“How restful your company is, Miss Winterton. You are not a chatterer, as so many women are. You feel no need to fill the emptiness with noise.”
“It is fortunate for you, then, that it was not my sister Lucy who became your daughters’ governess. The only time she stops talking is when she is asleep.”
“Is she the one who writes the ten page letters?”
“Indeed she is. Now, with Margaret, one is lucky to get more than a line or two. And Fanny—” For a moment, the tears were very close to the surface, but, taking a deep breath, she blinked them away.
“You miss them,” he said in a low voice. “Of course you do. To be so close, and then to be separated… to be someone of consequence, and then to become a governess… Your situation is hard, but so is mine, in many ways. At least you still have the possibility to marry and leave off being a governess. I can never stop being an earl.”
“Is it so troublesome, being an earl?”
“Ah, the title, the deference, the riches, every whim catered for… It seems easy on the surface, but it is a great responsibility also. Not so great as in past centuries, when choosing the wrong side could mean the loss of one’s head and everything else besides, but there is still the burden of maintaining the inheritance in good order for the next generation. One must always do one’s duty. Sometimes I am so very tired of doing my duty, Miss Winterton. Just for once, I should like to have something for myself, something that is not part of my duty but which nevertheless would make me very happy.”
She caught her breath, but he was not looking at her, merely staring out at the water. His tone was so level that she concluded that he was talking about the general, not the particular.
“Few of us are lucky enough to have exactly what we want,” she said softly. “If I had had my wish, I would have been Mrs Charles Keeling now. My sister Fanny would perhaps be Mrs Roland Hawes. And my brother Jeremy… Jeremy would still be alive.”
“Tell me about your brother,” he said, shifting sideways so that he could look directly into her face.
“Jeremy was the best of us, I think. It was as if the most admirable feature of each of us had been given to him, and none of our flaws. He was as handsome as Rosamund, as enthusiastic about lessons as I was, as easy in company as Lucy, as serious and intent as Margaret, and as sweetly good-natured as Fanny. He loved machinery — clocks, locks, the waterwheel at the mill — such things fascinated him. But mechanical devices were not suitable subjects for Papa’s son to take an interest in, and Papa decided he needed to be toughened up. He was sent off to sea to make a man of him, and he was dead within days. Poor Papa never recovered.”
“But he was the only son, was he not? Why send him into so dangerous a profession? Or any profession at all. The heir is generally kept at home to learn his duties.”
“He was the very image of Mama,” she said sadly. “It was a daily grief to Papa. Even so… it was a surprise to all of us when he sent him away. Poor Jeremy! He was terrified of the sea, but Papa would have him go, so go he went. He was only supposed to be a Midshipman for a few years, then he would come home to help Papa manage the estate.”
“Yet he did his duty in obeying his father, and there is satisfaction in that,” he said.
But there was such bleakness in his voice that she shivered. He noticed her discomfort at once.
“Are you cold? May I fetch a wrap for you? Or let me take you inside.”
“I should like to go in, but…the saloon sounds very lively.”
“Ah, now there I can help. My last attempt to avoid the saloon saw me entering the house by way of the library window, and an unfortunate encounter with the rum supply. I subsequently decided that such a mode of entry was not conducive to my well-being, or yours either, and I remembered that the service stairs have a door by which entry may be gained, if one has the appropriate key.” With a grin that made him look ten years younger, he reached into a waistcoat pocket and produced a large, ornate key. “May I escort you home, Miss Winterton?”
“Why, thank you, Lord Brackenwood.”
He offered her his arm, and they walked along the lake until they gained the path, then turned towards the house. Half hidden by ivy and overgrown shrubs, the door yielded silently to his key. Inside a lamp burned low, clearly placed ready for the earl’s return. He lit a candle from it and led the way up the spiral staircase, the sound of their feet echoing against the stone walls.
After a half turn, he said, “This is the door to the library.”
“A much safer point of entry than the window.”
“Yes, indeed. The breeches I wore that night are beyond repair, Portman informs me. He is most displeased with me.”
She chuckled, as he moved on up and around until he came to another door and stopped.
“My room. I shall come no further, Miss Winterton. There will be lamps lit inside for me, so take the candle to light your steps the rest of the way to your chamber.”
She took the candle from him, and his fingers brushed hers for the briefest moment. Intentionally? Impossible to say, but suddenly she was aware of his closeness, of the silence that had fallen, of the intimacy of standing beside him, quite alone, on the stair outside his bedroom. His eyes were intent, but he kept his distance and, despite the thumping of her heart, she knew that she was safe with him. It was not fear that speeded her pulse and made her breath hard to draw suddenly.
This would never do! With an effort, she said, “Thank you for your escort, Lord Brackenwood.”
“For my part, I thank you for your company,” he said, with a slight smile. “You have lightened my mood materially.”
“You must not be downhearted,” she said quietly. “There is much in your life to be thankful for.”
“Indeed there is. But there are still moments of deep sorrow, such as now, for instance.”
Nervously, she said, “Now?”
“Indeed. For there is not a bit of mistletoe about the place. Good night, Miss Winterton, and sleep well.”
And with a smile, his eyes filled with amusement, he opened his door and vanished inside.
~~~~~
‘My dearest sister, Lucy has written me such a long letter, which Lady Harriet had to pay three shillings and sixpence for, upbraiding me for being foolish. She calls me a widgeon and bird-witted and many other things, and I cannot say she is wrong. I am very sorry indeed if I have given rise to hopes which cannot be fulfilled. It is obvious to me now that Jeremy cannot possibly be alive for why would he stay away and send not a word of himself if he is? Rosamund is more gentle, but she too thinks it was silly of me. Your letter was much kinder, in thinking it to be a natural mistake, but I will take your advice and not let my hopes overwhelm my reason in future. Is Margaret all right? I have not heard from her for an age. Your remorseful sister, Fanny.’
~~~~~
Annabelle’s days were rather disrupted once Mr Willerton-Forbes began his investigation. The room adjacent to the nursery was given over to him for the purpose of conducting interviews, so every time Annabelle went out onto the landing outside the schoolroom, there would be a tearful maid waiting to be questioned, or a footman carrying trays back and forth for the gentlemen. Fortunately, they slept in the guest bedrooms on the floor below. Now that most of the house guests had departed, only the chaplain, Mr Penicuik, had a bedroom on the same floor as Annabelle and since his room connected directly to the chapel, she never saw him.
The investigators began their questions with Lord Brackenwood, and then, protesting volubly, Lady Brackenwood, before working their way in rank order through the household, family first and then servants. But on the third day, Annabelle herself was called in. Setting her pupils a passage of Shakespeare to memorise under the supervision of a nursery maid, she knocked tentatively on the door and went in.
The bed and most of the furnishings had been pushed aside, and a long table of unvarnished wood set in the middle of the room. Mr Willerton-Forbes sat behind it, with Mr Neate at on
e end taking notes. Captain Edgerton sat, arms folded, on the window seat. All the gentlemen rose as she entered.
“Do come in, Miss Winterton, and take a seat,” Mr Willerton-Forbes said, indicating a chair by the table opposite his own.
“I am not sure how I can help you,” Annabelle said, sitting down and smoothing her skirts. “I was not here when Lady Brackenwood died, and did not even know the family then.”
“Precisely,” the lawyer said, resuming his seat with a smile. “You are an outsider, as we are, but with the advantage of several months’ residency. You have become acquainted with the family — indeed, the whole household — and may give us much valuable information. Are you willing to answer a few questions?”
“Of course, if I can.”
The first questions were easy — which servants she had contact with, whether any of them had talked about Lady Brackenwood or raised any suspicions about her death. Then on to the family, and Annabelle remembered something Mr Jeremiah Skelton had said.
“The old gentleman gets very confused, and when I first arrived he thought I was Lady Brackenwood. Then, when it was pointed out that her ladyship was dead, he said, ‘Who killed her?’. But he gets so muddled. I daresay it means nothing.”
“And the dowager countess? Does she take an interest in your lessons?”
“Not at all.”
“Is she kind to you?”
Annabelle had to smile at that. “Neither kind nor unkind. She ignores me as much as possible, which is entirely proper. I have only talked to her at length once, when her sole concern was to warn me away from thoughts of marrying her son.”
“And do you have such thoughts?”
That wiped the smile from her face instantly. “Is that relevant?” Mr Willerton-Forbes made no movement, but she felt as if he were watching her with heightened interest, like a cat, alert and ready to pounce. So she added smoothly, “No, I have no thoughts of marrying her son.”
“But he might have thoughts of marrying you, Miss Winterton.” Again, she was aware of a tension in the room.
“He got very drunk one night and tried to kiss me. The next day, being an honourable man, he felt obliged to offer for me. I declined.” She decided not to make any mention of mistletoe, for how could such a thing be put into words? She hardly knew herself what it meant, if anything.
But after a long silence, the lawyer went on to talk about the doctor and the apothecary and her ladyship’s medication. Annabelle knew little of any of them. She had occasionally seen Dr Wilcox coming and going on his visits to the dowager countess, and she had once or twice visited the apothecary for her own needs, but she knew nothing of her ladyship’s illness or medicines.
“So you never went into her bedroom? It was not cleared after her death, and one or two of the servants admitted to taking some of her ladyship’s tonics and so forth. Did you ever do likewise?”
“I have never been into the bedroom downstairs, no, only the bedroom she used on this floor, since it adjoins the schoolroom, and the supplies of paper and so forth are kept in the closet there.”
The lawyer’s face, usually so bland, changed to one of surprise. “She had a second bedroom? Will you show us, if you please?”
She led the way onto the landing and into the schoolroom, startling the three girls into silence, and then into the large bedroom beyond. The three men at once fell to examining every drawer and cupboard and shelf.
“No medicaments here,” Captain Edgerton said.
“There were a great many,” Annabelle said. “I put them away for safety, now that the room is generally left unlocked. I did not wish my pupils to find them. They are in a locked box through here.”
She took them into the small room and unlocked the box, revealing a score or more bottles, jars and lozenge tins.
“Miss Winterton, you are a wonder!” Mr Willerton-Forbes said, with a beaming smile. “This is exactly what we had hoped to find.”
“Then… you believe she took something… that Lady Brackenwood’s death was not natural?”
“Natural? No, there was nothing natural about it. Her ladyship was poisoned.”
15: Of Poison (July)
Mr Willerton-Forbes and his colleagues carefully lifted all the items out of the box, and arranged them in three groups on the floor, two groups containing a mixture of bottles and pill boxes, and one bottle on its own. The lawyer picked up the lone bottle and passed it to Annabelle.
“Miss Winterton, was this bottle amongst the rest? It is not your own, for instance?”
“It was in the drawer with all the others. The label is different, though. This group you have set aside here is from the apothecary, for I recognise Mr Burton’s hand. These ones must be from Dr Wilcox and the physician in Chester. But the label on this one is in her ladyship’s own hand.”
Again they looked astonished. “How do you know that?” Captain Edgerton said sharply. “We found nothing in her ladyship’s hand in her room downstairs.”
“She kept prodigious notes on everything her daughters were to learn. Do you wish to see her notebooks? I have them in the schoolroom desk.”
“Will you show Captain Edgerton where they may be found? Bring a sample here, Michael.”
When Annabelle went through to the schoolroom, the three girls were whispering together, paying no attention to their books.
“Would you like to go for a walk?” She turned to the maid. “Matilda, please accompany them. You may walk three times around both lakes, with no dawdling or running, if you please. If you wish to rest, you may sit in the Grecian Temple for five minutes. Remember you are the daughters of an earl.”
They followed Matilda demurely to the nursery to find their bonnets and gloves, while Annabelle showed Captain Edgerton the drawer where she had stowed Lady Brackenwood’s notebooks. He flipped through one of them, deftly catching a pink dried flower that fell from the pages.
“Hmm. A romantic at heart, then,” he said, waving the flower about. “Yet the schoolwork is very dull stuff. Your plan to have them memorising Romeo And Juliet is more fun. Shall you act it out when the young ladies have it by heart? If you need a Mercutio, I would be happy to oblige, or if you were Juliet, I could play a most convincing Romeo.”
He smiled at her in such an optimistic manner that she could not help laughing. “You are an outrageous flirt, Captain, considering you are a married man.”
“Ah, marriage has not rendered me blind, Miss Winterton. I may still admire a beautiful woman, and enjoy her company, but the chains of love are strong, and stretch from London even so far as the wilds of Cheshire. You are quite safe from me. Let us take this back to Willerton-Forbes.”
She chuckled at the idea of herself as beautiful. The most she ever aspired to was to hear herself described as a handsome woman, and that when she was in her ballroom finery. Yes, he was a dreadful flirt, but he made her blush a little, and in her present situation, it warmed her heart to be admired, even by such a man as Captain Edgerton.
The lawyer examined the notebook carefully. It confirmed that the handwriting on the label was Lady Brackenwood’s, but why she would possess this one sleeping draught with the instructions labelled in her own hand, when all her other medicines were prescribed by physicians or the apothecary, was more than anyone could guess.
~~~~~
The saloon was subdued that night. Willerton-Forbes had told everyone that he was investigating the possibility of poison, either accidental or otherwise, but murder could not be ruled out.
“Nobody would want to murder Eloise,” the dowager countess said robustly. “She hadn’t an enemy in the world. It must have been an accident. Perhaps she ate some bad shellfish. One can’t be too careful when preparing such dishes.”
“I shall be talking again to the cook, of course,” Willerton-Forbes said. “However, I already know the dishes that were served the night Lady Brackenwood died, and who partook of each one, and I cannot find anything, food or drink, that was served only to her ladys
hip. I think we must look elsewhere for the cause.”
“I daresay she muddled her pills or took too much of one or other of them. She had so many different sorts. Dr Wilcox was always bringing something new for her to try, and always two bottles, one for each of her bedrooms. It would be so easy to make a mistake.”
“Let us hope that is the case,” Allan said. “It would certainly be very bad for me if it turns out to be murder.”
“Indeed! Such a dreadful thing for the family to be associated with that sort of thing,” the dowager countess said with a shudder.
“Especially if the head of that family is hanged for it,” George said with an attempt at levity. “Can you imagine it — a trial in the House of Lords, and a big splash in all the newspapers. Although… rather good news for me, eh, cousin? Perhaps I had Cousin Eloise murdered in order to get you hanged so that I might inherit the earldom. Have you considered that, Willerton-Forbes? Am I under suspicion?”
“Everyone is under suspicion,” Willerton-Forbes said soberly, wiping the smile from George’s face.
It was fortunate that Plessey announced dinner at that point, for no one quite knew what to say. Allan led his mother into the dining room, the rest following in unaccustomed silence. They sat, the soup was served and the meal commenced without a single word being spoken. When the footmen had withdrawn, it was Marisa who broke the silence.
“You did not really mean it, surely, Mr Willerton-Forbes?” she said. “It cannot be that everyone is under suspicion. Why, Miss Winterton was not even here at the time, and nor was I. You cannot suspect us, I am certain.”
The lawyer gave a wintry smile. “No, indeed, Mrs Pargeter. You were not here and, even if you had been, you had no reason to wish your sister dead. That is a very important piece of the puzzle, as you will appreciate. If this is truly murder, then the perpetrator must have had a powerful urge to remove Lady Brackenwood from this world, compelling enough to risk being hanged for it. Even if we find out that her ladyship was murdered, unless we can discover why we cannot move forward.”
The Governess Page 15
