Only my husband had misgivings. Later that evening when we were in bed, he questioned me. “Are you up to this? It could mean being on your feet a long while at the visitation, as there’s sure to be a lengthy receiving line.”
His unruly hair had grown long during our visit, but I rather enjoyed the way it brushed his nightshirt collar. I touched a strand lovingly as he said, “There has to be a way around having you at the viewing. I shall go and offer our sympathy, but you don’t need to come. We must be able to gather Miss Mary’s confession some other way.”
“I can’t think of one. Neither could anyone else,” I said. “Besides, I am the squire’s wife and it is my duty to attend as well as yours.”
“But you are injured,” he said. “I shall tender your regrets. Today I saw a bit more color in your cheeks, and I hope to continue to see such progress.”
“You will.”
He smoothed my hair and kissed the top of my ear, and I thought I could smell green traces of the medicinal herb he’d been using as Mr. Lerner had recommended. “When I see the progress, I really mean that. I see how you are coming along.”
“Really?” Joy bubbled up inside me.
“You are not wholly distinct, but I can discern more detail. More substance. There are edges around objects. A bit of acuity has returned.”
“Oh, Edward!” I threw my arms around his neck and felt the pinch of pain as my reward. “Oh!”
“See? You are in pain. You need to stay here. Lady Ingram was nothing to you—less!—and I can share your regrets. We will manage somehow without you.”
“No,” I said. “I shall heal better knowing we can put all this behind us.”
“Jane,” he said, as his lips teased my throat, “you try my patience.”
“Oh, sir . . .”
Chapter 59
The next day, I rested until the last possible moment. Edward had won a concession from me: I agreed to let Mr. Lerner check the progress of my healing and decree if I was well enough to execute my plan. When the doctor pronounced me “coming along nicely,” Polly helped me dress in my finest black silk, and Edward and Mr. Douglas carried me downstairs and into the carriage.
Once we arrived at the Grainger house, I insisted on walking into the building as though nothing were wrong. It pained me, but I felt it necessary to maintain the illusion of health. I did not want to draw unwarranted attention to myself—at least, not until the right time. I did not want Miss Mary Ingram to wonder why I’d bothered to make an appearance after I had been hurt so badly. Any sort of suspicion on her part might spoil the impact I hoped to have on the young woman.
No one could mistake Lady Grainger’s home for anything but a house in deep mourning. Black crape covered every window and all of the mirrors. The staff wore soft mourning slippers to muffle their footsteps. The hall clock had been stopped, as a reminder that time stands still in that world beyond this. The cloying fragrance of lilies perfumed the air.
Because Lady Ingram’s body had been given over to the coroner, her remains were now six days old. The smell of the corpse could not be disguised, no matter how many fragrant bouquets of flowers were on display throughout the house. The horrid smell of decay triumphed over all else. Lucy had suggested that we all carry perfumed handkerchiefs, and I blessed her silently for thinking ahead as I held mine to my nose.
Lucy, Mr. Douglas, Edward, and I took our places in the receiving line. The queue moved slowly forward and up the staircase to where Lady Ingram’s mortal remains rested on the dining room table. I knew there would be a lot of mourners, but I had not anticipated so many. I could only believe that word of the Dowager’s sudden death and the girls’ many accusations might have made their rounds. The crowd seemed unusually chatty for a group of mourners, so I assumed that many here were hoping for a choice bit of gossip. As we mounted the last of the stairs, the entry hall began to spin. Black encroached on the edges of my vision. Edward slipped his arm around my waist, but I was quickly growing weak. I grabbed Edward tightly and struggled to stay on my feet.
“This is too much! Let me find you a chair,” he whispered.
A stray lock of his hair tickled my face and caused me to smile. “No. It will only be a little longer, and then my mind can rest as well as my body.” Sheer force of will kept me standing and gave me strength. I was determined to do this for Lucy. If this scheme worked, her reputation would be spared.
Not much farther now. I can do this!
I could hear Miss Blanche Ingram holding court as the line moved forward, out of the hall and into the dining room. Those paying their respects first greeted Miss Mary, and then Miss Ingram, and finally Lady Grainger. Young Lord Ingram was not in attendance. During her visit with Lady Grainger the past evening, Lucy had learned that he was taken ill and could not leave his bed at Ingram Park.
After offering their sympathies to the Ingram daughters and Lady Grainger, mourners made a clockwise procession around the coffin in its place of honor on the dining room table. Floral tributes of every color and size lined the perimeter of the room. Guests paused to read the cards offering condolences. It was expected that they would also gaze on the face of the departed, as a gesture of respect and a reminder to us all that we would share the same fate.
My friend and her brother had moved along in the line so that they were face-to-face with Miss Mary. But before Lucy could share her condolences, Miss Ingram turned on her with a fury.
“How dare you?” she said to Lucy.
“Stop it, Blanche.” Lady Grainger put a hand on her niece’s shoulder.
All the other mourners turned to watch. After a calculated pause, Miss Ingram turned to her aunt, and in a loud voice said, “But Aunt! Lucy Brayton poisoned my—”
“Stop it!” Lady Grainger’s command was more forceful this time. She reached past her niece to bundle Lucy into an embrace. “It is so good to see you.”
This was our cue. Edward and I pushed our way forward, rather rudely, I admit, while Lucy extricated herself from our hostess. Then Lucy and Mr. Douglas stepped to one side.
My husband took Miss Mary’s hand. “Mr. Lerner sends his regrets, but he is busy with his fiancée making wedding plans.”
“You lie!” She gasped, yanking her hand out of Edward’s grip.
The other mourners stopped talking so that they could listen in.
“No, Miss Mary,” I said softly, “my husband is not a liar. But you are.” I raised my voice. “It was you who poisoned your mother, wasn’t it? You didn’t mean to, but you did.”
“I—I—I,” she stuttered. “I never!”
“You were only trying to help. You thought you knew what you were doing—and hoped to prove to Mr. Lerner what a fine wife you would make. You thought if you could make your mother feel better, she would love you more.” I paused. “Poor Mary. You were tired of being second best.”
The blood drained out of Miss Mary’s face.
A hush fell over the other mourners. The crowd surged forward, closing in on me, so that they could better hear what I was saying.
“Right now, Mr. Waverly is down the hall, searching your room. What do you think he’ll find?” said Edward. “I suspect he’ll happen on Mr. Lerner’s notes concerning the use of digitalis, common foxglove.”
“It’s no use denying it, Mary,” said her aunt. “Cook has already told us how you’ve been in her kitchen, soaking plants in hot water. Plants she’s identified as foxglove.”
Miss Mary’s hands flew up to cover her mouth, and she teetered on the edge of a swoon. Lucy and Lady Grainger moved forward to shore the girl up. Miss Mary sobbed, “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t! I loved my mother! I didn’t mean to hurt her!”
Now the quiet ended, replaced by a low roar of whispers as the visitors reacted to the young woman’s confession. Their curiosity unleashed, they pressed even closer, a few elbowing me in their eag
erness to eavesdrop. But they didn’t have to strain their ears much, because Blanche now screeched, “What have you done? You killed our mother?” Miss Ingram turned on Miss Mary, grabbing her sister by the arms, and she would have given her a shake, but Mr. Douglas levered Miss Ingram away.
The mourners gasped in chorus, as if they had been directed to do so. The sound echoed in the room, a mournful human empathy given voice. But the oneness did not last for long. The shock passed, and everyone seemed to want to share a question or opinion. The din was unbelievable, especially in a house of mourning where soft slippers are worn and bell clappers are wrapped in muslin to muffle sound.
The Honorable Blanche Ingram flew at her sister, even as Mr. Douglas tried to move Miss Mary out of striking distance. “It was an accident,” he told Blanche. “Miss Mary didn’t mean to do it.”
“She only meant to help. You are feeling better now, aren’t you, Miss Ingram?” I asked of Blanche. “Your sister had been dosing your coffee, trying to calculate how much of the tincture to give your mother. Of course, she never expected you to share it. That’s how everything went terribly wrong. The small amount in the coffee had only made you slightly ill, but given your mother’s weak heart. It was a fatal dose.”
“I never intended . . .” Mary whispered. “Never . . .”
Chapter 60
Outside in the hallway, Mr. Waverly had been waiting for this confession. He walked past us, taking care that his black baton was highly visible under his arm. When he reached Miss Mary’s side, he said, “Come with me, miss. You don’t want to make a scene, do you?”
Miss Mary only cried softly and shook her head.
“You—” Blanche Ingram had been temporarily struck dumb, but as the man from Bow Street led her sister away, the older Ingram sister gave her sibling a withering look and called out, “I hope you rot in prison!”
Edward, Lucy, Mr. Douglas, and I accompanied Lady Grainger downstairs, leaving the rest of the mourners to console “poor” Miss Blanche Ingram.
“I feel sorry for Mary,” said the Lady, as we watched Mr. Waverly help her niece into a waiting coach. “I hope they won’t deal too harshly with her.”
“Though her attempts to cast blame on innocents won’t win her any favors, I believe she might get off rather lightly, since the poison was not a poison, per se, but rather a medicinal treatment misapplied,” said Mr. Douglas. “Of course, the fact that she is the daughter of a baron will be helpful to her as well.”
“Are you all right, Olivia?” Lucy asked her friend.
“I’m terribly saddened by this—and I wish things were different. Mary has lived so long in Blanche’s shadow. Perhaps I should have reached out to the younger girl,” said Lady Grainger. “Although in truth, I don’t know what else I could have done. I did speak up on her behalf, several times. But Silvana was such a dominant personality. So confident as a mother. When I did make suggestions, she cast them aside with ugly commentary implying that a childless woman like me could not understand her role as a parent.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “A child grows in a mother’s heart, not just in her womb. Our love and concern can extend beyond blood ties, else how could a marriage last?”
“Well said, my darling.” Edward squeezed my hand.
Lady Grainger turned to stare at me. “You are wise beyond your years, Mrs. Rochester. I suppose this is as good of a time as any to thank you for figuring out what really happened to my sister-in-law. My staff will be relieved to know that the murky cloud of suspicion has lifted from our household.”
“You are very kind,” I said.
“What will you do about Miss Mary?” asked Mr. Douglas, when we had reached the ground floor. “I hope you’ll consider hiring a good barrister for her. If necessary, I can recommend several.”
“Yes, of course, I will.” With the recognition of that responsibility, Lady Grainger crumpled a little.
“And her sister? It will be devilishly hard for Miss Blanche Ingram to navigate the choppy waters of society after this,” Edward said.
“Her marital prospects will have dimmed considerably.” Lucy’s tone was matter-of-fact.
“There’s always an Italian count lurking somewhere, who wants a peeress for a bride,” said Lady Grainger. “I shall urge Blanche in the strongest tones to travel the continent. Perhaps I’ll even go with. She still has a modicum of beauty, but I shall impress upon her that the blush on her cheeks is fading fast.”
Although I did not betray my emotions, I couldn’t help but think that with any luck, I’d never see Blanche Ingram again. I should have to pray she found her Italian count—and that he was a determined homebody.
“It must be a relief,” said Lucy, hugging her friend, “to have this over. I know it is for all of us.
“I’ve seen better days,” Lady Grainger admitted. “But the dog breeder sent ’round a message yesterday that he has a new litter of pups that have almost been weaned. I’m to choose one next week.”
“Good for you,” said Lucy. “I shall want to meet the newest member of your family.”
“And I shall want to meet yours when he arrives,” said Lady Grainger, as she gave Lucy one more hug before we departed.
The events at Lady Grainger’s house had sapped all my energy. As a consequence, I spent the next two days resting in bed and working on my pen-and-ink piece for Evans, taking my time as I drew in the foxglove stems with finger-shaped blossoms.
I did my best to forget about the King’s love letter. It was locked away safely, and Lady Conyngham had lost her leverage over me now that Miss Mary was in Newgate, as was Mrs. Biltmore. Mr. Waverly had sent ’round a note that he would need a formal statement from me, but that it could wait until I regained my strength. He also thanked me for solving the mystery of Lady Ingram’s death. With any luck, we would never cross paths again.
Mr. Lerner had accepted the position to assist Mr. Carter, and he and Miss Goldstein were to be married later in the summer. They had kindly invited all of us to attend, and I was looking forward to the event and to meeting the young lady. Meanwhile, as an early wedding gift, Edward and Mr. Douglas had located a new satchel for the doctor. One with a sturdy latch.
A letter from Mrs. Fairfax informed us that John was definitely on the mend, sitting up in his bed and grumbling about having “nowt to do.” The roof was another story, as the builders continued to uncover more and more rot in the structure. However, our housekeeper thought that good progress was being made. Good progress was also being made with Edward’s eyesight—though it would never return to normal, it was improving steadily.
As I recovered, the Brayton household was in happy chaos around me. Lucy put this unhappy passage behind her and turned all her attentions to preparing for Evans’s imminent arrival.
On Saturday afternoon, there came a knock at the front door. When it was not immediately answered, it came again. This time Rags went wild with barking. I could hear the commotion all the way upstairs in the nursery, where I was reading to Ned, after instructing Adèle to translate a textbook passage from French into English, while Edward and Mr. Douglas were spending time together at Boodle’s.
Voices drifted up, but they were indistinct, so I continued with the story about the golden goose from Grimm’s Children’s and Household Tales. I was explaining how the youngest son asked his father if he could cut wood when Amelia ran in. “Come quickly, ma’am. He’s here!”
“He who?”
“The little boy. What’s his name—Evans!”
I handed her my son and hurried to get Adèle. “Vite!” I told the young French girl, as she reluctantly put aside her dolls. She and I immediately started down the stairs all the while taking great care not to put stress on my wound.
Voices from the drawing room attracted me, so I hurried there to find Lucy. In her arms was an infant with a face as round as a soup bowl, brigh
t blue eyes, and a tuft of ginger-colored hair. Tears streamed down my friend’s face. All she could say was, “Oh, oh, oh, oh. He looks exactly like Augie!”
Seated across from her was a kindly looking woman with gray hair slicked back into a neat bun. “Mrs. Wallander, I presume?” I offered my hand.
“Ja,” she said. Her sturdy shoes and simple traveling frock spoke volumes about this no-nonsense woman.
She took my hand and shook it solemnly, giving me the chance to take note of her button nose, her cherry-shaped lips, and her ruddy complexion. One look in her eyes told me she was a shrewd judge of character, and that she was taking everything in, trying to decide if Evans would be happy here.
I could have told her that he would. Lucy would make his happiness her mission in life.
I took Adèle by the hand and gestured for Amelia to follow with Ned on her hip, so that we were approaching Evans with great care, as I did not wish to overwhelm the boy. I moved closer to the newcomer. “Adèle and Ned, this is Evans. Lucy’s son. Your new best friend.”
The babies stared at each other, wide-eyed and curious Adèle crowed with delight. A stream of French followed, but the gist was, “Now I am the sister to two boys!” and then she dropped to her knees to cover Evans’s face with kisses. Rags joined the throng, standing on his two hind legs and dancing in a happy circle.
Amelia took Mrs. Wallander upstairs to get settled into her new quarters. I sank down on the settee next to Lucy, as she gazed on the baby in wonder. Adèle continued to murmur endearments to her new friend. Lucy, for the first time since I’d known her, seemed entirely dumbstruck. All she could do was stare at the boy. At long last she said, “Is it true? Really true? Jane, tell me, am I dreaming?”
“No,” I said, and I carefully wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “No, dear heart. You are fully awake, and your dream has come true.”
Death of a Dowager Page 26
