The Spider's Touch

by Patricia Wynn

  James would be devastated to hear the news, which surely he would if Ormonde sought him out. And in that case, there was no longer any need for Gideon to report to him about the readiness of the rebellion. James would hear the truth from Ormonde, himself—if Ormonde went to see him.

  Gideon found that he could not simply let the matter rest. He sent Tom back to the Lodge with instructions to find the servant with the greatest authority and ask him if the Duke had left any messages or instructions.

  This errand took longer. By the time Tom returned, it was so dark that Gideon didn’t see him coming until after he heard Beau’s hoof beats.

  He scrambled up from the spot where he’d been sitting, leaning against the trunk of an oak, and asked, “What news?”

  Tom gave a loud sigh. “I found his Grace’s man of business. He says there were no messages left, and no letters have gone out either. The porter said it was true. He didn’t see anybody ride to nowhere, and before yesterday, he says there was plenty of coming and going to places west.”

  Gideon didn’t know what to make of any of it, but it was still possible that the Duke was simply being careful. He might be planning to send instructions once he arrived at the coast.

  Gideon saw nothing for it, but to return to his new house and wait.

  “Thank you, Tom. I believe you have got everything that is to be found out tonight.”

  “I fear so, my lord. Do you want me to help you mount?”

  “No, I’ll manage.” Gideon had gathered up his horse’s reins, and now he threw himself into his saddle with one sweeping motion, before turning Looby’s head towards home.

  “Your lordship did that like a right proper highwayman,” Tom said behind him.

  Gideon smiled. He knew that Tom was trying to cheer him. But his mind was filled with confusion and disappointment, so all he said was, “As long as I have to play the part, better to do it right.”

  * * * *

  The news of Lord Oxford’s confinement in the Tower, along with other Jacobites’ arrests, still reverberated through the streets of London and Westminster. Visitors to Hawkhurst House all whispered of their fear that a general rising seemed imminent.

  Harrowby told his family—very indiscreetly Hester thought—that the Cabinet was almost certain that the army would not stand behind the King if the Duke of Ormonde raised the Pretender’s standard in any part of England. They feared it would be impossible to defend his Majesty against the vast numbers that would rally to the Stuart cause.

  He revealed this after he and Dudley had joined the ladies in the withdrawing room after dinner, cautioning them all not to be heard speaking ill of the Stuarts, in case the worst should come.

  Harrowby was sitting in a chair by one of the open windows, fanning himself with a delicate skin fan, on which a pleasant scene with two swans, swimming side by side, had been painted. Dudley, less morose, now that most of the negative attention was directed at James Stuart instead of him, had thrown himself horizontally on a sofa designed for two. Hester, Mrs. Mayfield, and Isabella had been doing little other than trying to stay cool in the abominable July heat, which was so fierce that Isabella had dispensed with the lace tucker at her breast.

  “I thought his Majesty had commissioned officers that he can trust,” Hester said. She could not help being alarmed by this talk of civil war, though she tried not to let her worries impede her.

  For once, not even her aunt took exception to her showing an interest in the Crown’s affairs. All eyes turned to Harrowby to see if this comforting notion had any merit.

  Their hope was sorely misplaced. Harrowby had not been blessed with the character of a rock in the biblical sense. The best he could do was to say, despondently, “He’s certainly made a mincemeat of the army. I’ve never seen so many changes of officers in so short a time. But how can he be sure that he’s routed all the Jacobites? And even if the officers do turn out to be loyal, that doesn’t mean that the common soldiers will.

  “It’s not only the military postings he’s changing either. He just dismissed Shrewsbury, too.”

  This announcement produced a long moment of shock, before Mrs. Mayfield recovered enough to ask eagerly, “Then who’s to be Lord Chamberlain?”

  Her eagerness made it clear that she had still not relinquished every hope of securing a Court position for her family.

  “His Majesty’s appointed the Duke of Bolton. But if he suspects Shrewsbury of treachery, then one has to wonder who will be next. I’ve a good mind to take us all down to Rotherham Abbey and wait for this to blow over. And I shall, if Parliament is ever released. But if we were to go now, someone would be sure to be to say that we were gone to France!”

  “Lud, but people can be nasty!” Mrs. Mayfield said. “I shouldn’t doubt but that you are right, my lord.”

  Though she had agreed with him, Hester noticed that the mention of Rotherham Abbey had made her aunt’s eyes light up. She could tell that Mrs. Mayfield had begun to muse on the pleasant aspects of a sojourn in the country. She had always found life away from Court very dull, but not only was it miserably hot in London, it was smelly, too. The amusements she found entertaining came at the price of fetid air, reeking with the refuse in the streets, which cooked faster in the summer sun. That, and the necessity of standing at Court, when the heat in the Palace was enough to make anyone faint, must certainly rob the town of its attractions, even for a confirmed town-dweller like her aunt. Yet, not to attend at Court, when their absense might be misconstrued, was a danger that no one could afford in this suspicious climate.

  “I am sure that I should be the last to desert his Majesty at a time like this,” Mrs. Mayfield said, virtuously. “But I cannot help being concerned about my dear daughter’s health.”

  She gazed worriedly at Isabella, who looked back at her in surprise. “What is there about my health to concern you, Mama?”

  Her mother tut-tutted and reached to pat her on the hand. “My dear, you should know better than to think that I cannot read your face like a book. But I shan’t say anything more about it, if you want to keep your secret just between you and your hubby.”

  “What secret?” Harrowby said.

  Isabella did not appear to be enlightened on the subject either.

  Mrs. Mayfield gave them both coy looks. “Now don’t tell me that neither of you has suspected. And the two of you married for better than a month!”

  Hester was the first to grasp her meaning, and her dismay was so strong that it must have shown on her features. Fortunately, no one was looking at her, so she did her best to compose them. But the only thing she could think of was how hard this news would hit St. Mars—that his cousin should produce an heir to his estates.

  Isabella still looked confused. Harrowby seemed not one wit brighter, until Dudley let out with a whoop of laughter.

  “So, Isabella’s got a bun in her oven! Why didn’t you tell us, Bella?”

  As both his sister and her husband turned to stare at him, his mother spoke sharply, “Mayfield, I will thank you not to speak in such a vulgar manner! Your sister is a countess, and she will be giving birth to a future earl.”

  While Isabella’s mother settled the sex of their child, the said earl and countess began to latch onto the meaning of the conversation encircling them.

  “By Jove!” Harrowby cried, with his eyes much wider than their usual proportions. “Zounds! A baby, you say?”

  Isabella didn’t know whether to be pleased or vexed, but she was clearly frightened. “Are you certain, Mama?”

  Hester was amazed by her apparent ignorance, but she understood much better when her aunt begin to hedge.

  “Well, we cannot be perfectly certain until you start to show. But I know my precious little girl! And I’ve noticed how peaked you’ve been looking lately. And you refused the kidney at dinner this afternoon. You said it made you feel queasy, and that is exactly how I felt about kidneys, when I was in an interesting way myself.”

  So, on these
slim pieces of evidence, they were to believe that Isabella and Harrowby had produced the seed of an heir. Hester was relieved that she would not have to inform St. Mars just yet. This was nothing more than a ruse on her aunt’s part to get herself away from London. If Isabella proved not to be expecting, Mrs. Mayfield had left her options open.

  She had convinced her son-in-law, though, which had been her sole intent, though he still looked astonished. “To think of it!” he said, screwing up his nose in the facial equivalent of scratching his head. “And when I thought....”

  He did not finish this interesting phrase, but, becoming aware of listeners, coloured up instead. Then he stammered, “Well—I should say that this calls for a toast. I knew I had made a good business of it when I married you, my dear. Match made in heaven, and all that!”

  Isabella had almost decided to be pleased by her maternal prospects when her husband delivered this speech. His cheerfulness made up her mind, and she looked very happy indeed when she flew over to give him a kiss.

  But Mrs. Mayfield had not finished with them yet. She crooned to her daughter about how she must take great care of herself, particularly not to become overheated, for everybody knew that there was nothing so dangerous to an unborn child than for its mama to take sunstroke.

  With a few more hints of this nature, it did not take her long to prod Harrowby into thinking of a plan, whereby Isabella, Dudley and their mother would go down to Rotherham Abbey as soon as they could comfortably arrange to travel. They could send the carriage back for him, and he would join them as soon as the King adjourned Parliament for the summer.

  Or—he remembered—as soon as somebody did.

  * * * *

  As news of the arrests captured everyone’s attention at Court, Sir Humphrey’s murder was all but forgotten. Even Harrowby was too absorbed by present dangers to spare more than an occasional thought for the friend he had lost, and this forgetfulness made him stop heaping blame on Dudley for even showing himself in town. Dudley still was not welcome at Court or in their friends’ private houses, however. And though this did not seem to matter greatly to him at present, as long as he could avoid direct cuts, Hester knew that having a shadow over the Mayfield name would hurt not only his future prospects, but those of his innocent brothers and sisters as well.

  She had almost despaired of clearing his name. If St. Mars could not obtain any answers to their questions, then she wondered how she ever would. Mrs. Mayfield’s plan to remove them to Rotherham Abbey worried her, for, though St. Mars could always visit her there, the move would separate her from all the other people concerned. And without even the chance of speaking to them occasionally, she did not see how she could help St. Mars find the truth.

  His methods of detection, for his own safety, must always be clandestine, which certainly would hamper him in some respects. In others, she could only envy him, for she would never be able to dash about the countryside or lurk in darkened streets in pursuit of a suspect. Acutely aware of the limitations which would always be placed upon her, by her sex and her dependent state, she hoped to be of use in other ways. It did not suit either her temperament or her character to ask for someone’s help then leave him with every ounce of the bother.

  If they moved to Rotherham Abbey, that would be exactly her situation, so as soon as the family dispersed after dinner, she wracked her brain to think of something else she could do before being forced to leave. She had more time than usual to do this, because by evening, everyone else in the family had gone out. Harrowby went back to Court, where he could learn of the latest dismissals the King had made. Isabella and Mrs. Mayfield left to call on the Duchess of Bolton to convey their congratulations on her husband’s new post. And even Dudley announced plans for the evening.

  Hester could only regret the danger and misfortune that had struck so many people, whether deserved or not, but at least the distractions had removed the burden of entertaining Dudley from her. Dudley announced that he had made a new acquaintance last evening and that he would be meeting him to indulge in some of the activities he had not yet had the pleasure of enjoying. Included in this list was a viewing of the inmates at Bedlam, which he had been assured was a sight not to be missed, to be followed by a cockfight, which had been advertised for this evening at the Cockpit Royal in St. James’s Park.

  Far from recommending such amusements, Hester still knew that her cousin’s choosing them was unlikely to damage his reputation any further. They were the usual fare for gentlemen, and should Dudley erupt in a fit of temper, perhaps his behaviour would be less remarkable in both those places than it would be in a more tasteful setting.

  She gladly saw him off, but after musing in her bedchamber for half an hour, she still found herself with no new ideas with which to proceed. She had begun to make a list of all the suspects, not excepting her cousin, when a servant came to tell her that Mrs. Jamison was asking for her below.

  Hester went down, surprised by the visit, though she assumed that Sir Humphrey’s sister had come to see Isabella and had only asked for her when she found the Countess gone. That was not the case, however, as she discovered after she had greeted Mrs. Jamison, invited her to sit in the smaller of the parlours, and ordered tea to be served.

  She tried to keep her visitor from seeing how astonished she was to see her at Hawkhurst House. Mrs. Jamison had never called there alone, and Hester had not expected that she would want to enter a house where Dudley Mayfield lived.

  Mrs. Jamison certainly appeared uncomfortable. She kept peering over her shoulder, as if fearing that Dudley might charge into the room. Every distant sound in the house made her jump, until Hester made it clear that none of the family was at home. This eased her visitor somewhat, but it was evident that something still disturbed her.

  A servant brought the tea and left them alone. Hester and Mrs. Jamison discussed the extraordinary heat London was having and how remarkable it was that a dish of tea, though hot, could be cooling. They moved on to compare the effects of other beverages, agreeing that citron water was surely the best.

  Once Hester had asked about Mrs. Jamison’s health and her inquiry had been returned, they seemed to have exhausted all the normal topics. Hester was on the brink of raising the subject of the investigation into Sir Humphrey’s murder, when Mrs. Jamison raised it herself.

  She lowered her voice and leaned across the table, in spite of the fact that no one else was in the room.

  “You must be wondering why I have come.”

  Hester did not bother to deny it, but did her best to look encouraging.

  “If Lord Hawkhurst had been at home, I should have asked to see him. But, perhaps, this will be better.” Mrs. Jamison gave Hester a nervous smile. “I don’t know that I should have had the courage to ask my lord the question I came to ask, but you were so kind when you came with your cousin and her mother to sit with me that I hoped you would do something for me, my dear.”

  Hester assured her of her willingness to be helpful. Mrs. Jamison looked grateful, though she seemed at a loss as to how to begin.

  “I take it that your question has something to do with your brother’s death?” Hester said.

  “Yes. You see, I remembered that you asked me if I had an idea of anyone who might have wanted to harm him. Then, I answered that I did not, but at the time I couldn’t think of anyone but—” and here, she faltered— “that is, I shouldn’t have liked to name the gentleman I suspected—not to you or anyone in your particular family, seeing that—and even then, certainly not without proof—”

  Since she clearly meant Dudley, but was tying herself in knots to avoid giving offence, Hester tried to help her, even though her heart was ready to sink. “Do you think you have proof now?”

  Mrs. Jamison gave a painful sigh. “Not proof, no. But I have been told something which makes me wonder if the person I suspected at first might not have been my brother’s actual murderer.”

  Eagerly, Hester asked her what had changed her mind.


  It appeared that a close friend of Sir Humphrey’s, one who spent most of his time in the country, had come to see her recently in town to see how she was getting on since the death of her brother. At first she believed that his visit had only been inspired by concern for an old friend’s sister, but it soon appeared that a different purpose had brought him.

  “This gentleman—I shall not give you his name, for reasons you will soon understand— brought me a copy of a letter that Humphrey wrote to him shortly before he was murdered. I carried it with me.” Mrs. Jamison reached inside the pocket of her skirt. She drew out a folded piece of paper, handed it to Hester, and urged her to read it.

  If the letter had been the original, written in Sir Humphrey’s own hand, Hester might have had some serious qualms about reading it. Fortunately, this was a copy, which had been transcribed by the recipient in its entirety, except for the salutation and Sir Humphrey’s signature at the end.

  The message was very brief, which, on scanning it quickly, she decided must be the result of Sir Humphrey’s excited state of mind when he had penned it. Reading it a second time more slowly, she grew excited herself.

  “My dearest—” the letter said. “I hope this letter finds you in the best of health. I have only a moment to write, as I am on my way to the opera this evening, where I have taken a box to entertain my friends. But I do not write you to tell you of that, but to alert you to the great event that is about to come to pass. We have often alluded between us to the joy we would both feel, should a certain righting of a great wrong ever take place, and I have reason to believe that that blessed day will not be long in coming, and that tonight I may play some small part in bringing the longed for justice about. I cannot say more. I have been advised to keep my participation in the strictest confidence, but you will know the great event to which I allude, and I could not keep you in the dark after all the hope we have shared over the past many years. As soon as I may, I shall write to give you all the particulars with the tale of how it all went off. Your devoted friend—