… and needless to say he swore me to secrecy.
It is always beneficial to know those secrets a gentleman does not want revealed. Not that I would ever encourage use of secrets in an untoward manner. Blackmail and the like are never acceptable unless one has no other recourse and there is something of great importance at stake. But the very fact that a gentleman, or anyone, has trusted you with that which they hold most precious is a gift that should not be valued lightly.
Now, however, he is long in his grave and I do not consider his secret to be as devastating as it is amusing. Dear Reader, you can well imagine my surprise when he appeared in what can only be called …
from The Perfect Mistress,
the Memoirs of Lady Hermione Middlebury
Chapter Five
Julia loved this time of year. The leaves were beginning to turn and there was the faintest hint in the air of the crisp days to come.
It was a scant hour and a half by train to the village where Julia’s grandmother resided and no more than a ten-minute walk from the station to her grandmother’s cottage. The village was decidedly picturesque with aged buildings, brick or timbered. She strolled past the parish church and well-tended church graveyard. It was easy to see why her grandmother loved it here. After the busy streets of London, the single road that wound through the village was quiet and tranquil. It was at this point in her walk, where the cottage first came into view, that Julia inevitably felt a sharp twinge of annoyance.
Not at her grandmother—the old woman couldn’t help being eccentric or even a bit dotty. Not at the need to travel from London as often as she could manage it. And not at the unexpected expense of her grandmother’s support that had become her responsibility when her parents had died.
But at her parents, especially her mother, who had chosen to keep her grandmother’s existence secret, even from their daughter. No doubt due to shame as to the state of her mental faculties. Still, it made no sense at all. Certainly Lady Eleanor Everett was a little peculiar perhaps and yes, she did tend to talk to people who weren’t there even if that might well run in the family. But Julia had visited her as often as possible after she’d learned she was alive, and very nearly once a month since William’s death, and didn’t think she was truly mad. Just old and possibly … sad.
Mrs. Philpot opened the cottage door at Julia’s knock. Tall and thin, brisk and a bit stern, Harriet Philpot and her husband had worked for, in truth, cared for, Lady Everett since she had first moved to the cottage more than thirty years ago. Mr. Philpot had died a decade ago and now his sons maintained the place.
“How is she?” Julia asked after they exchanged greetings.
Mrs. Philpot’s lips flattened into a disapproving line. “She’s fine, she’s always been fine, she’ll always be fine.”
While Julia appreciated Mrs. Philpot’s protective nature toward her grandmother, she could never understand why this particular question always elicited such a curt response.
Mrs. Philpot showed her into the small parlor where Eleanor sat near the window reading as she always did, then took her leave. She did indeed look fine and far younger than her seventy-five years. She was small of stature, her hair nearly white and curling softly around her head. One could easily see she must have been quite lovely in her younger days. It struck Julia that she looked very much like an older version of the specter who appeared in her dreams. But, of course, she would.
“Grandmother?”
Her grandmother glanced up from the book and raised a brow.
Julia laughed and sat down in the chair beside her. “My apologies, Eleanor.”
“It would be different if I had known you as a child, dear,” Eleanor said as she did every time Julia forgot to call her by her given name. “Having a grown woman call me Grandmother reminds me of how very ancient I am. And reminds me as well that I can do nothing about it.” She sighed. “It’s most upsetting.”
Julia bit back a grin. “I am sorry.”
“I know you are, Julia.” Her green eyes twinkled. “My only consolation is that one day you shall be in my shoes. And while they are very comfortable they are as well very worn and sadly out of style.”
Julia smiled then drew a deep breath. “I have a matter of some importance I must speak to you about today.”
“A matter of some importance?” Eleanor closed her book. “Well, well, that will be a change.”
Julia widened her eyes in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Darling, when you visit we chat about the weather. Autumn is in the air today, which means winter is not far behind. I did so love winter once. Riding in sleighs, wrapped in furs.” She sighed. “It has been a very long time since I rode in a sleigh and the cold no longer has the appeal it once did.”
“Eleanor,” Julia began.
“Sometimes we discuss literature. I should recommend the book I am now reading. It’s quite naughty.” Eleanor met her granddaughter’s gaze directly. “But then naughty does tend to sell books, doesn’t it?”
Julia stared. “So I have heard.”
“Often, you listen to me ramble on about nothing of any significance whatsoever, which unfortunately, is the way my thoughts wander when left to their own devices. When your husband was alive you would frequently tell stories about his work. Now, you sometimes comment on public events which I am already familiar with. We are in the country, dear, not on the moon.”
Heat washed up Julia’s face.
“Then we have tea and one or another of us will mention the quality of Harriet’s scones. How does she get them so light? Admittedly, they are usually exceptional unless she is cross as she tends to be on occasion.”
“They are tasty,” Julia said under her breath. She was a grown woman with responsibilities, not a child to be chastised. Still, she couldn’t dispute anything Eleanor had said and she was not at all proud of herself.
“And when we’re done with tea, you ask if there is anything I need. And I say I have everything I need, which is true enough, thank you for asking. Then you kiss my cheek and take your leave.”
Julia stared. “It sounds dreadful.”
“It’s not at all dreadful. I cherish every minute that you are here even if I suspect that I am an obligation you could easily forgo.”
“Eleanor—”
“The truth, if you please.”
Julia chose her words with care. “It is true that I consider my visits to be somewhat obligatory but it is also true that”—she met the older woman’s gaze—“I enjoy your company and I enjoy our visits. Even if I am sometimes at a loss at to what to say.”
“Are you?” Eleanor chuckled. “Goodness, dear, you have never asked me about the past, your mother, or my family. At my age, there is a great deal of past to speak of. And while much of it isn’t the least bit interesting, I daresay there have been moments now and then which are well worth relating.”
“I’ve been coming here for six years. Why didn’t you say anything?” Julia tried and failed to hide the defensive note in her voice.
“Pride,” she said with a shrug.
“I had no idea. You could have mentioned something.”
“Yes, I could have but I was afraid. I assumed you didn’t wish to speak about anything other than the mundane. The mundane is very safe, you know. No one ever got offended by discussion of the uncertainty of English weather in the spring.
“I didn’t want to talk about matters that might keep you from coming back. Your mother never visited nearly as much as you do and every time I tried to talk about anything of significance, I wouldn’t see her again for a very long time. When she died”—a shadow of sorrow passed over her face—“and you began coming to see me, I was so pleased I didn’t want to do anything that might make you stop.” She leaned forward in a confidential manner. “This is my home, and while I am happy here, Harriet is not the brilliant conversationalist she might appear. An obligatory visit from you is better than no visit at all. Even in your darkest days, you b
rought life to me. And frankly I miss, well, life.”
“Good,” Julia said simply.
“Good?” Eleanor huffed. “That’s a rather rude thing to say to an old woman.”
“I don’t mean it to be but it will make things easier.”
“Ah, then now we have come to the matter of some importance.” Eleanor folded her hands on her book and beamed. “This is exciting.”
“Shall I fetch Mrs. Philpot? This concerns her as well.”
“Harriet,” she called, then lowered her voice. “She’s right outside the door, you know.”
Mrs. Philpot appeared at once.
Eleanor waved her to the nearby settee. “Julia has a matter of some importance to discuss.”
“So I hear,” Mrs. Philpot said wryly and took her seat. “Go on, girl.”
Julia paused to choose the right words. “I know when William died I asked you to come to live with me in London and you refused.”
“She didn’t want to be a burden,” Mrs. Philpot said.
Eleanor heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“I do not consider you a burden,” Julia said. “However, the state of my finances is not good. I have taken certain steps but they are speculative at best. While I may be able to support two households if all goes well, I cannot guarantee that. Therefore it is time, past time really, for you to reside with me in London.”
Eleanor studied her thoughtfully. “Are you saying I would be more of a burden here than I would in London?”
“Yes, and no.” Julia searched for the right words. “I’m saying my finances are such that it is time to do what I have wanted to do for a long time.” She took the older woman’s hand. “You are all the family I have and I would rather like to talk to you every day, even if all we talk about is the weather. I know this is your home—”
“My home, dear child”—Eleanor cast her a brilliant smile—“should be with my family.” She glanced at Mrs. Philpot. “It’s time I think.”
“Past time,” Mrs. Philpot said. “Past time as well to tell her everything.”
Eleanor cast the housekeeper a quelling glance. “I think not.”
“She thinks you’re mad.”
“Not at all,” Julia said quickly.
“She’s as sane as I am,” Mrs. Philpot said.
“Oh, that’s a ringing endorsement,” Eleanor said under her breath.
“She simply likes people to think she’s mad so that they leave her alone. Your mother got the idea in her head that she was addle-brained and Lady Everett did not do anything to dissuade her.” Mrs. Philpot huffed. “She didn’t come here because her family wanted to hide her away but because she wanted to hide from the rest of the world.”
Eleanor glared. “And I have done a fine job of it.”
“Too fine.” Mrs. Philpot’s tone softened. “My dear friend, it is not too late to pick up the pieces of your life. Even at your age, you can begin anew.”
Eleanor sighed. “I admit, I have been something of a coward.”
“You have wasted a great deal of time,” Mrs. Philpot said sternly.
Eleanor met her friend’s gaze. “You really don’t think it’s too late?”
Mrs. Philpot snorted. “You’re not dead yet.”
Eleanor shook her head. “But most everyone I know is. Still, I suspect there are a few hardy, lingering souls about.”
“Grandmother.” For the first time, Eleanor did not correct her. “Is this true?”
“I do hope so. Surely, everyone I once knew is not dead.”
“Not about that.” Julia drew her brows together. “About you allowing people to believe you’re mad.”
“Madness, like beauty, is often in the eye of the beholder. I have allowed people to see what they expected to see,” Eleanor said with a dismissive shrug. She nodded toward the housekeeper. “Harriet, we should begin packing at once.”
Julia stared. “That’s it then? You’ll come to live with me?”
“It’s been a long time since I have so much as stepped foot on the streets of London. I admit, it’s something of a frightening prospect. Still …” Eleanor smiled. “I should hate to end my days knowing my spirit remained weak and insipid to the very end.” She thought for a moment. “I would think that’s the kind of thing that would haunt you even after death.” She shook her head. “And I, for one, should very much like to rest in peace after I’m gone.”
Julia turned toward the housekeeper. “Mrs. Philpot?”
Mrs. Philpot shook her head. “I shan’t be coming with you.”
Eleanor smiled a sad sort of smile. “I knew you wouldn’t.”
“My sons and their families are here. They’ve talked about me coming to live with them for a long while.” Mrs. Philpot’s lips twitched as if she held back a smile. “I suspect they just want me for my scones.”
“As do we all,” Eleanor teased, and Julia realized these women were as close as sisters. And, in truth, hadn’t Mrs. Philpot been her grandmother’s family? Once again, anger at her mother and regret for all the lost years washed through her.
Eleanor met her friend’s gaze. “You’ll be all right then?”
“Of course I will,” Mrs. Philpot scoffed, but Julia was certain parting would be difficult for both women. She rose to her feet. “It’s time for tea.”
“And scones, if you please.” Mrs. Philpot left the parlor and Eleanor sighed. “I shall miss her scones.”
“My cook makes excellent scones,” Julia lied.
Eleanor drew a deep breath. “When shall I come?”
“As soon as you wish.”
“I have my affairs to put in order here. Oh, nothing of true significance really. I do think, however, or rather, I should like …” Eleanor began, excitement sounding in her voice.
Mrs. Philpot returned within a few minutes with the tea and Julia could scarcely get a word in. The two older ladies discussed what needed to be accomplished before anyone could move anywhere, her grandmother with an animation Julia had never seen before and the usually forbidding Mrs. Philpot perilously close to enthusiastic.
Regret washed through Julia. Not only because she hadn’t known this lady in her childhood, but because she hadn’t taken matters into her own hands years ago and insisted Eleanor come live with her. Now, Julia noted she was very nearly as excited as the older women. If truth were told, in spite of the companionship of her friends, her life was more than a little lonely.
By the time Julia prepared to take her leave it was decided that it was foolish for her to return simply to fetch Eleanor. They agreed that Eleanor would travel to London, escorted by one of Mrs. Philpot’s sons, as soon as arrangements could be made.
“Very well then,” Julia said, rising to her feet. “I shall see you soon.”
“Sooner than you expect, perhaps.” Eleanor beamed. “My clothes are long out of fashion and I may decide not to bring them with me, which would eliminate a great deal of packing. I would much rather acquire an entirely new wardrobe in London.”
Julia winced. “Eleanor, there really isn’t money for an entirely new wardrobe. A gown or two perhaps.”
“Nonsense. We can sell my treasures,” Eleanor said blithely. “Our treasures really. They are as much yours as they are mine.”
Julia glanced at Mrs. Philpot who rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. Eleanor had been talking about her treasures since Julia’s long-ago first visit. “Of course we can. Still, the market for treasures may not be as we hope.”
“No, I suppose not.” Eleanor sighed, then her expression brightened. “I know.” She rose to her feet and hurried out of the room.
“They’re pretty enough but not worth anything.” Mrs. Philpot shook her head. “She told me years ago they were of no value. Nothing but paste. Copies her mother had made.”
Eleanor returned, her hand fisted in front of her. “Hold out your hand, dear.”
Julia dutifully held out her hand and Eleanor dropped a gold chain bea
ring a large pendant. Julia turned the pendant over in her hand and caught her breath. She didn’t know a great deal about jewelry but this looked to be a lovely copy of a brilliant green stone, perhaps an emerald. Pity it wasn’t real.
“Take that to a jeweler’s, dear, and find out what it’s worth.”
“I’ll do just that.” Julia slipped the necklace into her bag.
“I really do need new clothes.” Eleanor beamed. “And hats. Oh, I do love hats.”
“Then we shall purchase new hats for you,” Julia said, vowing somehow to scrape together enough for a minimal wardrobe. She bent to kiss the older woman’s cheek. “I shall see you soon.”
Eleanor cast her a brilliant smile. “We shall have a grand time.”
“Indeed we shall.” Julia smiled and opened the door. She would have to hurry if she was to make the next train back to London. She was to meet Veronica at Fenwick’s in a few hours.
“Julia.” Eleanor stepped closer and lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “About the madness …”
Julia shook her head. “There’s nothing more you need to say.”
“Oh, but I do.” Eleanor paused. “To say I hear voices is not entirely accurate.”
“That is good to know.”
“I only hear one and she is most persistent.” Eleanor held her breath. “Do you mind terribly?”
“Well, as long as it’s just one,” Julia said somberly. “We simply don’t have room for an entire chorus. My house is not nearly large enough.”
Eleanor studied her carefully. “You’re teasing me.” She smiled. “I like that. Now, be off with you and I shall see you soon.” She nodded and turned to close the door.
“Did you tell her the voice belongs to a dead wo—” Mrs. Philpot’s voice was cut off by the solid wooden door and Julia nearly stumbled.
What on earth? Surely her grandmother didn’t … she couldn’t possibly …
Julia drew a steadying breath and started off at a brisk pace. Time enough when her grandmother came to London to discuss whose voice she did or didn’t hear. And exactly what that meant. Now she had a train to catch.
Julia had done a fine job thus far today of putting the question of whether Hermione was a ghost or a dream out of her head, even if it was never far from her thoughts. With any luck, Veronica would be able to confirm whether the secret Julia had been told was legitimate or just a product of her own far-fetched imagination.
The Perfect Mistress Page 7
