‘No, you can’t, young man!’ Bessie said. ‘They’s not to your liking. You can have one of them humbugs out of the sweetie jar seeing as how it’s not yet time for your tea.’
Not too sure whether she would fancy a chocolate tasting of a wild flower, Bessie put the remaining two chocolates into an empty sugar bowl and placed them on top of the bookcase where Charlie wouldn’t find them. She then promptly forgot they were there.
Downstairs, having admired the colt and enjoyed an exhilarating ride with Brook that afternoon, Felicity was sitting with a glass of sherry with Brook in the drawing room. She was engaging Brook in plans for a large party she and Paul intended to have. It was to celebrate her brother’s engagement to the pretty French mademoiselle, Denise Etoile, who he intended to marry the following year. Paul’s house in London was not big enough for the kind of entertainment he had in mind, and he wished also to be able to accommodate his future relations, of whom there would be at least fifteen, if not more. Melton Court was capacious enough to receive them and any other French friends who might wish to attend. All they would need, Felicity told Brook, would be extra staff.
‘I’m hoping, Brook, dear, that as I am without a husband to act as host, and Paul will probably be busy with his future in-laws, that you would be very kind and assist me when I need an extra hand. There will be so much to think about – the food, which of course I will see to, but the drinks and an orchestra and suitable valets for the gentlemen guests. I thought Hastings might vet some applicants for me …’
A little surprised but pleased to be thought so necessary, Brook smiled. ‘My dear Felicity,’ he said, refilling her sherry glass, ‘I will be only too pleased to assist you in any way I can, but won’t your Paul want to oversee all the details himself?’
Felicity shook her head. ‘No, Paul has too many business affairs to see to in London to spend the necessary time up here. He seems to think that I can quite well manage on my own, but …’
Brook interrupted her. ‘I will happily assist you, Felicity, my dear,’ he repeated, ‘in whatever way I can. Do you have a date arranged as yet?’
Felicity nodded happily. ‘I have suggested three months from today, and Paul and Mademoiselle Etoile have agreed. I told Paul I was going to seek your help and he was delighted, so May the fifteenth it will be.’
Brook stood up. ‘I expect you will wish to say goodbye to Harriet before you go, and I have to meet my bailiff at six o’clock so I shall have to leave you. You must let me know immediately when you need my help.’
He reached for Felicity’s hand and, lifting it, merely brushed it with his lips.
As he turned to leave the room, he did not see the rush of colour flooding Felicity’s cheeks. Her eyes followed him to the door and, when he closed it behind him, she pressed her own lips to where Brook’s had touched her hand. Her heart thudding in her breast, she gathered up her gloves and left the room.
She now made her way slowly upstairs, her fevered brain racing. Soon … soon Brook would be hers! Soon it would not be just her hand he kissed, but her mouth, her eyes, her breasts. Although he never spoke of love, she was convinced that he felt more than mere liking for her. There were times when she had seen him looking at her with what she believed to be desire, and felt her body throbbing in response with feelings such as she had never experienced with a man before.
Brook and she belonged together, Felicity told herself. She had no doubt of that now. As soon as Harriet was out of the way and Brook was no longer restrained by his sense of duty to his wife, he would be free to claim her. No other woman could have such a consuming love for him as she did. There was nothing she would not do to be with him, near him, loving him, for the rest of her life.
Upstairs, Felicity encountered Ellen leaving Harriet’s bedroom with an armful of towels. Seeing the look on the maid’s face, she whispered a quick apology that she had not paid her any money for the past month. It was a bad oversight. The woman had far too much knowledge of her intentions were she to decide to betray her. Whispering a promise to bring the money with her the following day, she escaped into Harriet’s room.
Harriet was sitting in a chair by the window, a shawl round her shoulders and a rug over her knees. She looked deathly pale.
Felicity went to stand beside her. ‘Are you still feeling unwell, dearest?’ she enquired. ‘You are very pale!’
Harriet sighed. ‘I wish I knew what was wrong with me,’ she said, not far from tears. ‘I feel so ill all the time and I have a horrible pain here!’ She put her hand below her ribs. ‘You know, Felicity, I have been wondering if Doctor Tremlett is right and our well water is contaminated. He said an animal could have fallen in and drowned and that would be enough to have polluted it.’
She drew a shaky sigh. ‘First that unfortunate girl, Annie, nearly died, and Ellen tells me that Jenny, the nursery maid who shares her room in the attic, has retired to bed crying because she’s in such pain. She is being sick, too, just like Annie. I am in little doubt now that I, too, am suffering from the same infection.’
Felicity bent and gently stroked Harriet’s cheek. ‘You must take better precautions, dearest,’ she said softly. ‘You must not drink the water if there is a chance that it could be to blame. You had no lunch, so it is no surprise that you are feeling weak. I will call tomorrow and see if you are feeling better. If you are not, I shall insist Brook sends for Doctor Tremlett despite your insistence that you don’t need him.’
Harriet’s pause was only fractional, and then she nodded. She usually enjoyed Felicity’s company but there were times, such as now, when she found it almost exhausting.
‘I’m so sorry I am such poor company,’ she said. ‘Please do not feel you must visit me every day. By tomorrow I shall be quite all right, I promise you. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.’
‘Darling girl, you know I love coming here!’ Felicity said, ‘and I’m not happy about you being on your own. It’s not as if Brook …’ She broke off when she saw tears welling in Harriet’s eyes. ‘I shall pop up to the nursery now and pay a quick visit to that dear little boy of yours.’ She paused before adding: ‘Harriet, forgive me if I’m being too intrusive, but I’ve noticed Brook does not see as much of little Charlie as he used to do. Has he really taken against him? I know you confessed that Charlie is not his son, but surely he cannot mean to reject him completely?’
Harriet was now even closer to tears as she replied in a choked voice: ‘I sometimes think Brook would be happier if I left him; if I took Charlie away, out of his sight. My poor little boy is too much of a reminder of my lies, my deception.’
For a single moment, Felicity’s heart soared. If Harriet left with the child … there would be no further barrier to prevent Brook turning to her. He could obtain a divorce and she …
She broke off as Harriet said, ‘But I can’t leave him, Felicity. I love him too much! Unhappy as he makes me with his silence, his withdrawal of all we once meant to each other, I do at least see him every day. I get to be near him. I can still hope that one day he will find it in his heart to forgive me. Just very occasionally I feel that he wants to forgive me but his pride will not allow himself to do so. I pray it may be possible!’
Felicity turned aside so that Harriet could not see her expression as her heart twisted painfully at Harriet’s suggestion Brook might still love her. Although, as far as she knew, Brook had not spent another night in Harriet’s bed, it was perfectly possible, she well knew, that a man could desire a woman without loving her, and he might wish to demand his marital rights again.
Suddenly, a smile returned to her face. It didn’t make any difference what Harriet’s hopes were for a reconciliation. If she had another chocolate, by tomorrow morning – if not tonight – she would be beyond realizing her hopes.
Upstairs on the shelf above the fireplace, the bowl containing the remaining two arsenic-filled chocolates grew steadily warmer from the heat of the nursery fire. By evening they had al
l but completely melted. Finding the congealed mess the following morning, Bessie decided that they were in no state to be eaten, tipped the lot into Charlie’s chamber pot and gave it to the maid to throw away.
NINETEEN
1869
For the second time within the past few weeks, Brook awoke with a throbbing in his skull and the shafts of daylight visible through the curtains stung his eyes. Through the fog clouding his brain, he slowly became aware of the cause behind his blinding headache as he recalled the previous evening when he had visited Melton Court. He had drunk far too much of the vintage wine which Felicity’s father had imported from France.
Brook now had a vague memory of voluptuous white breasts spilling out of Felicity’s low corsage: of her husky voice begging him to make love to her. Had he done so? he wondered now. There had been times … quite a few times when he had been tempted to do so, but despite everything – the cruel way Harriet had betrayed him, it was still Harriet’s body, her kisses and her touch that he craved.
Hastings, who had finally learnt the truth about Charlie from Brook, had now become accustomed to his master’s eating habits on mornings such as these, and was unsurprised when Brook pushed away the breakfast tray. He needed no bidding to pour out a cup of strong coffee. The look he gave his master was not sympathetic. It was not only that he – and indeed all the servants – disliked Mrs Goodall, it was that they had suspected for a while that the motive behind her ever-increasing number of visits to the house, ostensibly visits to their mistress, were in fact to attract their master.
It was, of course, common knowledge amongst the staff that there had been a breakdown in the marriage, and that Mrs Goodall was intending to set her cap at him.
At first, Hastings had supposed Felicity wished to become Brook’s mistress, but now something a great deal more serious was happening; he and Bessie were convinced that she intended to become not just his mistress, but his wife.
When Bessie had first told him of her suspicions that her beloved Miss Harriet was being poisoned, he had instantly rejected such a crazy notion. Then, last week, Bessie had repeated her accusation. Her voice trembling and her eyes full of tears, her young mistress, she wept, had lost so much weight that she was becoming a wraith! She could keep no food down her, and she was always far, far worse after Mrs Goodall had visited her and encouraged her to eat the hot-house fruit or the delicacies she had bought for her.
Finally, Bessie had told Hastings she had determined to test her suspicions, and on her last afternoon off, had gone down to the farm with some of the fruit and fed it to one of the young goats. Next morning, the kid had collapsed. Its life was only saved by the farmer who dosed it with a whole bottle of paraffin oil, which he kept for the animals should they have picked up and eaten something poisonous.
Hastings had dismissed such a conclusion – the animal could as easily become ill by eating evergreens instead of grass or hay, he argued. Since then, however, his master’s even more frequent visits to Melton Court had made him wonder if, after all, there could be some truth in Bessie’s allegations. He would, he decided, speak to Brook, alerting him to their concerns.
This morning, he now thought, would be a good moment to do so whilst his master’s senses were weakened by too much alcohol, and he would be unlikely to dismiss him before he could finish saying what he must. Inadvertently, Brook made it easier for him to do so by saying with a sigh: ‘I wish you wouldn’t stand there looking at me with that unpleasantly disapproving expression, Hastings. My God, man, if you hadn’t been in my service for so damn long, I’d tell you to pack your bags and be off before I wipe that look off your face.’
There was an infinitesimal pause before Hastings said very quietly, ‘I am very sorry to have to say this, sir, but I must take the risk of my dismissal and say what has to be said.’ He turned away from the look of disbelief on his master’s face, and continued, ‘I think you know, sir, that I would lay down my life for you. Having no family of my own, I have been more than content to serve you and your family. I have never wanted otherwise! But now … now I cannot stand by silently and watch you destroy your life …’
Brook sat up, still with a terrible headache, a look of disbelief on his face as he tried to clear his mind. Despite the long years of intimacy between him and his valet, Hastings had never once overstepped the boundary between them.
‘What in heaven’s name are you talking about, Hastings?’ he said. ‘Have you gone off your head? Spit it out, man! We have no secrets between us, so say what you will.’
Hastings paused, his heart sinking as he realized that his beloved master might well send him packing if he said what he felt was necessary. His voice quiet but steady, he began at the deep end.
‘Bessie and I believe that Mrs Goodall is trying to get rid of madam.’
Disregarding the look of utter disbelief on Brook’s face, he proceeded to relate Bessie’s story of the poisoned kid; of the unexplained sickness of the mistress, of some of the staff including himself. Before Brook could interrupt, Hastings continued, ‘Ever since you found out that Master Charlie wasn’t yours and you took against madam for deceiving you, Mrs Goodall has increased the number of her visits to this house to such an extent that some of the downstairs servants have said that, with her coming and going as she does without invitation, as she isn’t family she must now be your mistress. There has even been talk that you might be going to divorce madam and marry Mrs Goodall. They all know, you see, sir, that you’ve taken against madam and Master Charlie …’
He broke off, unnerved by the scowl on Brook’s face and his unaccustomed silence. Finally Brook spoke, his voice unnaturally quiet as he said, ‘Well, get on with it, man! I can see you have more to say.’
Hastings hesitated before continuing quietly, ‘I know it’s just downstairs gossip, sir, but both Albert and the parlourmaid have remarked that Mrs Goodall didn’t seem to mind the times when they opened the drawing-room door and saw her standing right close to you. They say she’s a comely woman and the men ser-vants say they understand you wanting her, ’specially as you no longer share madam’s bedroom.’
He heard Brook’s sharp intake of breath as he listened to Hastings relating such a shocking account of what was being said in the servants’ quarters. Seeing the expression on his master’s face, Hastings now expected to be dismissed immediately, but having started to say what had been on his mind for so long, he would not now be stopped.
‘It isn’t just Bessie and me as is sorry for madam,’ he said. ‘None of the staff can understand how you’ve turned against young Master Charlie. There isn’t one of us as isn’t fond of him – always smiling, laughing and singing, lovely little voice he has. You can hear him singing to himself those Irish songs young Maire taught him. “A ray of sunshine!” Cook calls him. Only time he hasn’t got a smile on his face is when you come upon him and turn your back. He can’t understand it, and …’
‘You can stop there, Hastings!’ Brook interrupted sharply. ‘You know damn well he isn’t my child. How in God’s name do you think I feel? It cuts me to the quick every time I hear him call “Papa” when he sees me. He isn’t my son – the son I wanted, and never will be!’
There was such pain in his voice that Hastings felt a moment of pity for him. Then he said quietly, ‘I’m a lucky man then, aren’t I, sir? If your father hadn’t taken pity on me when I was newborn, I’d have been in an orphanage same as those unhappy children in Mr Dickens’ books. That’s where Master Charlie would be if’n madam hadn’t taken pity on him.’
For a brief moment, Brook’s expression was one of uncertainty, but then he said harshly, ‘It’s none of your damn business, Hastings, but it isn’t just the boy – it’s that I can’t forgive my wife for deceiving me! How could I ever trust her again? For nearly three whole years she let me believe a lie …’ He broke off, his throat too constricted to continue.
Hastings sighed. ‘And if madam had told you, sir? Can you say on your oath that you w
ould have said, yes, we will keep him and bring him up as our own? I dare say none of this would have happened if madam had had children of her own, but she’d just lost one – another one, and women need children.’
He broke off once more, Brook’s unexpected silence unnerving him. Then, gathering the remnants of his courage, he said, ‘Bessie and I think Mrs Goodall is determined to be part of your life, sir. If that’s the way you want it, and you divorced madam, then I’m sorry I spoke.’
‘Of course I don’t want that,’ Brook said sharply, ‘and Mrs Goodall is aware I will never go to such lengths.’
Hastings shook his head as he said urgently, ‘Don’t you see then, sir, that that is the reason Mrs Goodall wants madam out of the way? That is why she wants to kill her.’
‘Kill her?’ Brook shouted. ‘You are out of your mind, Hastings!’
‘I fear not, sir,’ Hastings said quietly, ‘and before you tell me again that it is impossible, I must repeat what Bessie told me, that madam always complains of pain in her stomach after eating the fruit and sweetmeats Mrs Goodall gave her; that madam has lost a lot of weight and looks far from well.’
Try as Brook wished to ignore Hastings’ ridiculous accusations, he could not quite do so. It wasn’t so much that he thought them absurd but that Hastings, his trusted valet, should dare even to suggest such things. Had any other servant said a fraction as much he’d have dismissed him on the spot. No matter what he might think, Hastings obviously believed what he was saying.
It struck him suddenly that Harriet indeed did not look well: there were dark shadows under her eyes, and she was often to be seen walking strangely, as if in discomfort. His coffee had grown cold. And the pounding in his head was even more painful than before. He wanted to be left alone in the darkness to sleep off his hangover. He’d had far, far too much wine – so much that he simply couldn’t remember anything about the last few hours he had spent with Felicity at Melton Court. Nor did he recall how he had managed to climb into the cabriolet and allow the horse to find its way home. He did recall Felicity begging him to make love to her, insisting no one would know and he remembered, too, reminding her that he was a married man; that despite his estrangement from his wife, he wished to remain true to the vows he had made at his wedding. He vaguely remembered Felicity laughing as if she didn’t believe him. He remembered, too, holding her in his arms, her perfumed, seductive body soft and inviting in his embrace, but there his recall became hopelessly confused. He’d wanted to give way to the temptation to possess her, but had he actually done so?
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