back a smile. She could not imagine the dowager accepting orders from anyone, let alone the sparrow-like Dr Gosport. However, taken to her bed she had, with a severe case of laryngitis. The doctor had warned that any attempt to speak could seriously damage her vocal chords, and he had left specific instructions that the old lady was to receive plenty of rest and to remain completely silent until her throat was recovered. Eleanor was almost certain she had observed a flicker of relief and elation sweep over Stevens’s normally anxious features when James had informed the footman of his aunt’s predicament.

  It was such a beautiful day that Eleanor arranged a picnic hamper from the kitchens and drove her and Milly over to the Maguires’ cottage. They spent a delightful day there but, as evening fell, Eleanor said her goodbyes and insisted Milly spend the evening with her family. Driving the gig home alone, she marvelled at how the happy atmosphere of the Maguires’ cottage always had an uplifting effect on her, making her temporarily forget all her wretched problems – not least that somebody wanted her dead. As the formidable castle came into view, her spirits dived and a sliver of icy apprehension flashed down her spine causing her to shudder. She would take dinner in her room this evening, she resolved, not wishing to spend a moment longer than necessary in the presence of the moody, petulant, arrogant, suffocating guests.

  Handing over the gig to Jack at the stable block, Eleanor exchanged some light-hearted chatter with the boy before entering the castle. She then informed Giles of her dinner plans and went directly to her chambers. Having spent an hour or so reading on her bed, there was a knock at the door and Stevens appeared with her supper tray of baked carp and new potatoes. He placed the tray on her writing bureau and Eleanor had just removed the silver dome when she heard an almighty bang followed by the sound of shattering glass. In a flash, she darted over to the window from where she observed Jack and two other grooms sprinting towards the castle from the stable block. All three men were gazing at the floor below hers as they ran.

  Eleanor’s stomach lurched and tendrils of panic snaked around her. Something was terribly wrong. Flying to the door, she flung it open, tore along the corridor and bounded down the stone stairs to the lower floor. Once there, she spotted an open door from which she could hear voices. She barged into the room and came to an immediate halt in front of an obviously dumbstruck James Prestonville, sitting on a chaise-longue, wearing nothing but a dressing-gown. Eleanor’s eyes were immediately drawn to his strong muscular legs covered in fine dark hair, which were clearly visible from just above the knee. She gulped and attempted to gather her thoughts. This was not the time to daydream about what else the robe might be concealing.

  Davies, James’s valet, a tall, thin, balding man was by a window, extracting the remaining shards of glass from the frame. The rest was scattered all over the Persian carpet.

  Attempting to control the colour rising in her cheeks, Eleanor adopted a business-like tone. ‘What on earth has happened?’ she demanded.

  James did not even look at her.

  ‘It was a shot, miss,’ replied Davies disbelievingly. ‘Someone shot at Master James through this window.’

  Eleanor’s jaw dropped. ‘Somebody shot at him? But-but … how … who?’

  ‘Can’t say, miss. Didn’t see a thing, for all I was at the window in a flash. If I ever get my hands on them they’ll be-’

  ‘But … I don’t understand. How would anyone dare-?’

  ‘Oh they dare, miss. Got a neck for anything these days, they have. You wouldn’t want to know the tales I’ve been hearing about what them highwaymen are getting up to – and with innocent folk too - folk just going about their own business. Just like the master here. There I was, miss, getting him ready for Lady Armitage’s party and-’

  ‘But he didn’t want to go to Lady Armitage’s party,’ exclaimed a bewildered Eleanor, aware that she was speaking about James as if he were not present. ‘He stated quite emphatically that he had no desire at all to-’

  ‘Changed his mind, miss,’ informed the valet, matter-of-factly.

  ‘I see,’ sighed Eleanor, sickened as she imagined the tricks Madeleine might have employed in order to bring about James’s change of mind. ‘Well, I suppose I had better leave you to your clearing up, Davies.’

  The valet inclined his head to her. But, as Eleanor was leaving the room, a thought struck her.

  ‘Davies, this may sound like a strange question but is that his own dressing-robe Master James is wearing?’

  ‘Of course, miss,’ replied the valet. ‘Who else’s would he be wearing?’

  Not surprisingly, Eleanor’s eyes had not closed for an instant that night as she had tried to make sense of this latest incident. She rose early, hoping that a ride before breakfast might clear her head. Crossing to the stable block, she became aware of two men on horseback clattering up the drive. They came to a halt before her.

  ‘Begging your pardon, miss,’ said the older of the two, thick grey sideburns peeping out from under his grubby hat, ‘but we’re looking for a Mr Lovell.’ His accent had a thick northern twang. It was obvious, despite their aspiring appearances, that these were no gentlemen.

  ‘Mr Lovell?’ repeated Eleanor, at once on her guard. ‘I have not seen him this morning. Most likely he has not yet returned.’

  ‘Not yet returned?’ repeated the second man. ‘Well, we can guess what he’s been up to all night.’ They both sniggered before the second man said, ‘Perhaps you’d be good enough to pass on a message to him, miss?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Eleanor warily.

  ‘Tell him that wherever he goes, Dick and Sam’ll track him down. Tell him we’re looking for payment in full this time, and if we don’t get it …’

  Eleanor’s eyes w
idened in horror as the man made a gesture with his index finger across the width of his throat.

  ‘Oh,’ she spluttered. ‘Very well then. I will … er … pass that message on.’

  ‘You do that miss,’ smiled the man. ‘And tell him we’ll be back same time tomorrow and whether he’s here or not, we’ll be wanting our money.’

  Eleanor nodded numbly as the two men wheeled their horses around and thundered back down the drive, laughing raucously. She watched until they disappeared out of sight, then she turned back towards the castle. Her desire to ride out alone in the countryside had completely deserted her.

  She entered the breakfast-room to find James and Madeleine already there. James was as white as a sheet and appeared wholly fatigued. Madeleine, on the other hand, appeared to be in full flow, turning the recent drama to her advantage. Eleanor slipped into her chair at the very moment the Hungarian dropped her knife and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead.

  ‘Oh my word,’ she puffed theatrically. ‘Whenever I imagine that bullet only inches away from you, James, it makes me positively weak.’

  James tossed her a disparaging glance as he raised his coffee cup to his lips. ‘The image does not exactly fill me with joy, Madeleine,’ he retorted sourly.

  Madeleine tossed her head of blonde curls before picking up her knife and resuming the dissection of a kipper. ‘But that man should be punished for it at once. We must pay a visit to the Bow Street Runners as soon as we have finished breakfast.’

  James set down his cup. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Madeleine. We have no idea who was responsible.’

  Madeleine regarded him with her startling blue eyes. ‘Of course we do, my darling. Who else could it possibly have been?’

  Curiosity overcame Eleanor as she pulled a slice of toast from the silver rack before her. ‘May I ask to whom you are referring?’ she enquired smoothly.