The Lacemaker (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  “But it could be something wonderfully exciting!” Poppy said, her eyes aglow. “A prince wishes to marry one of us, or… or… a long-lost relation wishes to claim us. A duke, perhaps, and we should go to live in his castle and eat peaches every day.”

  “Then you would be very ill, eating so many peaches,” Caroline said.

  “But you will go to see this Mr Stratton?” Lin said anxiously. “So little ever happens to us that, even if it’s a mistake, it will be amusing, won’t it?”

  “Oh, yes, and the letter is addressed to all of us, so we may all go and meet this young Mr Stratton, and hear his tidings of a most interesting kind. In fact, let us attend him promptly at eight, so that we may have the rest of the day to do our work. I have a new piece to begin and I should like to make a good start tomorrow.”

  The following morning, therefore, as soon as the Abbey clock had struck eight, they donned their cloaks, bonnets and gloves and walked the short distance to the premises of Stratton, Walsh, Stratton and Stratton. The door was locked and the shutters were closed.

  “Typical,” Caroline muttered, but even as they loitered uncertainly, debating whether to go home again or to wait, the clerk arrived with a rush.

  “Good day, good day, good day, ladies! Miss Milburn…” He bowed perfunctorily to Caroline. “Miss Elinor Milburn.” Another, much lower, bow. “Miss… um… um… Do come inside, ladies. You will be wishful to see the younger Mr Stratton, I perceive.”

  He unlocked the door and they meekly followed him inside. Caroline could not help smiling. Every clerk and apprentice in Romsey knew Lin’s name and face, and accorded her that special courtesy reserved for a beautiful woman. Caroline was known to most of them only as Lin’s older sister, and Poppy was of no account at all. If only Lin could attract the notice of a gentleman, someone of independent means who could afford to marry her and perhaps support her two less pretty sisters. One day, perhaps, but the months and years were passing by, with no sign of such a person.

  Not two minutes later, the elder Mr Stratton arrived, accompanied by a younger man, unknown to them. Caroline had to agree with Susie’s description of the stranger as ‘a fine looking man’. He was slender and not above average height, but he had a charmingly pleasant countenance, which was currently wreathed in smiles, as if his day afforded him no greater delight than to meet three uninteresting spinsters with neither money nor prospects. He dressed well, like a gentleman, and… yes, he had noticed Lin. They always noticed Lin.

  “Well now, how delightful to see you all again, and under such happy circumstances,” the elder Mr Stratton said. Happy circumstances? For the first time, Caroline felt a flicker of interest. “Miss Milburn, may I present to you my nephew, another Mr Stratton you see, who has just joined us from Portsmouth now that my father is unhappily not able to undertake as much of the business as was his wont. Nephew, this is Miss Milburn, and Miss Elinor Milburn, and Miss Penelope Milburn.”

  “Delighted! Delighted!” he cried, executing his bow with a flourish. “So happy to make your acquaintance, especially with such wonderful news to impart. Such an exciting day for you all, and for me also, for you are my very first clients. Do come into my office. Mind the rug! There is a worn patch just there, so do take the greatest care. My uncle will be just next door if you have any questions which I am unable to answer, but he is entrusting your case entirely to me. This way, ladies.”

  All the time, the wide smile on his face never wavered, and Caroline decided that his enthusiasm was genuine. Whether he was always thus, or it was related to the information he had to convey to them, or whether it was merely the effect that Lin had on him was uncertain. Probably the latter, she decided, for he could scarcely take his eyes off her.

  The clerk followed them into the office, and fussed about arranging chairs on one side of the desk. When they were seated, the clerk withdrew and Mr Stratton took his own seat. The desk was entirely empty, and although the shelves lining the room were laden with serious-looking tomes, there was not a thing out of place, not a document or a pen holder or an opened book to be seen anywhere. Mr Stratton was indeed very new to Romsey if he had not yet had time to clutter his office with the detritus of his occupation.

  “Now then, ladies, to business,” he said, the smile widening even further. “There is good news, but, as is so often the case, there is some rather sad news for me to impart first.” The smile faded, replaced by a solemn expression, and his voice dropped to a low, sympathetic tone. “I am very sorry to have to inform you that your grandfather has died.”

  There was a long silence in the room, as the sisters exchanged glances.

  “This is indeed sad,” Caroline said, “but it is hardly news, Mr Stratton. Both our grandfathers died some years ago. Grandfather Milburn departed the world some ten years ago, and Grandfather Carter before Mama was even born.”

  “Ah,” he said, and for the first time he looked uncomfortable. “Is that what you were told? I regret to inform you that you have been misled. Your maternal grandfather was not called Carter and he did not die until last month.”

  “That cannot be so,” Caroline said. “His name was George Carter, and he was a soldier in the 37th Regiment of Foot. He was killed in action in India.”

  Mr Stratton gently shook his head. “His name was Abraham Wishaw. He was a hop merchant, primarily, although he dabbled in other commodities. He died just a few weeks ago when the ship bringing him from Ireland foundered.”

  And in that moment, every truth in Caroline’s life crashed in pieces to the floor.

  2: Bursham Cottage

  “I don’t understand,” Poppy said.

  “Nor do I,” Caroline said sadly. “Was there ever a Mr Carter? Was Grandmama even married at all?”

  Mr Stratton shook his head. “Lucy Carter, your maternal grandmother, was the daughter of a gamekeeper, and Mr Wishaw…” He eyed Poppy cautiously. “Let us say only that they had dealings together, and your mama was the result. Mr Wishaw was a wealthy man, and so he paid handsomely to establish your grandmother and her daughter comfortably and respectably. He provided an annuity. He had your mother educated, and when she showed aptitude as a lacemaker, he arranged for her to be properly taught. When she married, he saw that she had a modest dowry. That provides you with an income to this day.”

  “Sixty pounds a year,” Caroline said hollowly. Her grandfather was a wealthy man. She could not quite believe it. Why had Mama never told them? Perhaps she had known nothing of it herself. Perhaps she, too, had believed in the fiction of the soldier killed in action. If the records were checked, would she discover that the 37th Foot had never been in India at all? Everything she had once taken as a certainty was a lie.

  Mr Stratton leaned forward eagerly. “Clearly this has come as something of a shock to you, but it is not so bad as you might think. Mr Wishaw always took care of his daughter, and he has extended that care even in death. May I—?”

  Caroline was not very interested in Mr Wishaw. “What about us?” she said brusquely. “We have always considered ourselves respectable, but if Mama was not… was not… then we are not… not legal either.”

  “Oh, no, no, no!” Mr Stratton said, flapping his hands in distress. “No, you are all perfectly legitimate. Your parents’ marriage was completely valid in every way. The matter has been thoroughly gone into, very thoroughly, by myself and my uncle also. You need not have the least concern on that score, I do assure you. Up until the time of her marriage, Mr Wishaw had watched over your mother quite carefully, demanding an annual reckoning from my uncle, and my great-uncle before him, as to your mother’s situation. But once she married… well, he considered that his oversight was no longer needed, for she had your father to look after her. But now… Miss Milburn, may I explain to you all that has occurred in the last few weeks to alter your situation quite considerably?”

  She had barely taken in the revelation of her mother’s status — she was illegitimate, a thing shocking to the church, to the w
orld and to Caroline herself. Her grandmother had never been married, had given birth to a child outside the holy estate of matrimony — it was indecent! But he didn’t wait for her answer.

  “Mr Wishaw had business interests in Ireland, so from time to time he visited that country,” he said. “He was returning from one such visit last month when he embarked on the Brig Minerva at Dublin. Have you heard of the Brig Minerva?”

  Mutely, Caroline shook her head. To her left, Lin held her hands in a grip so tight that it must surely cause her pain, and Poppy was pale, frowning a little. She was but fifteen! How much of this was comprehensible to her? Not much, she must hope.

  “The Brig Minerva hit a rock off the Cornish coast and sank with the loss of almost all lives,” he said. “Mr Wishaw was amongst those unfortunates who drowned. But being a prudent man, he left a will. May I read you the relevant section?”

  Again Caroline nodded. Although Mr Stratton’s eyes strayed often to Lin, he deferred always to Caroline, as the eldest. She was used to that, but somehow today she felt quite unable to play the rôle of wise older sister. She was adrift and rudderless, all her surety swept away. She wished her mother were there. Had she known? Or would she have been as shocked as her daughters?

  Mr Stratton opened a drawer of the desk and pulled forth a piece of parchment. “I need not trouble you with the preamble,” he said. “There are some small bequests, and then the business interests and the contents of his principal bank account left to his partner. Ah, here we are, this is the part. I shall read it to you exactly as it is written, although you will find the language hard to understand, I daresay.”

  He cleared his throat. The wide smile was back. ‘Having no wife or other children to consider, I hereby give and bequeath to my natural daughter Elizabeth Milburn wife of Henry Milburn linen draper of Romsey and her heirs and assigns for ever the messuage tenement or dwellinghouse known as Bursham Cottage situate standing and being at Bursham St Matthew aforesaid wherein I now live together with all my household goods furniture plate linen china and personal effects of whatever sort such as may be found within the said messuage tenement or dwellinghouse, to be hers for her own absolute use and benefit And I further give and bequeath to the said Elizabeth Milburn the sum of five thousand pounds to be put out to interest in the stocks called the Long Annuities which I desire she may have the interest of paid to her during her natural life and after her decease the same sum to be equally divided amongst all the children of the said Elizabeth Milburn.’

  He gazed at Caroline over the top of the document, eyes gleaming. “Do you understand any of that, Miss Milburn?”

  “Five thousand pounds,” she said slowly. “Invested in the stocks. Two hundred pounds a year.”

  He beamed at her merrily. “Very well done! Your ability with numbers is admirable, quite admirable. And also the house.”

  “Bursham Cottage,” Lin said. “And all the household goods.”

  “A cottage,” Poppy breathed. “I should like to live in a cottage. Does it have roses round the door?”

  “Vegetables!” Lin said. “Is there a garden to grow vegetables? And a herb garden! We can make lavender pillows.”

  “Chickens!” Poppy cried. “We can keep chickens!”

  “Wait!” Caroline said. “We don’t know if—”

  “Lambs!” Poppy shrieked. “Goats… piglets… kittens…”

  Mr Stratton laughed in delight. “Ah, it sounds charming, quite charming! Let me tell you something about the property.” He drew another document from the drawer. “Now then… let me see… ah, yes, it has four rooms…”

  That was a disappointment. Only two rooms more than they presently had.

  “…and four bedrooms, as well as the usual domestic offices — kitchen, pantries, cellarage, et cetera.”

  Better. Caroline adjusted her ideas somewhat.

  “Outbuildings… although it does not say what. Approximately two acres of land about the house itself, including a good orchard.”

  Two acres… “How big is two acres?” she said tentatively.

  “About the size of a field… or two. I am not very sure,” he confessed. “There is also pasturage in the form of two fields, presently rented to a neighbouring farmer for the sum of thirty two pounds a year.”

  “Thirty two… and two hundred… and Mama’s sixty… that is almost three hundred pounds a year,” Caroline said wonderingly. “Not including whatever we can earn from our usual occupations.”

  “My dear Miss Milburn,” he said, laying down the paper and leaning back in his chair, the smile wider than ever. “With an income of three hundred pounds a year, and the produce from your own garden to reduce your expenses, you will not need to earn anything. You will be ladies of independent means. You will be very comfortably situated. Very comfortably indeed.”

  “Comfortably situated,” she echoed wonderingly. She could hardly believe it.

  ~~~~~

  A few days later, Mr Stratton hired a small carriage and accompanied them to view their new house. Lin and Poppy twittered happily of all that they would do when they were living there — the animals Poppy would keep, and the vegetables and herbs Lin would grow. Mr Stratton joined in enthusiastically, for he was enthusiastic about everything, even turnips. Caroline watched the countryside roll by and wondered what they would find. Perhaps the house would be too dilapidated to live in. A leaking roof or sagging floors would be beyond their means to repair, and then she would have to play the rôle of parent-figure and tell her sisters that it was impossible. Sometimes she felt as if she were forty instead of only two and twenty.

  Eventually they came to the village of Bursham St Matthew, a prosperous looking place with several houses of some size, and rows of neat cottages with well-kept gardens and chickens scratching energetically.

  “Chickens…” Poppy sighed happily.

  “The church and parsonage… a baker… an apothecary…” Lin cried, peering through the carriage window. “A smith… a chandler of some sort… a butcher and poulterer… Oh. No grocer.”

  “I believe there are several villages in close proximity,” Mr Stratton said. “There will be a grocer in one of the others.”

  As they drove out of the far side of the village, they passed two substantial entrances, their drives curving away to unseen houses some distance away.

  “Your neighbours,” Mr Stratton said. “Ah, I believe we are arriving.”

  The carriage slowed and then stopped, and they peered out at a pair of tall stone gate posts, with the words ‘Bursham Cottage’ painted on them. Metal palings and high iron gates, padlocked shut, protected a proper carriage drive leading to a solidly substantial house, not a cottage at all, and much bigger than Caroline had envisaged.

  “I cannot unlock the gates,” Mr Stratton said. “The Salisbury solicitor has the full set of keys, and he is not here yet. I have only a key to the front door.”

  They clambered out of the coach and descended to the road, looking about uncertainly. To one side of the main gates, a small side gate stood invitingly open, and with a cry of joy, Poppy ran straight through it and vanished from view.

  “Poppy, wait!” Caroline called, but she was long gone.

  “I’ll look after her,” Lin called back, as she set off in pursuit.

  Caroline sighed.

  “She is a free spirit,” Mr Stratton said, his smile sympathetic. “Let us examine the house, shall we?”

  The drive was not long, ending in a circular sweep before the front door. The house was neatly proportioned, with a bay window either side of the entrance, another floor above that, and attic windows protruding from a roof in good repair. The shutters were all closed and there were no broken panes in the windows. The garden, however, was in a sad state of neglect. Brown grass grew waist high, and here and there overgrown and weed-infested clumps of shrubs suggested the remains of pleasure grounds. Poppy and Lin had disappeared into the wilderness.

  The front door yielded at once to Mr Str
atton’s key, and they stepped into a large and well-appointed entrance hall, fitted out with old-fashioned but solid oak furniture. High ceilings and a branching staircase gave it an airy feel.

  “All the contents are yours, of course,” Mr Stratton said, gazing about him. “Shall we explore?”

  The first room was clearly a study or office, perfectly tidy and the bookcases empty, but with dust on every surface.

  “Mr Wishaw’s business partner has taken all the ledgers and documents,” Mr Stratton said, gazing around at the forlorn bookcases. “There is not much left, is there? I suppose Mr Wishaw was not a great reader.”

  Opposite it was a parlour. It was not quite grand enough to be called a drawing room, but it was clearly a place for receiving callers. Then a dining room, and finally a room in a state of disorder, filled with boxes and bolts of fabric, bottles and heaped-up chairs, candlesticks with stubs of candles and all the detritus of a household not too particular about tidiness.

  “A morning room?” Mr Stratton suggested.

  Caroline shook her head. “The light is wrong. Perhaps in high summer, but I would prefer the parlour to work in, I think, and the looms… there are windows in the attic, so that may be the best place for them. Four bedrooms, I think you said, so we may have a room each, even Susie.”

  “Miss Milburn,” Mr Stratton said tentatively, “I wonder if you have considered inviting a female relative to live here with you? An older woman — an aunt, perhaps. A widow, or some such. The world might look askance at three young women setting up house together.”

  “I have considered it, for about two minutes,” she said, with a smile. “We have no aunts or cousins or widowed relations that I would not be pulling caps with inside an hour. I’ve been the head of our small family for two years, ever since Mama died, and I am loath to surrender my position now. Besides, we are not gentry, Mr Stratton. We work for our bread, and although that no longer has the urgency it once did, we shall not be sitting about embroidering fire screens or paying morning calls on the ladies of the parish.”