The Widow (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  Finally, she found the cameo portrait of her that Jude had had made not long after they married — ‘So I shall always have you next to my heart, wherever I travel,’ he had said, and so it was, even now, carefully tucked into an inside pocket. How could she ever have doubted his love? She had seen the way he looked at her, the tenderness in his voice and his hands, the sincerity when he had told her she was his own dear love, that he had never loved anyone but her. Whoever his mistress might be, it was Nell he had loved, at least in the early days. Those first years together, when everything had gone well, then he had loved her truly. The cameo, kept next to his heart even as he slept, proved it beyond doubt. He had promised to sit for his own cameo for Nell to keep next to her heart, but somehow he never had, and now she had no image of him except the one in her mind.

  That could be remedied. Impulsively she went downstairs to retrieve her box of charcoals from the morning room, and one of her last few sheets of drawing paper. After looking in on the sleeping Louis, she returned to her room, cleared the desk of bills and money, and settled to her task. It was not easy to draw a man who was not there. She had a thousand images of him in her head, but they seemed ephemeral, skittering away from her as soon as she tried to focus on them. For every memory of a happy, smiling, loving Jude there was another, harsher, vision that drove it away. How could she capture Jude as she wanted to remember him? He had been a loving husband only part of the time, and latterly hardly at all.

  But as a father… he had always been a loving father. He had never been angry with Louis, or even impatient. His face had always softened as he looked at him. ‘He reminds me of myself as a boy,’ he had said once. ‘Oh, not in looks, and certainly not in brains, for I was never clever, but in little mannerisms. The sound of his voice, that little cough sometimes when he wants your attention but dislikes interrupting. The way he can do things just as well with either hand. The way he throws dice up in the air and catches them again.’ And she had laughed and said, yes, she had noticed that. The remembrance made her smile.

  So she went through to Louis’ room, and sat on the floor beside the bed while he slept, the only room in the house not tainted by Jude’s rages. There she drew her only portrait of her dead husband. When she had finished, she tucked it away in the box in her dressing table drawer, and heaved a sigh of satisfaction, feeling that, in some strange sense, Jude had been laid to rest now. Her bedroom still oppressed her, and perhaps always would, but she felt a little lighter of heart.

  She picked up the waistcoat, intending to take it down to Becky to be cleaned, for it was in good condition, and could be sold if the salt could be got off it. There was still a heaviness about it. She sat down again, and once more went through the pockets. Nothing. But her fingers could feel something solid through the lining, so she examined the pockets more closely, and found a concealed pocket within another one. When she tipped it up, out slithered a metal key.

  The key to Jude’s locked box under the bed. Did she dare open it and rummage through his most private possessions? What might she find in there? She had discovered enough secrets in Jude’s life already, and she was very sure she wanted no more. But the household account books were in there, and those she did need. She would do it! She would know the worst of her husband. Before she could change her mind, she dragged the box out from under the bed, unlocked it and threw up the lid.

  There were the account books in a neat pile, strapped together. But on top of the pile, tucked under the strap, was a letter, written in a hand she did not recognise, and sealed with an unfamiliar seal.

  It was addressed to ‘AB, Percharden House, Sagborough, West Riding of Yorkshire’.

  Who was ‘AB’? She knew of no one by those initials, nor did she know of anyone living in Sagborough. It was a puzzle.

  The rest of the box contained only Jude’s naval uniform — another puzzle, for if he had never been in the navy, why did he have the uniform of a captain in his possession? — and a small notebook in which were meticulously recorded the payments of two hundred pounds, which began more than twenty years ago and ceased at Christmas last. On the first page was inscribed: ‘Payments to EP.’

  Now she knew that Jude’s mistress had the initials ‘EP’.

  13: An Unexpected Visitor

  With Jude’s salary in her possession, Nell spent two days visiting all the shops and warehouses and suppliers patronised by the family and settling the bills. Everywhere she went, she was greeted with undisguised delight. “So happy to see you out and about again,” they said with wide smiles. “So very sorry to hear of Captain Caldicott’s demise, but now we have the pleasure of your visits to look forward to.” And in every shop, she was given a little parcel of ribbons or sultanas or a jar of beeswax. “In gratitude for your custom,” they said, with many bows.

  “You did not give my husband such a gift when he settled up with you,” she said to the grocer, as she thanked him for the little packet of tea.

  “Ah, no,” he admitted. “But it is different with a gentleman, is it not?”

  “Is it?”

  “Oh, indeed. A gentleman will often question the bill in the greatest detail. The flour was not of the usual standard. The butter became rancid very quickly. And so on. A gentleman sees it as a matter of business, naturally. So there were adjustments to be made, you see. But a lady— ah, a lady is very different. So happy to see you looking so well, Mrs Caldicott,” the grocer added. “And such wonderful news about this Benefactor. A thousand pounds! What a princely sum!”

  “Indeed it is,” she murmured.

  “There is to be a service of thanksgiving at St Michael’s for his benevolence,” the grocer said.

  “Or hers,” Nell said.

  “Hmm? Oh, oh yes, indeed.”

  As so often when she went out, Louis insisted on accompanying her, which resulted in his pockets filling up with small, sweet items. He did not normally have much of an appetite, but he had a sweet tooth, and exhibited an unaccustomed bounce in his step as they returned home.

  “Why is there a man sitting on our steps?” he said as they drew near.

  “I am more curious to know why he is drinking a cup of tea there,” Nell said, bemused.

  “Who is he?”

  “I have not the least idea.”

  The man jumped up as they drew near, setting his cup and saucer carefully on the step. “There you are!” he cried, smiling broadly at Nell. “And this must be Louis. I am very pleased to meet you at last.”

  “But who are you?” Louis said, with all the directness of youth.

  The man laughed. “Your mama knows.”

  For a moment Nell floundered. A young man of seventeen or eighteen years of age, tall, well-formed and with the sort of handsome countenance and easy manners as would please any young lady of similar age. Well dressed, although more for comfort than fashion. Hands with delicate, slender fingers that… that she recognised!

  “Jack? Jack! Is it truly you? You were Louis’ age when last I saw you. Oh, Jack!”

  It was as well that he had put down his tea cup, for she hurled herself at him, throwing her arms as far round him as she could reach, scattering parcels in all directions. He scooped her up in a great bear hug, and then swung her off her feet and spun her round.

  “How are you, sis? Lord, you have got so thin and peaky looking.”

  “And you have got—” She stopped, trying to catch her breath. “Great Heavens, Jack, you are so big! How you have grown!”

  “True. Children do that, you know. Turn your back for nine years, and they shoot up like weeds.”

  “So they do,” she said, beaming at him. “Louis, this is your Uncle Jack Godney, my younger brother.”

  “How do you do, sir,” Louis said politely, making him a bow. Jack swept off his hat and made a sweeping bow in return.

  “But what are you doing drinking tea on my doorstep?” Nell said. “You always went your own way, but that is eccentric, even by your standards.”

&nbs
p; That brought another easy laugh. “Ah well, I am instructed, on pain of some terrible penalty, not to cross your threshold. Now normally James’s prohibitions would not trouble me greatly, but he knows me of old, and made me swear that I would not — on the Bible, no less! No ordinary swearing, this! And so here I am, sitting upon but not crossing your threshold, according to my given word. Your maid was so very kind as to supply me with refreshments while I awaited your return.” He turned and beamed genially at Becky, hovering just inside the front door. She blushed, and bobbed a distracted curtsy. James had always been possessed of a casual charm, even as a boy, but clearly that power was not one whit diminished in the adult.

  “I am astonished that James allowed you to come here at all,” Nell said.

  “He did not want to, I assure you, but I told him I was coming whether he approved or not, and that if he tried to prevent me I should burn the house down around his stubborn ears. He was sufficiently in doubt of the outcome not to put it to the test.” He gurgled with merriment. “James is so easy to lead by the nose. Papa was much harder to gull. But we cannot talk on the street. Is there an inn where we may be comfortable?”

  “The Dolphin Hotel, just round the corner.”

  “Then let us leave your purchases with your charming maid, and go there directly.” The blushing Becky helped him to gather all the fallen packages, then watched them go from the top of the steps.

  It was a full year since Nell had been inside the Dolphin Hotel to attend the Sherrards’ ball, and she had never been a regular patron. Nevertheless, she was recognised the instant she walked in. Jack secured a private room for them, ordered food and drink with great liberality and sat down opposite her with a huge grin on his face. Nell thought her own grin must almost match his. After her cold reception at Daveney Hall, she had never expected further notice from her family, but she had forgotten that Jack had always done as he pleased.

  Louis watched his uncle with wide, unblinking eyes, not sure what to make of this previously unknown uncle. Nell had never talked much to him about his kin, for it had seemed cruel to talk about people he would never meet. Now in the space of a few weeks, he had met a whole swathe of relations.

  “Jack, I cannot tell you how happy it makes me that you have come here to see me,” Nell said. “I never expected it. I guessed you must be down from Oxford for Easter, but I never thought to see you here.”

  “Naturally, your gratitude is very pleasing,” he said, “ but in this case it is a trifle misplaced. It is not on your account that I came to Southampton. I am here because of Master Louis.”

  “Louis!” she cried. “What is your interest in Louis? Or is it to do with James’s guardianship?”

  “Not that, no. Something occurred a few days ago that caused all of us at the Hall a vast deal of puzzlement. A letter arrived for Louis from Yorkshire, and very expensive it was to receive, coming such a distance, and it is more than one sheet of paper, as well. Great was the curiosity aroused in more than one breast as to who might be writing to Louis from such a place, and why it was sent to Daveney Hall and not here. I determined to come here at once to discover all, and it is only because James’s inquisitiveness is greater than his desire to disown you that I was permitted to come. So there you have it. Can you guess who your correspondent might be, young man?”

  “I expect it is from Mr Harbottle,” Louis said. “My friend,” he added proudly.

  “Your friend Mr Harbottle, eh?” Jack said, eyeing him with interest. “Does your friend write often?”

  “He wrote to Mama, but he has never written to me before.”

  “Oh!” Jack said, eyebrows lifting. “He wrote to Mama, did he? Is he a friend of hers, too?”

  “Yes,” Louis said. “He gave her tea and he gave me a book.”

  “Did he, indeed?” Jack said, and now there was a definite quizzical look in his eye.

  “Now, do not be making anything of it, Jack,” Nell said. “He was in Southampton looking for a cousin of his, missing for a number of years. As the cousin was a naval captain, he was asking everyone who might have known him. Since Jude was away, he talked to me in his stead. He gave us some small gifts in gratitude for our hospitality, that was all, and Louis wrote him a letter of thanks while we were at Daveney Hall. Naturally he wrote back to that address.”

  “But he has written to you as well as to Louis?”

  She frowned. “Really, Jack, you have no business to question me on such matters. Papa cast me out of the family, and James is determined to continue the tradition, so none of you have the least right to concern yourself in my affairs.”

  “I beg your pardon, Nelly. It was impertinent of me. Please forgive me.”

  And he made her a little bow, accompanied by a smile of such sweetness that she could not help laughing.

  “Oh, you! As if anyone could be cross with you for long. But truly, there is nothing to make you anxious in Mr Harbottle’s attentions. He visited twice as part of his enquiries, and then left town. When he heard about the Minerva, he came back to see if there might be any assistance he could offer. Finding me gone to the Hall, he left me a note, that was all there was to it. I daresay we shall never meet again.”

  To her surprise, the thought made her sad. Such a pleasant man, with so much admiration in his eyes. Not that such a matter was of any importance, yet… it had made her feel alive again, not this sad shell of a woman she had become. A friend… how she had needed a friend. Not Maria, who hugged her and cared for her when she was hurt but was just as timid as Nell was. No, she needed a strong friend, one who was unreservedly on her side, who could stand beside her against the hostile world. James would not fulfil that role, and Jack could not, but Mr Harbottle perhaps could. He wanted to, he had made that clear. What had he said? ‘I remain your well-wisher and friend’. He wanted to see her again, too. ‘A letter to me at York will receive the earliest attention and my speedy arrival at your door. If it should suit you better, you may come to York and I shall show you my own charming town.’ York. Somewhere that was not Daveney Hall, not London, not Southampton. Somewhere with no memories at all. How she yearned for a place with no memories.

  Jack waved a letter at her. “You had better read it first, Nelly.”

  She scanned the direction, and recognised the handwriting. “No, Louis may read it in perfect safety. It is indeed from Mr Harbottle, and he would say nothing inappropriate. Here you are, Louis.”

  Eagerly, he broke the seal, unfolded the two sheets and began to read.

  Jack watched her with a raised eyebrow, but made no comment, although she guessed what he was thinking. “You feel that I put too great a trust in a man only very slightly known to me?”

  “Only you may judge that,” he said slowly. “I have never met him, and know nothing of him. He is a gentleman, presumably.”

  It was not couched as a question, but she answered it anyway. “He is. He has spent two years looking for his cousin, which he could scarcely do if he had some occupation constraining him, and his manners were very pleasing, very proper. Is your letter interesting, Louis?”

  He nodded. “He is telling me about the York Minister.”

  “Who is the York Minister?”

  “It is not a person, it is a place he went to at Easter.”

  “Ah. York Minster. A church… or cathedral, perhaps. A very fine building, and a wonderful place to attend Easter services, I should imagine.”

  “Here it is,” Louis said. “‘The cathedral church of Saint Peter.’ He says the singing from the choir was as fine as any he had heard anywhere, and he wished you had been there to enjoy it, Mama, because he knows how much you like music and… and…I cannot quite read this part where it is folded.”

  Jack whisked it from his hand before Nell could protest. “‘It would have given me the greatest pleasure to share the experience with one who could appreciate the finer points of the performance and could express the same in words far better than my pedestrian efforts. I can say only t
hat I found the occasion deeply moving and that is a sadly inadequate description.’ Hmm. Only very slightly known to you,” he murmured, with a wry glance at Nell.

  “Stop it!” she said, slapping his arm playfully. “Ah, Jack, how good it is to see you! But I suppose James will not allow you to come again?”

  “I fear he will not. But Nelly, there are only three more years until I am of age and come into my inheritance from Great-uncle Gordon. Then I shall live at Dunstan Manor, and you shall come and keep house for me, and James will not be able to prevent it. Can you manage until then, do you think? I know you have not a great deal of money.”

  For a moment, hope rose up like a swelling tide. Three years! In three years she would be rescued from the misery of counting pennies and shivering over unlit fires. But just as quickly common sense reasserted itself. “What, and have you cut off from James and the rest of the family too? No, I could not allow it. Besides, in time you will find yourself a pretty wife, who will not want your widowed older sister in the house, so I should have to move on again. Jack, I have a house of my own, enough money to live upon, if I am very careful, and my own life to lead. I am glad that Louis will get the education he deserves, but for myself, it is better if I am not dependent on your charity.”

  “As you wish,” he said easily. “The offer will remain open, and once I am free of James’s restrictions, I may come and see you whenever I like, and you may visit me at Dunstan. I shall certainly be able to send you money — fifty or a hundred a year. And who knows, perhaps you will not need my help at all by then. Perhaps you will be married to your admirer from York.”

  “What nonsense!” Nell said, robustly. She waited until Louis was engrossed in his letter again before adding in a lower tone, “Do not say such things, especially before Louis. I shall never marry again, Jack, and so I must learn to live on my widow’s mite.”