The Widow (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  “Oh yes, but I saw Becky bringing the tea things, so…” She halted, looking from Mrs Caldicott to Nathan and back again, clearly wanting to be introduced, but not quite confident enough to ask for it.

  “Did you?” Mrs Caldicott said, and Nathan could only admire her tone, which was perfectly polite yet tinged with the slightest degree of coolness.

  “Nell, dear,” the intruder began, in a carefully mannered voice, “I am not sure that you should be receiving a gentleman all alone. It is not quite correct, I feel.”

  “How kind of you to be concerned,” Mrs Caldicott said. “However, I am not alone, as you can see. Louis is here.”

  “Oh, Louis!” she said in disparaging tones. Again she looked from one to the other. Mrs Caldicott calmly picked up her tea cup again, and took a delicate sip. Thus dismissed, the woman in lace turned without a word and flounced out of the room.

  “My lodger,” Mrs Caldicott said, with the hint of a smile. Nell... Helen, perhaps, or Eleanor. Nell Caldicott. Mother of Louis. Wife of Jude. Judas the betrayer — how apt.

  Nathan politely made no comment on the lodger, but everything fitted. Mrs Caldicott had not received him in the drawing room, most probably, because she no longer had a drawing room. There was some tension between the two women, though, and he could not guess where that might have its roots. Women’s lives were complicated, and the lodger looked the sort of woman to stand on her dignity. She would not like giving way to Nell, who was so clearly her superior.

  Because he was curious about her, he said, “Where is your family from, Mrs Caldicott?”

  She set the teacup down again. “About fifteen miles from here, a place called Bishopswood Cromby. Just a small village not far from Winchester.”

  At a guess that her father was landed gentry, he said, “Is your father’s estate a large one?”

  She smiled. “Not especially. There are so many fine estates in Hampshire, but I do not think Papa’s was ever accounted one of them. More heathland than good agricultural. My older brother has Daveney Hall now. Sir James Godney. Perhaps you know him?”

  Sir James… a baronet, most likely, of Daveney Hall. He would look it up. “I do not, but then I have never moved in that level of society beyond my own county. Do you see your brother a great deal?”

  “Not at all. We are… estranged.”

  So she could not turn to her brother for help against her husband. “That is a pity,” he said. “And your husband’s family?”

  She simply shook her head.

  “Then you are all alone,” he said.

  “No,” she said quietly. “I have my son. I have a good friend in Mrs Delanoy, whom you met yesterday. I have… my husband. I am very far from alone, I assure you.” She smiled, but he thought it unconvincing, a brave effort that spoke of her dauntless spirit.

  Her words filled him with sorrow. Her only friends were her child, a glorified cook and the man who beat her. She would have no friends in her own level of society, for she could not afford to return hospitality, and she could hardly mingle with the shopkeepers and attorneys of the town. How isolated she must be! She was indeed all alone.

  But he could not express such thoughts, so he said only, “It is always sad when families are torn apart, and old grievances held for far too long, as in my cousin’s case. There was a quarrel when he was thought to have married beneath him, after which he stormed back to London and was never heard from again, apart from his one letter a year to his mother. It is hard to imagine a catastrophe of such magnitude that the breach can never be healed.”

  “Men can be stubborn sometimes,” she said with a slight smile, and he wondered if she was thinking of her husband. “At least your cousin has written to his mother, so she knows he is well. He is kind, even if he chooses to live his life in his own way.”

  “That is how I view the matter, too,” he said, pleased to find their opinions in such good accord. “This is an excellent tea, Mrs Caldicott. I shall have to tell my housekeeper to buy some Pekoe.”

  It was, he thought, as pleasant an hour as any he had passed. The tea, the cake and the company were all excellent, and although Mrs Caldicott was loath to talk about herself, he gleaned a few nuggets about her husband — that he came from Ireland, that he was not yet forty and that he had owned his own ships at one time, but was now a paid employee, not an owner. That accounted for the family’s state of poverty, he supposed.

  At length, propriety dictated that he could stay no longer. When he rose to take his leave, Mrs Caldicott said, “Thank you so much for the conversation, Mr Harbottle, as much as the tea and book. I have greatly enjoyed your visit today, and if ever you are in Southampton in the future, I hope you will call again. I wish you success in your search for your cousin.”

  “You are most kind, and may I likewise thank you for your company.” He bowed. “I have rarely been so well entertained.” She acknowledged the compliment with a gentle inclination of the head. He hesitated, then, but he could not leave without a word on the matter which most worried him. Impulsively, he raced on. “Mrs Caldicott, do you still have the card I gave you yesterday?”

  “Oh, certainly.”

  In a low voice so the child would not hear, he went on hastily, “Pray keep it by you and… if ever you stand in need of a friend, one who wishes for nothing but your welfare, then you may write to me and I will come to you, wherever you are. Or you may come to me at York, if you prefer. Purely as a friend, you understand, one who wishes you well and will do all in his power to ensure it.”

  She did not pretend to misunderstand him. Her eyes widened, and at one point she opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. At the end, she merely nodded, not looking him in the eye.

  After a few words with Louis, and a final farewell to the lady herself, he left the house and walked slowly back to his hotel. He had done all that he could. Now it only remained to finish his packing and try very hard not to think of those fading bruises and the husband who would be home before too long.

  3: Coming Home

  Nell retrieved the card from the mantel, where it had been propped up behind the clock. ‘N Harbottle, Davygate, York’ A gentleman, and wealthy enough to spend two years jaunting around England searching for a cousin he had never met. And he would protect her, that was the intent behind his words. He would protect her from Jude, as a friend. That was not the usual meaning of the word, though. A man protected his family — his parents, his sisters, his younger brothers, his wife and his own children. A man also protected his mistress, yet she did not think he meant his offer in that way. Purely as a friend. That was what he had said, and he seemed like an honourable man. And if she were desperate… she tucked the card away in her work basket.

  Louis could not be torn away from his book, so Nell sat down at the instrument and played for a while. Music soothed her when nothing else could. When she had been so ill, Kitty Sherrard had come every day and played for her, while Nell lay prostrate on the Louis XVI duchesse brisée, and it had somehow made everything a little better. Kitty was gone now, replaced by the haughty Theresa, and Lydia Lloyd’s silk-clad behind rested on the duchesse brisée. The grand piano, so far as she could tell, was never played at all, while Nell made do with a battered old thing that had been one of Jude’s earliest apologies. At least she had a pianoforte to play.

  After a while, her mind began to drift while her fingers played on, unregarded. ‘N Harbottle, Davygate, York’ Nigel, perhaps. Neville. Norman. A gentleman who looked at her with clear admiration in his eyes. A gentleman who made her feel like a lady again. A gentleman with a housekeeper to order his tea, and a place in society. Unlike Nell. She who had once been—

  No, no, no. She would not repine. She had made her choices, made her mistakes and now she paid for them. There was so much to be thankful for — her son, her home and a husband who loved her, sometimes. She would not repine. It was best not to think too much, so she forced herself to play a harder piece that required her total concentrat
ion.

  Becky had to cough to gain her attention. “Beg pardon, madam, but a note came from Mr Sherrard.” She had remembered the salver this time.

  Nell grabbed the paper and unfolded it with shaking hands. ‘Mrs Caldicott, Please be informed that the Minerva arrived in Dublin on Monday last, and is scheduled to depart for home today, Wednesday. Flack’ From Mr Flack, the secretary. Just a routine note. Her racing pulse settled a little.

  “Is it good news, Mama?” Louis said.

  “The best,” she said brightly. “Papa is on his way home. His ship will be in port early on Saturday.”

  “Hooray!” Louis shrieked, racing round the room in excitement. “Now we can have proper dinners again.”

  Oh, the honesty of childhood! To him, his father’s return meant only that dinner would be more elaborate, with removes and wine and puddings. Not that Louis ate much, but he loved the ceremony of dinner, the candles and crystal glasses and conversation. Jude was always at his most charming at dinner, witty and slightly flirtatious and urbane. To see him thus, no one would ever suspect his darker side.

  Nell rose from the piano stool. “Thank you, Becky. Tell Mrs Delanoy that I will come down directly to discuss arrangements. Remind her that Jude and I will be at the Sherrards’ ball on Saturday night.”

  There was a decided bustle about the household in preparation for the master’s return. The maids cleaned and polished with gusto, Maria planned special dishes for dinner, and precious bottles of Madeira and claret were brought up from the cellar. Everyone smiled and said how lovely it would be to have Jude home again, and how fortunate the weather was so settled for the time of year, so as not to delay his return. Yet their eyes did not quite meet Nell’s, and there was a brittle edge to all the busyness, the studied activity of those who were pretending that everything was as it should be.

  Nell’s immediate concern was prosaic — what on earth was she to wear? She looked at her wardrobe with despair.

  “A new ribbon for your hair, perhaps?” Maria said timidly.

  Nell heaved a great sigh. “I cannot justify the cost. Besides, he has not been away for long this time — only three weeks. He will not expect me to have anything new.”

  “No, but—” Maria stopped, but she did not need to go on. Nell remembered all too vividly the last time she had displayed no improvement to her appearance when Jude returned from a trip.

  “I have one or two ribbons I have not worn much,” she said at length. “That might work.”

  “There are some I bought for the girls,” Maria said. “If you will allow it?”

  “Maria, you have so little…”

  “But you have given me so much,” Maria said quietly, resting one hand on Nell’s arm. “Please accept a little gift in return.” Then, after a brief hesitation, she said firmly, “You know it is better if—”

  “Very well,” Nell said quickly. “But a loan only, just for a few days.” Just until the excitement of Jude’s return had died down. Just until they knew his mood. Or until he went away again. Sometimes — most times — he arrived in good humour after a successful trip, and nothing occurred to throw him into a rage. Most times his leave passed uneventfully. But sometimes… it was as well to take every precaution.

  The meals were settled, the house smelt of lavender and beeswax, and Nell had new ribbons on an old gown, and more for her hair. Then she waited for the Brig Minerva to bring Jude Caldicott home.

  ~~~~~

  Nathan hated London, but it was an inevitable part of travelling from south to north. Every major coach road led to the capital, and so his journey from Southampton to Yorkshire brought him to London first. At least he did not have to put up at an hotel or inn, for he had a good friend to turn to.

  Harry Smethurst was a Yorkshire man who represented an East Riding constituency as a Member of Parliament. He was not a conventionally handsome man, nor did he dress in the manner of the London dandies. He looked exactly what he was — the son of the Squire, descendant of a long line of Squires, solid, worthy men, the heart of England. Having objected to the dilatory record of his local Member of Parliament, on a whim he had stood himself and, to everyone’s astonishment, not least his own, had been elected by the farmers and burghers of his constituency. Ever since, he had diligently represented their interests, living in two rooms in a cheap quarter of town when Parliament was sitting, and quietly making a name for himself. After some years of laboriously climbing the ladder of his chosen profession, he had recently been taken up by a noble patron, who had provided him with spacious accommodation.

  “This is excessively comfortable, Harry,” Nathan said, admiring an elegant vase on the mantel. “Every convenience provided. How many rooms do you have?”

  “Drawing room, dining room, study and three bedrooms, as well as the usual domestic offices. You should see the kitchen, Nathan. The cook I have engaged was almost in tears at the sight of it. I have had no hand in any of it, for it is all Lady Carrbridge’s doing. She likes to be busy with a project, seemingly, so she saw to all the refurbishments.”

  “She has excellent taste,” Nathan said, adjusting his neckcloth minutely with the aid of a gilt-edged mirror. “Lord, how grand you are getting, Harry, mingling with the likes of Lord and Lady Carrbridge. But you are made, now, my friend. You may consider marriage at last.”

  Harry flushed, and gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t know about that, Nathan. I shall have to see how my finances stretch now that my expenses are so much higher. I am expected to entertain, you know.”

  “And a wife would be the perfect aid to such an enterprise,” Nathan said. “Surely you will—”

  “I must wait and see,” Harry said quickly. “Did you read all the letters that were awaiting you? Two from your aunt — she is keen for news.”

  “My cousin is unwell, so she is in rather a flap. If he dies—”

  “Ah, yes. And you had no luck in Southampton? You must have just about exhausted the possibilities on the south coast.”

  “I have just about exhausted the possibilities everywhere,” Nathan said gloomily. “There are one or two places in East Anglia, perhaps, but after that I must either start investigating the foreign ports or abandon the search altogether.”

  “That fellow you set to work through the shipping lists, has he—?”

  Nathan gave a shake of his head. “Nothing, and I ask everywhere for a blond man of three and forty, formerly in the navy but there are none to be found. There is always some feature amiss — the hair is dark, or the eyes are green, or the fellow is not yet forty. And hardly a one who was ever in the navy. How is it that so few men quit the navy?”

  “A career for life, I suppose,” Harry said, with an indifferent lift of one shoulder. “Better financial prospects? A man can make his fortune in the navy. Shall we dine at the club this evening, since Mrs Pickles is not expecting you? But you will stay until Monday, I hope? You will not set out again on a Saturday and kick your heels at some dreadful inn on the Sabbath when you could be enjoying a fine shoulder of beef with me instead.”

  Nathan agreed to it, and the two men dressed for dinner and made their way to Brooks’s for the evening. When they had finished their meal in the club’s opulent dining room, and were lingering over the port, reluctant to move, Harry said, “You are very quiet, Nathan. Something bothering you?”

  “A little, but there is nothing to be done about it.”

  “Come now, unburden yourself. You will feel better, even if the problem remains intractable.”

  Nathan gave a small laugh. “Well, then, there was a woman in Southampton— No, no, do not jump to any conclusions, I beg you, for you would be far out. A lady, I should say, for she is very much so. I never saw anyone so graceful in her movements, or so elegantly mannered. She could move in the highest circles in the land without disgrace.”

  “A paragon indeed! You are inspiring me to jump to some very particular conclusions. Is she beautiful?”

  “I never saw a more beaut
iful woman.”

  “Aha!”

  “No, no, you must not say ‘Aha!’ in that suspicious way, for she is married, and my interest is not in that direction at all. My tastes have never leaned towards the cool and ladylike, as you well know, although I cannot imagine a man alive who would not admire her, as one might admire a great painting or an exquisite jewel. Her husband is away at sea, but she was so gracious as to answer my enquiries about Felix. She received me very kindly, and behaved with perfect correctness, and yet… her face sported the remains of several ugly bruises.”

  “What!”

  “She had tried to hide them, of course. One about the throat was almost hidden by the ruff of her gown, and there was another concealed by the lace on her cap, only visible when she moved her head just so. But about her eye, the bruising could not be concealed. And there was just such a constraint in her voice when she spoke about her husband that I could not doubt the truth.”

  “Who is this man who beats his wife so?”

  “He is a sea captain, a former naval captain.”

  “An officer! That is despicable,” Harry said, in genuine shock.

  “Exactly so. Yet what can I do? She is estranged from her own family, and from his too, it seems, and no one can interfere between husband and wife, if she makes no complaint against him. Such things occur amongst the lower orders who have not been brought up to the behaviour expected of a gentleman, but not amongst our class, one would hope.”

  “Some men treat their wives abominably,” Harry said seriously, “yet they do not hit them. That is beyond the pale of acceptable behaviour towards a gently-born lady.”

  “Exactly!” Nathan cried. “Yet what is to be done? Nothing at all! Nothing to protect her from such abuse, nor to encourage her to make a complaint to the constables.”

  “No, that would not help. Poor lady! I suppose she cannot leave the wretch?”

  “She has nowhere to go — no family or friends, and to abandon the shelter of her husband’s roof would put her beyond the reach of respectable society. Her future would be bleak indeed.”