Drawing in a breath, Ainsley pulled back his shoulders and managed to pull his hand away. “She understands as much as can be explained. For the rest, she must see in person.”
Ainsley’s aunt nodded thoughtfully and gave a half smile. “We can only pray then.”
She pushed open the door to Lord Marshall’s room. In it, they found Maxwell and Louisa’s eldest son, Nathaniel, struggling to return the flailing Lord Marshall to his bed. Moaning loudly and using his good arm to strike his helpers, Lord Marshall wriggled and fought as much as his present condition would allow him, which was enough to unseat his opponents. Margaret had retreated to the window, wanting desperately to turn away from the scene, while clutching their father’s carpetbag to her chest.
“Goodness, Peter!” she called out when she saw him. “What do we do?”
Each time Maxwell and Nathaniel succeeded in replacing Lord Marshall in his proper place in bed, the master of the house would twist and squirm as if trying to break free of their grasp.
“How long has he been doing this?” Ainsley asked as he crossed the room to stand by his sister.
Margaret shook her head in bewilderment. “Nearly half an hour. I can’t make sense of it.”
Exhausted, Maxwell released Lord Marshall’s legs and reached for the post nearest him, as if preventing himself from falling over. “He will not settle, sir.”
As if on cue, Lord Marshall stopped mid-wriggle, his bedclothes wrapped loosely around his legs. He was unable to kick them off completely. Eyes wild, he glared at Ainsley and Margaret before raising his good arm and pointing an erect finger at the pair of them.
“See? This is what I must deal with all day,” Margaret said, tossing the carpetbag to the chair next to the window. She raised a hand to her face to brush the loose strands of hair from her brow.
Lord Marshall kicked up again, working hard this time to roll to one side before Nathaniel placed a forceful hand onto his uncle’s shoulder. “Stop, Uncle,” he said, eyeing the man squarely. “You had a busy day. You must rest now.”
Pulling in a determined breath, Lord Marshall’s chest rose and fell as he looked at his nephew. A murmur escaped his lips and for a moment Ainsley thought Nathaniel would relay a message to the family. But as Nathaniel turned, a look of confusion evident on his face, it was clear he couldn’t decipher anything Lord Marshall had said.
“Enough of this, Father,” Ainsley commanded. “Can’t you see we are trying our best? Recovery takes time.”
Lord Marshall stopped his writhing almost immediately and looked up to the gaze of his second son, his only true son. Ainsley stepped toward the bed, ignoring the mangled bedclothes and manic look on his father’s face. He saw past all the violence and saw a man snarled in an internal struggle, one that made the disarray of the room look minor in comparison. A tear escaped the edge of Lord Marshall’s eye and slid down the wrinkles of his cheeks, creases that had seemed to appear overnight. Ainsley had never noticed them before. His father, always hardened and sour, now looked more terrified than terrifying. It was a reality that was very new to Ainsley, who until recently could not stand to be in the man’s presence.
Defeat settling over his features, Lord Marshall threw back his head into the pillow and sulked.
“What unsettled him initially?” Ainsley asked, leaning in to straighten the sheets and blankets.
“I thought he was asleep so I began tidying up a little,” Margaret explained, gesturing to the rest of the room. “Father began moving around and moaning.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “I just don’t understand.” She pushed back a tear that lined her lower eyelid.
“He’s just an old fuddy-duddy. Wants to do everything his way,” Aunt Louisa said, exasperated. She leaned in toward her brother and shook a finger at him. “You better get used to your children doing things for you or one day they may just get up and leave you to your own detriment.”
“Aunt Louisa, don’t say that,” Margaret said in protest.
Their aunt shrugged. “He never could stand it when things weren’t done to his specifications. It’s a poetic justice for this to be his fate, relying on the empathy and compassion of others. He never gave much of either while he could.”
When Ainsley looked to his father he saw a man abashed by his own misdeeds. His father wasn’t perfect. Ainsley himself had come to rue the man and actively avoided any interaction with him, but it seemed unfair that now, beholden to the whim of others and vulnerable for his every care, that he should be shamed so openly.
A self-righteous laugh escaped Aunt Louisa as she hovered over her brother’s bed. “Why, I could tell you a story or two—”
“Enough.” Ainsley gestured for the door. “I won’t have you condemning a man who can’t speak in his own defense. He seems to have calmed down now. Why don’t we all allow him some time to sleep?”
After pulling the blankets over Lord Marshall, Maxwell asked Margaret if there was anything else she needed. She gave a quick shake of the head and he left the room. Aunt Louisa left without another word but Nathaniel paused at the door and turned to Ainsley.
“I have discovered a place of interest that I would very much like to show you,” he said quietly, giving a quick glance to Margaret. “A gentleman’s club, if you will.”
Ainsley smiled, amused by his cousin’s enthusiasm. “I doubt there is a public house in London of which I do not know,” he replied, without care for secrecy.
Nathaniel looked dejected and almost sullen as he registered what Ainsley had said.
There was no need to hide the truth of it. Ainsley was well aware of any worthwhile venue for drink and gambling, as well as some places not so worthwhile. If Nathaniel wished to impress him, he’d have to do much better than that. With awkward hesitation, Nathaniel gave a sideways glance to Margaret and then left.
Alone at last, the two siblings looked back to their father and found him inviting sleep. Ainsley turned off the lamp next to the bed and joined Margaret out in the hallway.
“Humour him, Peter,” Margaret said, closing the door behind them. Her words had a breathy air, one that betrayed her fatigue. “London seems to have bewitched him.”
“After so many years in India I doubt it would take much,” he answered with a laugh.
“I hear India is lovely,” she said, beginning a slow walk down the hallway.
“I hear it is hot.” He pulled at his collar at the memory of the outdoor heat, which was only somewhat abated now that he was in the shade.
Violetta exited Margaret’s room, a few items to be laundered in her arms. The maid bowed her head as she passed Margaret and Ainsley in the hall.
“Violetta, where is Julia?”
The maid, one of the oldest on their staff and their mother’s lady’s maid while she lived, turned a slip of ribbon through her fingers as she spoke. “I’m not sure, ma’am,” Violetta said, the wisp of a smile tickling the edges of her mouth. It was as if the woman delighted in her adversary’s unapproved absence. “She did not return from her errand.”
Ainsley pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s been six hours,” he said.
“How do you know?” Margaret asked, surprised.
“She came to visit me—”
Margaret put her hand up to hush him suddenly and Ainsley realized his worry for Julia’s well-being had almost allowed him to reveal their secret.
“That is all, Violetta,” Margaret said. “When Julia returns, have her come speak to me.”
The maid bobbed a stiff curtsey and left, her smile broadening as she did so.
Worry pulled on Ainsley’s face, not only for his misstep in words but also because Julia had not returned. “This is not like her,” he said, turning in place and running a hand over his face.
The doorbell rang and the familiar sound of Maxwell in the hall came to them in the upper hallway.
“I’m sure she is fine, Peter,” Margaret said.
“Good evening, Lord Benedict,�
� Maxwell said from the storey below them. “I’m afraid His Lordship is down for the evening.”
Ainsley paused his conversation with Margaret to listen in.
“That’s quite all right. Er…Is Louisa about?” Lord Benedict asked.
“Yes, sir. You both may follow me.”
Ainsley lifted his eyes to find Margaret’s.
“Both?” they whispered in unison.
“Could he have brought Cecilia with him?” Margaret asked. Ceceilia was a friend of Aunt Louisa’s and Lord Benedict’s soon-to-be wife.
Ainsley shook his head. “She’s in the country at present,” Ainsley said. “I heard Aunt Louisa saying something about her ill grandmother.”
After a few more seconds they heard footsteps making their way down the hall before entering one of the rooms on the main floor.
“Then who could he possibly be introducing us to at this hour?” Margaret asked, raising a hand to her temple.
“Perhaps he wishes to bring another doctor,” Ainsley offered.
“Oh, I wish he wouldn’t. I mean, I don’t see why we can’t use our family physician, who’s been taking care of Father for nearly two decades.”
Ainsley shrugged. “Perhaps he feels responsible in a way. I heard him tell Aunt Louisa he was in the room when Father collapsed. Imagine the guilt he must feel.”
Margaret heaved a sigh. “I suppose we are meant to go say hello to this new doctor, though what he can tell us that the two others couldn’t is beyond me.”
The person accompanying Lord Benedict was not a doctor, or even a man for that matter. As Ainsley and Margaret neared the parlour door Maxwell was exiting with a young, negro girl following behind him.
“Maxwell, who is this?” Ainsley asked.
The servants paused in the hall and Maxwell opened his mouth to answer, but Aunt Louisa beat him to it. “This is Vivian,” she said, in a markedly sweet tone. “Lord Benedict has asked if our home was open and I had already told them yes.” Aunt Louisa suddenly looked alarmed. “Oh, forgive me, Peter. I did not think. I am so used to running the household.”
Ainsley shook his head. “I do not object,” he said.
Margaret reached out a hand in greeting. “Hello, Vivian. I am Lady Margaret.”
Vivian could scarcely see them under the wide brim of her travelling bonnet. “Good evening.”
Ainsley knew by her accent that the girl, who could have been no more than fifteen, was from Barbados. Her travelling attire, which included a light blue hoop skirt with white pinstriping and lace gloves, hinted at comfortable living though not extravagantly so.
Before either Margaret or Ainsley could say another word, Maxwell gestured for the girl to follow him down the hall.
“Aunt Louisa, how long is Vivian expected to stay at Marshall House?” Margaret asked.
Aunt Louisa looked to Lord Benedict.
“I can’t rightly say,” he said.
Leaning into his walking cane, Lord Benedict lowered his head slightly as Ainsley, Margaret, and Louisa entered the parlour.
In his early thirties, Lord Benedict was from a long line of English nobles. He had spent the majority of his youth travelling abroad and, it was rumoured, gambling his inheritance. Short and not attractive by any measure, Benedict had been on the prowl for a wife for some time. He had once hinted to Margaret his interest in her but the idea was quickly squashed by Lord Marshall, who openly confessed a grander plan for Margaret’s marital prospects. His future bride, Cecilia, brought a modest income, bequeathed to her by a fiancé who died the previous year from fever.
Ainsley went straight for the sideboard. “Care for a brandy?” he asked, peeking over his shoulder at their visitor.
“Yes, thank you.”
Ainsley presented him with crystal glass.
“Will you not have one as well?” Lord Benedict asked.
“Peter has cut down his drinking considerably,” Aunt Louisa said, walking toward them. She reached past Ainsley for the decanter. “It’s rather commendable, but I don’t see why the rest of us have to suffer.” She poured herself a glass, filing it with twice as much alcohol as normal, and downed much of it in the first gulp.
Lord Benedict raised his glass, a small salute to Ainsley’s efforts, before taking a sip. “Vivian is a chambermaid at your father’s estate in Bridgetown. Her mother passed away recently and she has no one.”
“But what is she doing here?” Margaret asked, from the sofa. “Surely Father would have given her a stipend to help her overcome her grief.”
Lord Benedict nodded. “He did, and a fine one at that.” He tucked his cane under his arm so he could slip his free hand into his pocket. “Truth be told, she just showed up at my door this evening, unannounced.” He licked his lips. “As you are aware, I am a soon-to-be-wed bachelor and I wouldn’t want to compromise Miss Vivian’s good character.”
“It would have been far more efficient for her to write,” Aunt Louisa said with a chuckle.
“You believe she has come to ask for more money?” Ainsley asked.
“I don’t know what she wants,” Lord Benedict said. “As far as I knew, the matter was done. Your father was quite generous during his visit.”
Margaret swallowed nervously. “Should we tell Father she has arrived in London?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry him,” Lord Benedict said. “I’ll make some enquiries with the farm managers back on the island. In the meantime, if you could indulge her a little. I suspect it was the allure of London that brought her this far. She’ll return home before long, I have no doubt.” He emptied his glass of brandy with one gulp and replaced it on the sideboard. “Let me know if she presents any problems, and I will return, forthwith.” He tapped his cane on the floor with a flourish and smiled as he planted a light kiss on Aunt Louisa’s cheek. “No need to follow me to the door. I shall see myself out.”
The rhythmic tap, tap, tap of his cane on the hallway floor signaled his departure.
Chapter 6
The next morning, Ainsley found Margaret at the dining table enjoying breakfast, a scarce sighting when she so often went to their father first thing in the morning. Ainsley paused behind his chair and rested his hand on the back.
“Father was sleeping still,” she explained, putting a forkful of egg into her mouth.
When Cutter entered, carrying a carafe of hot water, she called out to him. “Cutter, can you please tell Julia I wish to see her before our new nurse arrives.”
Cutter stopped midstep and gave a quick glance to Maxwell, who stood at attention next to the sideboard. “My apologies, ma’am,” he began, “Miss Kemp has not risen yet.”
Margaret laid down her fork and snatched up her napkin. She gave a thoughtful look to Ainsley. “She must have come in late,” she said, though her tone gave away her worry.
Ainsley, however, was in no mood for guessing. Abandoning convention, he left the dining room and headed for the back stairs, the servants’ means of traversing between the levels of the house. Julia shared an attic room with one of the chambermaids, who Ainsley spied at the end of the hall tucking a few curls of hair beneath the bonnet of her uniform.
“Is she ill?” he asked, marching the length of hall.
Startled, the maid jumped and turned toward him, lowering her arms with a jolt. She looked back at the closed door that led to her lodgings. “Sir?”
“Miss Kemp? Is she ill?”
The chambermaid twisted her fingers nervously and stammered as Ainsley passed her and opened the door. The room was empty save for some sparse furnishings. Julia’s side of the room in particular looked spotless. “Did Miss Kemp return last night?” Ainsley asked, still trying to harness the panic he felt in his gut.
The maid faltered, her gaze bouncing between her employer and her roommate’s side of the room. “Well, sir,” she said before tears prevented her from finishing.
Ainsley heard footsteps behind them in the hall and turned to see Margaret approaching. “Peter, you aren�
�t permitted near the female servants’ quarters,” she said.
The chambermaid swallowed and bowed her head.
“Prudence, to the kitchens.” Margaret cocked her head to the side, dismissing the maid, who was clearly at a loss for words. With the chambermaid gone, Ainsley entered the room and went straight for Julia’s bedside table.
“Peter!”
He hesitated a moment with his hand on the knob. It wasn’t proper for him to rummage through a servant’s things and he had never contemplated such an act before. He felt Margaret tugging on his wrist.
“You will regret this,” she said.
The man he was before wouldn’t have given it another thought. He could always justify any wrongdoing, citing necessity. Recently, though, all his methods had come under scrutiny and he began to question himself more and more. What his sister said was true. He would come to regret rifling through not only a servant’s private things but the belongings of the woman whom he cared deeply for. He retracted his hand and turned in place, taking in the sights of the room before stepping back into the hallway.
As he marched back to the main floor he struggled to shake the austerity of his lover’s living quarters. He held Julia as dear as he did his own sister, perhaps even more so of late and yet on the nights when they weren’t together she was sleeping on such a narrow bed, with either stifling heat suffocating her or penetrating cold nipping at her. As he descended the narrow staircase he realized that to Julia Marshall House must have appeared no better than the orphanage she grew up in.
Ms. Nelson, the housekeeper, came into view at the base of the narrow stairs just as Ainsley began to descend. Clutching the railing, she looked up to him. “My apologies, sir,” she said, out of breath after running from kitchens, no doubt. “I had not realized Miss Kemp was not roused.”
“I suspect she had not been to bed last night,” Ainsley said.
With Margaret following him, Ainsley came down the stairs and the three of them gathered on the tight landing. Ms. Nelson’s weathered face soured even further as Ainsley looked at her. “I should have known it would come to this.” She shook her head and placed closed fisted hands on her hips.
Prayers for the Dying Page 6
