She turned back to her drawer, and shifted her clothing most likely trying to remember where she had stashed her bottles. “I was at The Briar,” she said, while she frantically searched. “Alone,” she emphasized, and then her voice fell, “as always.” As if giving up her search, Lady Marshall slammed the drawer shut and turned, crossing the room to her toilette table.
A deep, concerted silence fell over them. Ainsley watched as his mother brushed the ends of her curls before flipping them over her shoulder and then pushing some waves of hair from her face. He caught her glancing up at him, her eyes lifting slightly in the mirror, but upon catching his gaze she immediately turned her eyes toward the table in front of her.
“So what have my beautiful children been doing whilst I was in the country?” She looked at him purposely then, eyebrows raised and giddy. She wanted him to drop his line of questioning and behave as if nothing was amiss. Ainsley's shoulders slumped at the realization that her denial had rooted and taken hold. There would be no way of coaxing a confession or even an admission of guilt.
“Perhaps in the morning, Mother,” Ainsley answered, a feeling of weariness sweeping over him. “I suddenly feel very tired.”
“Very well then,” she said with a hint of relief. “At breakfast then.” She winked at him teasingly. He planted a quick kiss on her forehead and gave her a pat on the shoulder before turning to leave. In the hall he encountered Violetta, who had returned with two pails of hot water. She bowed her head as she passed and Ainsley could not help but feel an overwhelming sense of pity for the woman.
Chapter 9
All things must die.
“She's in denial,” Ainsley explained.
“Or delusional,” Margaret offered, throwing the book she was reading on to the small table beside her bed. Ainsley had found her in bed with a book open but he could tell she had just been staring at the words and not actually reading them so he hadn't felt sorry for interrupting her. “What does she think we have been doing for the last few days?” she questioned.
Ainsley shrugged and shook his head. Her disbelief mirrored his. Their mother had acted selfishly and her self-centered view continued even now when they all demanded answers.
“Suppose they had a falling out,” Margaret suggested. “Her lover, I mean. What if they argued and she decided to return, hoping we'd all be so glad we wouldn't question her?”
“I suppose it's possible,” Ainsley conceded. “She was terribly concerned when she couldn't find her laudanum.”
Margaret sniffed but did not reply. “I only wish I saw his face,” she offered after a moment's pause.
Ainsley shifted uncomfortably. The thought of their mother's infidelity had been nagging at him, eating him from the inside out since he had heard confirmation from Margaret. It was a discomfort that he had been successful in suppressing for over a week and he feared his will was crumbling. He almost expected as much from their father but coming to the realization that their mother was in the wrong was almost too much to bear.
“I remember so little,” Margaret continued, either not noticing her brother's discomfort or choosing to ignore it. “It was dark, and naturally I left the room as soon as I could.”
“And Jonas?”
Margaret started at the mention of him. “What do you mean?” she asked quietly. “I haven't seen him since we returned to London.”
“I am aware,” Ainsley said, “I wasn't speaking of your affection for him.”
“You spoke clearly on the subject once or twice before,” Margaret answered with a sneer. “I don't see how—”
Ainsley raised an eyebrow, surprised at her defensiveness. He watched as her face became lighter, sudden realization spreading over her features and she smiled at her epiphany. “He saw!” she said, sitting up straighter in bed. “I asked him if he had seen and he said yes. Peter, he might recognize who it was.” Margaret's face lifted with excitement.
“To what end?” Ainsley asked. “Mother has come home. Hopefully you are right and they quarrelled causing her to return. What good could come of tracking him down?”
Margaret's excitement was tempered quickly and Ainsley watched as her face fell somberly. “You are not curious?” she asked.
“Certainly not!” Ainsley nearly laughed at the suggestion. “I have no desire to meet the man. And if he is another man of society don't you think it best if we all just get back to normal?”
There was a strained silence between them when Margaret started to stammer out a retort before giving up and looking away all together. Perhaps she was looking for vindication for her anger, or even a second person to blame for the scandal. Ainsley's interest remained in mitigating damage to their family's reputation, only for Margaret's marriage prospects if nothing else. And perhaps in the same token, he hoped to protect Evelyn who unwittingly would be part of their disgraced family if confirmation of the affair were ever made public.
“Leave it be,” he said. “Allow Father to deal with it, if he chooses. For us, we should continue as per usual and corroborate the story in the paper. If only for Evelyn, so she does not know what kind of a family she is marrying into.” Ainsley gave his sister a teasing smile and knocked her gently on the chin.
Margaret's smile was forced and Ainsley knew she would not heed his advice. So headstrong and judicious, she would not smile and lie for the sake of family, not when there was a mystery to solve. As he left the room, Ainsley thought he should not be surprised if he saw her the next morning at the hospital, looking for Jonas.
Inspector Simms was standing in the foyer when Ainsley came down the next morning. The detective turned to him as him descended. Ainsley's waistcoat was draped over his crooked arm as he used one hand to fasten his cufflinks.
“So you have heard?” Ainsley asked, unable to help smiling as he made his way to Simms. His elation could not be hidden. Since the moment he had awoken that morning he had been smiling, assured that his mother was safe amongst them.
“I have yet to meet with Lord Marshall,” Simms said, a look of confusion coming over his face.
“It's Mother,” Ainsley explained. “She has returned. You are off the hook.” Ainsley’s grin somehow widened still.
“Indeed.” Simms reaction was not from elation. He was confounded, uncertain how to interpret the latest turn of events. Ainsley could tell he had questions, though Ainsley himself was not in a position to answer many of them. His own confusion was moderated by the high spirits brought on by his mother's return.
“Inspector!” Lord Marshall appeared in the foyer. He clapped his hands together, and then noted Ainsley's presence. “Has my son told you the great news?” Lord Marshall's excitement jolted Ainsley as he knew the man to be far more cynical and had witnessed the less than pleased response his wife's sudden, unexplained return had elicited. Lord Marshall offered a hand to the detective, which Simms shook on reflex.
“Your wife has returned,” Simms answered, doubtfully.
“That she has,” Lord Marshall exclaimed triumphantly. “Unfortunately we have bothered you these last few days without cause. She was in Edinburgh, you see,” Lord Marshall explained. “Tending to her ill cousin.” Lord Marshall let out a breath and grimaced. “She sent word but it did not reach me. I hope we have not inconvenienced you terribly.”
“Not at all.” Simms gave a glance to Ainsley, who stood numb, unable and unwilling to support or condone his father's spinning tale.
“If it is all the same,” Lord Marshall continued, “We could keep this event to just us, can we not?”
“Naturally,” Simms answered. “I am glad for the positive outcome.”
“As are we.” Lord Marshall clapped his hands together. “Well then, I bid you good day.” He gave a cautionary glance to Ainsely, before turning to Billis. “My man here will make sure you are compensated for your troubles.” Billis bowed his acknowledgement of the order as his master walked by, disappearing into his study.
Simms turned to Ainsley. “A formida
ble man, your father,” he said.
Billis appeared at their side, holding a bank note. Simms waved a hand of dismissal. “I am a man of the law,” was his simple refusal.
When Billis had left, Ainsley retrieved his overcoat. “Can I walk with you?” he asked.
“It's a chilly morning, sir,” Simms said.
Ainsley nodded knowingly “It always is.”
On the street, they walked with hands shoved deep in their pockets and faces bent against the oncoming wind. “I apologize for my father, and his butler. He believes anyone can be bought.” Ainsley saw a smile touching the edges of Simms lips.
“Is it not every rich man's privilege to believe such things?” Simms answered.
“It's happened before?” Ainsley asked, sensing the detective spoke from experience.
“More than once.”
Ainsley nodded, yet did not want to believe that certain members of society believed themselves to be above the law. He hoped the circumstances were similar to those of his family, a request for discretion, not a request to look the other way.
“I won't be investigating the matter any further,” Simms said, after a pause passed between them. “You can tell your father that I have no desire to impede upon the matters of his marital affairs.”
“No doubt he will be glad to hear it,” Ainsley answered with a slight laugh. Ainsley on the other hand felt like nothing had found resolution. His mother's real whereabouts during the last few days remained a mystery as did the reason why she had neglected to return home for so long.
“You still have questions?” Simms asked.
“Yes.” Stopping, Ainsley reached into his inside pocket and found his mother's laudanum bottles and presented them to Simms, who had stepped slightly further before turning. “I fear there is more to this story than she says.”
Simms took the bottles and held them to the dim December sun. “Laudanum.”
“I fear she has been prescribed them unnecessarily,” Ainsley explained.
Simms cocked his head, indicating they should begin walking once more. The bridge was in view and the winter wind was picking up where they stood.
“You have not prescribed them?” Simms asked, bracing against the onslaught.
Ainsley shook his head. “She may be addicted. I have read some articles on the matter. It would explain her odd behaviour.”
“Odd in what way?”
Ainsley looked away for a moment, glancing to the throng of people ahead of them on the bridge. “I questioned her last night, rather thoroughly, but she is in full denial. Flat out refuses to admit anything is wrong. She claims she had been at The Briar this entire time.”
Simms chuckled. “I sent a man there. He interviewed the staff who all claimed she departed shortly after your sister did.”
Ainsley flinched at the remembrance and he found himself stopping on the bridge to look at the murky Thames below. Margaret had sought him out while he was on assignment in the north. The news she brought was of seeing their mother and her lover in the parlour in a less than discreet coupling.
“What is it?” Simms asked, no doubt seeing Ainsley's face. He too leaned into the railing but stared at Ainsley.
Ainsley hesitated. With his mother home, safe and sound, he wondered what good it would do to drum up her sins, but then he remembered who he was speaking to and decided the detective might have some light to shed on the situation. “Margaret found my mother...with...” his conviction weakened and Ainsley found that he could not say the words aloud.
“She was having an affair.”
Ainsley nodded.
Simms drew in air, pulling his shoulders back. “I wish you or your sister had told me before. Now that Lady Marshall has returned, there is little I can do to assist you.”
“I am aware of this,” Ainsley answered. “Would it have changed your investigation?”
“Absolutely,” Simms bore a look of sheer disappointment. He began to walk again once the crowd on the bridge had thinned and Ainsley was quick to keep pace. “Had I known, I could have had more direction.”
Ainsley knew this to be true but his loyalty to his sister trumped all. And despite her sins, Ainsley felt he owed as much to his mother as well, to protect her reputation. Scotland Yard had yet to distinguish themselves as having tight scruples. However, he was not about to say as much to the detective beside him.
“Did your sister recognize the man?”
“No,” Ainsley answered.
Simms gave him a look of doubt. “Let us hope Lady Marshall has come to her senses and has returned for the well being of her family.”
Ainsley gave a half smile, unsure if the tale of woe she inflicted on them was truly at an end.
Chapter 10
Spring will come never more.
Margaret stood outside her mother's closed bedroom door for some time wondering whether she should knock and request admittance or if she should avoid her mother all together. She had not spoken with her the night before, in fact Peter had requested she stay away, which was for the better considering how angered and hurt she was. Even now Margaret wondered if she was in any mood to approach her mother regarding her absence or if she should again heed her brother's advice and pretend like nothing had happened.
But something had happened, and it needled Margaret considerably to think that their mother could simply put on a performance knowing everyone would keep up the charade for the sake of pretense.
Margaret knocked weakly and regretted it as soon as she had done so.
“Come in.”
Margaret found her mother seated at her toilette table, patting the mounds of her hair and adjusting a curly tendril she allowed to fall near her ear. Lady Marshall smiled at the mirror when she saw her daughter walk in the room but Margaret felt a pang of annoyance at the sight of it. Lady Marshall turned, clasping her hands in her lap and preened at Margaret who realized as she entered how much she was not in the mood for her mother's antics.
“Good morning Margaret, my dear,” Lady Marshall said, leaning into the back of her toilette chair, one arm positioned over the top of the decorative wood. “You look rather resplendent. Must be that dashing young man you brought to The Briar last week.” She smiled, pressing her lips together tightly as if she were the demure, bashful mother who dare not speak of men and their lustful attractiveness.
Margaret shook her head slightly, then stopped, suddenly remembering the kiss they shared on their last meeting. A panic rose within her, wondering if it was to be the only kiss they would share. Jonas had been like a dream to her, out of her life as quickly as he had entered it leaving only the vague remembrance of his lips touching hers. Peter had been right though, no relationship could ever come of it. Jonas’ social standing was so beneath hers that it was more than a miracle that they had even met.
But then what greater reason could there be to believe their lives were meant to be intertwined?
Margaret found herself smiling slightly at the prospect and then she heard her mother's teasing laugh.
“I thought as much,” Lady Marshall said, waving a pointed finger in a jovial way. “So tell me then, which family should I be inviting to tea? Oh don't give me that look. There is no need to be shy. We mustn't delay if we expect—”
“Expect nothing,” Margaret said at last. “Jonas is a friend of Peter's.”
“From what I saw you two were quite... intimate.” Lady Marshall practically giggled at the suggestion.
“Intimate? Nothing like you and your little extra-marital liaison!” Margaret spoke before she could censor herself. She would clasp her hand over her mouth if such actions had not already been trained out of her as unladylike.
Margaret watched as her mother's face hardened at her words. Lady Marshall raised an eyebrow, a challenge to her daughter to continue, if she dared. She would not apologize, Margaret decided even though an uncertainty clung to her as her mother attempted to stare her down. Now that the subject had been broached, however, th
ere was no point in holding back.
Margaret took a breath and stood taller. “I did not come to talk about Jonas. I want to talk about the disgrace you have caused Father.”
Margaret watched her mother smile on one side of her mouth and recognized the look of amusement. Her mother seemed to be rather enjoying the disquiet she was causing. It seemed to arouse her sense of accomplishment. It was a side of her mother that Margaret had never seen before. Despite her ill-advised challenges to London society, by in large Lady Marshall had conformed enough to simply be gossip fodder, and was able to avoid scandalous disaster. Now she seemed to be courting it.
Suddenly Lady Marshall put her hand to her temples. “You must forgive me, my dear, I seem to have a headache.” Margaret watched her mother wince in pain, wondering if she was witness to an act, a tactic to change the subject or if her mother truly was suffering.
Lady Marshall stood up from her chair, and staggered to her bed.
“Mother?” Margaret went to her mother's side.
“My bag, my bag,” Lady Marshall said in a husky voice. She waved her hand toward a small valise near the sitting area of her room. Lady Marshall climbed into bed while keeping one hand over her eyes, as if shutting out the early morning light.
Margaret brought the valise and laid it on the foot of the bed. “Mother, what do you need?” she asked sifting through the contents. There was a panic in her voice that she could not quell. “Mother?” She looked up and saw Lady Marshall recoiling as though in pain into the mountain of pillows arranged on her bed. “Mother?”
“My pills. My tonic.” Lady Marshall waved her free hand, but her movements gave no indication which she meant. Finally Margaret brought the bag to the head of the bed just as her mother recoiled again as though in reaction to some unseen searing pain. Desperately Margaret searched. Whatever anger she had had for her mother was now gone as she found it impossible not to believe, by the excruciating look on her face, that her mother was in sheer agony.
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