by Kit Donner
Madelene smiled at Mrs. Tottencott as she wobbled into the room, leaning on her gold-tipped cane to the left, all dressed in gray from her shoes to her gloves to the top of her head. Her husband, Mr. Tottencott, followed close behind his wife, apparently to ensure she didn’t tip over, although he could hardly claim equilibrium himself from the gout he suffered on his left foot. Madelene watched them parade into the room, and decided if he leaned right and she leaned left, they could walk as one, with ne’er a worry of tumbling. She hid her smile at the thought.
“Mr. and Mrs. Tottencott, we are honored you have joined us this evening. May I present my wife, the former Miss Madelene Colgate, now Westcott.” Gabriel performed the introductions.
The older woman peered at Madelene through her quizzing glass from top to bottom, scrutiny unmistakably on her mind. So intently was she examined, Madelene felt confident the woman could detect sugar specks on her lip from a plum cake she had eaten earlier. Ever gracious to this bastion of presumed power, she endured the perusal, well aware Mrs. Tottencott could be a powerful friend or a powerful foe in the country. Madelene did not wish for the latter.
“Mrs. Tottencott, may I echo my husband’s sentiments in welcoming you to our home?” Madelene wished to sound sincere but was becoming increasingly uncomfortable under the old woman’s glare.
“I didn’t hear your wedding banns announced, Mr. Westcott,” she informed the couple in her staccato voice, when she deigned to clip a few words.
Although Madelene started at this unexpected pronouncement, Gabriel gave Mrs. Tottencott the warmest of smiles. “Ah, I see, we cannot put anything past you. You are far too clever. I am sincerely regretful. The oversight is none but my own.” He took Madelene’s hand in his own and kissed it. “You see, Mrs. Tottencott, as I was quite determined to marry Miss Westcott, I didn’t allow time for any of the usual formalities or traditions.”
Her sharp eyes scanned back and forth between Gabriel and Madelene, intent on missing nothing. “So, Westcott, this is not the arranged marriage your uncle wished between you and Lady Shillmont. He would be most unhappy. Her father’s lands adjoined to your property would have made an immense acquisition to the Westcott fortunes.” She had to stop her unsought and unpleasant diatribe, overcome by a coughing spell.
Lady Shillmont, Madelene thought. Hmm, another story to learn.
“Please, Mrs. Tottencott, let me help you to a chair. You must be weary on your feet.” Gabriel showed the couple to the closest settee and assisted in making them comfortable by offering a glass of Madeira, which they both declined.
“Ah, Mr. Westcott—” Mrs. Tottencott continued but it was interrupted by new arrivals.
“The Misses Lavender, Lilac, and Rose McMartin,” Graham announced loudly from outside the drawing-room door.
“Hyacinth, I told you! Hyacinth. Wherever did you get the name Lilac?” A small blond woman stood before the butler with hands on her hips. “My name is Miss McMartin,” she informed him in a shrill voice.
“Terribly sorry. I knew the other name to be a flower, but lilac was the only one come to mind.” Graham nodded to Madelene and Gabriel before making his escape.
Hyacinth, a tiny birdlike woman, flew into the room with her two sisters close behind, her small hands and mouth flapping together about rude butlers, or at least that was what Madelene thought she heard. The woman spoke without breath, making it difficult to discern actual words.
By way of introduction, she pointed to a tall, pale female, rather nondescript in appearance, and called her Rose—surely a gross mistake in nomenclature from her parents, Madelene couldn’t help think. Lavender stood next to Rose and was easily the prettiest of the three. As Hyacinth was short and Rose tall, Lavender fit somewhere in the middle. She had light brown hair, big brown eyes, and a very serene shy smile.
The boldest of the three, Hyacinth claimed dull blond hair, unimaginative brown eyes, and a small mouth constantly in motion. All three wore pale flowered frocks with a variety of colored sashes, perhaps not of the latest fashion, but not unbecoming.
Madelene guessed the sisters to be within a year or two of each other and just on the outside of marriageable age. She didn’t know enough of the family’s circumstances, but had never seen or heard of the McMartins in London during the Season. If the notion few bachelors resided in Shropshire could be presumed, these young ladies would need to seek farther afield for matrimonial conquests. The three latest arrivals found a seat and accepted the offered Madeira while the Vicar Caring was announced and introduced to Madelene.
Madelene took a step back from his booming and overbearing presence. She thought he would do well as the Master of Ceremonies in a circus, so loud was his voice. “Mr. Westcott and Mrs. Westcott. I finally have the privilege to meet the newest resident of Shropshire. Delighted, delighted.”
The eager vicar bent over Madelene’s hand and kissed it, holding on to it as he continued his monologue. “I was saying to Mrs. McMartin, the girls’ mother, the other day, I had not yet had the pleasure to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Westcott but hoped to do so in the near future. And can I believe it? Here I am. A lucky man, yes, a lucky man, indeed.”
He finally gave Madelene her hand back and turned to the rest of the occupants. “How fortunate to have such a delightful group for this evening’s gathering. Honored, that’s what I am, honored.”
Gabriel, in the end, had to actually shove him into a seat and hold him down, when he would have popped up like corn in hot oil, Madelene mused. When she had an opportunity to view the vicar, she noted his small pock-scarred face, small black eyes, and mouth, mostly open for talking. Oh dear. With the vicar, Hyacinth, and Mrs. Tottencott, Madelene hoped the others would be permitted a word here and there.
She delicately sniffed the air. If she wasn’t mistaken, the vicar smelled of mold. In his costume, he looked every inch the part of a parson from his broad-toed shoes to his black clothes and white neckcloth. Why ever did it appear vicars had an obsequious nature? She wondered if it was a requirement of the job.
Inwardly sighing, Madelene was relieved to see an old acquaintance, Mr. Bush, enter the room, cane in hand. Both Gabriel and Madelene greeted him warmly, trying to be heard over the vicar’s posturing to Mrs. Tottencott.
Gabriel walked Mr. Bush to the center of the room and informed his friend of the current occupants as Mr. Bush nodded at the chorus of welcomes.
Lavender surprised Madelene by leaving her chair and walking to Mr. Bush’s side to offer her own personal respects. In a low voice, she said, “I am so pleased you are part of the festivities, Mr. Bush. I fear it has been too long since you have stopped for a visit.”
“Miss Lavender McMartin,” he said, then turned in the direction where he understood the other sisters were seated. “Miss McMartin and Miss McMartin. I must say I’m glad there are only the three of you.” His audience laughed politely, and he assured the three sisters he would take the earliest opportunity to stop on his next visit to Ludlow. Madelene thought she saw Lavender press Mr. Bush’s hand and looked with raised eyebrows at Gabriel, who shook his head imperceptively. No matchmaking skills would be needed here, Madelene smiled to herself. And didn’t her friend, Mr. Bush, deserve such a sweet and well-bred young lady?
The last invited guests, Squire Jones, a large man of middle years, and his young daughter, Rachel, no more than twelve, arrived and greeted everyone. The squire proved a pleasant addition to the crowd, providing comment when warranted and silence when not sought for contribution, while his daughter looked mostly down at her clasped hands and probably wished she was elsewhere.
After a few pleasantries were shared, Graham called everyone to dinner. Gabriel and Madelene led the way, followed by the teetering Tottencotts, the vicar and Hyacinth, the squire and his daughter, Mr. Bush and Lavender, and Rose on her own. Given the acceptances and declines for the soiree, Madelene had wished for an even number at the table, but there was nothing for it.
Madelene beamed as
their friends greatly admired the lavish chandelier and the well-laid table. Even the summer blooms of white and pink carnations added a pleasant ambience. After being seated, Hazelby and the other three footmen served the first remove, a delicious cucumber soup, a leg of pork boiled with peas, pudding, and greens and roots. The second remove consisted of roasted turkey, tarts, and fruit.
The small party enjoyed more removes, each one more delicious than the last, until even the squire had to beg off, exclaiming he was more well fed at Westcott Close than his very own pigs, at which Rachel scowled and sank farther into her chair. Rachel reminded Madelene of herself at that young age, although she had to admit she probably hero-worshipped her father more than Rachel did her own.
Distracted once again by Mrs. Tottencott, since they sat next to each other, Madelene nodded and smiled at the older woman’s reminiscing over her years in London, her first Season quite a success, her sister’s connection to the royal family, she vaguely remembered Madelene’s father, and wasn’t her brother in some trouble years back over a kidnapping?
Madelene felt the color drain from her face. How far news traveled even after all these years. Matthew had been five and ten years of age, and little more than easy prey for a trio of criminals promising guineas to drive a carriage. The trio had neglected to mention it was a kidnapping. All had ended well, and no charges or conviction were ever laid at her brother’s door. Still—
Gabriel must have sensed her consternation because he interrupted their conversation before she could find her voice to reply.
“Mrs. Tottencott, have you had the wonderful opportunity to hear Rachel sing? She has sung for many fine families in the county, and I wonder if she would grace us with a selection this evening?” Gabriel turned to the young girl with a warm and hopeful expression.
The squire’s daughter returned his smile shyly and nodded.
“Delightful,” intoned the vicar, overhearing the request. “I have heard Miss Rachel sing in church, and I may tell you, no one nearly breathes until she finishes her recitals.”
The squire humpfed. “Vicar, I think you have much imagination. My daughter sings well, but time will tell if it will come to aught.”
“As long as it gives pleasure to the listener and the performer, surely, that is success in itself,” Madelene looked at Rachel and smiled. “How fortunate you are to have such talent. I look forward to your performance later.”
With dinner over and cigars and port enjoyed, the men joined the women in the drawing room. The squire, Rachel, Hyacinth, and Rose played whist while Gabriel, Madelene, and the others listened to Lavender play the pianoforte. The young woman played extremely well and appeared agreeable to everyone’s ears, in particular to Mr. Bush’s, if Madelene divined correctly.
They would make a sweet couple, and after all, Lavender did act the part of a lovelorn young woman. Only Madelene could not ascertain in which direction Mr. Bush’s ardency lay.
During a break while Rachel prepared to sing and Lavender to accompany her, Mrs. Tottencott interrupted the silence. “Tell me, Mr. Westcott, I have heard an unusual rumor in the village, which I find hard to give credence to.”
Madelene closed her eyes briefly, agitated as to what Mrs. Tottencott could possibly ask. However, her husband sat beside her in perfect comfort and humor and cocked his head at his guest. “Pray tell, whatever does this rumor have to do with our household?”
Mrs. Tottencott cleared her throat. “Ahem. Could it be possibly true that there is a babe in this house? I understood you to be married a short amount of time, hardly time—”
“I am pleased you have asked the question of me, for it would be displeasing for you to learn the truth from any other source.” He smiled cordially at his audience, and Madelene tensed beside him, concerned how he would present the situation.
“During our sojourn in Italy, I, that is, my sister and I, befriended distant cousins on my mother’s side. Before we were to return to England, my sister became terribly ill. One of our cousins, Gemma Madroni, assisted with my sister’s care.
“As I planned to return to England with Lucinda, an acquaintance informed me Gemma had been overcome with a grave illness, and would we raise her child, a boy, because Gemma thought so highly of our family. There were no other relatives to look after the boy, so I arranged for him to be brought here, when he reached a year or nearly a year.
“Little did I realize my sister’s health would soon take a turn for the worse, and she would not be here with me. But I am committed to raising the boy as my own, and due to my good fortune, I have my wife by my side.” He looked to Madelene for reassurance. He had decided many months ago he would never besmirch his sister’s name, no matter the cost or falsehoods they would have to tell.
Madelene smiled and nodded. “There is no more story than that.”
Before she could continue, the vicar added, “What kindness! What generosity! How noble you both are to want to raise the boy as your own. Oh, Christians, we are indeed in the home of saints. You will be blessed in heaven—”
Mrs. Tottencott must have sensed a sermon ensuing and quickly interrupted. “Yes, Vicar, that is very generous of Mr. and Mrs. Westcott. Certainly a surprise, assuming they will have their own children some day.”
Gabriel opened his mouth to reply, but a knock on the door prevented him.
Madelene looked to the door and saw Charlotte, her face pinched white, motioning to her. She excused herself and hurried over to the nurse at the door.
“Mrs. Westcott, ma’am.” Her voice shook, indeed her whole body trembled.
Something was terribly wrong. Madelene left the parlor and closed the door behind her. She didn’t want their guests to be disturbed and privy to whatever worried the young woman.
Concerned over Charlotte’s state, Madelene laid a hand on her shoulder. “Charlotte, please calm yourself. Whatever can possibly have happened to put you in such a vexed condition?”
“It’s George.”
Frozen, Madelene could only stare; her heart seized tight, and she felt a cold fear never known before. “What is wrong with George? Tell me!” She could barely think, waiting anxiously for a reply.
She didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want to know.
Charlotte, with tears in her eyes, told her mistress. “I only left the nursery for a moment. I thought George wanted milk, and I couldn’t find Donna Bella—”
Her eyes widened and she knew a dreadful foreboding. “You left George? Did he fall? Is he hurt?”
Charlotte shook her head several times. “No, no, Mrs. Westcott. He’s, he’s gone.”
Her brow furrowed, Madelene looked more closely at the nurse. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”
“Someone has taken him.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gabriel asked to be excused from his guests to determine what had become of his wife. Outside the drawing-room doors, Graham advised him the nurse and Mrs. Westcott had headed in the direction of the nursery, and they both appeared most agitated. Gabriel ran the entire way, unsure of what he would find.
Bursting through the opened nursery doors, he found his wife sitting on the floor with Charlotte sitting next to her. He watched in confusion as Madelene stared at the floor and the nurse held her hand, patting it, while stuttering and weeping at the same time.
Whatever could have happened? Gabriel rushed to kneel next to his wife, his heart thudding in his ears. “Madelene, what is it? Please tell me what is wrong so I can make it right.”
Madelene kept shaking her head, and he knew.
He looked at Charlotte. “Where is George?” he demanded. He didn’t have to search the nursery to know he wasn’t here, the babe wasn’t in the house.
At that moment, Mrs. Lavishtock bustled into the room and froze when she saw her prostrate mistress.
“Oh, it’s happened. My dear girl. I couldn’t stop him.” She pressed her hands to her lips in dismay.
Gabriel, with his arm around Madelene, loo
ked up in astonishment. “What is going on and where is George? Will someone please tell me? Who couldn’t you stop?”
With Charlotte blubbering, only Mrs. Lavishtock answered. “It’s the mistress’s brother, Mr. Colgate. He took George.”
“Mrs. Lavishtock, are you confident of what you are saying? How can you accuse Mrs. Westcott’s brother?”
The housekeeper shook her head. “He is not in his room. I have heard rumors among the staff of Mr. Colgate’s displeasure here, and that he might be capable of dark measures.”
Gabriel did not want to believe Mrs. Lavishtock, since she had no concrete evidence. But the more he pondered on the likely suspect, he knew. He knew Matthew Colgate was capable of such a devious affair, though he couldn’t fathom the reason Colgate had kidnapped George, unless he planned to use the babe in some nefarious manner. Perhaps in exchange for those damnable diamonds. He wished the gems and thieves had never interfered in his home.
Fury alighted inside him. He should have known and kept better watch. Perhaps if he told Colgate about the child—Little good it did now to change the outcome of events already on course in a terrible and unexpected direction.
No time for lingering longer. He helped Madelene stand, and holding her in his arms, lifted her chin so she could look at him and believe what he said. “We will get George back. I promise you. Believe me. As soon as I can determine what direction your brother headed, I’ll go after him. I’ll bring little George back. Madelene?” He was afraid for her until she spoke.
Her beautiful blue eyes focused again on him, “I believe you, Gabriel. I know you’ll bring him back. But Matthew?”
