The Mystery at Falconbridge Hall

by Maggi Andersen

  “I do hope so.” Mrs. Royce firmed her lips. “Blythe needs stability.”

  Had she lacked it thus far? Unsure how to reply, Vanessa found she wasn’t required to, for Mrs. Royce, who appeared to be a woman of few words, already stood at the door. She gestured. “We have all the modern conveniences here. There’s a lavatory and bathroom for your use on this floor. Tea will be brought to your room at four. From tomorrow, you are to take it in the schoolroom with Miss Blythe.”

  As soon as the door closed behind the housekeeper, Vanessa rushed to open the window. A sultry breeze wafted in, but she relished the light and the fresh air.

  In the bathroom, the bathtub had a wide mahogany surround. Hot and cold water issued forth from a noisy gas geyser. Delighted, Vanessa resisted the urge to bathe and made do with washing her hands. She looked in the mirror and cringed at the dark smudge on her nose. Her eyes went large with alarm.

  What must the viscount have thought of her! She scrubbed her face with a washcloth until it glowed and sponged her hot neck with cool water.

  Her trunk had arrived while she was in the bathroom. Glad to have discarded her mourning clothes, she changed into a gray skirt and white blouse, cinching in her waist with a belt. Once her hair was tidy, she dabbed on a little lily of the valley scent, adding some to her handkerchief.

  She removed her precious possessions from the trunk, arranging her pearl-handled brush and comb set on the dresser, beside her mother’s miniature, wrought by her father’s hand with love in each stroke of his brush. Gazing at it brought tears to her eyes. Annoyed with herself, she dabbed at them with her handkerchief then bent over the trunk to take out her father’s books on art and her mother’s history books, along with her own. She arranged them on the shelf, adding the pretty shells she’d gathered from the Cornish shore.

  Having unpacked her few gowns and underthings, she sank onto the bed, suddenly exhausted. It was still hard to believe her comfortable life by the sea was gone. That it had come to this, a servant in another man’s house. Her parents would not have approved, but what choice did she have? Her mother was an educated woman with an interest in politics. She had joined with many like-minded people in her fight for women’s rights. A respected member of society, she’d been sought by politicians and reformers alike. Women had crowded into their parlor for meetings. Her father felt less passion for her mother’s causes. He would cast them an indulgent smile before disappearing into his studio to paint.

  The tea tray arrived soon after a bell pealed through the house. Feather-light, fluffy scones with plum jam and a wedge of fruitcake accompanied the pot of tea. She savored the last drops of a good, strong cup and poured another. Every crumb consumed, she felt much livelier afterwards.

  Vanessa slipped out to explore the enormous house. She passed room upon room where the curtains were drawn. On the ground floor, she entered a doorway into a burst of sunlight and blinked, finding herself in a conservatory, a long glass room on the sunny southern side of the house.

  A scream chilled her blood.

  Heart pounding, Vanessa hurried forward. In amongst large tubs of bright orange cumquats, and green foliage, a table was laden with delectable treats. Blythe sat alone nibbling a piece of iced cake and swinging her legs.

  “What was that unearthly scream?” Vanessa asked, gazing around. The answer to her question came from a gilded birdcage. A large brightly plumaged bird sat on a perch and called again.

  “That’s the macaw Father brought back from South America,” Blythe said.

  Vanessa went over to the cage. With a crimson breast, bright blue and green feathers, and a decidedly beady eye, the bird was truly magnificent. It turned its head to study her. “Might it want something?”

  “I expect it would like some nuts.”

  As Vanessa had no nuts to offer it, she returned to the table. “I’ve been exploring.”

  Blythe nodded.

  “You have a lovely house.”

  “Thank you.” The child turned her attention to her glass of milk.

  “It’s nice to sit in the sun, isn’t it?” Vanessa said, hoping to draw the child into conversation.

  “I suppose it is.” Blythe gave her a quick glance. “I’m taking tea with my father.”

  “Is this a special occasion?”

  “Yes, we don’t do it often.”

  Not wishing to be here when he arrived, Vanessa turned to go.

  The contrast of this room with the rest of the house was stark. The sun touched the glossy leaves of the potted plants, turning them vivid green, and the air smelled of earth and fragrant orchids. Outside, a bluebottle batted in vain against the glass. Vanessa might have entered a tropical forest. She couldn’t help searching the cathedral glass ceiling for butterflies and smiled wryly as she turned to go.

  “You find something amusing?”

  Lord Falconbridge stepped through the door. She hadn’t expected to see him until their appointment tomorrow. He had removed his glasses and now wore a marine blue coat with a striped cravat at his throat.

  “Do sit down, Miss Ashley.”

  “No thank you, my lord. I’ve had my tea.” She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, hoping he’d dismiss her so she could continue her exploration of the house and grounds.

  He pulled out a chair for her. “If you don’t sit, I shall have to remain standing, and I wish to have my tea.”

  “Thank you.” Reluctantly, she sat on the chair he’d offered her.

  He sat next to his daughter and leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other. The bright light revealed lines at the corners of his eyes, probably from his time spent in a hot climate. She dropped her gaze, aware that his lordship studied her with more interest than on their first meeting. His was so concentrated a gaze that her fingers curled, and she resisted straightening her collar. She could only be glad she’d dealt with that smudge.

  He could hardly be admiring her profile. When her father had painted her portrait, he always transformed her retroussé nose into one of classical proportions.

  “Mother had a similar coloring to Miss Ashley, didn’t she, Father?” Blythe asked him.

  “Your mother’s hair was auburn,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. Blythe, too, showed little emotion when she mentioned her mother. Perhaps Lady Falconbridge had passed away many years before. “Miss Ashley’s is reddish-gold rather like a Hypanartia cinderella,” he said, nodding to her.

  “From Peru,” Blythe added.

  “How interesting,” Vanessa said, trying not to fidget under his lordship’s observant gaze. Heavens, he had the ability to strip her of her composure with one look.

  “Yes, and you share your first name with the Vanessa cardui, a butterfly with a strange pattern of flying, a sort of screw shape. Like this.” He made a circular downward spiral with his finger.

  Surely, he wasn’t teasing her? She eyed him suspiciously. “I trust it’s only my name that reminds you of it, my lord.”

  A faint smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Butterflies are quite fascinating in their diversity, Miss Ashley.”

  She wished he didn’t always sound as though he was giving a lecture. Might he be visualizing her under glass?

  Vanessa attempted to change the subject. She didn’t care to be compared to his lordship’s butterflies. “Do you like to read, Miss Blythe?”

  Blythe’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes. I love books.”

  Pleased, Vanessa said, “We can enjoy them together.”

  “Then I shall allow you free reign over my library, Miss Ashley.” His lordship put down his cup. He pulled one of Blythe’s locks, stood, nodded to Vanessa, and strode from the conservatory.

  Blythe and Vanessa stared after him in silence.

  Vanessa felt strangely flat. Had her appearance disappointed him? She hadn’t been employed for her looks, surely.

  She had decided to return to her room when Blythe spoke. “My party frock is pink. What color is yours?”

  “I didn�
�t bring one,” she said surprised. “There will be little reason to wear it.”

  “Father has invited guests on Saturday. There will be music.”

  “Oh. Well, how nice. But governesses don’t go to parties.”

  “Miss Lillicrop did.”

  “Did she?”

  Thick black lashes hid Blythe’s blue eyes from view like a shutter over a window. “I watched her from my window. She danced on the terrace.”

  Vanessa would have loved to ask with whom, but Mrs. Royce appeared with the maid to clear away the tea things.

  “What books have you read, Blythe?” Vanessa asked, eager to draw the child out.

  “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is my favorite.” The girl’s face flushed with pleasure.

  “There are many wonderful stories. I promise we’ll read a new one every few weeks.” Vanessa ran a list of texts through her mind.

  “How nice you seem,” Blythe said in her cool little voice. “Will you stay longer than Miss Lillicrop?”

  “I certainly plan to,” Vanessa said, her curiosity aroused. Mrs. Royce spoke from the doorway. “Your music teacher is waiting, Miss Blythe.”

  “Goodbye.” Blythe climbed down from the chair and left the room.

  “I gather Miss Lillicrop was the former governess?” Vanessa asked the housekeeper.

  “That is correct.”

  “She didn’t stay long?”

  “A few months.”

  “So soon? Did something happen?”

  “You’d best ask the master about that.” Mrs. Royce’s tone made it quite clear she would discuss it no further.

  Left to her own devices, Vanessa walked out into the garden.

  ***

  Julian glanced out the window and saw his new employee cross the terrace with a determined stride. She had been a surprise. He was glad women had dispensed with the bustle; he liked the natural sway of a woman’s hips. He’d met Miss Ashley’s grandfather, the Earl of Gresham, but never her father, the ne’er-do-well younger son who had cut himself adrift from his family and left his daughter penniless. Julian found the former earl to be too haughty for his tastes, couldn’t see beyond the end of his long nose, and the elder son now in possession of the title was no better, or so he’d heard. He returned to his ledger, this wouldn’t get his work done. He had much to do before departing for the Amazon.

  ***

  Vanessa took the path that appeared to lead to the lake. The air was still and hot, and all the flowers and plants in the garden beds drooped. The path led her into a thick copse of trees where it was cool and dim. Moments later, she emerged into the sun and approached the folly beside the lake. A welcome fresh breeze blew the damp curls from her brow. The folly was an elaborate structure, the Grecian columns intricately carved with leaves and flowers. Steps led up to the arched front facing the water. Inside, was a crimson velvet chaise longue one might find in a boudoir, wicker chairs, and a table. The perfect place for she and Blythe to come for a picnic or even an English lesson. It would be more pleasant in this lovely spot.

  Vanessa wandered back to the house and returned to her bedroom. She curled up in a chintz chair, her chin propped in her hand. Her new employer remained in her thoughts. Because she’d never met anyone quite like him, she supposed. He seemed a decent sort, but was there something cold blooded about killing insects and placing them under glass?

  Blythe’s subdued nature troubled her. It wasn’t shyness. The girl was too self-contained. So often alone, Vanessa expected she’d had to be. She was determined to introduce some fun into Blythe’s life. Vanessa had been so much more fortunate to have been blessed with a loving mother until grown. And growing up she’d enjoyed far more freedom, which she believed mattered more than material things. How carefree she’d been, at least until the last year when things had gone terribly wrong.

  Vanessa sighed and sat down at the desk. She took up a pen and began to prepare the lessons. When satisfied with the list, she placed it inside the desk drawer. When she tried to close it, the drawer stuck. She pulled it out and peered inside. At the back was a scrunched-up piece of paper. Smoothing it out on the desk, she discovered it to be a detailed drawing of a butterfly, its wings colored crimson, just like the one in his lordship’s study. It would appear the previous governess had drawn it. So finely detailed, it gave clue to her expert knowledge of butterflies. Her skills must have pleased his lordship. She replaced it and closed the drawer. What would cause such a competent governess to leave Falconbridge Hall so suddenly?

  Chapter Two

  She stumbled along the shore as the mist swirled around her, blocking everything from view. Waves thundered onto the shingle, and she could taste the salty sea on her tongue. She should enjoy it, being home again, but all of a sudden, she flailed in the dark water, fighting her way to the surface. She came up gasping and tried to strike out for the body floating out of reach. Her father’s panicked, grasping hands drew her down with him.

  Vanessa woke sweating, gasping for air, her heart thudding. She struggled to prop herself up onto her elbows. Attempting to calm herself, she searched for familiar objects, but the room seemed strange. The frail tendrils of the dream clung to her, fading as she realized where she was. The pretty quilt folded at the end of the white iron-railed bed, the patterned curtains stirring at the open window. Her new room. She drew in a deep breath and her heartbeat slowed.

  Sweaty and hot, she threw off her sheet, thinking of the weeks and months surrounding her father’s illness and death. His had followed soon on her mother’s, both succumbing to influenza, leaving her destitute.

  Vanessa was deep in mourning when her uncle, the new earl, had come to offer her a home with him as a companion for her aunt. She had never met her grandfather, the Earl of Gresham. Her father was his second son, cut off after he married her mother and took up painting as a profession. Her uncle was a stranger to her and only doing his duty. She’d refused him. She preferred to make her own living even if it meant working as a servant. He had then made enquiries on her behalf and had found her this position.

  Vanessa had no idea what time it was. Leaving the bed, she went to the open window. The quiet gardens lay under a net of silver gauze. A breeze carried the scents of wisteria and white roses that grew on the trellis below. Falconbridge offered a different kind of charm. Nature tamed by the hand of man. Unlike the wild force of the sea. After that disturbing dream, she was glad of it. The soft air cooled her, and her breathing calmed. Hopeful of sleep, she returned to bed.

  A bell was ringing. She’d overslept on her first day! Vanessa leaped out of bed. Dragging on her dressing gown she ran to the bathroom for a hasty wash, glad she’d tackled the old geyser and taken a bath before bed. After hurriedly dressing, she rushed from her room, doing up the buttons on her cuffs.

  Vanessa hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. She had no idea where to go. A tray had been sent up to her room the night before.

  Mrs. Royce appeared out of a doorway.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Royce. I just wondered where—”

  “I’ll take you to the breakfast room.” Mrs. Royce cast an approving glance over Vanessa’s navy dress with its spotless white lace collar and cuffs, simply adorned with her mother’s gold watch on a chain. “You will feel better for a good night’s rest I expect.”

  “Yes, I…” Vanessa hurried behind Mrs. Royce. She’d begun to understand the housekeeper neither expected a reply, nor desired it. She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Royce,” she said, addressing the housekeeper’s narrow black bombazine-clad back, “where might my bicycle be kept?”

  “Capstick placed your two-wheeled machine in one of the outbuildings. He’ll show you where.” She clucked her tongue. “I do hope those modern fashions don’t take on here. They will encourage loose morals.”

  “From my own experience, I’ve found no reason for you to worry, Mrs. Royce.” Vanessa realized they had not taken the steps down to the servant’s quarters.

  “It’s been
the practice here with no mistress in the house for the governess to dine with the family, although his lordship often takes his meals in his study.” The housekeeper shrugged her thin shoulders in disapproval of this arrangement as she stood at the breakfast room door. “Cook likes everyone to be prompt.”

  Vanessa glanced through the doorway at the long mahogany table and sideboard where a maid added hot water to the teapot. A row of French windows opened onto the terrace, the view partly obscured by green damask curtains. When she looked back, Mrs. Royce had gone.

  She walked into the room. “Good morning.”

  A soft blonde curl escaped from the maid’s cap as she turned. “Good morning, miss. I’m Dorcas, miss.”

  Vanessa smiled, recognizing the accent. “Myttin da, Dorcas. You hail from Cornwall?”

  The maid grinned. “I was born there. I miss the sea.”

  “One does, doesn’t one?” Vanessa said. “Have you been at the Hall very long?”

  “Three years it be now.”

  “You like it here?”

  “The master is away a lot, and it’s quiet then.” The girl shrugged. “Although lately…” Dorcas cast a swift glance at the door.

  “Lately?” Vanessa prompted.

  “You’ll be wanting toast.” Dorcas hurried out.

  Plate in hand, Vanessa wandered along the row of silver chafing dishes containing scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, kedgeree, and devilled kidneys. Hungry, she filled her plate. She was drinking a cup of tea when Blythe appeared. Her young charge wore a white pinafore over a blue and white dress with a dropped waist. She was fast outgrowing it, for the skirt was above her knees.