Death of a Dowager

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  “What would you have done if she had advanced on you?” For a moment, I had thought Blanche might do exactly that.

  “The human body has many spots without natural armor,” said Lucy, “where it is not protected by bones. Any soft spot is vulnerable, as are the arches of the feet, the eyes, ears, nose, and face in general. Also, anytime you exert a pressure that forces a body part to move opposite to the path decreed by nature, you can inflict damage. So, for example, our elbows bend thus”—she raised her arms to illustrate—“and to force them to bend the other way is to inflict great pain. This is particularly, spectacularly true with fingers, I might add. They are very easy to bend and break.”

  I winced, not liking to think how Lucy could know all this. “What if one’s assailant has a weapon?”

  Her expression turned grave. “Of all the weapons one might use against you, a knife is the most treacherous. A person can inflict so much damage, so quickly. Even in the hands of an amateur, a knife is deadly. The best result in most such attacks would be to come up with a distraction. There are always weapons at hand if you take advantage of their natural properties and the element of surprise. I once tossed a bucket of cinders in a man’s face when he came after me with a knife. Naturally, he raised both hands to rub his eyes and dropped the blade. Then I kicked it away.”

  I struggled not to show my surprise. How could such a situation have occurred? Surely not in a drawing room while making calls. Perhaps while she was visiting Augie in India? I opened my mouth to ask, but having warmed to her subject, Lucy continued her lecture on defense.

  “So, if I were to advance upon you right now, how could you defend yourself?” she asked me.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Think, Jane. Look around. You are a naturally observant person. What nearby object might inflict a painful blow?”

  “The oil lamp?” One sat on Lady Grainger’s bedside table next to Lucy.

  “Yes, good choice. Furthermore, if it broke, the oil and fire would consume your opponent. That would definitely slow him or her down. Consider also that you are surrounded by books. Imagine slamming one down on a person’s hand or head. Very painful.”

  “However did you come to learn all this? To think this way?” I asked. “What on earth made it a necessity for you?”

  But Lady Grainger interrupted by rolling over and finally blinking open her eyes.

  “Olivia, dear?” Lucy spoke to her softly. “It’s me, Lucy, and my friend Mrs. Rochester.”

  “Mags?” asked Lady Grainger.

  “I am sorry,” Lucy said, leaning down to plant a kiss on her friend’s cheek.

  Levering herself into a seated position, Lady Grainger looked around. Lucy gave her a hug and climbed off the woman’s bed. After gathering herself, Lady Grainger lifted her chin, and through a veil of tears she said, “Where is Mags? Her . . . body?”

  “Stanton has her. He wrapped her in a favorite blanket.”

  “Good.” The woman seemed to pull herself together. She turned to Lucy. “Tell Stanton to prepare a grave between the holly bushes, so that all will know that my affection for her is evergreen, and that my heart bleeds over her loss. Call Dorsey. I want her to help me dress. And Lucy, retrieve the Book of Common Prayer from my library. You know where it is. I shall ask Stanton to read from it. That’s not blasphemy, is it?”

  “Jane is the cousin to a clergyman.” Lucy deferred to me.

  “God made animals before he made man. Surely they are precious in his sight,” I answered, although truly, I had no formal training and could not recall my cousin St. John’s position on such matters.

  Lady Grainger seemed relieved.

  “Should I ask your nieces to join us?” Lucy’s face held no animosity, no sarcasm.

  “Absolutely not. They are in mourning for their mother and have no room in their hearts to spare for my Mags.” Lady Grainger sighed. “And in truth, I have no wish for their ill will to corrupt my memorial.”

  Chapter 38

  Blanche had retreated to her room, where I could hear her slamming around. Mary was nowhere to be found. Lucy quickly plucked the Book of Common Prayer from its accustomed home, and we descended the staircase to the foyer where Stanton and Dorsey stood at attention. She told them what Lady Grainger had asked. Dorsey hurried upstairs to help her mistress dress.

  “I have already made preparations, ma’am, for Mags to be put to rest,” said Stanton. “I had guessed where Lady Grainger would want the dog buried.” He blushed. “My mistress and I have had many occasions over the years to share our thoughts on life after death, and I know she considers the holly bush to be symbolic of this world and the next. The glossy leaves attract, but like so many of life’s experiences, they hide a prickly thorn that can also wound.”

  Barely a few minutes passed before we heard Dorsey clear her throat. Lady Grainger stood at the top of the stairs. Obviously, she had done much to dress herself, because it had taken her no time at all to get ready, and although her dress was rather haphazard, a thin shawl cast over her shoulders did something to disguise her general disarray.

  The lady of the house smiled down at her butler, a long, tender gesture of appreciation. “Thank you so much, Stanton, for all you’ve done for me. Rest assured, I know who my friends are. All of you prove your affection for me with your good offices.”

  “It is always my pleasure to serve you, ma’am. May I offer you my heartfelt condolences. Mags was much loved. We all enjoyed her. This has been a very sad time for the entire household.” He spoke with great dignity.

  Lady Grainger stood a little taller and pulled her shawl close around her shoulders. “I can also count on you, I hope, to make sure that we are not interrupted.”

  With that she descended the stairs.

  Once they were eye to eye, Stanton gave her a brisk nod. “Dorsey consulted with me, and as you know, we took the liberty of saving two little locks of Mags’s tail. So she sewed this little purse for you.” He passed Lady Grainger a small silk pouch.

  Lady Grainger slowly opened her fist and stared at the two hanks of hair. Dorsey opened the purse, and reluctantly the lady pressed the tokens inside.

  “Also, I retrieved Mags’s favorite blanket and wrapped her remains in it. Along with that old silk stocking of yours that she loved so much.”

  “How incredibly thoughtful of you.” Lady Grainger looked relieved. “Thank you so much for thinking ahead.”

  He inclined his head. His eyes were full of emotion. “My duty, ma’am. Only my duty. As I told the ladies, I have opened a shallow grave in a secluded spot by the back wall between the holly bushes. You see, as I told the ladies, I guessed that would be a fine resting spot. It’s rather at the back of the garden so Mags won’t be disturbed by visitors. You know what a light sleeper she always was.”

  Lady Grainger’s eyes sparkled with tears, and she smiled at him tremulously. “What would I do without you, Stanton? Dorsey, will you take my arm? I’m feeling rather unsteady.”

  We followed Dorsey and Lady Grainger out into the soft morning air.

  As Lucy had promised, Lady Grainger’s garden was a delight. The mix of colors and textures caused my fingers to ache for my watercolor brush. The far edges, left and right, were deep shades of blue, larkspur, phlox, and forget-me-nots. These merged with the blue reds of roses and the clearer red of poppies. This slowly changed to white blossoms, foxglove, and Queen Anne’s lace, and finally in the center was a circular herb garden. Although this occasion was solemn, my heart danced with happiness at our surroundings, so obviously planted with love and an artistic eye. Instead of dwelling on this sad day, I jumped ahead to imagine one day having tea out here.

  A fresh pile of dirt rimmed a tidy hole in the rich soil at the center of the beds. Stanton came from the shed with a small bundle cradled in his arms. When he arrived at the graveside, he paused, waiting for Lady
Grainger’s direction. We bowed our heads and waited while Lady Grainger pulled back the blanket. She cried softly as she stroked Mags one last time.

  “Dear, dear Mags. You never had a cross look for anyone. You were always thrilled to see me even if I only left the room for a moment. You woke up every morning excited about the day ahead. I shall miss you with all my heart, faithful friend, and I pray that you will wait for me on the other side.”

  She replaced the blanket over the dog and nodded to Stanton. He gently lowered his parcel into the grave.

  Lucy passed him the prayer book, opened to the burial ceremony, and Stanton read in sonorous tones a fitting message of thanksgiving and hope. At the end, we joined in saying, “Amen.”

  “Please take care of . . . putting her to bed,” said Lady Grainger to her butler. She turned on her heel, unwilling or unable to watch dirt falling on her friend. As she walked, she paused to talk to her plants. “Coming along nicely, I see. Oh, I see that bit of bonemeal did you good. Dear, dear, you need more water, don’t you?”

  She stopped at a spot where stems had been cut almost even with the dirt. “Stanton?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He put down the shovel and came to her side.

  “What on earth?” She pointed to the shortened stalks. “Someone has been chopping at my foxglove.”

  “I believe Miss Mary has been helping you with your gardening,” he said in such a way that suggested he thought little of the girl’s efforts.

  “She’s hacked them nearly to the ground! If you see her out here, let me know,” said Lady Grainger. “I shall put a stop to that right away.”

  Lucy and I walked her back toward the house. We were almost there when she turned to her lady’s maid. “Dorsey? Instruct Cook to prepare tea—and summon my nieces to join us. It’s high time I made some changes around here.”

  Chapter 39

  When we returned, Blanche and Mary Ingram were in the drawing room waiting to be measured for their mourning clothes. Both young women wore fashionable dresses and lace-trimmed mobcaps, typical society attire for mornings at home. Blanche’s muslin of lively pink with sprigs of blue red roses seemed to be particularly unsuitable given her recent bereavement, while Mary’s pale blue was at least somewhat more somber. Although both girls showed signs of weariness, only Mary’s eyes were red rimmed. She kept mopping at her nose.

  The seamstress had uncoiled her measuring tape, and now she stood expectantly. “Which lady would like to go first?”

  Neither girl looked up to greet us or acknowledge their aunt’s entrance. Blanche mumbled, “I suppose I shall,” while Lucy helped her friend into a chair beside the tea table. I waited until the older woman was seated and then took a chair on the periphery.

  In short order, Blanche’s measurements had been taken, and it was Mary’s turn. When the seamstress turned to Lady Grainger, she demurred. “I still have what I wore when my husband died. It will be fine. Thank you, Mrs. Hutton. When can we expect these to be finished?”

  “Tomorrow, ma’am,” said the woman, hungrily eyeing the tea tray that the parlor maid set on the tea table. Evidently the Ingram girls had ordered tea while we were in the garden.

  “Lillian? Please see that Mrs. Hutton has a cup of tea before she leaves,” said Lady Grainger. “And wrap up whatever pastries are left from breakfast for her. I’m sure she and her sewers will be working late tonight.”

  “Thank you kindly, ma’am, and I speak for all of us when I say we are sorry for your loss.” With that the seamstress followed Lillian from the drawing room.

  That small gesture, I thought, spoke volumes about Lucy’s friend. Despite her losses, despite being distracted, despite the vast differences in their stations, Lady Grainger had taken note of the woman’s lean expression—and took the time to do the woman a good turn.

  Blanche’s actions were also illustrative—but not in a positive manner. Lillian had refreshed the hot water, and Blanche reached over and helped herself to a fresh cup of tea without offering to pour for her aunt. Lucy’s nostrils flared with suppressed indignation, but instead of reproving the girl’s bad manners, she said, “May I serve you, Lady Grainger?”

  Then she did the woman’s bidding and offered the same courtesy to me. The strong black tea was most welcome and revived my spirits. Lucy and Lady Grainger also took obvious pleasure in the brew.

  Blanche glared at Lucy but otherwise ignored my friend’s presence. The punch to the gut must have worked some magic, because Blanche seemed unwilling to further harass Lucy. Instead she was keeping her distance.

  It was only after I set my teacup down that a shiver reminded me there was a poisoner in our midst, and we might be at risk. I glanced up, wondering if anyone other than me even harked back to that sad event of two days ago. How fickle is the human mind! How easily we discard self-preservation when it becomes inconvenient! We had each fallen on our drinks and pastries like a hungry horde without a second thought.

  “I’m glad you are up and about, Aunt Olivia,” said Blanche. “Someone needs to order mourning cards and put an ad in the Times. I cannot bear to visit the undertaker and select a coffin for Mother. You’ll do that for us, won’t you? And another thing, Aunt Olivia. You’ll need to hire a midwife to sit with Mama’s remains. When she’s back from the undertaker, that is. Do find someone who looks reputable, won’t you? That woman who kept watch at Uncle’s visitation was a disgusting creature. I was surprised you let her into your home. Oh, and I think poor Mama should be wrapped in a black silk shroud rather than wool, don’t you? Oh, I do hope we have a good representation of the ton for the visitation.”

  She continued, “I wonder if the Earl of Sessingham will visit. He’s rather dashing, and I know he was interested in me. Need I wait a full six months to marry?”

  These were the first words out of Blanche Ingram’s mouth. I glanced sidewise at her sister, Mary, and watched the younger sister shift her weight uncomfortably on her chair. Mary had kept her eyes downcast. She hadn’t touched her tea, and she’d wrapped her handkerchief so tightly around her fingers that they turned white.

  Lady Grainger squinted at Mary. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

  “No,” she said, adding eagerly, “perhaps you could send a footman for Mr. Lerner.”

  I kept my eyes on my tea. The girl simply refused to accept the man’s word that he was uninterested. I wondered what more he would have to do to be convincing. How would he be able to carry out his responsibilities in the same county as the Ingrams’ estate if she continued with this nonsense? There was only one solution: We would have to hope that he would marry Miriam quickly. Surely that would put an end to Mary’s fantastical imaginings.

  “I kept thinking about Mother,” said Mary, and her voice broke under the strain of emotion. She used the end of her handkerchief to dab her eyes, and she appeared to be on the verge of losing herself to grief. “I miss her already.”

  “So do I, of course,” said Blanche. “But we must go on. Oh, Aunt, I told that woman I need several dresses in lavender and gray as well as the black bombazine. That reminds me . . . I’ll need a new bonnet as well. Something in dove gray that can be perked up with ribbons at a later date.”

  “Blanche,” said Lady Grainger sternly, “black is de rigueur. Unless you want people to speak ill of you, you will wear it. Girls, I know you both have something you can wear until your mourning clothes arrive tomorrow, because the dresses from when your father died are still in my trunks. Remember? I shall instruct Dorsey to ready them for you, and I expect you to change immediately.”

  “I’ll go up directly.” Mary’s lower lip trembled, and a fresh fountain of tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “You are right, Aunt. This is a house of mourning. We must comport ourselves accordingly. So should your staff. Do you know that someone was out there digging in the garden? How unseemly. Really, Aunt Olivia, you must speak to
your servants. They need to be taken in hand. If this were my house—”

  Lady Grainger set down her teacup and cleared her throat. “I have been meaning to talk to you about that. Given the loss you have both endured, I know this timing is awkward, but if I wait to speak on this matter, you might embarrass yourself by saying something that later haunts you. Especially since your mother’s passing will have naturally brought such concerns to scrutiny.”

  “Pray, what is it?” Blanche put down her teacup. “You sound very serious.”

  “It’s about my will.”

  Blanche beamed as if someone had lit the wick in her oil lamp.

  “I believe we should go.” Lucy pushed back her chair, and I immediately followed suit.

  “No. I wish you wouldn’t,” Lady Grainger said firmly.

  I continued to gather my skirt, but our hostess stayed me with a wave of her hand. “Please, Mrs. Rochester. You are dear to Lucy, so you might as well hear this, too.”

  I folded my hands in my lap and waited. To disobey Lady Grainger would have seemed rude, so I stayed. I noticed that Lucy also lowered her eyes. It was as if we were trying to disappear, even though we’d been asked to stay. There was tension in the air—and we wished to avoid another scene with Blanche.

  “Blanche, Mary,” Lady Grainger began, “while your last visit was fresh in my mind, I met with my solicitor. Please know that I gave myself several days’ worth of prayers and thought before proceeding. As you both are well aware, your father, my brother, was very dear to me. My husband and I always longed for children, although God deemed it best we not have them. When the three of you were born, I hoped you would become as daughters and a son to me, and I told your mother as much. Over the years, I have tried to make you welcome here.”