A grim smile curved the dowager’s mouth. “Unanswerable. But I will have none of Pellew’s draughts, and so I warn you.”
Ottilia raised her brows. “I was thinking more of hard liquor, ma’am.”
This forced a reluctant laugh from the dowager, and she at last consented to leave Hanover Square. Relieved, Ottilia had the butler call up a hackney, for daylight was fading.
In the event, there was little rest to be had, for the dowager could not remove without imparting a deal of unnecessary instruction to her staff on running the house in her absence and supervising her woman’s packing. Ottilia was glad she’d had no time to unpack her own trunks, for it left her free to think. She took time to sit at the dowager’s writing table and draw up a list of her findings. This exercise left so many questions that she was obliged to list these separately and decide on a plan of action to find means to answer them.
Her employer interrupted her at this work to complain of being hardly used, for Lord Francis had sent a note to say he could not after all join them for supper, which was to be served immediately.
“It is too bad of him, when he knows how hungry I am for news.”
“Perhaps he has none,” said Ottilia pacifically.
“And now I shall not see him at all,” pursued the dowager, ignoring this suggestion, “for he means to be off to Bath at first light.”
“Then he will be back the sooner, ma’am.”
Her employer refused to be mollified. Through the meal, of which the dowager partook sparingly, eating perhaps three mouthfuls from each of the two modest courses, her voice became increasingly querulous, warning Ottilia that shock was at last catching up with her. She abandoned any attempt to bring the dowager to a better frame of mind, instead allowing her to talk herself to a standstill. At which point, Ottilia got up and rang the bell, drawing the elder lady’s instant attention.
“What are you about?”
Ottilia smiled at her. “I think you stand in crying need of a restorative, ma’am. Oh, not the doctor’s remedy, be sure.”
A trace of amusement drove the tetchiness from the dowager’s face. “I daresay I might not refuse a glass of port.”
“Then port it shall be.”
While the dowager drank, Ottilia attempted to divert her mind by talking lightly of everyday things until she saw her employer’s eyelids drooping. Satisfied, she ceased speaking and sat for a while, contemplating the remains of the ruby liquid in her own glass.
Her first day in office and how the world was turned inside out! She had come here expecting a life of tedium, and very likely drudgery. Her brother had deprecated her decision, but Ottilia could not feel content to continue to live on his bounty now that she had no longer any employment by which she might return his kindness. With the boys gone, she had become restless and impatient of life in a country village. Taking the temporary post of companion had been an experiment, if truth be told. Or so she had represented it to Patrick. He had agreed to it only on condition that she would return immediately, should she feel dissatisfied. How he would laugh now, were he to learn how his sister had become embroiled almost instantly in just the imbroglio to appeal to her incurably inquisitive disposition.
Though it was, to be sure, no laughing matter. And her immediate desire to be of assistance had been prompted not by curiosity, but by the very real distress occasioned to the dowager and to her remaining son. What a monster she would be to allow them to suffer, if by any effort of hers she could alleviate something of their trouble.
Glancing at the dowager, the marks of anxiety were there even as she dosed. Her features were pallid and drawn, tiny muscles twitched in her cheeks, and the hollows beneath her eyes had darkened a little. Wrung with pity, Ottilia got up quietly and slipped out of the cosy little dining parlour in search of her ladyship’s maid. Miss Venner was better acquainted with her and would know how to persuade her into her bed. For herself, Ottilia was more than ready to get between sheets. The day’s events, coming atop yesterday’s journey, had tired her out.
The morning found her refreshed and ready for action, but although the dowager was lively, she located a number of items left unpacked and had so many additional instructions for her household that it was near noon before a hackney deposited them in Hanover Square.
Mrs. Thriplow, who was even more upset than upon the previous day, Ottilia judged, had been unable to arrange for the new arrivals to be accommodated near together. The dowager, to her immediate chagrin, had been assigned the back room next door to that of the marchioness.
“I’d no choice, my lady,” the housekeeper apologised, sounding harassed, “for you wouldn’t want to be up on the second floor, where I’ve put Mrs. Draycott. And Master Francis is only across the passage, my lady.”
The dowager remained dissatisfied, giving a little shiver as she cast a glance over her shoulder towards the fatal room. “I should prefer to negotiate a second set of stairs than sleep in here behind poor Emily’s bedchamber.”
“That would be ineligible, ma’am,” said Ottilia. “But if you should be nervous, I can very well sleep in a truckle bed alongside you.”
But this her employer would by no means agree to, saying that Venner could very well perform that duty. “At least until Francis returns.”
“I’ll get Abel to fetch one down, my lady, and I’m sorry as the beds ain’t been made yet, but the sheets is still airing and, what with the washerwoman vowing as she’ll never set foot in the house again and the maids having hysterics every time they come within ten foot of my late mistress’s chamber, I don’t know if I’m on my head or my heels.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, what a set of ninnies,” said the dowager, just as if she had not one moment since expressed much the same sentiment.
Ottilia smothered a laugh and made haste to soothe the housekeeper’s lacerated feelings. “I have every sympathy with you, my dear Mrs. Thriplow. It must be hard indeed for you to keep any semblance of order and direction under these terrible circumstances.”
“Well, it is, ma’am, and I’m that put about over it, for I promised Master Francis as I’d see all went along as normal as possible.”
“To the devil with Master Francis,” stated his fond mother. “Does he have the least notion what it takes to run a household? Of course he has not.”
“That he ain’t, my lady, and no mistake. If it ain’t one thing, it’s another, and if Cook manages to produce a dinner fit to eat, what with young Betsy shrieking like a moonling at every sound and spilling half the fat off the roast all over the kitchen floor so’s no one can’t take a step without slipping in it, I’ll take leave to call the woman a saint!”
This was too much for Ottilia, and she struggled to contain her amusement under the housekeeper’s affronted gaze and the dowager’s stony stare.
“Oh, pardon me, Mrs. Thriplow,” she managed at length, “but I could not withstand the picture you conjured up in my imagination. I’m afraid it is one of my worst faults to be merry at the wrong moment.”
“Well, it’s better than screeching, I suppose,” said the housekeeper, consenting to be mollified.
“Forgive me, pray. And I am sure Cook need not fret over dinner. We will be content, I am persuaded, with the simplest of fare, will we not, ma’am?” She cast an imploring look upon the dowager as she spoke, and was relieved when her employer rose nobly to the occasion.
“I have little appetite in any event, Thriplow. Let Cook do what she may and that will suffice.”
The housekeeper’s relief was patent, and by way of help, the dowager asked her personal maid to superintend the preparation of the rooms, thus freeing Mrs. Thriplow for other duties. Feeling that the two women would do better without them, Ottilia suggested to the dowager that they repair to the front downstairs parlour they had occupied yesterday.
“It is the least grand of the rooms,” said the dowager, standing in the centre and looking about at the pale green papered walls with a once-fashionable stripe,
the gilt-edged chairs and sofas with prettily cushioned seats, the little escritoire in one corner, and the Adam fireplace where a cheerful blaze had been encouraged by an unseen hand. “I was in the habit of using it daily when I lived here, but Emily preferred the Blue Salon across the hall. She likes formality.” A shadow crossed the older dame’s features. “Liked, I should say. How hard it is to become accustomed.”
Ottilia went to her and led her to one of the sofas set against the wall, obliging her to be seated and taking a perch at her side. “There is no hurry on that score, ma’am.”
“But there is on the score of discovery. Should you not be questioning the servants?”
“It can wait.”
“But they will forget, or worse, supply incorrect details from their imaginations. Servants thrive on these lurid affairs.”
“On the contrary. In a day or so, I imagine they will recall events more clearly,” Ottilia said. “By the sound of things, I should get very little sense out of them today. It is evident they are all suffering an inevitable paralysis of the mind. Besides, I would much prefer to embark upon questioning in a less formal way than we did yesterday. And there are other matters to consider.”
She came under a suspicious stare from the dowager’s dark eyes. “What other matters?”
“Nothing to concern you, ma’am. I would like, for example, to familiarise myself with the layout of the house, if you permit that I wander about unhindered.”
“Francis gave you carte blanche. Do whatever you need to do, my dear. I suppose you will be hunting for a particular door.”
Ottilia laughed. “Well reasoned, ma’am. That and other things. Lord Francis yesterday gave me the key to the late Lady Polbrook’s bedchamber so that I may take another good look around before we allow her ladyship’s maid to — well, to clean and tidy.”
“Yes, that must be done.” The dowager sighed deeply. “What a lowering thought. One forgets the necessary business of disposing of everyday belongings. Emily’s wardrobe will naturally go to her daughter, unless she has bequeathed any items of costume elsewhere. Jardine will know. We had best pack it all away until the poor child is sufficiently composed to deal with it herself.”
Ottilia applauded this suggestion, realising that the busier the dowager could be kept, the better. Not only for her own peace of mind, but to prevent her interference when Ottilia undertook interviews with the staff. If one thing was more certain than another, it was that she would get a deal more out of the servants unhampered by the dowager’s presence.
“It will be for Mary Huntshaw to do the actual packing, but I daresay it would be best if you were to supervise it, ma’am. We cannot have her ladyship’s maid in danger of being accused should anything go missing in addition to the fan.”
Lady Polbrook agreed to this, but the reminder of the fan’s loss led her to inquire how Ottilia proposed to set about finding its present location.
“I have no notion,” said Ottilia frankly. “I doubt there is very much to be done about that until we have Lord Francis back with us.”
“Francis? What in the world can he do in the matter?”
Evidently Lord Francis remained unforgiven for last night’s lapse. Ottilia wisely did not refer to it, but said instead, “Did I not suggest that we must carry our investigations further afield? I depend upon Lord Francis to go out into the world to find Emily’s lover.”
The hour being advanced and the afternoon dark and dismal, Ottilia felt there was little to be gained in setting off on a tour of the house. The dowager being anxious to know what she intended to do next, Ottilia took time instead for the hour or so before dinner to go over the lists she had made up the night before, to the accompaniment of much comment and discussion.
The promised visit of Colonel Tretower coincided with the dinner hour, and the dowager invited him to partake of the meal in their company. She was amply rewarded when he referred without prompting to Lord Francis’s failure to attend his mother the previous evening.
“My fault, ma’am, I’m afraid. I asked Fan to sup with me instead, for I wanted to give him an account of my dealings with Bow Street.”
Ottilia started. “Bow Street? Did you go there then?”
“Indeed, for I deemed it best to go myself,” he said, nodding to the butler who was ready to ladle a portion of steaming broth into his bowl, “having learned from Mr. Satterleigh that it was his duty to lay his information there. The justices were shocked, of course, but I am relieved to report that they were reluctant to set the blame at Lord Polbrook’s door. I did what I might to encourage this attitude, saying that it was believed his lordship’s journey had been premeditated.”
“But it hadn’t been,” objected the dowager, beginning upon her soup. “Or at least we don’t know that it had.”
“Precisely. We don’t know. It is therefore entirely possible that it was, and serves our purpose better than to discourage the notion. I also told them that Fan has already sent after his brother.”
Ottilia eyed him over her bowl with amusement. “But you did not, I take it, suggest that Lord Francis does not in fact know where his brother has gone?”
Tretower grinned at her as he took up a spoon. “Well spotted, Mrs. Draycott. I could not feel it would serve any useful purpose for them to know that.”
“You are a better conspirator than I gave you credit for, Colonel,” said the dowager approvingly. “Do you suppose the justices will be satisfied to await Randal’s return?”
His features became grave. “I will not conceal my doubts from you on that score, ma’am. But I did stress the need for discretion in light of the imminent scandal. I am assured that Bow Street is not in the habit of disclosing its beliefs and actions to anyone connected with newssheets, in particular the more scurrilous rags devoted to gossip.”
“Not that it will stop them printing anything they choose,” said the dowager bitterly, taking a sip of her wine. “Nor do I imagine we can rely on every member of Polbrook’s household to be immune to the offer of a bribe.”
The butler, under instruction, was serving the company himself without the services of the footman or one of the maids, a precaution instituted by the dowager in order that they might talk freely. At this juncture, he coughed delicately. Lady Polbrook looked round at him.
“Well, Cattawade? Can you vouch for all of them?”
“Not all, my lady, but I venture to hope that none will be as disloyal as you suggest.”
“A vain hope, my friend,” said Colonel Tretower on a dry note. “Show me the fellow who will not be swayed by the sight of a fistful of gold, and you will show me a saint.”
Ottilia noted the look of deep offence in Cattawade’s features and resolved to tackle the man as soon as she might. At least she might trust to one account being as accurate as the man could remember it. Meanwhile, she deemed it politic to change the subject. “I have been wondering, ma’am, about mourning clothes.”
The dowager looked startled. “Lord, if I had not forgotten that!”
“It is not urgent, I suppose, but perhaps it would be wise to prepare.”
“I will send Venner to fetch my seamstress. Not that I need go into blacks until I am receiving, but as you say, it is well to be ready. Apart from offending people, I could not wish to show Emily the slightest disrespect. Little though we saw eye to eye, she did not deserve such a death.”
Ottilia was well satisfied to have found another matter to take up the dowager’s attention. Mention of the lady’s maid reminded her that she was hoping to find an opportunity to talk to the woman, but without alerting her mistress. Venner had been tight-lipped with reluctance upon hearing of the removal to Hanover Square, and Ottilia was anxious to discover the reason. It had been borne in upon her that Venner regarded the late Lady Polbrook with scant approval, for she’d apparently had no sympathies to offer when news of the murder had been broken to her the previous morning.
Ottilia had met the woman when she had fetched her warm cloak fr
om upstairs. Venner had been requested to bring down the dowager’s pelisse, but a moment’s conversation made Ottilia realise she had not been apprised of the morning’s events. Thinking to save the dowager an unpleasant task, she delivered the information herself.
“So she’s dead, is she?”
“I am afraid she was brutally murdered, Miss Venner,” Ottilia had said as lightly as she could manage.
The woman’s eyes had widened a little, but her features had remained taut. “How?”
“She was strangled.”
Venner’s stare had remained fixed for a moment, and Ottilia could read nothing in her face either of pity or indeed shock. At length, she’d given a wriggle of the shoulders, as if to shake off the fixing of her attention.
“I’ll fetch her ladyship’s pelisse to her,” she’d said curtly, and had turned away into the dowager’s bedchamber.
Ottilia came back from this recollection to find that Colonel Tretower was speaking of his further actions today. “I enquired of the coroner when you may be able to hold the funeral, and he has no objection to a burial being arranged as soon as may be. I imagine you cannot wait upon Lord Polbrook’s arrival, ma’am.”
“We cannot possibly do so, since we have no notion when he might return. Or indeed if he will return.”
“I beg you won’t dwell on that possibility,” said Tretower, taking the words out of Ottilia’s mouth. “I have been thinking it over, and I believe he must return, regardless of the circumstances. He cannot remain abroad forever. How would he live? And who would take his place?”
“The burden would devolve upon Giles,” said the dowager. “And if it came to it, I daresay Jardine would be able to arrange to send money to him wherever he is. I had rather that than to see him —” She broke off, leaving a depressed silence around the table. The slice of beef Ottilia was in the process of consuming became abruptly nauseating to her palate. Laying down her fork, she drank a little wine in hopes of damping the rise of discomfort in her stomach. Delayed shock? If the business could have this effect upon a virtual stranger, how much worse it must be for members of the family. The sooner she could set their minds at rest, the better pleased she would be. She had been dilatory today. No stone must be left unturned. No more time could be wasted.
The Lady Fan Series: Books 1-3 (Sapere Books Boxset Editions) Page 8
