by Amanda Scott
“Shirley Tibbetts,” amplified the visitor in a high-pitched voice, “not my mama-in-law, of course, who is old Mrs. Abigail Tibbetts, you know.” She giggled slightly behind one gloved hand. “I’m sure you will remember her, my lord, though perhaps you will not remember me, for I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.” She batted her eyes at him. “Of meeting each other, that is. Until now, of course.”
“’Tis certain poor Moreland don’t remember either you or your poor old mama-in-law, Mrs. Tibbetts, for he’s got a shockingly bad memory, you know. You must tell him all about yourself; however,” she added, twinkling at her son’s expression of dismay, “I daresay he hasn’t got time for it all right now, so perhaps you’d best get on with what you were saying before about your youngest. I am sure it must have been fascinating.”
The sardonic tone was clearly lost on Mrs. Tibbetts, who promptly launched herself into a rather involved tale. It finally wound down to some sort of conclusion, and Lady Packwood made sympathetic noises, then rose and held out a hand to the visitor. “What a pity you must be going so soon,” she said sweetly, “but I know you said you would not take up much of my time, so we must not keep you longer. Do call again, however, and if my butler tells you I am not at home, you must leave your calling card, you know. Say good day to dear Mrs. Tibbetts, my dears.”
Mrs. Tibbetts had scrambled rather hastily to her feet, and Nicholas kindly offered to see her to the door. “Oh, no, my lord!” she protested, “though I am certainly flattered by such condescension from one in so elevated a position as yourself. But your butler will see me safely out, I’m sure.” She giggled again behind her glove before dipping a farewell curtsy. “Delighted, my lady, Lady Moreland. Good day to you, my lord.”
Lady Packwood had nearly ripped the bell cord from its moorings, so hearty a yank did she give it, and Dasher entered rather more hurriedly than usual.
“Ah, Dasher,” said the earl smoothly, “Mrs. Tibbetts is leaving now. Please show her out.”
“And if he ever shows that tedious woman in again,” snapped Lady Packwood once the door was safely closed, “I shall quite cheerfully hand him his ears on a silver salver!”
She sat down again with an unladylike snort, whereupon Sarah chuckled and Nicholas crossed the room, bent over, and kissed his mother’s cheek. “’Tis known as just deserts, ma’am, is it not? We had a very nice visit with Randolph, by the by. He sends his respects.”
“It wouldn’t hurt you to show some respect yourself, young man!” retorted Lady Packwood with a withering glare. “Sarah, lamb,” she went on in a milder tone, “do see if you can get Dasher back, and tell him I absolutely require a small glass of sherry before we have our luncheon.”
The rest of the day passed without incident, and when the tea tray was brought in that evening, Lady Packwood announced that it was time and more to visit old Nanny Bates. Nicholas grinned at her, and to Sarah’s surprise, she rounded on him indignantly.
“It is all very well and good for you to laugh, Mr. Impertinence, but I do not like the woman and never have. I should have gone at once to see her and got the business over with, but I didn’t, so now I must. And you will go with me, sir!”
“I am at your service, my lady,” he responded promptly, “but it really won’t be such an ordeal, you know. She must be at least eighty, so she cannot possibly frighten you any longer.”
“Much you know,” scoffed her ladyship. “That woman was an absolute tyrant in the nursery. You can have no notion! Any suggestion I made was promptly labeled ‘new-fangled nonsense,’ and even your father sided with her. Said he had perfect confidence in her, since she had raised a good many more children than I had! Can you believe it? And it didn’t stop when you went away to school either, because Darcy was still here, of course, and. so I had to submit to being reminded to write a letter once a week—though I wrote nearly every day—and to being told not to send you this because it wouldn’t be good for you or to send you that because it would. I tell you, if I hadn’t been a rather strong-minded sort myself, that old witch would have driven me round the bend.”
“But if you don’t like her,” Sarah protested, unable to imagine Lady Packwood afraid of anyone, “why must you visit her?”
“Because one must never be remiss in one’s duties to one’s dependents, my dear,” her ladyship replied simply. “She doesn’t like me any more than I like her, but it would hurt her feelings if I should neglect to visit her, and that would be uncivil of me.” She glanced fondly at her grinning son. “I may roast Nicky for his fusty notions, but there are certain civilities that must never be neglected by those of us in positions of privilege.”
“We shall take Sarah with us,” Nicholas announced. “Colin, too. It should be instructive for them to see you, my dear ma’am, wallowing in terror at the feet of a wiry, sharp-tongued old lady.”
He expressed his disappointment as loudly as his mother expressed her relief the following day, for during the night the clouds rolled across the Common and morning was nearly as dark as midnight. Then, lightning began to flash and thunder to roll, and when the first torrent of rain descended, the expedition to East End village was of a necessity postponed.
The next three days continued the same, and the occupants of both the main house and Dower House passed their time in pursuits suitable to such weather. There was a good deal of cozy conversation and card playing, and the attics of Dower House provided an afternoonful of industry when the three ladies and Colin prepared a detailed inventory of the contents.
The fourth morning dawned sunny and clear, but Lady Packwood insisted that the rainy weather had made the road impassable. When her son shot her a derisive grin, she added that she was sure she had caught a chill as well.
“And mark my word, Nicholas, if I go to visit that woman today, I shall very likely pass my cold to her, and it will develop into inflammation of the lungs, and she will die, and I shall be blamed for it!”
Nicholas laughed at her but did not press the matter, and the late afternoon brought a diversion that provided further respite from the dreaded expedition. Sarah and Miss Penistone were sitting with Lady Packwood by the library fire, ostensibly keeping her company while she nursed her cold. Penny was mending, while Sarah read aloud from a thrilling gothic romance provided by her ladyship, who was knotting a fringe for a lacy shawl, when the hall door was unceremoniously thrust open and Sir Percival strode in, his boot tops spattered with mud, his riding cloak slung over his arm.
“Hello, my sweet,” he said, bending over to kiss his wife’s cheek. “I’ve brought company. Hope his lordship don’t mind.”
“Of course not, my love. How delightful! Who is it?”
“Fellow from my club,” he replied. “Wife, too, though she ain’t in the club, of course. Seems she’s related to Lady Moreland.” He beamed at Sarah and, with an air of producing an unexpected treat, confided, “The name is Hartley, my lady.”
XV
SARAH HAD BEEN SITTING in the wing chair, the book in her lap, but she stared now at Sir Percival, and the color drained from her face. Hearing muffled voices, she looked around the back of the chair toward the open door. At first, she could see only Dasher’s back, but then Lord Hartley came into view as the butler relieved him of his heavy cloak. He, too, was dressed for riding, and Sarah surmised that the two gentlemen must have ridden while Lady Hartley rode in the carriage. Her uncle turned toward her, and she knew he must have seen her, but he gave no sign of it, merely holding out a hand to someone behind him. A moment later, Sarah saw her aunt.
Lady Hartley, a tall woman of majestic proportions who carried herself with exaggerated hauture, was divested of her bonnet and silk-lined traveling cape. She was of an age with Lady Packwood, but the passing years had not been so kind to her; her dark brown hair was streaked with gray, and she had been described by uncharitable persons as “bracket-faced.” Her mauve silk dress was stylish, but she had better sense than to follow fashions which would not suit her
figure, so the pattern was a simple one.
Sir Percival stepped forward to see what was keeping his guests, and Sarah held her breath. A moment later, her aunt and uncle were being formally presented to Lady Packwood and Sarah was on her feet, clutching the book at her waist.
The amenities finished, Lady Hartley nodded briefly to Penny. “How do you do, Miss Penistone,” she said in a tone of former mistress to lowly dependent. “I did not expect to see you here.”
Penny dipped a curtsy. “I am very well, thank you, your ladyship.” She made no reply to the second part of Lady Hartley’s greeting, nor did one seem to be expected, and Lady Hartley turned at last to Sarah. Unsuccessfully, Sarah tried to tell herself that her aunt no longer had any authority over her, that indeed, she outranked that lady and would take precedence over her at any dinner table. It did no good at all. Her knees quaked as that glacial hauture was turned her way.
“You look well enough, Lady Moreland.” Sarah barely stopped herself making the sort of curtsy that had always been demanded of her as a child. Her aunt’s tone and the use of the title made her feelings quite clear to one who had known her from childhood, though Sarah doubted that she sounded anything but chillingly polite to Lady Packwood or Sir Percival.
“Thank you, Aunt Aurelia,” she replied carefully, and unable to think of anything further to say, she was deeply grateful to Sir Percival when he spoke up in his usual fashion.
“Hartley said they hadn’t been here before, my sweet, so I thought why not, and Hartley said ‘delighted’ and was sure his lady would like it, though there were plans in the works for a bolt to Brighton, so I just brought ’em along. You look a bit peckish. Off your feed, are you?”
Lady Packwood smiled at him. “A mere chill from the damp weather, my love. I’m sure it will pass quickly enough. I feel right as a trivet now that you are here, and your surprise will no doubt liven things up a good deal.”
“Daresay it will at that,” he agreed. “Where’s Moreland?”
“Off with Colin somewhere or other,” she told him. “The boy has been storing away energy these past days, and Nicky thought it best to let some of it before Colin gets up to heaven knows what mischief.” She glanced at the visitors. “Do take a seat, Lady Hartley, and you as well, my lord. We shall send Dasher for some refreshment, because I know you must be tired after your journey, though it was not such a long one, of course.”
“Thank you,” replied Lady Hartley loftily, “but I should prefer a cup of tea in my bedchamber, if you don’t mind. I daresay you keep civilized hours here, but I should like to rest a bit and remove the evidence of travel before sitting down to dinner. You needn’t send for a servant to show me the way, however,” she added with a gimlet glance at her niece. “I’m quite certain Sarah will oblige.”
“Of course, Aunt,” Sarah said weakly. She glanced at Miss Penistone and received a sympathetic smile that was somehow not at all encouraging; then, taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, she led the way into the hall and up the stairs. With Lady Hartley marching purposefully along behind her, Sarah thought she knew exactly how the aristocrats in France must have felt when they mounted the steps to face Madame la Guillotine. She had no idea what her aunt would say to her, but there could be no doubt that she was in for the trimming of her life.
The door to the blue guest bedchamber stood ajar, and Sarah caught a glimpse of her aunt’s dresser moving to hang a russet silk gown in the wardrobe. They entered, and Lady Hartley promptly dismissed the woman and turned to face her niece.
“You deserve to be soundly whipped, Sarah.”
Briefly, Sarah considered informing her that Nicholas would no doubt agree with that sentiment, but her aunt had no sense of humor, and Sarah did not trust her not to box her ears for impertinence, so she merely bowed her head meekly before the oncoming storm. However, that would not do for her ladyship.
“Have you nothing to say?”
“Only that I am sorry, Aunt Aurelia.”
“Well, I should think there would be a good deal more than that. What in the world is that book you are clutching so tightly?”
Guiltily, Sarah realized she was still holding the gothic thriller, the exact sort of book she had been most strictly forbidden to read at home, but there seemed no recourse other than to relinquish it when Lady Hartley held out an imperious hand. “Just as I might have thought!” she condemned roundly after a brief glance at the title. “Trash! You should be ashamed of yourself, Sarah, but I daresay ’tis all of a piece. You have behaved altogether disgracefully, and the manner of your husband’s untimely demise has not helped matters.”
“I could not help the way he died, ma’am.”
“Watch your tongue, my girl,” Lady Hartley warned. “It may interest you to know that there have been bets laid in the London clubs as to whether or not you could have helped it.”
Sarah stared at her. She had known there was scandal, but. Nicholas had said nothing of any wagers. “Surely, Aunt Aurelia, no one truly believes I murdered my husband!”
Lady Hartley looked down at her, but there was no softening in the hard, gray eyes. “Gentlemen will make wagers over which raindrop will first reach the bottom of a window pane, Sarah,” she pronounced caustically. “It was surely no great matter to find several who would bet on the possibility of your being a murderess. They certainly did not have to know you to do so. You might have thought of the potential scandal before you ever made plans to meet that deceitful fribble in Bond Street!”
Sarah saw no point in arguing that she could not have been expected to know beforehand that Darcy would be murdered, so she merely apologized again for her thoughtlessness. Lady Hartley was by no means finished with her, however, and said a good deal more that Sarah would have preferred not to hear, but by and large, it was not so bad as she had feared it might be. Although she felt a bit wrung out when she finally left her aunt and went back downstairs, she was also conscious of deep relief at having the dreaded encounter over and done with.
There was still her uncle to be faced, of course, but Lord Hartley, though he had rarely paid her any heed, was a kindly man who preferred a peaceful existence. Beyond making the observation that a sense of duty, spurred by Sir Percival’s very kind invitation, had caused them to put off their visit to Brighton in order to see how she was getting on, he said very little about the matter. Sarah apologized for any embarrassment she might have caused him, but he merely replied that he was sure she would strive in future to be a good girl, and that was that.
It was soon time to dress for dinner, but Sarah returned to the main house alone, since Miss Penistone, for reasons of her own, elected to fend for herself, Nicholas and Colin had returned with barely enough time to change, so their first encounter with the visitors was at table, and once the introductions had been got through, Lady Hartley commented that it was surely unusual for a child as young as Colin to be permitted to dine in company.
“To be sure, my lady,” returned Lady Packwood, “but we consider that it gives him experience in conversing with all manner of persons, you know, and a young man simply cannot have too much experience.”
Lady Packwood’s tone was nearly saccharin, and Lady Hartley gave her a rather sharp look, but the subject was dropped, to Colin’s visible relief, and a new one introduced. On the whole, everyone seemed to be on his or her good behavior, so dinner was not the ordeal that some might have expected it to be. The only difficult moment occurred when Lady Packwood asked her husband cheerfully if he had overheard any interesting on dits while he was in London. Lady Hartley interjected with studied calm that, since her niece seemed to be providing the most interesting ones of late, she rather thought they might speak of something else, if it was all the same to the others.
Nicholas had moved into the breach with experienced ease, but Sarah had no idea later what it was that he had said exactly. She was still appalled by the information that her name was being bandied freely in the London clubs. It had been bad enough to
think that she would be cut by her old friends, should she return to the city. But this was far worse. Something had to be done and as quickly as possible. The murderer must be found!
Feeling a need to have a moment to herself after dinner, she left her aunt and Lady Packwood conversing amicably enough in the library and went out onto the terrace for a breath of fresh air. She walked to the end of the terrace furthest from the library and, hoping the flagstones had been washed clean by the rain, sat down on the edge to have a good think. But even the quiet night under a heaven aglow with stars was not sufficient to induce logical thought, and Sarah’s mind seemed a bumblebath of disconnected fragments. She was at the point of wondering whether it would be worth the inevitable scolds just to take herself off to bed without even saying good night, when a rustle in the shrubbery preceded the appearance of Colin with Erebus at his heels.
Sarah greeted them cheerfully enough, not really surprised to see Colin and thinking that perhaps a chat with him was exactly what she needed. He sat down beside her, and the big dog plumped down at their feet.
“I’m glad that dinner is over,” the boy declared, sotto voice.
She chuckled. “Aunt Aurelia is a rather formidable woman. I told you.”
“Yes, but so is Gram. I kept expecting fireworks.”
“So did I,” Sarah agreed, “but I think they each recognized in the other an opponent who would give as good as she got. Perhaps they decided to spare the rest of us.”
Colin nodded. “What did her ladyship mean about you providing food for gossip in London?”
Sarah sighed, but she could think of no reason that would be acceptable to him for not explaining. He listened carefully, and when she had finished, he seemed disturbed.
“But that’s dreadful. We must find the answer to this mystery.”
