The Widow (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  They were alone. Nell found herself shaking uncontrollably. At once Nathan was there, sitting beside her, one arm about her shoulders.

  “Do not give way to despair. Shall we escape from this room? The dowager will be here at any moment, and I am not sure I can manage to explain your brother to her without the use of language unfitting for a lady’s ears. Come.”

  He stood, holding out his hand to her. Obediently she took it, and followed him through the door to the dining room, then the music room. Finally they crept across the passageway to the study, where he settled her gently into a chair.

  “There. Now we can be comfortable for a while. I have no doubt they will find us soon enough, but perhaps I shall have my temper under control by then. Is your brother always so obnoxious? Had you not been in the room, I should have smacked him on his pompous nose. Jessica was very quick on the uptake, though. I am not sure it will be comfortable to have him staying here, but it will perhaps prevent any precipitate action on his part.”

  All the while he was finding glasses and bottles from a cupboard and pouring measures of liquid into two glasses.

  “Here,” he said, pressing a glass into her trembling hands. “It is brandy, to help steady your nerves. Take a little sip. Careful… here, let me help you.”

  He wrapped his own hands around hers, helping her lift the glass to her lips. She took the tiniest sip, then another.

  “Better?” he said, tilting his head to one side.

  She could not imagine that anything would make her feel better, but she nodded anyway, cradling the glass in her hands. Were they shaking less now? She thought they might be.

  “I must write a quick note to my valet to bring my things from York, so that I may stay tonight. Sit quietly for a minute and drink your brandy while I do that, and then we shall discuss what is to be done.”

  She nodded and sipped, and allowed the warmth of the drink to seep into her and calm her, while he scratched away with the pen, and then summoned a footman to dispatch his note. Nathan was such a wonderful support. She knew she was perfectly capable and could manage her own life, but at times of high stress it was such a relief to have a shoulder to lean on. And his shoulder was so delightfully comfortable.

  His message sent, he sat beside her, took a long draught from his own glass, then said, “Now, you must not give up hope, for we have time to consider what can be done about James.”

  “Nothing can be done,” she said bleakly. “He is Louis’ guardian, he has the right in law.”

  “He has been named as guardian in your husband’s will,” Nathan said, “but that may be challenged in the Court of Chancery.”

  “James is a baronet. Who would deny him?”

  “That is a good point, and will weigh with the Lord Chancellor, undoubtedly. But you are his mother and, despite your brother’s opinion, of excellent character. I must say, Nell, I cannot approve of a man who immediately supposes the worst of his own sister. I am very sorry if this offends you, but I cannot like him.”

  Nell managed a weak smile at this sally. “Today I do not like him very much either, but I cannot fight him in court. How can I afford lawyers?”

  “You cannot, but I can, and I wager that my pockets are deeper than your brother’s. I shall certainly fight him to a standstill in court, if that is what is needed. However, you are quite right. It would take some doing to convince any judge that a widow of limited means, however respectable, is a better guardian for Louis than a wealthy baronet. For a girl, they might be content to leave her with you, but a judge will very likely consider that a boy will have better prospects with his uncle.”

  “Then it is hopeless!”

  “Not entirely.” He set his brandy glass down on a side table. “We may not be able to convince a judge, but perhaps we do not need to. All we need to do is to convince James. He has already realised his mistake in assuming this house to be mine, finding it instead occupied by the fearsomely respectable relict of a baronet.”

  Nell shook her head in anguish. “But that did not sway him! He still thinks me immoral, and considering my history—”

  “That has nothing to do with it!” In one fluid movement, he knelt at her feet and took her hands in his. “Nell, your brother does not want Louis one bit, and his wife even less, by the sound of it. He is only acting from duty. If we can convince him that a court case would be uncertain of success, that you are a woman of impeccable virtue and that Louis would be better off staying here with you, I believe he would be very happy to give up the idea altogether. He will not want to put himself to the trouble of a public battle over Louis, I am sure.”

  “True, but… it is impossible! How can we convince him?”

  “There is one way…”

  “Is there? Truly? Tell me what I must do, Nathan, for I cannot see any way out of this.”

  He looked into her eyes, and said, “You could marry me.”

  The room spun. Nell stared at him, unable to comprehend.

  “Marry me, Nell, and at once the problem goes away. Louis has a step-father who can give him everything James could, and his mother is demonstrated to be a virtuous matron, perfectly suited to raise her fatherless child. Even the Court of Chancery would very likely be convinced of the benefits of leaving Louis with you.” A long pause. “Say something, Nell, for God’s sake.”

  “I…” Her head felt stuffed full of cotton. She could not think. “I cannot…”

  He tilted his head again. “Cannot decide, or cannot marry me?”

  At that precise moment, a footman came in. Studiedly staring at a point on the far wall, and not at Nathan on his knees and holding Nell’s hands, he intoned, “Beg pardon, madam, sir, but her ladyship requests your presence in the saloon. If convenient,” he added as an afterthought.

  “The dowager?” Nell said.

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Then we must go to her at once.” That was something that did not need to be thought about, that was not confusing or distressing or frightening. Yes, she must go to the dowager, and drink tea, and talk about the weather. Then she would feel better.

  ~~~~~

  Nathan thought he had never endured such a difficult evening. Everyone in the house, servants included, was now aware of the nature of Sir James Godney’s visit. Jessica was weepy, Nell was pale and silent, and Louis refused to be in the same room as his uncle. The man himself was surly, and Nathan was fighting a strong desire to knock the stuffing out of him. Only the dowager was serene as always, her pleasure in having another baronet in the house outweighing the awkwardness of the circumstances.

  However, her near-blindness made dinner very slow. First every dish had to be described for her in great detail so that she could choose what to eat, and then her own footman would prepare some of the chosen foods in a manner which permitted her to eat unaided. Her independence was inspiring, but it made the meal very, very drawn out and conversation something of a trial. Fortunately, wine loosened Godney’s tongue somewhat and Nathan was able to cajole him into a discussion of his journey north, and discuss the best inns to patronise on his return journey.

  When the ladies withdrew, Nathan thought he might tackle Godney regarding Louis and perhaps hint at his own scheme — he could not say that he was betrothed to Nell, but he could suggest the possibility in a roundabout way. He was forestalled, finding himself on the receiving end of detailed enquiries into his own position and that of the Harbottles in general. When the question of the heir came up, Nathan found himself describing his search for Felix.

  “And he has been missing for twenty years?” Godney said.

  “Not quite. He has been estranged from the family for twenty two years, but while he was in the navy we at least knew where he was. But when he left the navy, he vanished. That was sixteen years ago.”

  “How very awkward,” Godney said. “The title will become dormant unless you can find out what became of him, and that is always a tragedy. How many baronets have there been?”

  “
Sir William was the sixth. But perhaps he will be the last.”

  “You are very calm about it. Is there any possibility of having him declared dead so that you may claim the honour?”

  “Unlikely,” Nathan said. “Nor would I wish to, if there remains the least possibility that my cousin is still alive, or has fathered a son.”

  “Good point,” Godney said. “He could have married and produced a string of brats in his image by now. Devil of a coil, Harbottle.”

  He smirked in the most irritating fashion, as if smugly pleased with his own well-regulated baronetcy. Nathan’s urge to wipe the complacency from his face was almost overwhelming.

  And all he wanted to do was to take Nell away somewhere quiet and list for her all the reasons why she should marry him. He cursed the footman who had interrupted them, and stopped her from answering. He cursed the need to behave with propriety, to portray the outward calm of the well-mannered gentleman, when inside he was screaming, ‘Marry me, marry me, marry me!’ His words had been the impulse of the moment, the sudden realisation that they could resolve the question of Louis’ welfare in the simplest way possible. His heart had surged with joy, and now, as he waited for her answer, he knew that she held all his happiness in her hands. He wished she would marry him in love and joy, but if she would come to him as a way to save Louis, he would take her just as eagerly. He would have a lifetime to make her smile and teach her to love him. Or at least to allow him to love her. Yes, that would be enough.

  All evening he had watched her, seeing the pale face and the lifeless eyes, guessing how much she must ache inside. Her fears must be tearing at her vitals. She had eaten nothing, drunk nothing. She was there but not there. He longed to take her in his arms, to have the right to hold her close and offer her what comfort he could, and his inability to do so was like a knife driving deep into him. But once or twice he had caught her looking at him with a thoughtful expression on her face, as if she were considering his proposition. Please, please let her consider it. Please, please let her say yes, his dear, sweet Nell, so lovely and so many times hurt by the very men who should have given their lives to protect her.

  But there was no opportunity to speak to her that night, and he retired to his room still roiling with waves of emotion — anger, despair, fear, love… and just a tiny shard of hope.

  The next morning saw the four of them sitting down to a strained breakfast, Nell, Jessica, Godney and Nathan. The dowager was still in her room, and Louis had refused to leave the nursery. Jessica had recovered her spirits somewhat, and made polite conversation with Godney, successfully persuading him to stay for another night.

  “Such a long journey back to Hampshire,” she trilled. “So tiring travelling in the summer — so much dust! And all the inns full to bursting, and the meat going off in the heat. Quite unbearable. No, I insist upon you staying a little longer, Sir James, before setting out again.”

  And he, basking in her attentions, smiled and agreed that yes, travelling was unpleasant and it was such a long way to Hampshire, and then back to London to finish the season. Nathan thought of poor Louis, to be deposited at Daveney Hall with just the servants for company, while James and his delicately-situated wife disported themselves in London. It was unthinkable. Yet what could be done to dissuade him from the idea?

  Godney’s chair was facing the breakfast parlour windows, which overlooked the front drive. “You have a visitor,” he said, through a mouthful of lamb chop.

  “Who is it, Craven?” Jessica said.

  Craven peered out. “It is Mrs Drabble, my lady.”

  “Oh, Barbara. Well, she is early today. My late husband’s only sister, Sir James. A widow now.”

  Craven disappeared to admit her, their voices drifting in from the hall. Then a long silence, before Barbara came in, a sheet of paper in her hand.

  “Where did this come from?” she said, bewilderment in her tone, as she held it up for them to see. One of Nell’s drawings. “It was lying on the table in the hall.”

  “I drew it,” Nell said. “It is of my husband.”

  “Your husband?” She stared at the drawing again, her expression one of complete confusion. “No… it cannot be.”

  “I assure you it is.”

  “But this… this is Felix.”

  22: A Face From The Past

  Nell knew at once that it was true. It made complete sense. It was like an acrostic that one puzzled over for hours, and then the answer was simply there, entire and right. There was no record of Jude Caldicott’s naval career because he had served as Felix Harbottle. There was no family in Ireland, because it was right there in Yorkshire. He had the letter from Felix in his box because he had written it himself, except…

  “The script was different,” she said, into the silence that had fallen. “The letter to Felix was not in Jude’s hand.”

  It was Barbara who answered. “Felix could write with either hand. Not equally well, of course, for the right hand produced a fine, flowing script and the left only tiny, cramped lettering.”

  Nell nodded slowly. “I only ever saw him write with his left hand. Yes, tiny… cramped… that was it exactly.”

  Nathan was watching her anxiously. “Are you all right?” he said. “You are not feeling faint?”

  She smiled. “No. This answers so many questions. It raises a few, too, but… it makes sense.”

  “It is wonderful!” Jessica burst out, tears pouring down her face, as she dabbed at them ineffectually with a tiny, lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Do you see what it means, Nell? Do you understand? It means that Louis is now the baronet, and this is his house… his home! He cannot leave here now!”

  Nell looked at James, who was looking bemused. “I suppose… if this is true… this changes things somewhat, but I am still his appointed guardian.”

  “He must grow up to understand his responsibilities, with his family. His aunt and his grandmother,” Nell said firmly.

  “And his mother!” Jessica cried. “A child needs his mother, above all.”

  Nathan cut in smoothly, “We can discuss the ramifications in more detail later. The first thing to be done is to see if anyone else recognises Felix in this drawing. Jessica, are there any servants who were here then?”

  “Marigold might remember… or old Ted, the coachman in those days.”

  “What about Mrs Wells?” Barbara said.

  “She has always been in the kitchen,” Jessica said. “She would never have been above stairs to see the family.”

  “Felix was often down there,” Barbara said. “Especially when his father had sent him to bed with no supper.”

  And so it proved. Old Ted could not say for certain, and Marigold the housemaid thought it was rather like the previous vicar, but Mrs Wells gasped in delight when she saw the drawing.

  “That’s him to the life, milady, just like him. A bit older, like, but exactly him. Oh, milady, have you found him? Is Master Felix coming home at last?”

  “No, Mrs Wells,” Jessica said sadly. “He is not coming home.”

  Nell was glad that the task of telling the dowager the news did not fall to her. They waited for her in the saloon since the blue parlour, with its informal female atmosphere, not considered a solemn enough setting to tell a lady of the dowager’s advanced years that her youngest and last son was almost certainly lost for ever. As soon as she appeared on her footman’s arm, Nathan brought her in and told her that Felix had been masquerading as Jude Caldicott for years.

  The dowager displayed no open grief. “He is dead, then,” she said, in a flat tone. “He died on that ship that sank and his bones rot in the sea.”

  “He is buried in the churchyard near to where the Minerva sank,” Nell said. “A village called Pendower. He had a Christian burial.”

  “Ah. That is good,” the dowager said. “That is something, at least.” Her face softened suddenly. “And he had a son. An heir. We have found the next baronet.”

  “Only if it can be proved,” Natha
n said firmly. “Aunt Amelie, can you think of anything that might enable Nell to say definitively that her husband was Felix? Some birthmark or scar, perhaps?”

  “No birthmark. He was perfect, a perfect little boy. Scars… I do not remember any.”

  “Did he have any possessions that might have identified him? William and Andrew both wore rings with the Harbottle crest on them. Did Felix have one, too?”

  “All the boys had such a ring,” she said.

  “Nell, did Jude—?”

  “Not with the Harbottle crest.” She glanced at the fireplace which bore the engraved crest on the lintel. “He had a different ring…” She pulled it out from where it lay, hidden beneath her high-necked gown — the ring on its long chain, smooth under her fingers, and warm from its hiding place next to her body. “He used to seal his letters with it and he never wore it, but it is a ring.”

  “Felix’s seal had a pair of dice upon it,” the dowager said. “For luck. That is what his name means.”

  “Jude’s seal is a bag,” Nell said. “The thirty pieces of silver Judas was paid, or so he always said.”

  “Ha!” the duchess said. “That is Felix’s seal. Give it to me.”

  Nell handed it over, and the dowager felt the ring with her fingers. Then with a sudden twisting movement of her fingers, she smiled. “Yes, this was Felix’s.”

  When she handed it back, the ring showed two dice. “It changes?” Nell said wonderingly.

  “He had it specially made,” the dowager said. “Dice for his gambling luck, and bags of money for his investment luck. When he was feeling reckless, he gambled and then he used the seal with dice. When he was being sensible, he used the bags of money. He was always… mercurial. He had a pocket watch, too, that he inherited from an uncle.”

  “Jude’s pocket watch had his own initials on it,” Nell said. “‘JC’ for Jude Caldicott.”

  “Jeremiah Coales. Do you remember Uncle Jeremiah, Barbara? Left Felix one hundred pounds and his pocket watch.”

  Nell took a deep breath. “Then… then it is true,” she whispered. “Jude truly was Felix Harbottle.”