by Anne Herries
Returning to her table with the food she had selected, Arabella waited for the gentlemen to join them. She noticed that Tilda was merely picking at the plate of cold chicken and green beans she had chosen.
‘Are you not hungry?’
‘Oh, no, I do not think I want very much this evening,’ Tilda replied. ‘I had two scones for tea and some of those delicious dates Lady Tate was good enough to give me.’
‘You do not feel ill, do you?’
‘Not exactly ill,’ Tilda said and pulled a face. ‘Just a little unsettled in my stomach. It is strange for I do not often suffer from dyspepsia, you know.’
Arabella nodded. It had often amazed her in the past that her companion could eat as much as she did without feeling discomfort. Once again she felt a pang of unease for her aunt. She kept remembering the look of menace in her cousin’s eyes when he had told her that she had left him no choice. Was he saying that, because Arabella would not marry him, he meant to dispose of his mother to gain what remained of her fortune?
‘No!’ she said aloud and shook her head just as the two gentlemen approached with the champagne.
‘I am sorry,’ Charles said, brows rising. ‘I believed you wished for a glass of champagne.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Arabella replied and accepted the glass with a rueful look. ‘My remark was not directed at either of you gentlemen, but at my own thoughts. I am not sure that Tilda wishes for anything. I believe she feels a little under the weather. If one of you would be kind enough to call for my carriage, I think we shall go home shortly.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Captain Hernshaw said. He looked kindly at the companion. ‘I hope you are not ill, ma’am?’
‘Oh, no, just a little discomfort,’ Tilda said, but she had gone quite pale. ‘If you will excuse me, Arabella, I must go to the retiring room for a moment.’
She got up rather quickly and went off as Captain Hernshaw departed in another direction. Charles sat down at the table, his eyes dwelling on Arabella’s face as she took a sip of her champagne.
‘I believe you are troubled in some way,’ he said. ‘I am sincere in my offer of help, Lady Arabella. You may call on me if you wish at any time and I shall do whatever I may.’ He took a card with his town address from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her.
‘Thank you.’ Arabella accepted it, slipping it into her reticule. ‘It is true that I do have something on my mind. I cannot yet quite come to terms with it, sir, for it is unpleasant—but it may be that I shall ask for your advice.’ A faint blush came to her cheeks. ‘In saying that, I do not mean to presume on our somewhat unusual acquaintance.’
‘Believe me when I say that you could not,’ Charles said and smiled at her in a way that made her catch her breath. ‘I must beg your forgiveness for my manners that last morning at the inn. It was very foolish of me. There are reasons why I am not free to pursue my own life—but friendship is another matter. I hope that we may be friends and that, should you need it, I may be permitted to perform a service for you.’
‘You are very kind,’ Arabella said and her heart skipped a beat. It was ridiculous to feel so happy because of this brief meeting, but she did. His brusque words had lingered at the back of her mind, leaving her feeling oddly hurt, but now that had eased. She knew that she liked him, perhaps more than most gentlemen of her acquaintance, and, strangely, felt that she could confide in him if her fears proved to have some truth in them. Perhaps it was because, in nursing him so intimately, she had stepped over the barriers that usually prevailed with a new acquaintance. ‘I am not sure enough of my suspicions to speak of them just yet, sir—but another day I may be more certain of my facts.’
Charles nodded. He had sensed that something was worrying her and was glad that he had spoken as he had. It was true that he had nothing more to give other than friendship, even though she stirred forgotten feelings in him, but there was nothing to stop him offering the little he could.
Their chance for private conversation was at an end, for at that moment Melinda came up to them, concerned that Arabella was leaving early.
‘I hear that Tilda is feeling unwell—and you said that Lady Tate too was a little indisposed. Do you imagine that they have taken some kind of a fever?’
‘I believe they may both have eaten something that disagreed with them earlier today,’ Arabella said. ‘I think it may be just a touch of dyspepsia, Mel. Please do not worry. Hopefully, they will both be better soon.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Melinda said, looking relieved. ‘Shall I see you tomorrow as we planned?’
‘Yes—unless my aunt’s illness is more serious than I fear. If something occurs to prevent me, I shall let you know,’ Arabella said. She stood up as she saw that Captain Hernshaw had returned to the room and was looking her way. ‘I think I must go. Goodnight, Mel—goodnight, Mr Hunter.’
‘Goodnight, Lady Arabella.’ Charles looked at her thoughtfully as she walked away. There was more here than she was yet prepared to say unless he was mistaken. He did not know why that should concern him, but it did. Of course he owed her a debt of gratitude, but it was more than that—she aroused in him an inner warmth that he had believed he would never feel again.
‘Your companion is waiting in the hall downstairs,’ Captain Hernshaw said as he met Arabella at the door of the supper room. ‘I believe she had been quite unwell and was feeling a little dizzy. I told her to sit and wait while I fetched you to her.’
‘Oh, poor Tilda,’ Arabella said. ‘I should have told her not to eat those dates!’
‘Was something wrong with them?’ he asked, looking a little puzzled at her tone of voice.
‘Yes, I think there may have been,’ Arabella said and frowned. ‘Excuse me, I may not say more. I must go to Tilda.’
She went quickly downstairs to the entrance hall, discovering her companion sitting near the open door as if in need of fresh air. Tilda looked pale and was clearly unwell, which caused Arabella some disquiet.
‘You have been sick I think,’ she said. ‘I am so sorry, Tilda. Do you have pain in your stomach, my dear?’
‘Yes, just a little,’ Tilda said. ‘I should be pleased if we could go quickly, Arabella. I do not want to be a trouble to you on the way home.’
‘You will not be,’ Arabella replied. ‘You must say if you wish to stop at any time. It must be better for you to bring up anything that is causing you to feel ill.’
‘It was probably the dates,’ Tilda said. ‘I ate several of them before we left and I know they do not particularly suit me, even though I love them—but they were so sweet and delicious.’
‘Well, perhaps you should not eat any more of them,’ Arabella said. ‘I shall arrange to have them thrown away to save you from temptation.’
‘Oh, but…’ Tilda subsided as a wave of sickness passed over her, making her shudder. ‘Yes, perhaps that might be for the best.’
Arabella said no more as she followed her companion into the carriage. She did not know whether it was possible to discover if the dates had been doctored with some foreign substance, but perhaps she ought to find out. Both her aunt and Tilda had eaten only a handful of the sweetmeats and both were ill. What might have happened if Aunt Hester had eaten them all as had been intended?
Arabella herself had never liked the sticky fruit. It was unlikely that she would have tried one even if they had been offered to her. Lady Tate knew that—perhaps Ralph did too?
Her thoughts were whirling with confusion as the carriage clattered through the dark streets. It was a terrible suspicion, but she could not rid herself of the idea that Ralph was planning to dispose of his mother in order to gain control of her estate.
Charles was thoughtful as he made his way home at the end of what had turned out to be rather a pleasant evening. He was a little surprised to discover that he had enjoyed himself far more than he had expected. Now why was that? Could it possibly have anything to do with the fact that Lady Arabella had been present?
No, tha
t was foolish, he decided, dismissing the thought with an impatient shake of his head. She was beautiful, intelligent, generous, brave…but that didn’t mean anything. He had met other women with those qualities. Why should this one be any different? And yet she was…Somehow she had managed to get beneath the barrier he had raised against her. He had found himself watching her throughout the evening, listening for her laugh, noticing the way she walked, the unconsciously seductive sway of her hips.
This was leading nowhere! Charles made a conscious effort to put her from his mind. He had no right to think of himself or his own pleasures while Sarah was still lost.
The next morning Lady Tate declared herself much better, but Tilda was still feeling very sorry for herself. She had been sick twice during the night and Arabella insisted that she stay in bed for the rest of the day. She herself took charge of the remainder of the suspect dates, removing them to her room. Her first thought was to destroy them, but she hesitated, wondering if she ought to retain them and see if some kind of test could be made to discover if they had been treated with poison.
It was such a difficult decision. Arabella hated the idea that her cousin could do anything so evil as to make his mother ill. Tilda was the one who had suffered most, but there were only three dates left in the box, which probably meant that she had eaten far more than she had admitted. Could it just be overindulgence? The suspicion that an attempt at murder had been made on her aunt was so awful that she tried to put it from her mind. Surely she was wronging her cousin? He might be selfish and thoughtless—but wicked? No, no, she must be wrong! No gentleman could possibly do such a thing!
Deciding that it would be best to dispose of the dates after all, she gave them to a maid and said that she thought they were not fresh as they had made two of the household ill.
‘No one should be tempted to eat them, Maria,’ she said. ‘They must be thrown away, do you understand? If they are eaten, they may cause sickness and stomach pain.’
‘Yes, ma’am, of course. I’ll see to it myself.’
‘Thank you.’ She nodded to the girl. ‘I am going out to meet some friends, Maria. If my aunt should ask for me, I shall return before nuncheon—and if Tilda should be worse, please send for the doctor.’
‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll look in on her again myself.’
Reassured, Arabella put on a green velvet pelisse and tied the strings of a fetching straw bonnet beneath her chin. She had arranged to meet Melinda at a certain milliner’s shop that morning. They would spend an hour or so trying on hats and then perhaps visit a little teashop together. She decided to put her uncertainties out of her mind. Her aunt was much recovered and, although Tilda was still feeling a little unwell, neither of them had died. Had Ralph wished to kill his mother, one or both ladies would probably be dead. But of course he hadn’t! What a terrible thought to have!
It was just her foolish imagination running away with her.
It was as she was nearing the shop where she had arranged to meet her friend that Arabella came face to face with a gentleman she would have preferred not to meet. She saw him coming and wondered if it might be better to cross the street, but then decided that she would not allow herself to be intimidated. He lifted his hat as they passed, a slightly malicious smile in his eyes.
‘Good morning, Lady Arabella. What a delight to see you in town. I trust that you are well?’
‘Yes, thank you, Sir Courtney.’ She did not return the sentiment for she sensed that it had not been sincere. She walked on quickly, refusing to glance back even though she had a strong feeling that he had turned to watch her. Instead, she moved proudly, head up, refusing to show any sign of apprehension.
She could not like that man! She had never considered his proposal of marriage even for a moment, and perhaps her dislike of him had been a little too evident. She knew that she had made an enemy of him, but apart from feeling a slight discomfort when they met it could make no real difference to her life. She put the small incident from her mind and hastened her step as she saw her friend entering the milliner’s just ahead of her.
Melinda inquired after Lady Tate when they met and Arabella was able to assure her that she was recovering. They spent a happy morning together trying on hats and bonnets, both of them buying two additions to their autumn wardrobe before leaving. They parted feeling well satisfied with their outing, and Arabella was smiling as she entered the house just before twelve-thirty. She looked at the calling cards and saw that two had been left for her. It seemed that Captain Hernshaw and Mr Hunter had both called while she was out.
Perhaps it was just as well, she thought. She might have said something foolish concerning those dates had she spoken to Mr Hunter. She had almost made up her mind now that she had been quite mistaken.
Lady Tate came down the stairs even as Arabella was taking off her pelisse and bonnet. She smiled at her, nodding as Arabella handed a bandbox to the maid assisting her.
‘Did you buy something nice, my dear?’
‘Yes, a rather pretty velvet bonnet for the autumn and a smart hat for riding,’ Arabella said. ‘Melinda has asked me to visit her in the country next month and I may do so. It is a while since I bought any pretty clothes and I think I must refurbish my winter wardrobe while I am here in town.’ She looked at her aunt. ‘How are you now, dearest?’
‘Oh, quite recovered,’ her aunt said robustly. ‘It was just overindulgence, Arabella. I should not have eaten three of those dates all at once. I know that they can upset me. I was sorry to learn that Tilda was ill last night.’
‘I believe she ate rather more of them than you, aunt.’
‘Oh…well, perhaps I ought not to have given them to her. They might not have been quite fresh. I did think that one had an odd bitter taste in the centre, but the next one was very sweet and delicious.’
‘It may not have been the dates at all,’ Arabella said for she could see her aunt was thoughtful. ‘Tilda ate two scones with jam and cream at tea. Perhaps the cream was off.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Lady Tate said and her frown eased. ‘I believe I shall come with you this evening, my dear. We are engaged for Vauxhall are we not?’
‘Yes, that is so,’ Arabella said. ‘Sir Harry has taken a booth for the evening and there are to be several of us. It will be a merry party I believe.’
‘I am looking forward to it,’ Lady Tate said and smiled at her. ‘Shall we go and have our nuncheon, my dear?’
‘If you will excuse me, I must just wash my hands,’ Arabella said. ‘I shall not keep you waiting long.’
She ran up the stairs to her own room and tidied herself quickly. As she started back down the stairs she saw that her cousin was being admitted to the house. He glanced up and saw her, frowning as she came down to join him.
‘We are about to have nuncheon, cousin,’ she said, deliberately keeping her tone flat. ‘Would you care to join us?’
Ralph looked at her oddly. ‘Mama is with you?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Arabella’s gaze intensified. ‘Why should she not be?’
Was it her imagination or did he look uncomfortable? She gave him a direct challenging look and he dropped his gaze. He was discomforted!
‘No, of course not. I just wondered.’
‘Come into the dining room. I am sure there is plenty of food for you to share, Ralph. Tilda is staying in bed today. She was unwell last evening.’ She felt no satisfaction as his head came up, the expression in his eyes similar to that of a rabbit facing a stoat. He was extremely nervous. ‘We think she ate something that disagreed with her.’
‘Oh…what?’ he asked, a belligerent stare on his face now, as if he were daring her to accuse him.
‘Who knows?’ Arabella said. ‘It might have been anything—perhaps the dates you gave Aunt Hester. She had a slight dyspepsia and gave them to Tilda, who ate several.’
‘If you are accusing me of something, say it!’ He glared at her fiercely.
‘Accusing you, cousin?’ Arabella sm
iled coolly. ‘Why should I accuse you of anything? You haven’t done anything terrible—have you?’
‘Certainly not!’
‘Then I am certainly not accusing you of anything,’ Arabella said. ‘Excuse me, I must not keep my aunt waiting.’
She swept past him into the dining room, where Lady Tate was already helping herself from various dishes laid ready on the sideboard. There was a dish of creamed spinach, small new potatoes in melted butter, peas and various meats, besides a baked carp and onions.
‘How nice of you to call,’ Lady Tate said as she saw her son follow Arabella into the room. ‘Please sit down, Ralph. There are plates enough on the sideboard if you care for some nuncheon.’
‘No, I shall not stop,’ her son replied. ‘I came to tell you that I am going down to the country. I have made arrangements to sell the estate and I need to talk to my bailiff.’
‘Good, I am glad you have made a decision to do something positive,’ his mother said. ‘I do not yet have the funds for the necklace I promised you, but I should have it when you return.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, his eyes holding an expression that might have been sympathy. ‘I am sorry if you were unwell last night, Mama.’
‘Oh, it was nothing. I am quite recovered now, thank you, Ralph.’
‘I am glad to hear it.’ He nodded his head at her, turning a thoughtful look on Arabella. ‘I may not see you again this visit, cousin. I shall be away for a couple of weeks, I dare say.’
‘I wish you a pleasant journey,’ Arabella returned. ‘But I may still be here when you come back. I think I shall extend my visit for longer than I had anticipated.’
Was it her imagination or did his eyes fire with anger? Arabella could not be certain, but she felt a sense of relief when he left them. Once again her suspicions were raised. Having made one unsuccessful attempt to murder his mother, was he going to wait until Arabella had returned home to try again?
‘Is something wrong?’ Lady Tate asked as Arabella sat down at the table. ‘You look upset, my dear.’
