by Joan Smith
Then the same old details came back to bother me. If she wasn’t Lady Lorna, how did she know about Rusty? How did she know there was something of importance to her claim hidden under that bottom drawer if she hadn’t put it there? She knew about the loose dormer window, and knew that Lord Acton had given his daughter the Fragonard for her sixteenth birthday.
Lady Mary didn’t deny that. Odd Lorna didn’t seem to know it was a Fragonard, though. Wouldn’t she have known and remembered such a famous artist? But then twenty years was a long time, and I doubted she had spent any time in art galleries or museums. I don’t think she even knew it was valuable. She seemed to take it in spite, because what she really went after was gone. What could it be?
All these questions had tumbled around in my poor aching head during the long and sleepless night. At one point it even occurred to me that she hadn’t been taken away by the gypsies at all, but had arranged to run off with them, and given Rusty a sleeping draught so he wouldn’t wake up and bark. But then, could she not have taken her beloved pet with her if Killu was in love with her? Gypsies often travelled with a dog. It was always the way, one thing canceled out another.
If she had gone off willingly, she must have imagined herself in love with one of the gypsies. That would fit with what I knew of her past as a madcap, romantic girl. And she admitted she had found Killu handsome. Add to that her coming forced marriage to Lord Edward and it was a recipe for folly. It would also explain why she had not returned during all those years. I could well imagine that she had grown tired of the gypsy life, and of the man she had run off with, or he of her for that matter, and she had left.
Was it possible she had left behind at the Abbey some note from her gypsy lover telling her when and where to meet him? That could be the important “it” she had been looking for. She certainly wouldn’t want Lady Mary to find that. It would change her from a victim to a scarlet woman. And it was a pretty good explanation of why the Actons were so eager to disown her too. What a blot on the family escutcheon! A runaway bride would be bad enough, but a runaway mistress to a gypsy was infinitely worse.
Was Lorna that abandoned? Would she do such an outré thing that would put her forever beyond the pale of polite society? Surely there would have to be an overwhelming reason and with her weakness for men the likeliest one was that she was enceinte. An illegitimate child would be as bad as treason — worse to a spinster of rigid morals like Lady Mary. Yes, that would account for Lady Mary’s fear and black hatred. It wasn’t about wanting to keep the dowry at all. It was determination to avoid the awful scandal of a ruined daughter and a gypsy by-blow on the illustrious family tree.
If there had been a child, what had become of it? Not once in all her stories had she so much as mentioned a child. Had it died, had she abandoned it, or did she plan to “adopt” it after she claimed her dowry? She often spoke of Paris, of returning there. Had she left the child there in someone’s care? Or even alone — the “child” would be close to twenty by now.
If what I imagined was true, then knowing the incriminating billet doux, perhaps even making some reference to the coming child, was there hidden under the bottom drawer of the dresser would also be proof that she was indeed Lady Lorna, even if a disgraced lady. Or go a long way towards proving it at least. And if the Actons had found the letter, then they knew the truth, and that was why they refused to recognize her claim.
“Well, what are we going to do?” she demanded.
I needed time to think this through. “I don’t know. Lady Mary said she wasn’t going to tell Mama, so perhaps ... I think we had best just wait a bit and see what happens. If the constable doesn’t come, we needn’t tell Mama just yet.”
“And you’ll handle Acton,” she said firmly. Not a question but almost a command.
“You don’t know him very well if you think he can be handled,” I told her.
“You’d be surprised what a fellow will do for a lady if he’s handled right.”
I was not in the dire sort of trouble that might excuse practising Lorna’s philosophy. It was not my life that was at stake, but only my pride. I would confess to Acton, but spare Mama the embarrassment if possible. We didn’t say a word about our visit to the Abbey when we went belowstairs that morning.
Lorna kept up a patter of pointless conversation during breakfast, much of it encouragement of Mama’s silly superstitions. I felt so ill with apprehension I almost wished the constable would come and get it over with, but he didn’t. I hoped Acton would come home today, and decided to go to the park and waylay him before he got to the house. My hopes soared when a black carriage came bowling up the road, but it was not Acton. It was Mrs. McGarvey, a friend of Mama’s. I hoped she had come to deliver an invitation to some social do, and followed the carriage up the drive.
But when I entered the salon, I soon learned that the dame had come on quite a different errand. “I hear you have a house-guest, Lucy,” she was saying. “May I meet, her?”
Mama, all innocent, sent Balky off to give Lorna the message. Lorna entered, smiled and said good day to the visitor in a very civil way. Mrs. McGarvey lifted a lorgnette and examined her as if she were a particularly revolting morsel on her plate, then turned to Mama. “I have been misinformed. I was told your guest was Lady Lorna, but I see she is nothing like her. You haven’t introduced us, Lucy.”
“Why of course it is Lady Lorna,” Mama said at once.
Mrs. McGarvey’s eyebrows disappeared under the brim of her befeathered bonnet. “Indeed!” she said, and laughed, while her eyes trotted all over Lorna, from her red hair to her gown to her very feet. “You have certainly changed beyond all recognition, Lady Lorna. I can’t say I recognize you. No, I don’t recognize you at all. I must have changed too, as you obviously did not recognize me.”
Before Lorna was forced to say something, Mama said, “This is Mrs. McGarvey, Lorna. You remember she breeds lap dogs. I bought little Shrimp from her, but of course that was long ago and Shrimp is no longer with us.”
“A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. McGarvey,” Lorna said, bold as brass, and sat down. “No, I don’t believe I would have recognized you. Time has not been kind to any of us ladies, has it? I remember you as a pretty, lithe young woman.” Mrs. McGarvey’s lips thinned and her nostrils dilated in fury. Even I, whose memories of her were relatively short, knew she had put on a stone and a half in that time.
Mama called for tea, but Mrs. McGarvey was suddenly in a great rush to leave. “Just a little pop in to say good day,” she said to Mama. “So sorry I won’t be seeing you at Larson’s rout party,” was her parting shot.
Chapter Twelve
We could not complain of a lack of company that day. We had half a dozen callers, one more in the morning and two groups of two in the afternoon. Each time I rushed to the house to see why they had come. All of them came for no other reason than to assess the soi-disant Lady Lorna. All had made up their minds before they set eyes on her. All were viciously rude, and all got as good as they gave. It was hard to believe Lady Lorna’s high-handed treatment came from anyone but a genuine lady.
I was not long in figuring out why they all descended on us at that time. Lady Mary had put them up to it. And she had let them know that in her opinion the guest was no more Lady Lorna than she was Marie Antoinette. As the uncontested leader of society in the neighbourhood, she had them all under her thumb.
This was how she was handling last night’s fiasco. She was trying to drive Lorna out by making her feel so unwelcome she left. And perhaps trying to force Mama to put her out too. It had quite the opposite effect on me. I was more than ever determined to prove Lady Mary wrong. If Lorna had behaved badly, she had done no worse than her aunt.
When Mr. Beamer called on Mama around four that afternoon I left the park and went inside to hear if he had heard rumours of our visit to the Abbey. Lorna had had enough of being insulted and rose almost at once saying she wanted to put the ribbons on her new gown and went abovestairs.
I was on thorns lest Beamer had got wind of what Lorna and I had done, but he didn’t seem to know anything about it. I didn’t think Lady Mary had got at him at all. He had just come to see if he could take Mama and myself to Larson’s rout party, as was his custom.
“Oh we are not going this year, Bernie,” she said, trying to sound as if the decision was ours.
He shook his head. “I take it your guest did not receive an invitation? That is no reason for you to stay away.”
“We were not invited, Bernie,” she said, pinching her lips to keep them from trembling.
“Ah, I feared it might come to this. You must turn the woman off, Lucy. I have made enquiries at the coach house in Colchester. It seems she did take the coach to Colchester as she told you, but how did she get here from there?”
“What difference does it make how she got here?” Mama snapped. Beamer blinked in surprise at this unusual display of temper. “She may have walked for all I know. She hadn’t any money.”
“And you are her banker,” he said, with another rueful shake of his head.
“Fiddlesticks! A few pounds to buy her little necessities. She is still my old friend, even if she has — changed. It is disgraceful the way she has been treated by everyone. I am the only one she has to rely on. We were always bosom friends, Lorna and I.” Her eyes were moist, but she managed to hold back her tears, and she is a regular watering pot. I was proud of Mama.
He turned to me. “What have you to say about her, Kate?”
“I think she handled the rudeness of our callers uncommonly well — like a real lady. There is no point asking me for proof, Squire. I didn’t know her before she came here.” But I was much inclined to hear if he had anything else to say.
“Did you happen to hear anything about that fellow who is staying at the inn in Kelvedon?” he asked Mama.
“What man? I don’t know who you mean.”
“It seems he arrived the same day as your guest turned up at the Abbey. An interesting coincidence. Chalmers, he calls himself.”
“Chalmers? Oh, he is a drapery salesman,” I said. “He told Lady Lorna so.”
Beamer leapt on it. “She knows him? How do you know this? Odd she would admit it.”
I told him about her meeting him on the road the day she borrowed Jezebel. It had completely slipped my mind. He asked me all about Chalmers, and I told him what little I knew. He found it odd Lorna had arrived at Lewes Abbey the same day that Chalmers arrived at Kelvedon, and a few days later they had both been in Colchester at the same time.
“Naturally a salesman in the area would visit the Colchester shops,” Mama said. “I see nothing odd in that.” She didn’t mention that Lorna had made a point of wanting to go there. She had also coaxed Mama into stopping at the George Inn. I wondered if Chalmers had left a note for her at the desk there, to be picked up when she went to purchase her journal. I had not seen her take so much as a single glance at that journal, nor had she mentioned any of the London doings she wanted to read about.
“A muslin salesman don’t stay so long in one area,” Beamer said. “An hour would be enough to handle the little bit of business he’d get at Kelvedon. He’s been at the inn nearly a week.”
“But why meet in Colchester that day, when Kelvedon is closer?” I asked.
“Because they had already made the arrangement before you mentioned Kelvedon,” Beamer said. “Very likely she didn’t want to parade herself in Kelvedon, where Lorna was well known. Another point, Chalmers don’t call himself a salesman. He says he is looking for a little cottage to buy in the neighbourhood. A weekend place, to get away from the city. I don’t care for the aroma of this. I’d like to have a word with your guest.”
Mama bridled up at this. “I will not have my guest badgered and insulted any more, Bernie,” she said angrily. “If that is why you have come, you may leave.”
“Peagoose! I came to offer you a drive to Larson’s rout, as I always do. I have been looking out for you at all the houses you usually visit. You were not at the Mellon’s card party yesterday, and you love your game of whist. I had to play with Mrs. Abbot. You know what a wretched player she is.”
Mama was close to tears of frustration, and he looked as if he meant to keep badgering her. I caught his eye and gave a warning shake of my head.
He rose and said, “I’ll be running along. Think about what I said, Lucy. You know it is only your welfare I am interested in.”
She didn’t even bother looking at him. I saw him to the door. “I am going to look into this Chalmers business, Kate.”
“Yes, do,” I said, trying to be fair. I still believed in Lorna, but as the sensible one of the family, felt obliged to consider the alternative. I told him how insistent Lorna had been that we go to Colchester that day, and visit the George Inn for lunch. “Mama suggested the Red Lion, but Lorna said her papa always took them to the George.”
“You think she met him there? How could she manage it, being with you?”
“I don’t really know that she did, but if she did, it was while she was at the necessary room. Of course she couldn’t meet him there, but she stopped at the desk to pick up a journal, and hasn’t so much as glanced at it.”
“They are certainly working together. I’ll bet a monkey he brought her here. Lucy is too stubborn to listen to me, but by gad she’ll listen to the police!”
“Oh!” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him about the fracas I had run into with Lorna the night before, but with the hope of keeping that secret, I said only, “I wouldn’t do that, Squire. Mama would never forgive you. Acton will be back from London soon. Let him handle it. It is his business really. Wait and hear what he has to say. I believe he meant to investigate Lady Lorna in London.”
“Did he indeed? No grass growing under that lad’s feet. I’ll have a word with him.”
“You might ask him to have a word with Taylor as well. I have twice seen Lorna talking to him in the spinney. Met by chance, she said. But really, Squire, I think Lorna is Lady Lorna. There are things, a dozen little things that I don’t see how she could possibly have learned in any other way. If she were some local woman who lived here twenty years ago, someone would recognize her.”
“Who has seen her, cooped up here with your mama?”
“You’d be surprised. We have had many callers.”
“Did any of them recognize her?”
“They didn’t seem to,” I admitted. “I believe Lady Mary had a word with them. Why else did they all come today?” I couldn’t tell him my explanation for it, and he didn’t ask.
“Look out for your Mama, Kate,” he said, and left, wearing a worried frown.
And I resumed my vigil for Acton’s arrival in the park wearing the same expression. I was half disappointed when he didn’t come and half relieved, for I was dreading that interview.
Chapter Thirteen
I was about to return to the house when I spotted a crested carriage and a handsome team of four bays rolling up the drive. My instinct was to run to meet it — him — but I was held back by the fear that Acton had been home to see Aunt Mary, and had come to ring a peel over me. He didn’t wait for the post boy to open the door and let down the step for him. The instant the carriage drew to a stop he threw open the door, leapt down unaided and hurried towards me.
If I had not been so upset his team of four would have told me had not been to the Abbey. It was his warm smile that made me realize he had come straight to me from London. Surely that was the behaviour of a lover, and the gleam in his eyes confirmed it. He didn’t draw me into his arms, but just gazed at me a moment, then reached out both hands and grasped mine.
“Kate, I’m glad you came out to meet me. You know my aversion to meeting your house-guest. Is she still here?”
“Yes, certainly she is. What — how was your trip to London?”
“Successful. I ran into one little snag — an unavoidable delay, a nuisance, not a defeat. We’ll soon be rid of her. What has she been up to
during my absence?”
This was my chance to tell him, but before I could form the words, he rattled on. “I’ve brought a surprise for you, Kate.” He reached into his jacket and drew forth an envelope. I accepted it in some confusion, wondering what on earth it could be, but assuming it had something to do with Lorna. The writing looked like a lady’s hand, and the wafer sealing it was not red like a government seal. I opened it and drew out an invitation to Larson’s rout party for me and Mama.
“Well, aren’t you pleased?” he asked, his smile dwindling. “You certainly seemed unhappy that you hadn’t been invited.”
The strains of the past days left my nerves in tatters or I would not have ripped up at him so sharply. All my annoyance and anger and uncertainty had been gathering for days. Add to it my fear of what Lady Mary would do about our sneaking into the Abbey and the pressure was too much. My poor heart could hold no more negative emotion.
Something had to burst and the impossibility of accepting that cherished invitation happened to be the weapon that did it. “Do you dare to tell me you went to Larsons and begged for this invitation? You did! Don’t deny it!”
“I thought you would be happy.”
“Happy, to beg for an invitation, as though we were some sort of parvenues?”
“I did not have to beg.”
“Of course not. Lord Acton’s wish is the world’s command. Do you expect us to go there knowing we are not wanted, but grudgingly permitted to come because his lordship insisted! And I notice she didn’t include Lady Lorna!”
The mention of that name was like a red flag to a bull. “You know perfectly well that woman is the reason you weren’t invited in the first place,” he said, his anger rising to match my own.
