The Five-Minute Marriage
Page 23
Then there was the horrifying—but hardly to be doubted—fact that Elaine Carteret apparently hated them enough to attempt to contrive their death—or at least, that of Mrs. Carteret. True, her scheme had been a decidedly clumsy one, and said little for her intelligence—but still—suppose she tried again? Tried some other method? Poor Mrs. Carteret, still so unsettled in health, would constitute easy prey to such stratagems.
She thought next of Mr. Fitzjohn. Without quite knowing why, Delphie could not avoid a decided feeling of mistrust toward him. The original affair of the bungled marriage was, after all, due to his agency. How could he have made such a mistake?
Could it really have been done by accident? Or had he arranged it on purpose? And if so, with what intention? To handicap his cousin Gareth in some way? To insure Elaine’s inheritance? Gareth had said that Mordred and Elaine had at one time been very close. Did he know that she was a false claimant? Then there was the accident with the horses—Fitzjohn’s horses. Could it have been an accident—or was it deliberate? If so, was it meant to injure Gareth—or herself?
Delphie further admitted to herself that she had found Fitzjohn’s attitude after the death of Lord Bollington decidedly alarming. He had seemed inclined to suggest that the old man might have been deliberately hastened to his end—with the object, presumably, of forestalling a possible change of his will. Could criminal charges be preferred against Gareth and Delphie? Might Fitzjohn inculcate some kind of action? Delphie’s knowledge of criminal procedure was of the scantiest—she did not know if such a thing were possible. Could she and Gareth be accused of murder, because the death had taken place after the meal they had provided? There was, of course, the evidence of Dr. Bowles—but was Dr. Bowles himself a beneficiary under Lord Bollington’s will? If so, his evidence might be inadmissible.
“I don’t trust Fitzjohn,” Delphie said to herself.
There had been a very strange moment, just as he and the doctor had been on the point of departure. Fitzjohn had suddenly walked back to the corpse—hesitated—and then removed from the dead finger the outrageously enormous ruby ring.
“Best not to leave that to get stuck on with rigor mortis,” he said, “or some spry undertaker’s assistant will be making off with it. Here take it—” and he had handed it to Gareth.
“What ought I to do with it?” Gareth said, looking at it doubtfully. He made as if to put it in his pocket.
“Not in your pocket!” exclaimed Fitzjohn with a sharp note of harshness and strain in his voice. “It could roll out—fall through a hole—get prigged by a pickpocket! Put it on, you fool! On your finger is the best place for it!”
And, as Gareth had somewhat reluctantly done so, Fitzjohn remarked, in a tone of strange, ironic satisfaction,
“There! Now you are all set! Dubbed up and riding high, eh?”
Then he had followed the doctor to the door.
How, Delphie wondered, turning restlessly on her pillow, trying to banish the thought of Mr. Fitzjohn—how would Lord Bollington’s death affect Gareth’s situation? Would Elaine Carteret, once she was satisfied with her share of the estate, cease her attempts to injure or discredit Delphie and Mrs. Carteret? Presumably she would now be more anxious than ever to marry Gareth—who must now be Lord Bollington, the Eighth Viscount. Would Gareth be relieved of his cares and anxieties—secure in his own fortune, and, it was to be hoped, free of the responsibility for his sister, who would now have money of her own?
Oh, how I wish that I could discuss some of these matters with Gareth! Delphie confessed miserably to herself. But there would be no possible chance of that; he had made it abundantly plain that he regretted his association with her. Every scrap of pride and self-respect now dictated that she keep entirely out of his way and make not the slightest effort to approach him. Doubtless he would now wish to marry his Lady Laura What-was-her-name—supposing her now to be rid of her elderly infirm husband? (That was, of course, if he could get away from Elaine Carteret.) Well, Lady Laura was welcome to him, thought Delphie miserably, shifting yet again on her hard pallet; probably Lady Laura was not aware what a devilish temper, what a disagreeably puritanical nature, what an atrociously hard and unsympathetic heart he had! Imagine speaking in such a way to children who thought they had done something useful! It was fortunate that he had none of his own.
Uncomforted by any of these considerations, Delphie at last fell into a brief deep slumber, from which, all too soon, she was abruptly aroused by Mrs. Andrews, come to tell her with gloomy relish,
“The undertakers’ men is here, miss, to remove the mortal relics of the poor gentleman as died. Ah well,” she went on, “he was one that ate of the goose that shall graze on his grave! Ain’t it singular to think, miss, that at this very time yesterday—give or take half a dozen hours—we was podding the peas and buttering the lobsters that was to carry the poor soul to his rest? We mid as well ha’ spared ourselves the pains! If your name be cheese, lay not your head upon the grocer’s counter!” With which obscure and menacing proverb she went cheerfully away to brew Mrs. Carteret’s morning chocolate.
Delphie wondered if the children had managed to smuggle their father back into jail. She had left the back door unlocked for their return, reckless of the risk of burglars; but did not know whether they had slipped in during her short period of sleep. But she did not like to go upstairs and inquire, for fear of encountering Gareth.
However, while she was assisting Bardwell to remove the last leaves of the dinner table from her parlor, Gareth came down the stairs, dressed in severe black, with a very carefully tied white neckcloth. His expression was forbidding, and Delphie made no attempt to approach him.
He, however, paused when he saw her; made as if to speak; appeared to change his mind; finally said,
“How does Mrs. Carteret do this morning?”
“Only tolerably, thank you.”
“You will not—” He paused again. “You will not think of removing her today?”
“No,” Delphie said reluctantly. “Her state is too low. I believe I must not.”
In any case, she thought, before removing her, I need to find another lodging to remove her to. I will go and consult Jenny about it—and apologize, too.
Gareth said, with haughty composure,
“Do not be thinking, ma’am, that my presence here need incommode you or—or cast you into affliction—during the next few days. I am about to see my uncle’s man of business; then I shall be obliged to go to Chase—very soon—if not directly—for there will be the funeral to arrange, and other tasks of a similar nature. Pray, therefore, remain here as long as you think necessary.”
She curtsied in silence. Taking his hat from a chair, he went out, slamming the front door behind him.
Delphie waited, biting her lip, until the sound of his rapid footsteps had died away down the street; then she ran up to the second story to find the children.
They were all assembled in their schoolroom (a somewhat battered chamber, furnished with a kitchen table, two globes, and half a dozen broken-backed chairs). The girls were silently cutting out paper dolls, while the boys carved spinning tops from chips of wood. They seemed unusually subdued. However, they greeted Delphie with apparent pleasure, and when she asked if they had succeeded in slipping Mr. Palgrave back into prison again, they assured her that it had been as easy as pie, had all gone off like clockwork, and that Papa had seemed quite pleased to return to the peace and seclusion of his prison quarters.
“But we forgot the canary!” Isa said. “We must remember to take it with Papa’s supper tonight.”
“Did your Mama get to hear of all this?”
“No,” Arthur said. “Uncle Gareth said it would be best not to afflict her spirits by telling her, as it would be such a disappointment that he had come and gone without even seeing her. However, he said, now Great-uncle Bollington is dead, it may only be a short time before he can get Papa out of jail; he can borrow on his expectations, he says.”
Tristram grinned. “He can fairly rip off when something puts him in a tweak, can’t he, though? But I will say for Uncle Gareth, he don’t bear a grudge. It’s sharp while it lasts—but it’s soon cry, soon fly, with him. In fact, he’s a great gun! He has given us the money to go to Astley’s, tonight, as he may have to travel to Chase and could not come with us, in any case, because of great-uncle’s death, which is a great shame, it seems to me! I suppose,” he added reflectively, “I suppose it was rather a totty-headed notion to rescue Papa. But it was prime fun while it lasted, and I’m not sorry we did it.”
Relieved at this news, and feeling slightly more in charity with Gareth, Delphie was turning to go downstairs, when a faint voice from across the hall called out,
“Is that Cousin Delphie?” and she was obliged to step through and have a word with Gareth’s sister.
The news of Lord Bollington’s death had evidently, Delphie was interested to observe, had a most salubrious and revivifying effect upon Una. She was sitting up in an armchair, pink-cheeked, sipping at a cup of chocolate, and demanded, as soon as she saw Delphie,
“When is the funeral to be? And where?”
“At Chase, I believe,” Delphie said.
“Ah, so it should be.” Una nodded approvingly. “That will be much better. The country air will be good for me—and for the children too. I daresay Gareth will be arranging for carriages to take us down? I shall have to procure a new black silk; the one I wore for Mamma’s funeral has become wretchedly shabby; it will not do for Lord Bollington’s sister. Gloves, too, and a hat. Shall you be going into blacks, Cousin Delphie?” she added, in a tone of mild reprobation, eyeing Delphie’s sprig-muslin. “You will surely wear black to the funeral?”
“I have not given the matter much thought,” Delphie answered. In fact she had little expectation of attending the funeral, and certainly none of attending it uninvited. She told herself that she never wished to set foot in Chase again.
“I must leave you now,” she said, moving toward the door. “Mamma is expecting a visitor.”
“Pray, do, my dear Delphie, come and sit with me this evening!” begged Una. “I have hardly had a chance to converse with you yet. I long to know you better. My nerves, too, have been so much oppressed by the thought of that poor old man’s death downstairs! And Gareth is going out of town—I shall feel sadly solitary.”
Strongly suspecting that Una merely wished for a detailed account of the events of the previous evening, Delphie replied with civil regret that she was unable to come up that night; she and her mother had an engagement to dine in Russell Square, and, for Mrs. Carteret’s sake thought it best to fulfill it if possible: her mother’s spirits sadly needed the distraction of cheerful company. For this was the day of their dinner at Mr. Browty’s house. How long it seemed since the invitation had been issued!
Una’s eyes sparkled with curiosity at this information.
“An engagement—in Russell Square?” she cried archly. “And without your husband? Fie! La, brother Gareth’s nose will be quite out of joint.”
Delphie explained, rather stiffly, that the host was the parent of two of her pupils—but Una insisted on extracting every detail as to Mr. Browty’s age, income, and matrimonial status, and finally gave it as her opinion (in a very rallying manner) that Delphie was a sly puss, a sad flirt, playing a deep game, cunning as a cartload of apes, all of which playfulnesses and pleasantries made Delphie feel exceedingly awkward and uncomfortable.
She was glad to make her escape from Una and run down the stairs to receive Lady Bablock-Hythe, who arrived promptly at ten in a claret-colored barouche with a very powdered coachman and two outriders, which hardly seemed necessary for the short trip from Brook Street.
A couple of hours’ cheerful chat with her old friend did much to restore the tone of Mrs. Carteret’s spirits. Not a word was said of yesterday’s sad and frightening events. Instead, the two friends had a thoroughly enjoyable time recalling events of their schooldays, and vilifying various of their preceptresses. Delphie soon formed the opinion that Lady Bablock-Hythe was remarkably silly, though abounding in good humor.
“But tell me one thing, Ella my love,” said Lady Bablock-Hythe after a number of these reminiscences. “If this young lady is your charming daughter—then who is the other young lady, who has been residing with me for the past two years, whom I have brought into polite society and introduced everywhere under the impression that she was your daughter—that she was Miss Carteret? She, I apprehend, is your niece—your husband’s brother’s daughter?”
“Why that, ma’am, I am sure I can’t tell you!” declared Mrs. Carteret. “It has me in quite a puzzle! I met the young lady at your house yesterday, and very disagreeable I thought her! She certainly is no child of mine! I only ever had the one—my sweet Philadelphia here—for although there were two little boys before she was born, both of them died, poor little angels. So who that young lady is, I cannot imagine! For my dear husband had no brother.”
“If this is indeed so,” remarked Lady Bablock-Hythe, “it seems plain that she must be a rank imposter—and I shall turn her out of my house without delay! Passing herself off as your child, indeed! Telling me that you had died in childbirth!”
“Indeed it is very singular,” said Mrs. Carteret perplexedly, as Lady Bablock-Hythe collected her reticule and parasol and rose to take her leave. “Good-by, my dearest, sweetest Maria! Pray let us see one another again very soon!”
Her dearest Maria then propounded a plan which had that instant come into her head: as soon as the false Miss Carteret and her maid had been evicted, why should not the real one, with her amiable Mama, come to Brook Street for a visit of several weeks?
“I should like it of all things, my dearest Ella! For we still have a thousand things to talk about—and I quite long to show you my collection of tropical feathers, cowrie shells, recipes for Native Foods, and a great number of sketches done by my first dear husband!”
Encouraged by the promise of these treats, Mrs. Carteret said she, too, would like the visit of all things; and Lady Bablock-Hythe promised to inform them by a note as soon as she should have rid herself of the false imposters, and propose a time for the true Carterets to come.
Delphie did not look forward to this visit with any great delight, for she found Lady Bablock-Hythe something less than sensible; but she seemed a good-natured woman enough, and genuinely fond of Mrs. Carteret, and this would certainly be a solution to the problem of their continued residence in Curzon Street. From Brook Street, Delphie could at her leisure set about the task of finding a new lodging.
“And I shall arrange no end of outings and parties for you both!” Lady Bablock-Hythe promised happily. “For outings and parties are what I like best in the world.”
Delphie replied with all that was proper, but stipulated that she must continue giving lessons to her pupils—did Lady Bablock-Hythe have a pianoforte in her house, or should Delphie bring her own?
“Lessons!” said Lady Bablock-Hythe with a small shriek. “You are not to be giving lessons, you poor little thing! I shall take you to Vauxhall and procure you vouchers for Almacks, and fit you out with something rather more in the mode than that dowdyish sprig-muslin.”
“There!” said Mrs. Carteret rejoicingly when her friend had gone. “Did I not tell you, my love, that presently our fortunes would take a turn for the better? Now I do not at all despair of your forming some eligible connection!”
And, betaking herself once more to her pencil and pieces of paper, Mrs. Carteret began happily planning menus for a rout party of five hundred guests, followed by a Masquerade.
Delphie knew she ought to be glad that her mother’s spirits were better. But her own were very low. She dutifully gave a lesson to Miss Smith (who this time, fortunately, had remembered to pract
ice her aria); then, seeing her pupil off the premises, remarked a hackney carriage pull up by the front door. Out of it stepped Gareth, and, to Delphie’s astonishment, Mr. Palgrave. The latter appeared calm, serene, pensive, and quite unaffected by the adventures of the night. Gareth must have borrowed on his expectations, Delphie surmised. The two men walked upstairs without observing her, and Delphie went to assist her mother dress for the evening at the Browtys’.
Mr. Browty kept early hours, and his carriage arrived to pick them up at four o’clock. Delphie, wearing her white dress and a shawl, was just helping her mother up the carriage steps, when Gareth came out with a brow of thunder.
He said,
“You are taking your mother out, at this hour of the day? How can you think that a sensible thing to do?”
His manner was so harsh and abrupt that Mrs. Carteret paused and gazed at him wonderingly.
Delphie replied than an evening passed in pleasant, rational, tranquil intercourse with agreeable friends could not help but promote her mother’s well-being, and was just what she needed. Mrs. Carteret had been looking forward to the evening all week, she added. She went on to mention that very shortly—tomorrow perhaps—she and her mother would be removing to Lady Bablock-Hythe’s house in Brook Street.
Gareth’s brows drew together at this information.
“What of Elaine? You can hardly be there together? When—and where—does she go?”
“I have no idea,” Delphie coldly replied. “I am not cognizant of her plans.”
“I shall be obliged to see you—to discuss—” he began, but Delphie, interrupting, said with finality,