“Everyone knows we’re here for the holidays and for the Season,” Blanche said.
“Yes, it has been your wont to use my home as your own. As a consequence, people have formed the assumption that you will inherit everything from me.”
Blanche struggled to restrain herself, although the hint of a smile threatened to overcome her efforts. Mary’s eyes, although still red and puffy, also grew round with expectation.
“Obviously, your brother had already inherited your family home and property. But your father was unable to make provisions for the two of you. He asked that I care for you financially. Your mother made it abundantly clear that she expected for me to give you, Blanche, this house, as the older daughter, and to leave Mary a dowry and an income.”
“You are so kind, Aunt Olivia. Believe me, I shall never forget you, no matter how long I live. No matter what changes I make, I shall think of you. Dear, dear aunt.” Blanche clasped her hands to her breast.
“Blanche, you are putting the cart before the horse,” Lady Grainger warned.
The younger woman lowered her eyes and attempted to look chastised. “Of course, I am. Only because you brought up the subject. Otherwise I would have never said anything. We are obviously talking about the future—and certainly, a long time from now. A while, at least.”
“Yes, well, that’s why I want to talk with you. Things have changed.”
Avarice triumphed over grief in the faces of the Ingram girls.
Lady Grainger continued, “I have decided not to do that. Instead, I am leaving the bulk of my wealth and my property to Evans Forrester.”
Chapter 40
“Aunt Olivia!” Blanche slammed both palms against the tabletop, which caused the silver to jostle. “You can’t! You cannot do that!”
Mary started crying louder than before.
“Blanche, that’s where you are wrong. I not only can do as I please with my money and property, but I shall do as I please. In fact, I already have.”
Lucy’s mouth had fallen open. “Olivia? Are you sure? I mean, that’s terribly kind of you, but wholly unnecessary.”
“I know, but it’s my pleasure.” The older woman grasped Lucy’s hand and squeezed it. The two exchanged looks of purest affection. “Remember? I mentioned at the opera that I spoke to Claymore, my solicitor,” said Lady Grainger. “Really, Lucy, my mind is quite firm on this. I have prayed over it for many hours, and I think it best for all involved. While Silvana walked this earth, she determined that Mary couldn’t find a husband until Blanche was wed—and she delighted in seeing Blanche’s triumphs. As a consequence, neither of my nieces has moved on with her life. Now things have changed, and I am even more confident I have done what’s best for all concerned.”
“How can you say that? You’ve impoverished us! First our mother dies and then you cut us out of your will!” said Blanche.
“Niece, you did not listen carefully. I said that I was leaving ‘the bulk’ of my earthly riches to young Evans. There remains money set aside as a dowry for you and your sister. I will also support you for one more Season, but that is it. This cruel charade must end. You have rejected many wonderful men with sterling qualities, and in my heart of hearts, I do not believe you do so because you care about love. You do so because you are caught up in being the belle of the ball, and that must stop. Now.”
Lady Grainger sat with her hands folded loosely and regarded her niece. There was no malice in her eyes, only regret. “I have long thought that you were on the wrong path. You trifled with the affections of the men who have shown interest, because you enjoyed the thrill of the game, just like you enjoy a good hunt. Your mother supported you in this. Had she stopped such foolishness early on, you would have been happily married.”
“Happily married? My mother sat alone at Ingram Park while my father had dalliances. That’s not what I would call a happy marriage. Perhaps you think it so, but then—” Wisely, Blanche stopped. But not before I finally understood my adversary’s motives: To her, marriage was a jail term, not an invitation to a more fulfilling life. Suddenly, I felt sorry for Blanche. As time worked against her, she struggled harder and harder to escape a future devoid of happiness. At least, that was her prediction for the years ahead. That she could be wrong never occurred to her. She was far too busy fleeing her presumed fate than examining it closely and weighing its accuracy.
Blanche was still sputtering. “But how can you leave your estate to the bastard son of a man who’s not even a blood relative? You can’t do that! What about our father? We are your brother’s rightful heirs!”
“Your father died without tuppence to his name. All he had left was his title and the deed to your home. If you’ll recall, the bulk of my fortune is from my husband’s family. Since the Graingers are not your blood kin, you have no legal claim to it. Please remember that out of the goodness of my heart, and because of my love for my late brother, I have propped up you and your mother and brother for years. Several times I have handed over money to erase gambling debts that your brother incurred. However, as of today, that comes to an end.”
Mary sniffled into the damask cloth that she held to her mouth. “I miss Mama . . .”
“Oh, hush,” said Blanche. “I miss her, too. If she were here, you would never dare to do this, Aunt Olivia!” Any semblance of good manners had flown out the window. Blanche spoke with all the brash intonations of a common fishwife. Her aunt’s pronouncement thwarted all of Blanche’s ambitions, and the girl was not about to give up on her hopes and dreams. Not yet.
“That is another reason that I must do as I have said. I can no longer countenance your behavior, girls. You have been unceasingly rude. You have taken liberties.”
“Liberties?” Blanche looked askance. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“You came into my home and ordered around my staff. In fact, your mother even slapped Dorsey.”
“But that was our mother! I didn’t touch your servant!”
“No, but you have bullied them and brought them to tears with your accusations and demands. Somewhere along the way you and your mother forgot that this is my home. All three of you seemed to have misunderstood that you stay here by my grace and favor. Let me offer a simple example: Mary hacked away at my flowers. Without my permission. Without a word to me. And you both know how much I cherish my flowers. You see? You have made it clear to me that I am nothing more to you than a purse of coins. And that must stop,” said Lady Grainger. “Without gratitude, you have nothing, because everything will never be enough.”
Olivia Grainger’s words of wisdom were lost on her nieces. Blanche fumed, her pretty face turning redder by the minute. Mary simply continued crying and repeating, “I want my mother.”
My discomfort grew, as did Lucy’s. My friend stared at her empty teacup, while she drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. This habit, I had noticed, was a way of coping when she was upset.
“This is all your fault, Mary.” Blanche spat the words out. “You had to go out there and putter around, didn’t you? Cutting flowers and messing about in the kitchen. As if you knew what you were doing.”
Without waiting for Mary’s response, Blanche turned her attention to Lady Grainger. “Dear, dear Aunt! I am so sorry for what my sister has done. I promise you it will never, ever happen again. You can depend on it. I shall watch her like a hawk. But please, think carefully before you cut us off. At the end of the day, we are family, and blood is thicker than water.”
“Your actions do not support your words,” said Lady Grainger. “I’ve heard enough for one morning.”
I realized that not once during this entire meeting had either girl shown any compassion for Lady Grainger. Not only had our hostess lost her sister-in-law, but she had suffered this tragedy in the confines of her home—and she had lost her beloved companion, Mags, as well.
Taking this opportunity to e
ffect our exit, my friend said, “Olivia, there was a purpose to our visit. We were wondering how we could help. I am sure you have cards that need to be written. Jane and I would be happy to do that for you. Then you can sign them and send them on.”
“That would be incredibly helpful,” said Lady Grainger, as she rose from the tea table. Leaving the Ingram sisters behind, Lucy and I followed our hostess to her library. Once she’d given us a sample of the message she wanted to send and a stack of black-bordered cards and envelopes, Lucy and I were ready to return to #24 Grosvenor. My friend hugged the elderly woman, and I again offered my condolences for her losses.
“Thank you both for coming,” said Lady Grainger. “Now I think I shall go back to my room and lie down. I’ve found this whole ordeal incredibly tiring.”
Lucy and I were almost out the front door when Blanche pushed Stanton aside and blocked our way.
“You,” she said, jabbing a finger at Lucy, “took full advantage of an old woman’s friendship.”
“You know that’s not true,” said Lucy. “Now, please, step aside.”
The memory of Lucy’s swift punch in the stomach must have given Blanche pause. Although she hesitated, she did move out of our way. “Oh ho! It becomes clear. This is all up to you, isn’t it? This was your plan from the start, wasn’t it? You are nothing more than a common murderer. You killed our mother—and I shall see you hang for it!”
Chapter 41
My much-subdued friend and I trudged along the pavement back to her home. A light rain had begun, and as we walked, others flagged down hackney carriages so that they could find shelter. But the rain was more of a mist than a downpour, and I found it oddly refreshing, as if it washed away some vestige of Blanche Ingram.
Upon reflection, I had no idea how Blanche might accomplish such a dire conclusion as a hanging, because I knew that there was no way to link Lucy to Lady Ingram’s death. Still, I had seen firsthand how much damage a mere snub could cause. How much more would Lucy suffer for an unjust accusation?
I imagined it would create great harm. Especially if Blanche put any effort into it, which she undoubtedly would. Her grievance against Lucy was fresh, and while nothing could change history and erase my marriage to Edward, Blanche could potentially force Lady Grainger to change her mind about her will. This prize was both attainable and worthy of effort.
When we arrived home, Lucy tracked down Rags and then went to her room with a sick headache, forgoing her noontime meal. Ned was napping, so I had a quick lunch during which Adèle and I conversed for a while in French. We talked about the paper dolls, the weather, and the story of St. Jerome from A Child’s Book of Martyrs. The idea of being skinned alive had appealed to Adèle’s innate sense of drama, and I regretted having selected it. However, she had been a good girl and read the entire piece, even though certain English words represented challenges to her vocabulary. There ensued a lively discussion, one that I could have avoided with a more judicial choice of reading matter.
After allowing Adèle to prance around in my feathered headpiece as a reward for her good effort, I left her to play with her paper dolls.
My children were fine, my husband was healing (or so I hoped), but my friend was at risk. Inside me there arose a restless feeling such as happens before a thunderstorm. I could not help but stop and peer out the window on my way downstairs from the nursery. The young conkers on the chestnut tree were hidden by pentagon-shaped leaves that had turned over, a sure sign bad weather was to come. I didn’t doubt it. I could feel the storm gathering, although I could not see it. The hairs on my arms bristled with electricity.
I found my husband and Bruce Douglas sitting in the library, huddled over the day’s newspapers. “You are home earlier than I supposed. What is the latest?” I asked Edward after planting a kiss on his cheek. A bit of road dust smudged his forehead, but I quickly cleaned it off with my handkerchief. Both men wore the coating of soot so common to anyone who spent time out of doors in the city, especially when the trip involved travel in the crowded streets and shopping stalls.
“I ordered a new pair of boots, Hessian style with white cuffs, because my friend here tells me they are all the rage. They and my old ones will be ready next week.”
“That is good news, but I was actually wondering what Mr. Waverly had to say.”
“We have been fortunate,” my husband said. “Waverly is a friend to us, indeed. Although someone leaked word that there are questions surrounding Lady Ingram’s death, Waverly has refused to confirm that he has opened a murder investigation. So at least we don’t have the newspapers to deal with. Not yet.”
“Oh!” I had forgotten all about the papers and their ongoing desire to print anything remotely salacious or inflammatory. This added a new and troubling dimension to Lady Ingram’s death—and Blanche Ingram’s threatened accusations.
Mr. Douglas added, “Waverly has confirmed that the woman had long-standing heart problems. I believe the receipt of Lady Ingram’s obituary sparked an interest—and then the tittle-tattle that followed whetted the newshounds’ appetites.”
“Who would have talked to the papers? I can’t believe that anyone from Lady Grainger’s staff would. They are devoted to her,” I said as I took my accustomed place on the hassock near Edward’s feet.
“I would surmise that one of the undertaker’s men has been paid to keep his eyes open. Would that make sense?”
I remembered that Mr. Lerner had stayed with Lady Ingram’s body, and that during that time, he had procured the leftover coffee. A sharp observer might have put two and two together. Mr. Douglas straightened and rubbed the back of his neck. “The question is, how long will Waverly be able to hold them off? Especially once the magistrate reads Lerner’s report?”
“Meanwhile,” said Edward as he tamped the medicinal herbs down in his pipe, “I told Waverly that I had offered young Lerner a job, and that I personally vouched for the man’s character. While the constable did not credit Mary Ingram’s rambling accusation with much reliability, it was troubling to him. My faith in the young man’s character gave Waverly yet another reason to disregard her nonsense.”
I told them about our visit with Lady Grainger and shared the news about the change in the woman’s will. The men were surprised by the woman’s generosity, although Mr. Douglas said, “Lucy has been wonderful to the Dowager Lady Grainger. My sister has the knack of nurturing friends, just as some people are good with their gardens.”
I finished my narrative by describing how Blanche had threatened Lucy.
“Blast,” muttered Edward.
“Good Lord,” said Mr. Douglas. “That woman will stop at nothing! I’ve never heard of a person so greedy. Blanche Ingram would destroy Lucy’s reputation and endanger my sister’s life to get her hands on Lady Grainger’s fortune? That’s unconscionable!”
“It’s more than the money to Blanche. It’s the end of her life as she knows it.” I explained what Blanche had said about her mother being held captive by the late Lord Ingram.
“I had never thought of it that way,” said Edward, “but now that you explain it, I can see why that would be an unhappy fate.”
I shrugged. “Most marriages do not enjoy the sort of compatibility ours does. But even still, Lady Ingram could have taken matters into her own hands. She could have done charity work, or read books, or pursued other arts, or visited with neighbors. Anyway, all that is in the past. We must deal with what lies ahead, and I know of nothing that Lucy can do to save herself from Blanche’s fury.”
“Is it possible that Miss Ingram killed her own mother?” Mr. Douglas wondered. “What if Lady Grainger told Lady Ingram how unhappy she was about paying for endless balls and parties? And then Lady Ingram had a talk with Blanche, telling her that she must find a husband and give up her gay life?”
“So you are suggesting that Blanche murdered her mother, not realizing that the dir
ective to get married came from her aunt?” I concluded.
That required conjecture, and as I applied my thoughts to the problem, I decided it was possible but unlikely. “Blanche Ingram’s mother was her foil. Lady Ingram reflected her daughter’s glory, the way a magnifying glass amplifies an image for the viewer. I doubt that the Dowager would have dampened down her daughter’s enthusiasm for such a desultory life. Besides, Blanche also drank the coffee. Why would she drink a beverage to which she had added poison?”
“Then who did it? Her sister?” asked Mr. Douglas.
“Mary was brokenhearted,” I said. “As much as Blanche was uncaring, Mary evidences the very heart and soul of grief. I cannot believe she would hurt her own mother.”
“Whom does that leave us with? The staff?” asked Edward. “Lady Conyngham? Lady Grainger?”
“Or Mr. Lerner,” I said. “Mary has accused him. She seems to know him better than any of us. Perhaps we’ve been too quick to dismiss her claims.”
Chapter 42
The gentlemen turned their attention to news of the day, while I worked on my pen and ink for Evans. Thus the time passed pleasurably until Higgins announced that our tea was served, and we all proceeded into the dining room.
“Well, you shall have your chance to know Mr. Lerner better,” said Edward, “because I have invited him and Mr. Carter here to discuss particulars of the young doctor’s employment.”
“Mr. Carter is in town?”
“He sent word this afternoon. This is one of his regular visits to London, I take it.”
Polly conveyed the message that Lucy’s head was still bothering her. “Changing weather, I s’pect. It hits her hard,” she said. So we went on and supped without her. The day had wearied me, and I allowed the men to take the lead by discussing a boxing match to be held in Hungerford. Although organized fisticuffs had been illegal for seven decades, they still drew crowds. When I asked what kept the constables away—since a large gathering might surely be a tip-off that there was some mischief afoot—both men laughed.
Death of a Dowager Page 19
