A Mother's Secret

by Dilly Court

  ‘Good heavens, no.’ Cassy almost choked on a strawberry tartlet. ‘I mean, I never expected anything like this, my lady. I know I’m a charity girl and I’m truly grateful for everything you’ve done for me . . .’ She broke off in astonishment at the sight of tears rolling unchecked down Lady Davenport’s pale cheeks. ‘Have I said something to upset you, ma’am?’

  Lady Davenport plucked a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed her eyes. ‘No, of course not, my dear. I’m just a little tired. Will you go outside and ask the doorman to find us a cab? I should like to go home now.’

  In the days and weeks that followed, Cassy gradually settled into life as a lady’s maid in the chaotic household in Duke Street. Although she had nothing to do with the house guests, it would have been impossible to ignore their existence. There were dinner parties every evening and drunken carousing which went on well into the night. The smell of tobacco smoke and a substance that Cassy recognised as opium from her days in the East End hung about the reception rooms in a thick cloud each morning, together with the odour of stale wine and strong spirits. Strange people wandered about the house, some still wearing evening dress at midday, and others were to be found slumped in the hallway waiting to be helped into hansom cabs by Harris. On certain occasions Potter had to be summoned from the stables to exercise his muscle on those who were reluctant to leave. Poulton was the overseer of these physical ejections and his stoic expression barely hid his obvious contempt for Flora Montessori’s guests.

  Lady Davenport took no part in the late night parties. Cassy was aware that she graced the dinner table in deference to her sister-in-law, but more often than not against her own wishes, and when she returned to her room Cassy was waiting there to help her undress. Although she never uttered a word of complaint, Cassy knew that Lady Davenport was not happy with her current situation. Questions buzzed round in her head like a hive filled with bees. Why had she not accompanied Sir Geoffrey on his trip to Brussels? Why had he seen fit to close up the house in South Audley Street? And was he aware of the invidious position in which he had placed his wife? Cassy did not think that the Montessori household was a suitable home for her mistress. In the short time she had been with Lady Davenport, Cassy had become her devoted admirer. She would have walked through fire if it had been of benefit to her idol.

  But if Cassy had learned anything in Miss North’s academy, it was fortitude. She could do nothing to alter a difficult situation other than look after her mistress and attend her every need. In return, Lady Davenport had seen to it that Cassy had little to do with the rest of the servants and was kept safe from possible prejudice and spiteful tittle-tattle. She took her meals alone in the morning parlour, and these were brought to her by Nancy, who was now the parlour maid. Cassy remembered her only too well and her friend Clara, the scullery maid who, Nancy said, had left some time ago to marry the butcher’s boy. He had been compelled to make an honest woman of her when it was discovered that she was in the family way. There had been quite a to-do at the time and it was said that Poulton put pressure on the butcher, threatening to stop patronising his shop unless the boy married his pregnant sweetheart.

  Nancy had been pleased to pass on this titbit of gossip on Cassy’s first day in the house, and each time she brought Cassy her meals she complained bitterly about something or someone. The house guests came in for the most savage criticism, and in her opinion their appetite for food and drink was going to bankrupt Mrs Fulford-Browne. The servants, she added, refused to call Madam by the outlandish Italian name. Her husband was a rake and a gambler, intent on ruining his wife and spending her fortune. It was rumoured that he had done this before, marrying rich older women in order to get his hands on their money. It was all the talk below stairs. ‘Foreigners and play actors,’ Nancy said with a curl of her lip. ‘Musicians and artists, they’re all the same. He fills the house with his cronies, who eat like horses and they drink like fishes. We’ll all be in the poorhouse if this goes on. You don’t know what you let yourself in for, Cassy my girl. This house is facing ruin. We’re all looking for positions elsewhere. If you’ve got any sense you’ll get out while the going is good.’

  ‘You shouldn’t pass on this sort of gossip,’ Cassy said severely. ‘Lady Davenport has been good to me and I’ll never leave her.’

  ‘Good luck to you then,’ Nancy said, shrugging her thin shoulders. ‘She’ll be the next one to lose everything. It’s well known that Sir Geoffrey lives above his income. He don’t come from landed gentry although he chooses to live like a toff. It’s said that he plays the stock market and he’ll end up in Carey Street with his sister and the gigolo. It won’t be long before your fine lady will be forced to earn her own living like the rest of us. Mark my words.’

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘What do you mean – dead?’ Belinda sank down onto the nearest chair. The drawing room had begun to spin around her in wearisome circles as she tried to assimilate the young man’s words.

  ‘Where’s my sal volatile?’ Flora murmured. ‘I don’t know who needs it the most.’ She stared at her brother’s aide, who had brought the horrific news that Sir Geoffrey had been found dead of gunshot wounds in his Brussels apartment. ‘Are you certain of your facts, sir?’

  ‘It must be a mistake,’ Belinda murmured, holding her hand to her head. ‘Geoffrey wouldn’t commit suicide. He just wouldn’t do a thing like that, Alastair.’

  ‘I was closer to Sir Geoffrey than most, Lady Davenport,’ he said gently. ‘He has been under a great strain recently.’

  ‘Alastair Kennedy, stop shilly-shallying and tell us the truth,’ Flora snapped. ‘Did my brother deliberately take his own life or was he murdered?’

  ‘There was no one else involved, ma’am. The Belgian police are certain of that.’ Alastair ran his finger round the inside of his high shirt collar, the starched points appearing to be in danger of cutting into his throat as he gulped and swallowed. ‘I’m terribly sorry to be the bearer of such sad tidings.’

  ‘But why?’ Belinda struggled to make sense of his words. ‘Why would my husband do such a thing? If only he’d allowed me to accompany him to Brussels this would never have happened.’

  ‘My lady,’ Alastair began tentatively, ‘I think there may be circumstances of which you are unaware.’

  Flora reached for a silver vinaigrette half hidden beneath a pile of papers on a table at her side. She flicked it open and inhaled the pungent fumes. ‘You mean that he was deep in debt and facing bankruptcy. We aren’t children, Alastair. I think Belinda and I deserve to be told the truth, even if it is painful.’

  ‘I believe it was so, ma’am.’ Alastair bowed his head, staring down at the top hat clasped tightly in his hands, his knuckles showing white above the black brim. ‘I am not fully conversant with the exact details.’

  ‘But that can’t be true.’ Belinda rose shakily to her feet and began pacing the floor. ‘The house in South Audley Street must be worth hundreds of pounds, and then there are stocks and shares, apart from my husband’s salary.’

  ‘Ma’am, it’s not for me to say.’ Alastair cast a pleading look at Flora.

  She shook her head. ‘I only know that Geoffrey was just as much a gambler in his way as my present husband, except that Leonardo plays the tables and Geoffrey dabbled in the stock market. There’s little difference between the two of them as far as I can see.’ She sent the pile of papers flying up into the air with a careless sweep of her hand. ‘Bills – all of them unpaid. I wish that Leonardo would take the coward’s way out and shoot himself before he runs through my entire fortune.’

  Belinda came to a halt, staring at Flora in horror. ‘That’s a dreadful thing to say, even for you; especially when you’ve just lost your only brother.’

  ‘We were never close. He was a little sneak who used to delight in telling tales on me and getting me into trouble. I’ve still got the scars on my backside from being caned thanks to his tittle-tattling to Father.’

  Alastair
shifted from one foot to the other, a dull flush suffusing his pale cheeks. ‘Perhaps I should leave now, ladies. I have to report to the Foreign Office. As you can imagine there are many questions that have to be answered.’

  Belinda turned to him with an attempt at a smile. ‘You were devoted to my husband, Alastair, and I’m grateful for everything that you tried to do for him.’

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘If I can ever be of service to you, my lady, you have only to send for me and I’ll come at once.’

  ‘I know that, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.’ She averted her eyes so that he would not see the tears welling up in them. She knew that her emotions were in a fragile state and at any moment she might break down in an outpouring of grief and guilt. Grief for the death of the man who had been her husband for more than a decade, and the feelings of guilt which had plagued her since marrying Geoffrey when she knew that she did not and could never love him.

  ‘Will you be all right, ma’am?’ Alastair asked anxiously. ‘Perhaps you ought to go to your room and lie down? Should I summon your maid?’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Flora said irritably. ‘She’s not as delicate as you think. A tot of cognac will do the trick. Ring the bell for the maid, Alastair, and then go about your business. We’ll wait for the foreign minister to arrive in person and offer his condolences. Or will the whole sorry affair be brushed under the red carpet?’ Her hollow laughter echoed round the room as he made a hasty retreat, casting an apologetic smile in Belinda’s direction as he tugged at the bell pull on his way out.

  As the door closed on him, Belinda spun round to face her sister-in-law. ‘That was cruel and uncalled for. You know how devoted he was to Geoffrey.’

  ‘The fellow is a toady and a social climber. He’ll probably end up with Geoffrey’s position in the Foreign Office. Maybe he loaded the gun, who knows?’

  Belinda gasped in horror. ‘What a thing to say. You know it’s not true.’

  ‘Of course it’s not,’ Flora said wryly, ‘but being waspish makes me feel a bit better about my own position. Leonardo has just about ruined me, Belle. He married me for my money, that’s perfectly clear to me now, and it serves me right for being a conceited old woman who wouldn’t admit that her attractiveness to men was now purely financial. I don’t know about Geoffrey, who was always a weakling, but perhaps I should put a gun to my head too.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Flora. All is not lost. I have the house in South Audley Street and my jewels must be worth something.’ She plucked the diamond earrings from her ears, holding them in the palm of her hand. ‘Take them, please. You’ve given me a roof over my head since Geoffrey went abroad.’

  Flora shook her head. ‘Paste, my dear. I’ve always suspected that they were fakes.’

  ‘No,’ Belinda cried in horror. ‘These were a wedding present from my husband. He wouldn’t have been so false.’

  ‘I expect the originals were real enough, Belle. But you’re such an innocent. Didn’t you suspect anything when he kept taking your diamonds back to the jeweller?’

  ‘They were to be cleaned and polished,’ Belinda said helplessly. ‘Geoffrey said so.’

  ‘They were being copied in paste and base metal, my dear. Any fool can see that those aren’t real diamonds, and as to your house – did he never tell you that it was rented? It isn’t being renovated, even I knew that. There are new tenants living in South Audley Street.’

  ‘But why didn’t you tell me? How could you let me go on believing that everything was all right?’ Belinda clasped her hands to her chest as sobs racked her slender body. ‘How could you be so cruel?’

  ‘To tell you the truth would have been like pulling the wings off a butterfly,’ Flora said tersely. ‘You’re such a baby. A spoilt child idolised by your papa and cosseted by my brother. You’ve never had to face the real world, Belle. But I fear all that is about to change.’

  ‘No. I can’t believe that Geoffrey wouldn’t have made provision for me, for both of us if it comes to that. You’ll see I’m right when the Will is read.’

  A sharp rap on the door prevented Flora from replying. ‘Enter.’

  Nancy burst into the room, her face alight with curiosity. She bobbed a curtsey. ‘Yes, ma’am?’

  ‘Brandy,’ Flora said. ‘Bring the decanter over here and two glasses.’

  Nancy shot a sidelong glance at Belinda as she carried out Flora’s instructions. It was obvious to Belinda that the servants had already heard the news and were prepared for the worst. She took a deep breath, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘I expect the news of my husband’s death is common knowledge in the servants’ hall, Nancy?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. We was all very sorry to hear of your loss, ma’am.’

  ‘And if you breathe a word of the circumstances of my brother’s demise outside this house there will be, in common parlance, hell to pay,’ Flora said, tossing back a tot of brandy. ‘Pour me another and then get back to your work.’

  With a mutinous look on her face, Nancy did as she was told. She shot a pitying glance at Belinda as she left the room after being dismissed by a casual wave of Flora’s hand.

  ‘Really, Flora,’ Belinda protested. ‘Is is necessary to speak to the servants in that way? The poor girl was only trying to be kind.’

  ‘Nonsense. They’ll be gossiping their heads off below stairs. You have to keep them in line, Belle. Didn’t Geoffrey teach you anything?’

  ‘He was a kind man and he always treated everyone with great consideration,’ Belinda said angrily. ‘I won’t allow you to speak ill of the dead, even if he was your brother.’

  ‘Just you wait and see,’ Flora said, sipping her brandy. ‘He may be dead but this act of cowardice will not be forgotten by those in high places, who will be suffering enormous embarrassment. Suicide, in case you’ve forgotten, is a criminal act and my dear brother has created a scandal that will live long after his bones have turned to dust.’

  The funeral was a quiet affair, hushed up by those in authority and conducted under the cover of darkness in a small church south of the river. The arrangements had been made by Geoffrey’s superiors, and Belinda suspected that a sizeable sum of money had been donated to the church funds in return for his interment in consecrated ground. Against all advice, Belinda had insisted on attending. Flora had refused to accompany her at first, but she relented at the last minute.

  Heavily veiled and leaning on Alastair’s arm, Belinda stood at the graveside, scarcely able to believe that it was her husband who lay cold and dead in the simple oak coffin. As the last words of the funeral service drifted off into the night air, she tossed a handful of soil onto the coffin, and the vicar closed his prayer book with a snap that reverberated off the flint church walls like a pistol shot. An owl flew overhead shrieking its hunting cry, and a chill breeze whipped through the trees that surrounded the graveyard, sighing and sending down a shower of dead leaves. The first sign of autumn, Belinda thought inconsequentially. Summer was over and winter was on its way bringing hardship to those least equipped to deal with harsh conditions. It was a fitting metaphor for her present situation. She had enjoyed a life of ease and luxury but that was about to end. Flora’s dire predictions had proved to be only too accurate. Earlier in the day Sir Geoffrey’s solicitor had informed them that his client had left nothing but debts. The furniture from the house in South Audley Street, which had been put in store while the supposed refurbishment was carried out, had been seized by the bailiffs. They had also paid a visit to the establishment in Duke Street and would have taken Belinda’s jewels if Flora had not had the forethought to conceal the more valuable pieces in her own jewellery casket. The bailiff had left with a handful of paste replicas, worth very little when compared to the original precious metals and gems, but to Belinda it had felt like being stripped naked in public. Her humiliation had been complete.

  ‘Come, my lady,’ Alastair said gently. ‘It’s cold and you must be chilled to th
e bone. Let me help you to the carriage.’

  ‘Yes, do stop daydreaming, Belle,’ Flora said briskly. ‘I could do with a glass of hot rum punch to take away the taste of soil and sewage which fills the air in this dreadful spot. No one in their right mind comes south of the river. If Geoffrey weren’t already dead I could kill him for putting us through this farce.’ With a defiant swish of her black cloak, she marched off towards the waiting carriage.

  ‘She doesn’t mean it,’ Belinda said, slipping her hand through the crook of Alastair’s arm. ‘My sister-in-law is distraught and she doesn’t know what she’s saying.’

  ‘I understand, my lady. It’s a bad business and no mistake.’

  Belinda clung to his arm as they made their way across the rough ground with only the glimmer of the coach lamps to light their path. Alastair had been a pillar of strength since he first broke the news of Geoffrey’s suicide to them, and she realised only now that she had given little thought to his situation. ‘What will you do, Alastair? Will my husband’s actions have any effect on your career?’

  ‘I’m being sent to the British Government House in Cairo. It’s a junior position, but it’s all valuable experience.’ He handed her into the carriage and climbed in to sit beside Flora, who twitched her skirts away as if to emphasise the fact that he was a subordinate and should think himself privileged to ride in their company.

  Belinda reached across to pat his hand. ‘You’ve been such a comfort to me through all this, Alastair. I haven’t thanked you for sending word to Ollie. I really couldn’t face telling him that his father had died in such a way, even by letter.’

  ‘The boy is tougher than you imagine, Belle,’ Flora said, taking a flask from her reticule and taking a sip of its contents. She offered it to Belinda. ‘It’s good cognac, the best thing for keeping chills at bay.’