by Joan Smith
“She doesn’t know anything about it, but I’ll see she’s there.”
“I shall feel a fool,” he said again. “I don’t like to do it behind Lucy’s back. I’m on my way there now. We’ll talk it over and if she don’t go along with it, you can count me out.”
We both made haste to Oak Hill, where I explained the plan to Mama. I used all my powers of persuasion, pointing out that if I was wrong and no attempt was made, there was no harm done. She was accustomed to my running things and I managed to talk her around. Beamer must have said a dozen times he didn’t like it and felt a fool, but Mama stood firm behind me for Lorna’s sake.
Beamer unwittingly helped out by pointing out that if I was wrong, at least Mama would be rid of her guest. She did not seem too sad at the prospect. Her main concern was whether Beamer was up to his part of the job. He assured her he was a prime shot but he didn’t have a pistol with him and hadn’t time to go home and get one.
I enlisted Balky’s help to get Papa’s pistol and charge it without revealing my plan to him. I knew he would dislike it. It would “be on my head.” Beamer examined the pistol, took aim and declared it would do. As the time drew near, I pointed out to him where he was to take up his position behind the boxwood hedge. “I feel a perfect fool,” he said once again, but as Mama was in favour of the plan, he began almost to enjoy his role.
Mama said admiringly to me, “Don’t worry, Kate. You must know Bernie is an excellent shot.” Beamer lived up to his name. He beamed.
“I’ll not shoot unless I have to, and I’ll not shoot to kill,” he assured us. “If necessary I shall shoot his pistol out of his hand. Don’t doubt that I can do it. If I can bring down a pheasant in flight, I can wing Taylor standing still.” It was Mama’s turn to beam.
He went out, ready to take up his post at my signal. I went to call Lorna down. She was sitting on the bed with her hat on and her packed bag at her feet. She leapt up when I entered. “Did you get it?” she demanded. “Did you get the money?”
“I told you Acton is coming here. We’re going to meet him in the library.”
“What does he want to see me for? He never wants to see me. He can give you the cash.”
After all the trouble I had gone to, I became impatient with her. “Those are his terms, Lorna,” I said. “If you want the money, come along to the library.”
“This better not be a trick,” she said, but she got up and followed me down to the library. Lorna seemed relieved to see Mama was there as well. “Well, Lucy, what do you think of this?” she asked, and uttered a nervous little laugh.
“I hate to see you go. We shall visit often. Signora Rossini forecasts good news, Lorna, so you will be all right. You know she is always right. Kate seems to think it is all right too,” was Mama’s answer.
The coach must have been in good time. At a quarter past four I caught the echo of a carriage barreling up the drive and used it as an excuse to open the library door. I would leave it open as added enticement to Taylor. “I believe that’s him now,” I said. Lorna followed me to the door, saving me the trouble of finding some excuse to get her positioned there. I wondered how Taylor would get into the rose garden. Very likely he hopped out of the carriage before it reached the front door and ran up through the park. Beamer was waiting around the corner of the house to take up his position as soon as Taylor was in place.
The atmosphere in the library was so tense the air seemed to hum. We all stood as if frozen, waiting. Within moments I heard Acton’s footsteps approaching the library, and heard his voice talking to his secret weapon. A voice — a woman’s voice I didn’t recognize, said something in reply, then they were at the door.
Chapter Twenty-one
I knew as soon as I clapped an eye on Acton’s secret weapon that she was no relative of his. She was not even a lady, nor was she either pretty or young or stylish enough to be the sort of friend more usually termed a ladybird. She was a dumpy, middle-aged female with apple cheeks and a plain round bonnet pulled down over mousy hair with a knob at the back. Her plain blue long jacket was open to reveal a modest gray gown.
She took one look at Lorna, uttered a high-pitched squeal of delight and darted forward to embrace her in a bear hug. Lorna stood stiff as a statue, her face frozen in shock, returning neither the smile nor the embrace.
The secret weapon stood back and said to Lorna, “I declare, Myrna Coons, whatever are you doing here? Did you lose your post in London? You never mean you’re working for Lady Simmons now? I declare, when his lordship said he had a surprise for me, I never thought for a minute it would be you. It’s grand to see you again. I’ve been that worried about you, but I must say you’re looking fine as nine pence.”
The secret weapon stood staring expectantly, waiting for a response and an explanation while Lorna remained frozen. Her tongue flicked out to touch her lips as she stared with wild eyes at the caller, flashed a murderous glance at me, then said to Acton in a weird, high voice, “Who is this person who claims to know me?”
It was the secret weapon who answered her. “Why it’s me, Myrna, your sister Effie.” She turned to Acton. “She don’t recognize me. What ails the poor girl? Has she had a knock on the pate?”
Acton cast a long look at Lorna but answered Effie. “That would be the charitable way of explaining it.”
Lorna — the woman calling herself Lorna — stood a moment silent and immobile, as her eyes darted wildly around the room, omitting only Effie in their rapid circuit. She had the air of a baited animal. When she moved, she moved so quickly no one thought to stop her. She flew past us, yanked open the door, flew out and up the stairs. She must have caught Balky with his ear to the keyhole, for he was sitting on the floor with a stunned look on his face by the time I got there.
“Shall I go after her, Missie?” he asked, struggling up from the floor.
“That won’t be necessary Balky,” I told him.
He looked disappointed but Acton was already halfway up the stairs behind her. He chased her right into her room and one of them slammed the door. The others, Mama and Effie were at the library door by then. “Oh dear,” Mama said. “You don’t suppose he’ll hurt her? I didn’t see a pistol. Was it not Taylor who was supposed to shoot her, Kate? Very likely Bernie got his gun away from him.” The excitement of the last moments had knocked all thought of Taylor completely out of my mind.
“Here,” Effie said sharply. “What’s all this about shooting Myrna?”
“That wasn’t your sister, Effie,” Mama told her in a kindly way. “That was your former mistress, Lady Lorna.”
Effie put her head back and uttered a raucous laugh. “Lord, Lady Simmons, you haven’t changed a bit. As daft as ever. Lady Lorna indeed! That’s my sister, Myrna, that is. Half-sister, to be sure, but we were close, especially after my dear mistress got carried off by them gypsies and I was sent home to Thaxted. Mind you, she was always crazy about my mistress. Always, though she never once clapped an eye on her, to my knowledge.”
Mama stared at Effie in confusion, then turned to me for an explanation. “But — Kate, is Lorna not Lorna after all?”
“It seems that way, Mama.”
“If you’ve known this all along you might have told me! Only a maid, and I let her borrow my best stockings this morning, to say nothing of housing and feeding her all this time. As to the quantity of wine ...”
“I didn’t know, Mama!”
Effie shook her head and gave the two of us a look that said plain as words we were both fools. “That’s Myrna all over. She does like her little tipple. I take it she’s been play acting on you. It’s not the first time she’s fooled folks. Myrna could always con folks that she was a lady. She should be on the stage. It started years ago when I told her she looked like Lady Lorna. She did too. She’d put a tablecloth over her shoulders and strut about, using a fancy voice. Even after we both got positions in London she used to keep pestering me, asking me all about her.” She shook her head sadly, “And no
w she’s gone loony, pore soul. If that’s his lordship’s notion of a nice surprise, I’d like to know what he’d call a facer.”
“Oh dear,” Mama said, frowning in perplexity. “It’s all very confusing, but we never meant to let Taylor actually shoot her, Effie. That would be wrong. Squire Beamer was going to stop him. He’s an excellent shot.”
I felt an explanation — and Effie certainly deserved one — would be easier without Mama’s presence and said, “Why don’t you ask Balky to bring us some tea, Mama.”
It was more usual for her to make that suggestion to me, but she seemed happy to escape and said it was the very thing, and perhaps some of Cook’s gingerbread, and should she tell Bernie it was all over and let him come in for tea.
“Yes, he might as well come in,” I said.
I fell on to a chair to try to make sense of what had just happened. Whatever it was, it seemed Acton was right about the woman we had been calling Lorna, and I had made a flaming jackass of myself. So his secret weapon was Lady Lorna’s maid, Effie Coons. I had no idea Effie even had a half-sister. It was some freak accident of nature that she should look so much like Lady Lorna. The source of Myrna’s knowledge was now explained — she had got all the details from relentless quizzing of Lady Lorna’s personal maid and confidante, Effie Coons. And to make sure we didn’t mention Effie to Acton, she had warned us the Actons would try to keep her away. But Acton had managed to chase her down and bring her here.
“I blush to say it, but this jape is just like Myrna,” was Effie’s comment when I had told her what had been going on. “She always thought she was too good to work. It’s what comes of having one foot on the bottom rung and one on the top. Lord Nicholas, I mean, old Lord Acton’s younger brother. My mum was Myrna’s mum as well, you see, but we had different dads. She worked for Lord Nicholas. He was Myrna’s da, of course, but she lived with me and Mum and my sisters. Lady Nicholas wouldn’t have her about the place. Stands to reason. But he used to take her for drives and give her little presents, a new frock and a pony once when she was ten. Just enough to let her think she was better than the rest of us. She thought he’d remember her in his will, but when he died he didn’t leave her so much as a shilling, so she was faced with the choice of going to work or starving. Myrna liked her vittles too well to starve.
“She helped herself to a few things in the local shops and found it wise to leave the village. Thaxted wasn’t big enough to hold her and her grand ideas. She got a post in London, and sent for me when Mum died. Work was scarce in Thaxted so I went. They’re fussy in London. I ended up in Mrs. Petty’s kitchen, not as a personal maid as I was for Lady Lorna but I’m doing better now. I’m a nursemaid. Me and Myrna met on our days off and it was always the same — her wanting to know all about Lady Lorna. I liked talking about her, for they were good times for me. Still, I’m sorry I told her. I suppose she got hold of the diary my mistress kept under the bottom drawer of her dresser when she sneaked into the Abbey that night?”
So that’s what she had been after! “She tried, but it was gone.”
“There wasn’t much in it that I hadn’t told her. I’ve often wondered — she doesn’t happen to have a little pearl ring?”
“Yes, she does.”
“I thought as much,” she said with an angry tsk. “It was missing after her last visit. She just took off from her position without a word to me or her mistress. Mind you, it wasn’t the first time. She was always a fool for a handsome face, but I felt she’d come back with some unlikely story to account for her going when her gent got tired of her.”
“You were saying about the ring ...”
“My mistress gave me that little ring for a remembrance. She gave me lots of trinkets, but I especially treasured the ring as she gave it to me the very night the gypsies took her. She was just on her way out the door. She stopped and lifted it off — she wore it on a chain around her neck — and gave it to me, chain and all — real gold. I never saw her again.” She brushed away a tear before continuing.
“Myrna has a wicked streak in her, Miss Simmons. There’s no gainsaying it, but it’s not all her fault, raised as she was with old Sir Nick puffing her up one day and ignoring her the next. She was too good to be nobody, and not good enough to be a lady. Then when she met Wally Ford last winter...”
A few questions brought forth that Wally was a scapegrace fellow who lived by his wits and wouldn’t stop at much, including playing with shaved cards. Effie felt it was Wally who had abetted Myrna in this masquerade as she could find no trace of him when she went looking for Myrna after her departure. His description fit that of Mr. Chalmers.
“I can see how she fooled Lady Simmons for she does look a little like Lady Lorna, and your ma always was a peagoose, no offence, Miss Simmons. But lord, she had the brass to actually go right to the Abbey and try to con Lady Mary. That’s Myrna all over. She’d think nothing of bearding a lion in his den. I wonder now what’s going on abovestairs? You don’t suppose his lordship would be strangling her?”
“I don’t think so, Effie.”
“The more fool he if he tries. She’ll scratch his eyes out.”
Balky brought us a tea tray to the library. “Are Mama and Squire Beamer not joining us, Balky?” I asked, seeing only two cups. And no gingerbread.
“They’re in the salon. I took the notion they’d prefer to be alone.” This was accompanied by a knowing grin and a wiggle of the head that ill-suited a butler. “April and May,” he added. He tossed his head towards the door, his way of informing me he wanted a private word.
I excused myself to Effie and went out with him. “She just left, in his rig,” he said, smiling.
“Who, Mama?”
“Didn’t I just tell you she’s in the salon with the squire? I mean Myrna Coons.” He hadn’t missed much through the keyhole.
“Was Lord Acton with her?”
“No, he’s belowstairs. In the kitchen,” he added with a smirk.
“What the deuce is he doing there?”
“Showing my nevvie a new card trick. He asked me to send Effie down. He wants a word with her after she’s had her tea.”
“I see,” I said untruthfully. I did not see at all. Why did he not come upstairs and let me hear what he wanted to say to Effie? The only conclusion I could come to was that Myrna had scratched Acton severely enough to draw blood, and he had gone belowstairs to clean up. But what was the rush to see Effie if Myrna had already left?
I could hardly control the impulse to run down to the kitchen to find out what was going on. It was only the ignominious matter of his being right and my having been completely taken in by Myrna Coons that deterred me. Wouldn’t he crow over me for my awful folly! I couldn’t tell a scheming hussy from a lady. Why had I not listened to him? I had never even known Lady Lorna. I had relied on my peagoose of a mother’s twenty year old memory and deluded wish to bring back the past. At least he didn’t know how Myrna had lured me on with talk of being her special friend, and going to Paris with her.
“Where is Myrna going?” I asked, hoping to get some clue as to Acton’s plan.
Balky shrugged. “Away, Missie. That’s good enough for me. And the farther the better. I’m happy to see the back of that baggage.” Then he turned and left, and I went back into the library to have tea and quiz Effie some more.
Chapter Twenty-two
Effie and I made short shrift of the tea. I used the time to learn a few more details of Myrna’s life, hoping to find some justification for my foolish belief that she had been Lady Lorna. I did not feel that either having been turned off from her last post for “borrowing” her mistress’s fur wrap or her affair with a certain Mr. Roberts, a scribbler from Whitehall, served the purpose.
After Effie went to the kitchen I sat on alone in the library, foreseeing a bleak future for myself. I would be as welcome as small pox at the Abbey. Balky’s coy behaviour led me to believe Mama and Mr. Beamer were coming to terms. If he took over the running of Oak Hil
l, what would I do with myself? Or would Mama be removing to his estate, leaving me behind to run ours? Would she sell Oak Hill, and if so would I be living with the newlyweds? Neither option held much appeal for me.
I must have looked as forlorn as I felt, for when Acton finally appeared at the door, he took one look at me and his triumphant, mischievous expression faded to pity.
To forestall a lecture, I said, “I know, you told me so. You were right, and I was wrong. Mea culpa, I am a foolish wretch — but how did you know, Acton? She did look somewhat like Lorna, she had the pearl ring, and she knew things ...”
He opened his mouth, but to forestall the coming tirade, I rushed in with a complaint. “If you knew all along she was Effie’s half-sister why the deuce didn’t you tell us?”
“Still a trifle warm beneath the collar, I see,” he replied in a pleasant voice. “I was hoping I had given you time to cool down before coming up to join you.” As he spoke he took my elbow and led me beyond Balky’s flapping ears to the rose garden, where we sat on the rather uncomfortable little iron bench.
He took my hand and said, “I admit I had an unfair advantage. I knew, have known for years, that Lorna is dead. Papa called me into his study and told me all about it on my twenty-first birthday.”
I couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d told me Lorna had run off and founded a new order of nuns. “Dead? What happened? How did he know?”
“We have her death certificate at the Abbey, kept in the safe with the family jewels.”
“So you’re telling me you knew all along our Lorna was an impostor?”
“Certainly I am. She was obviously no ghost,” he replied, cool as a cucumber.
“Don’t you think you might have told us and saved a deal of bother?”
“I might, and I rather wish I had.”
“What on earth was stopping you? Was it just the enjoyment of watching her make fools of us?”
