Death of a Dowager

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  “No, six. Any fewer would be disrespectful. And it’s not just marriage—she and Mary will have to sit out the coronation festivities and the rest of Season, too, as will their aunt. Not that Olivia would want to attend; she’s much like you in that regard, a homebody who enjoys her solitude. That’s another reason I want to visit her today: Lady Grainger will need help putting her house in order. Lady Ingram’s body will be returned there for those wishing to pay their respects.”

  “I am happy to offer my assistance. I am sure there will be letters to write, and errands to run. Although the Ingram girls are unlikely to be happy to see us, Lady Grainger might feel differently.”

  Lucy slipped a piece of crust to Rags, who was lying in wait under the table. I had noticed that my hostess cuddled her pup even more than usual in the aftermath of Mags’s death. “They will have to remember that it is Olivia’s house, not theirs. I’m sure she’ll have plenty for us to do, and we can spend all the time she needs, because Bruce has promised to take Edward to the bootmaker’s shop. Your husband mentioned his jackboot soles are worn thin.”

  “I cannot thank your brother enough. These are errands usually accomplished with Edward’s manservant,” I said, before telling Lucy about the letter from Mrs. Fairfax. “While John’s absence is surely felt, I think spending time with your brother has gone a long way toward improving Edward’s spirits.”

  “It is an ill wind that blows no good,” said Lucy. “If poor old John hadn’t fallen off your roof, I wouldn’t be enjoying the pleasure of your company.”

  “I need to speak to you about that,” I said, explaining about the repairs to Ferndean. “You have been so generous in opening your home to us, but I certainly don’t want us to overstay our welcome. Edward and I could easily rent a house nearby.”

  “Oh no, you don’t!” Lucy said with a stamp of her foot that reminded me of one of Adèle’s temper tantrums. “No, no, no. You will not deprive me of the most enjoyable summer of my life. In fact, if necessary I shall bolt the door and throw away the key so you cannot leave me! This is the best present anyone could have ever devised.” With that she threw her arms around my neck. “Besides,” she whispered in my ear, “you’ll want to be in London for the coronation.”

  I embraced her then stepped away. “Are you expecting an invitation?”

  “Heavens, no. But I do want to hear all the gossip about it. It should prove terribly exciting. Furthermore, with such an event in the offing, the usual round of fetes, parties, and balls will be enlarged upon as those on the outskirts of the King’s attention vie for spots on his guest list.”

  “And Lady Conyngham’s attentions,” I added.

  “Ah yes. Have you given any more thought to Pansy Biltmore’s request? Before you answer, let me tell you that I’ll gladly introduce you to Maria and her daughter as soon as they arrive from Brighton.”

  The mention of Brighton joggled my memory. “No, I haven’t given Mrs. Biltmore’s request a second thought. I’ve been too busy. But tell me, Lucy, when we were talking to the King at the opera, you asked him if you could send your husband a word of comfort. What was that about?”

  “Augie is a keen card player.” She sank back down into her chair and stared out the window. “He was involved with a group of players who were meeting regularly down in Brighton, when it was still called Brighthelmstone. This was before it became well-known as a resort because George IV, then the Prince of Wales, spent so much time there.”

  “Go on,” I urged her.

  “Prinny joined in these games often. As you might imagine, he’s not very good. Not a keen thinker and not good at reading the faces of other players. Nor is he particularly honest. In fact, he’s something of a card sharp.”

  “A card sharp? What on earth is that?”

  Her smile was sorrowful. “A polite euphemism for a cheat.”

  I was surprised—most would probably let the sovereign win regardless—but it saddened me to think he would stoop so low.

  “The long and short of it is that Augie caught the Prince of Wales hiding cards up his sleeve. Augie called him out on his cheating. Even worse, he did so in front of others.” Lucy’s hands clenched her skirt tightly, and she shook her head in dismay. “He and I have discussed the matter a thousand times since. I wish Augie had simply walked away. Done anything other than embarrass our future king.”

  Her emotions overcame her, and for a while, she couldn’t talk. I poured her a glass of water and urged her to drink as she fought to regain control of herself. In a whisper, she continued, “But that’s not Augie’s way. He is devoted to what is right and fair. Two other men had lost their entire savings to the Regent that weekend. One hanged himself as a consequence. Augie’s decision was courageous, even if the results were horrible. I doubt that he could have lived with himself if he’d kept quiet, so he spoke up, and the King punished him by sending him to India. Possibly forever.”

  The room felt suddenly stuffy, so I opened the window, pausing to inhale the crisp spring air. Lucy did not move. She sat still as a marble statue, and just as pale.

  In the soft sunshine, tears glittered on her cheeks. Impetuously, I threw my arms around my friend. “Oh, Lucy. I am so sorry!”

  Waving away my concern, she said, “Do not be. Augie’s heart is bigger than his head sometimes, and I am a fortunate beneficiary of his kind nature. But I do wish, with all my heart, that he would have chosen another course of action. As for getting my husband back home, I keep pressing the King at every opportunity, as you saw. I remind myself that Our Majesty is highly susceptible to the opinions of others.”

  “Lady Conyngham?” I wondered.

  “Possibly.”

  “Then I shall use the letter as leverage with her so that Augie can come home,” I said.

  “No!” Lucy shook her head violently. “As much as I love him and want him back, I cannot ask that of you.”

  “But Lucy!” I took her by the shoulders, “At least that ill-begotten missive would do some good.”

  “At what expense, Jane? Augie made his decision nearly three years ago. He was willing to live with it then—and still is. But Maria and Minney are blameless. Maria only married Prinny because he stabbed himself. Yes! He was bleeding when they brought her to his side, where he declared that he would die of love for her. In a moment of sympathy, she acquiesced rather than let our heir to the throne commit suicide. As I see it, she had little choice, but Augie did. He could have walked away. If you submit that letter to Lady Conyngham, you might condemn Maria and Minney to public humiliation. The crowds that were so angered by the King’s treatment of Queen Caroline would rise up against a Roman Catholic woman and their unfaithful king. And then what? We would have riots in the streets? The very thing Augie struggles to quell in India!”

  She was right, and I admired her for it.

  Tears glittered in her eyes as she took my hands from her shoulders and squeezed my fingers. “There is more than one way for a person to do his duty. Augie is doing his, and I shall do mine . . . without him here at my side.”

  Chapter 36

  We decided that a walk to Lady Grainger’s would give us both some much-needed fresh air. The house was less than a mile distant, and we joined other ladies who walked in twosomes to show off their stylish promenade dresses. We worked our way around the outskirts of Hyde Park, ignoring the foppish young men who tipped their hats at us.

  When we arrived, I noted that Lady Grainger’s household had already begun preparations for a proper mourning. A large mourning wreath was suspended over the front door, and the door knocker was covered in black crape ribbon.

  When Stanton answered Lucy’s knock, he spoke in a whisper. “Good morning, ladies. Thank you so much for coming to see Lady Grainger. I know she’ll appreciate it. Please come in.”

  “Good to see you, Stanton, as always,” replied Lucy in a low voice. “If I may
ask, where is Mags?” Lucy and I had discussed this on our way over. We agreed that the first order of business would be to see to the burial of the dog, especially since Lady Grainger had been so reluctant to let the animal go.

  “I have the poor beast wrapped in a blanket in the gardening shed. Thought that once my lady was herself again, we would bury Mags in the garden.”

  “Very good. Thank you for thinking ahead,” said Lucy as she removed her bonnet.

  “As you know, I’ve been with the lady for years. This has hit her hard.”

  Lucy smiled at him. “You are a good man, Stanton.”

  “Dorsey will take you to her.”

  “Thank heavens you’re here, Mrs. Brayton,” said the lady’s maid as she climbed the stairs with us. “Lady Grainger’s been keeping herself busy, ordering mourning cards, sending word to family that’s far away, directing us to hang the crape, and such, but she ain’t herself. Keeps breaking down and crying. Upset about her sister-in-law, but”—and the abigail dropped her voice—“mainly just broken up over that dog of hers. She set great store by Mags. We all did. She was a great favorite of ours.” Dorsey popped a hand over her mouth and dropped into a curtsy. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, for going on so.”

  “Hush, Dorsey. You know me better than that. I won’t judge you harshly for caring about Lady Grainger.” Lucy gave her head a sad shake. “How are the Ingram girls doing?”

  We stepped into the drawing room for privacy. “Oh, they’re broken up about their mum, but mainly they’re quarreling with each other. Going after each other like cats and dogs. Miss Ingram blames Miss Mary, and Miss Mary starts to wailing something fierce.”

  “We all grieve differently,” said Lucy.

  “Yes, ma’am, that we do.”

  Dorsey had dark brown eyes and hair the color of wheat, a striking combination. A deep dimple at the side of her mouth created a charming parenthesis that emphasized her mouth. I could see she was a kind soul, and the acrimony between the sisters was bothering her.

  “It’ll be such a comfort to Lady Grainger that you’re here. You were always a great favorite of hers, ma’am. She loves you like a daughter. She’s just there in her room, putting her feet up for a bit. Mr. Lerner gave her something to help her stay calm, and it makes her rather sleepy, it does.”

  “We can escort ourselves from here, Dorsey,” said Lucy. “I’m sure you have more than enough to do getting the house ready.”

  “Aye, the young ladies’ brother, Lord Ingram, will be arriving soon, and we’re trying to get rooms ready for him.”

  As we stepped into the hallway, Blanche Ingram appeared in the doorway of her bedroom. Her face contorted in fury at the sight of us. “Go away. You are not welcome here!”

  “I am sorry for your loss, Miss Ingram,” said Lucy softly.

  “As am I,” I said. “Please accept our deepest sympathy.”

  “Get out!” spat Blanche. “This is my house, or it will be soon enough.”

  “Miss Ingram,” said Lucy, “this house belongs to your aunt, and if she asks me to leave, I will. Until then, why trouble yourself? I am sure you have many letters to write, so do not let us disturb you.”

  “Letters? Yes, I have letters to write by the score. I am the daughter of Baron Ingram of Ingram Park. I am a peeress. And you two are nothing and nobody, not worthy of emptying my washbasin. How dare you show your faces here?” Blanche said.

  If Lady Ingram’s corpse had been in the house, her daughter’s invectives could have raised her from the dead. In the event, we were lucky that the remains were still being prepared by the undertaker.

  We tried to get by Blanche Ingram, but she planted herself with arms akimbo so that she blocked our way.

  “Calm yourself, I beg you. We’re here to offer comfort to Lady Grainger,” Lucy said, taking two steps nearer the screaming woman. “Now please, let us pass.”

  “Comfort her? Don’t make me laugh! Aunt keeps crying over that stupid dog, and it was already sick. I saw it retching in the garden.”

  “The dog became sick when you and your mother insisted on giving her milk, even though your aunt asked you not to,” said Lucy, with a shake of her head. “Now, I’d like to see my friend. Come along, Jane.”

  “You think you’re society, Lucy Brayton? My aunt dotes on you, doesn’t she? But just wait. They will all turn their backs on you and your husband’s bastard child!”

  Lucy staggered under the weight of this verbal assault. I slipped my arm through hers in a gesture of solidarity. Blanche Ingram knew exactly how to hurt my friend, and I struggled to restrain my anger. The woman had lost her sense of propriety.

  “Is your sister about?” I reasoned that the other Ingram daughter might be more conciliatory to our visit.

  “Mary is down in the conservatory among the plants.” Blanche tossed her head in a gesture of indignation.

  I spoke in a gentle voice. “Miss Ingram, please let us pass.”

  “No.” She pouted as petulantly as a schoolchild.

  Lucy dropped her chin and locked eyes with Blanche Ingram. “I am asking you politely to please move. I have no quarrel with you. Lady Grainger is my friend. I merely wish to go to her.”

  Blanche Ingram snarled. “You’ll do no such thing.”

  “Oh, bother. I really don’t want to do this. But you leave me no choice,” said Lucy.

  To my utter astonishment, at that moment Lucy hauled off and punched Blanche right in the gut, causing the young woman to fall to her knees, groaning.

  “You’ll get over it, Miss Ingram. I’ve only knocked the wind from you. Believe me, I wanted to do more. Really, Blanche. You try my patience. I suggest you crawl off to your room, lock the door, and don’t come out.”

  Chapter 37

  Lucy led the way to Lady Grainger’s chambers. The woman was in bed, curled up into a ball. In that careless world of slumber, she had no worries, and her relaxed face looked decades younger. Clutched in one hand were two small tufts of hair; a thoughtful person had clipped a bit of Mags’s fur as a remembrance. Lucy leaned over her friend, lightly brushing a palm across the older woman’s forehead to check for fever. In response, Lady Grainger sighed and murmured but remained asleep.

  The chambers were spacious, in colors of muted yellow and bluebell, accented with judicious touches of white. Her furnishings included a large bed, a dresser, a low table, and two chairs sitting across from the fireplace, which was surrounded by shelving filled with books. Someone had started the coals on the hearth, and the heat they gave out was most welcome. A deeply cushioned navy blue chair sat next to the fire, waiting for a reader to curl up in it, with a footstool nearby.

  Lucy crawled up onto the bed beside her friend and assumed a watchful attitude.

  I took the deep chair near the fire and rested my feet on the footstool, taking care that my boot soles did not soil the fine needlework surface. It had likely been done by Lady Grainger, as the subject matter was a dog resembling poor Mags. Thus comfortably ensconced, I took time to enjoy my surroundings. The room was pleasant and quiet, except for the soft sound of Lady Grainger’s breathing. “Lucy? I hope you didn’t take Blanche’s threats to heart. She can’t possibly think people will really shun you.”

  “No, I’m not worried. I think she’d been drinking. I could smell it on her breath, couldn’t you?”

  “No, I wasn’t close enough.”

  Lucy laughed. “Lucky you. Or lucky her. I could use a glass of gin right now.”

  “Where and how did you learn to fight like that?”

  “I have an entire life history to tell you, but this is not the time. Suffice it to say, even as children, Bruce and I quickly learned the natural desire for self-protection. After our mother died, this was strengthened by my recognition that if anything happened to me, Bruce would be all alone in the world.”

  “But w
hat about your father?” I asked.

  “Some other time, Jane,” she said with a sigh and a frown. “But as for what you called fighting, that was nothing. Over time, I learned what I could about self-defense. Sad to say, I had many chances to hone my skills and pick up pointers.”

  I thought back to my life at Lowood, the charity school I had attended. On occasion, girls fought, but the scuffles were short-lived. Usually, the end result was a scratch, or slap, or pulled hair. Nothing more. What sort of scenes had a society lady like Lucy witnessed, to have learned a more brutal method of fighting? I was intrigued to see this uncouth side to my friend. While Lady Grainger slept on, I decided to pursue the topic.

  “I know nothing about defending myself, and clearly such knowledge could prove useful. Can you share any tips with me?” I asked Lucy. In truth, I expected her to demur, but Lucy warmed to the subject immediately.

  “You noticed, I am sure, that Miss Ingram did not expect my attack. Surprise is paramount, especially for us females. It is best if you are underestimated. Let your opponent think you are defenseless or at the very least bewildered. Blanche was so occupied with her insults that she forgot I might stand up for myself. Note that before I struck her, I did not betray my moves. That is critical in such instances. If you tense up or flinch or divert your eyes, you warn your opponent. You must stay relaxed and nonthreatening so that the blow you deliver is shocking.”

  That much was true. Lucy’s punch to the gut had seemed to come out of nowhere.

  Lucy paused to think. “The best way to induce someone to start talking and forget everything else is to antagonize them. When we are angry, we become blind and deaf to everything around us. Ironic, isn’t it? Our anger inflames the situation, yet distracts when one should best be attentive!”

  She continued, “The location of the strike is critical. I hit her high and between the ribs. Right here,” said Lucy as she touched the inverted V where the ribs parted above her waistline. “Essentially, my blow forced her to exhale mightily. She had no choice. I knocked the wind out of her. Very effective because your enemy cannot chase you or retaliate. It takes a while for someone to recover. Fortunately for me, she was wearing a morning dress and not much of a corset underneath.”