Ottilia smiled. “Frequently, ma’am. At this moment, in fact, for I have been awake since seven and I am ravenous. But I feel it to be grossly unfair to the domestic staff to be complaining of it.”
“Well, so do I not,” stated Sybilla, reaching for a silver hand bell set in the middle of the table and plying it with some violence. “That should shake them up a bit.”
The door did indeed open within a very short space of time, but not to admit the butler, as might have been expected, or even one of the maids. Instead, a well-dressed matron sailed into the dining parlour like a perfumed whirlwind, flinging herself upon the dowager in a flurry of passionate words and hugging the elder dame to her bosom.
“Oh, Mama, it is so dreadful. I was afraid you would be prostrate. I was ready to swoon myself when I read Fanfan’s letter. How terrible it all is!”
Chapter 7
Sybilla struggled to extricate herself. “Let me go, Harriet, I cannot breathe.”
The visitor released her, only to throw her arms wide in a gesture of despair. “There is no bearing it. Poor Emily, what a horrible way to die!”
The dowager waved her towards an unoccupied chair. “Sit down, child, for heaven’s sake, and stop fidgeting me.”
Ottilia was obliged to suppress a sneaking amusement at the other’s look of slight deflation, but as the creature shifted to take the indicated chair she caught sight of Ottilia and halted abruptly.
“But who is this?”
“My new companion,” said Sybilla shortly. “Did I not write to you of Teresa breaking her leg?”
“Oh, of course, I had forgot.”
Ottilia was treated to a bright smile, which instantly reminded her of Lord Francis and gave the lie to the visitor’s harrowed air. Not that Ottilia supposed her insincere, but it was immediately apparent she was a flighty piece with a butterfly mind.
“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” she said blithely, offering her hand.
“My daughter, the Countess of Dalesford,” supplied Sybilla.
“I come between Randal and Francis.”
Ottilia took the hand and introduced herself. “I take it Lord Francis wrote to you?”
“Yes, and I set off at once, as you may imagine, and arrived late last night,” responded Lady Dalesford, seating herself in a whirl of silken petticoats. “Dalesford wished me to wait upon his escort, for he had business to attend to before he could leave the estate, but I would not hear of it. ‘How could I leave poor Mama to bear this alone for one more day?’ I said, and Dalesford supposed she had Francis for support, but I knew he had the intention of fetching poor Candia, so that would not answer, and so I told him.”
“You need not have rushed,” interpolated the dowager, taking advantage of her daughter’s drawing breath, “for I have Ottilia, who is more than adequate for my purposes.”
“Oh, I am sure she is everything that is desirable,” uttered the creature, waving expressive hands, “but a stranger is not the same.”
“Very true,” said Ottilia before the dowager could cut in again. “I am sure her ladyship will be the better for your support, Lady Dalesford.”
“I will need it if I have sunk back to ‘her ladyship’.”
Ottilia laughed. “I do beg your pardon, ma’am, I had forgot.”
At this point, the door opened again to admit the butler, accompanied by the footman and a maid. All three were laden with trays, the contents of which they proceeded to set out, while the countess resumed the direction of the conversation.
“What in the world possessed you to come here, Mama? I went directly to Bruton Street this morning, but Gipping told me you had removed. Could anything be more macabre?” Lady Dalesford gave a shudder, which Ottilia found quite as artistic as Sukey’s. She had disposed her elegant person in a picturesque fashion that Ottilia guessed had become a habit. But her advent was opportune, providing the dowager with a distraction from the tardiness of the servants that Ottilia at least welcomed.
It provided Ottilia equally with an opportunity to subject Abel the footman to a surreptitious examination. The glimpse she’d had of a face behind the door before Cattawade was revealed had been fleeting, and since Ottilia had seen the footman but once before, she could not be at all certain of having identified his features. She had learned to trust her senses, but at this fresh sight of Abel she fell prey to doubt.
“I had a very good reason for removing from Bruton Street,” the dowager was saying. “Someone had to take control of this household with Francis away and Emily gone.”
A utensil she was just about to set down fell from the maid’s nerveless fingers. Ottilia quickly reached to pick it up and hand it back to her, glad that Lady Dalesford’s immediate response prevented Sybilla from noticing.
“I declare, I could weep to think of Emily now, little though we cared for each other.”
“Pray do not go about telling that to the world,” said her mother roundly. “Bear in mind that we are all in deep mourning.”
Lady Dalesford threw up her hands. “Gracious heaven! I never thought to bring my blacks, such a rush as I was in. You are perfectly right, Mama. But what about you? Why have you not gone into black?”
“Venner is going to fetch my sewing woman tomorrow.”
“But it will be days before she can make you a gown.”
“She can make over one of my old ones,” said the dowager dismissively. “Since I am not receiving, it is not yet of moment.”
“Well, I cannot possibly be seen like this,” declared the countess, nodding to Cattawade who had placed a cup for her and had the coffee pot poised. “What in the world would people say? I shall have to have Celeste make up a suitable gown immediately. I declare, I loathe wearing black, but I daresay it may not be so bad if she will fashion it up to the minute.”
Her mother cut in sharply. “Save yourself the trouble. I have an excellent scheme in mind, and it will spare you the cost of a new gown.” She turned to the butler, who had just filled her cup. “Thank you, Cattawade, we will serve ourselves.”
As the butler signed to his minions, Ottilia glanced rapidly from his face to the footman’s. Was there any slight resemblance? Could she possibly have seen in Cattawade’s jowled features the vibrant good looks of the younger man?
And then Abel, letting the maid precede him, was through the aperture, and the butler withdrew behind them both. Ottilia stared at the closed door, still trying, with scant success, to fit one image on top of the other.
“When Francis returns, Harriet, you will go home and take Candia with you.”
Over the rim of her coffee cup, the countess’s face fell. “Oh no, must I? Yes, I suppose I must, poor child.”
“You are better placed than I to take care of her,” pursued the dowager, reaching for a breakfast roll and requesting Ottilia to pass the butter.
Ottilia thrust her problem to the back of her mind and concentrated on Sybilla’s discourse.
“And the presence of her cousins will help to divert Candia’s mind.”
Lady Dalesford shivered and waved away the basket of bread rolls Ottilia was offering. “No, I thank you, I could not possibly eat a thing. How could anything divert Candia’s mind from this horror? I am sure I shall not sleep for weeks.”
Ottilia was beset by unseemly amusement and had all to do to hide it. Everything the countess said and did had a flourish that attracted interest. But if it had once been so by design, it had clearly become so much a part of the creature that Ottilia did not believe it was studied affectation. It was decidedly endearing, and she warmed to the woman.
“You are not in question,” said her mother flatly, spreading butter on her roll with a lavish hand. “And the horror of the situation is precisely what we wish to minimise, as far as Candia is concerned.”
“Yes, yes, I see that,” instantly returned the other, sipping her coffee. “We must strive to behave as normally as possible. Oh, and what of her come-out?”
“It will have to
be put off for another year.”
“Gracious, yes! But even then, with Emily gone —” She broke off, suddenly setting down her cup. “Lord, I will have to do it myself!”
“Well, there is nothing to concern you in that,” said her mother. “You may bring her out with your own daughter. What could be better?”
Lady Dalesford waved a dismissive hand, a mannerism wholly reminiscent of her mother, Ottilia noted as she began upon her own repast.
“That, yes. I may as well bring out two girls as one, and my Lizzy can have no objection. But have I to take Emily’s place in all things? Oh, Mama, I don’t feel as though I can.”
Ottilia could not refrain from entering the lists. “Of course you cannot be all things to the girl. But you can be her loving aunt, as I am sure you are. She will very soon become accustomed to depend upon you just as much as she needs to do. Young people are very adaptable, do you not find?”
Looking quite astonished, Lady Dalesford stared at her in silence for a brief moment. Ottilia was relieved to hear the dowager chuckle.
“You will have to get used to Ottilia. She has a keen mind and cannot help exercising it at the expense of everyone with whom she comes in contact.”
“Why, thank you, Sybilla,” Ottilia returned on a dry note. “I am sure that will reconcile Lady Dalesford in an instant.”
The countess gave an embarrassed little laugh. “You must forgive me. I am so used to Teresa, who never says boo to a goose, that I was surprised just for the moment.”
“You may as well prepare to be bowled over, for we are trusting to Ottilia to uncover the murderer.” The dowager swallowed down a portion of bread roll. “Which is another reason why we cannot be doing with Candia on the premises. She will hamper our investigations.”
Lady Dalesford’s mouth dropped open. “Investigations? What in the world can you mean?”
Ottilia, biting into a roll liberally laced with a delicious blackberry jam, glanced across at the dowager. Did she mean to enlighten her daughter? The fewer people to be apprised of their purposes, the better. Particularly a creature whose discretion might be suspect. Not that she was likely to let anything fall on purpose, but her tongue was clearly not under her full control.
The dowager was frowning. “How much did Francis tell you?”
“Oh, the bare bones, I imagine. That poor Emily was dead.” A little shiver shook the countess as she added, “Strangled in her own bed. And that matters were complicated because Randal was away. Oh, and that he was going to fetch Candia.”
For a moment the dowager did not speak, only sipping thirstily at her coffee. Ottilia thought she was weighing what she might say. At length she set down her cup and sighed. “There is no point in keeping it from you, but you must be careful not to give Candia an inkling of what we suspect.”
Her daughter’s eyes grew round with apprehension. “Suspect? Suspect what?”
“Randal departed for France in the early hours of that very morning. And Emily was killed, as far as we know, around the same time.”
The implication hit, and Lady Dalesford drew in breath sharply. “No! Oh no, Mama. He cannot have done it. Not Randal. It isn’t possible.”
“Unfortunately, it is quite possible. Not that I believe it for a moment. But until we can prove the contrary, Randal remains suspect.”
The flat tone had its effect. It occurred to Ottilia that the reality of the situation had not fully penetrated Lady Dalesford’s mind until this moment. Which accounted for the superficial response she had hitherto demonstrated. Her features blanched and anguish showed in her eyes. When she spoke, there was a tremor in her voice.
“Oh, poor children. Poor, poor children. Yes, I will take Candia away. She must not know of this. And Giles?”
“Francis has sent for him. I don’t know what he wrote, but Jardine is pledged to have a messenger find Giles and bring him home.”
Ottilia quietly rose and refilled the countess’s cup. “A little more coffee, ma’am?”
There was a blind look in her eyes as they found Ottilia. Dark eyes in a vibrant face, framed by locks of a darker hue than her brother’s, but with the same rich texture.
“Coffee? Oh — yes, thank you.”
Returning to her chair, Ottilia took care to adopt a matter- f-fact tone. “I am glad you are come, Lady Dalesford, for there is much to be done. Is it your intention to stay here?”
“No, I —” She seemed to have difficulty concentrating. “I had not thought.”
“Harriet has a very good town house of her own,” the dowager interposed.
“No doubt, but I wondered if perhaps her ladyship might be willing to assist you with the disposal of the marchioness’s effects.”
The countess had lifted the refilled cup to her lips, but at these words, her fingers shook perceptibly and she was obliged to set it down. There was a distinct quiver at her lips as she spoke. “Meddle with Emily’s things? Oh, I had rather not.”
Sybilla pounced on this. “Don’t be such a ninny, Harriet. If I can bear it, so can you. Besides, I had far rather trust to you than that featherbrained Huntshaw. She may do the heavy work.”
Lady Dalesford looked decidedly mulish. “But surely it is for Randal to —”
Her mother snorted. “We cannot possibly wait for Randal. And I am perfectly certain he will want nothing to do with such an enterprise. You know very well how distant were relations between those two.”
“Then that is settled,” said Ottilia, taking up her discarded roll again and turning to the dowager. “Why do you not go with your daughter to her house, ma’am, while she removes? I am sure you must have much to say to each other. And it will do you good to be an hour or two out of this atmosphere, do you not think?”
“Oh yes, Mama, do come with me. I am sure I should be the better for your company, for I am so overset, I scarcely know what I am doing.”
But Sybilla had no attention to spare for her daughter. Her keen gaze raked Ottilia. “And what are you proposing to do once you have me safely out of the way?”
Ottilia preserved her countenance. “My dear ma’am, I cannot imagine what gave you the notion that I wanted you out of the way.”
“You need not dissemble. I suppose you will be off questioning the servants without me.”
The accusatory tone made Ottilia smile. “To be frank with you, ma’am, I believe I may make more headway on my own.” She was obliged to interrupt an indignant retort. “Do not bite my head off, ma’am. All I meant was that the servants are more likely to open up when they are not confronted with the marquis’s mother.”
A reluctant sigh was drawn from the dowager and her little spurt of defiance died. “That I cannot deny. Very well, do as you wish. But I will want a full report.”
“Of course. But in any event I will question no one today, for I must take a last careful inspection of the marchioness’s bedchamber to ensure all is safe to be removed and packed away.”
Ottilia became aware that Lady Dalesford, apparently recovering from her stupefaction, was looking in puzzlement from one to the other.
“Do we seem to be talking in riddles, ma’am?”
The countess did not answer this directly. “You are questioning the servants?”
“Of course she is questioning the servants. How else are we to find out what happened?”
“But if Randal —”
“We are not dealing in ‘if,’ Harriet. We must proceed on the assumption that Randal did not kill his own wife.”
Lady Dalesford covered her eyes with one hand. “How can you, Mama?”
“Did you expect me to be mealy-mouthed? Nothing is to be gained by refusing to look at the thing squarely.”
“Yes, but —”
“But nothing. Emily is dead. Randal has vanished. If Ottilia cannot find evidence to support the view that her death has nothing to do with his departure, I may live to see my son tried by a jury of his peers. I have faced that, and so must you.”
The count
ess, surging up from her chair, brushed this aside. “What I am trying to ask you, Mama, is why this burden falls upon Ottilia — oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Draycott.”
“Pray don’t. We need not stand upon ceremony.”
“No, well, be that as it may, if Randal has gone, why in the world is Francis not the one to undertake these investigations?”
“Because your brother, competent as he has shown himself in dealing with the aftermath of this horrible affair, has not Ottilia’s genius.”
Here Ottilia felt bound to intervene. “I wish you will not say such things, ma’am. You will give Lady Dalesford an entirely erroneous impression.” She looked directly at the countess. “Your dismay is perfectly understandable, ma’am. Your mother exaggerates. If I have a knack, it lies perhaps in observing what others might not. And in this particular, as I have already had occasion to explain, I can more readily observe because I am not intimately involved.”
Lady Dalesford did not appear to be convinced. Her brows went up. “My dear Mrs. Draycott, if you have impressed my mother enough for her to be calling you a genius, I am ready to believe you possess far more than a ‘knack.’” All at once she smiled, reaching out across the table to grasp Ottilia’s hands. “I must thank you. If you can indeed find out the truth and clear my brother of suspicion, I shall join in singing your praises to the skies.”
Ottilia laughed and pressed the hands holding hers before releasing them. “I must beg you will do no such thing. And although I am satisfied there is sufficient evidence to support the belief that your brother is innocent, I cannot persuade myself that it will convince a jury.”
“Then pray do all in your power to change that view.”
Ottilia thanked her, and refrained from pointing out that until another suspect had been discovered, nothing would avail to determine Lord Polbrook’s complete innocence.
It was no bad thing, Ottilia felt, to send mother and daughter off together. There must be a deal to say upon the event that was not for the ears of a virtual stranger. She hoped Sybilla might be encouraged to unburden herself of the distresses that had come upon her these few days. Hard to believe so little time had passed, so eventful seemed the period.
The Lady Fan Series: Books 1-3 (Sapere Books Boxset Editions) Page 11
