The Lacemaker (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  “How sad!” Lin cried. “What a great tragedy, to lose two sons at once.”

  “Oh… no, they did not die at the same time, no. The middle one, Benjamin, died first, but he was always sickly, even as a boy, so it was no great surprise. But Alfred — such a great, strong fellow, one would not have supposed… but there you are, there is no knowing when one may be struck down by a putrid fever, which is why we would so like to see Charles married before too long. You have met Charles, of course?”

  “Um… have we?” Caroline said, floundering rather.

  “Oh, yes! He found your young sister wandering in Corran Woods, and saw her safely home.”

  Ah, she remembered him — the very rude young man. His step-mother was optimistic if she imagined any woman brave enough or foolish enough to take him on. “He forgot to give us his name,” Caroline said blandly. “I wish you good fortune in your search for a wife for him.”

  She beamed happily. “Why, thank you, Miss Milburn.” Her eyes slid to Lin, then back to Caroline. “I am sure we shall have no trouble in that regard. Such a handsome boy, and the heir to his father’s estate now, of course.” Again she glanced at Lin and back. “Not the least trouble in the world.”

  Caroline’s spirits rose after this visit. Perhaps there was hope of a husband for Lin yet, although Mr Leatham would have to improve his manners markedly before she could be comfortable about such a match.

  If she was surprised to receive a visit from Mrs Leatham, she was even more surprised when, only an hour later, another carriage rolled up the drive, this one with two footmen on the back. ‘Lady Elland, Corranswater’, read the card. Once more Caroline and Lin found themselves receiving a caller in the parlour.

  Lady Elland was very different from the sociable Mrs Leatham. She was a sour-faced woman of an indeterminate age somewhere between forty and fifty. Caroline was unfamiliar with the peerage, but she suspected that Lady Elland’s vast array of jewels, furs and lace was excessive even for a baron’s wife. It was not even very good lace, and her hat was so over-burdened with feathers it looked as if it might fly away. The visitor gazed around the room with disfavour.

  “Hmpf,” she sniffed. “This room is very cold.”

  “If we’d known your ladyship planned to call, we’d have started the fire earlier,” Caroline said.

  “Today is Friday, is it not? Friday is your day to be at home. Bursham St John on Tuesdays, Bursham All Saints on Wednesdays, myself and Mrs Leatham on Thursdays and Bursham St Matthew on Fridays. Valmont is Tuesday or Friday, but I daresay you will not be calling there.”

  “Valmont?” Caroline said.

  “The Litherholms. The Duke of Falconbury.”

  “Oh no, we will not be calling there,” Caroline said. “Indeed, your ladyship is mistaken in imagining us to be persons used to making or receiving morning calls at all. We are not gentry. I am a lacemaker by trade, and my sisters are weavers and painters.”

  “Hmpf,” she said again. “That is honest, in any event. Very well, let us dispense with the pleasantries.”

  Caroline had not noticed any pleasantries, but she inclined her head in acknowledgement.

  Lady Elland shifted a little on her chair, her cheeks slightly flushed, and if Caroline had not thought her incapable of such emotion, she would have suspected her of being embarrassed.

  “Mr Wishaw, your late grandfather, held certain documents in his safe keeping,” she said, her eyes not quite meeting Caroline’s. “Important documents relating to my husband’s family. Naturally, Lord Elland would like them back. Did you find any such documents about the house?”

  If Caroline thought it odd that Mr Wishaw had been holding important documents belonging to Lord Elland, she decided not to say so. Best with such neighbours to accept the enquiry at face value.

  “We have found no documents of any sort in the house,” she said. “Mr Wishaw’s business partner took everything related to the business, and we have found nothing else, apart from a few bills and personal letters.”

  “Have you examined the desk? Wishaw’s bedchamber? The bookcases?”

  “The desk drawers and shelves in the study were empty, except for writing things and sealing wax and such like items, and there were no documents in the safe. The bedchamber held nothing but clothes and personal effects.”

  “Hmpf.” She gazed at Caroline with narrowed eyes, as if unsure whether to believe her or not. “Well… if you should happen upon such documents, you will remember that they are Lord Elland’s property, and must be handed back to him forthwith.”

  “They would hardly be of any use to us,” Caroline said, in surprise. “If we find anything relating to his lordship, you may be sure we will return it promptly.”

  “Make sure that you do,” she said. “They have… no value in themselves, you understand, but my husband is sentimentally attached to any detail of his family’s history. He would be very grateful to have them returned to him. Very well, we understand each other, I am sure. I bid you good day, Miss Milburn, Miss Elinor.”

  Caroline and Lin accompanied her to the door and watched her assisted into her carriage by the two footmen, who wrapped furs around her as tenderly as if she were a piece of porcelain.

  As the carriage bounced away down the drive, Caroline said thoughtfully, “That was odd, but I daresay we shan’t see her again.”

  “I hope not,” Lin said. “I didn’t like her at all. What do you suppose these documents are that she is so keen to recover?”

  “No idea,” Caroline said, “but I wonder greatly why Mr Wishaw should have had them. However, if they are anywhere in this house, they are too well-hidden for us to find. I expect the business partner scooped them up. He seems to have taken everything else in the way of papers and books. We had better keep an eye open for them, but I doubt we will find anything.”

  ~~~~~

  The Leathams met in the saloon before dinner. Charles’s father was always the first down nowadays, to have his traditional sherry before Mildred and her censorious eyes arrived. Not that she ever criticised openly, but her lips pursed in a certain way that was enough to sour a man’s pleasure in his favourite tipple. Mr Leatham was approaching seventy years old, a kindly man who looked fondly on everyone, and would not for a kingdom distress a lady by his actions. Charles was not quite so honourable. He was not over-fond of sherry, but since Mildred had descended upon them, it had amused him to join his father at the sherry decanter, and if Mildred disapproved of such a harmless activity, there was nothing he could do about that.

  “Well, Charles,” his father said, as he accepted his sherry from the footman. “Did you have a look at the smithy roof?”

  “I… had a look at it, yes,” Charles said cautiously. “Hapgood thinks it will do for another year or two yet.”

  “But what do you think?”

  “I am not sure. It does leak sometimes, but only when the rain is particularly heavy and from the east, and Hapgood says that—” He broke off at his father’s raised eyebrow. “The trouble is, we have already committed ourselves to the new windows for the dairy cottages, and there is the work on the upper fields. I am very mindful of the expense. You always say that we have to balance the immediate needs against the long-term management of the estate.” When his father still said nothing, he went on, “I beg your pardon, sir. I am not very good at this.”

  His father’s eyes twinkled. “You are not very experienced at it, that is all. Hapgood is a great one for putting off the repairs for a year or two, and sometimes that means that there is a great deal more work to be done and expense incurred to set it to rights. If the leaking roof damages the roof struts, it will cost far more than a few tiles and half a day’s labour. We cannot afford to have the smithy out of action for long or all his customers will go elsewhere and then we shall have less rent from him. Do you see? All these things must be taken into account.”

  “I do see, sir, yes. It is just… so complicated.”

  “You will get used to it.
” The door opened to admit the two ladies, and the elder Mr Leatham swallowed the rest of his sherry at a gulp, thrusting the empty glass hastily into the hands of the footman. “Ah, there you are, my dear, as lovely as ever. And Miss Beacher. You are well, I trust?”

  “I am always well, thank you,” Mildred said. “How are your rheumatics today, sir? Will you not ease your joints and sit? Let me fetch you a footstool and arrange a cushion at your back.”

  Obediently he did as he was bid, and allowed her to fuss over him, although he declined a shawl, protesting that there was a good blaze in the hearth and he was not in the least chilled.

  “Well, Charles, I have found just the wife for you,” his mother said, drawing him aside. “I called upon the Miss Milburns and the elder will suit you admirably, I believe.”

  “The elder?” He had a vague memory of an argumentative young woman. “You like her?”

  “Very well indeed. The middle sister is prettier, but empty-headed, more interested in her garden than anything else, and the youngest is but fifteen. I did not meet her, but she is too young to be considered. Miss Milburn impressed me most favourably as a very sensible, practical sort of person.”

  “Practical?” he said with a sinking heart.

  “Practical,” she said firmly. “The worst possible wife for your position is an over-refined person with finicking ways and expenses to match. Miss Milburn may not be a gentleman’s daughter, but she struck me most forcibly with her command of domestic matters. Knew to a nicety every candlestick in the house and barrel in the cellar. That is what you need, Charles — a woman of sound common sense, not someone with high-flown ideas above her station.”

  “Miss Milburn,” he said gloomily. There would be no comfort to be had from such a woman, he was sure.

  Mrs Leatham laughed merrily. “Now do not look so dismal, dear boy. Believe me, it is for the best. Men are too inclined to fall for the first handsome face than comes their way, and it does not answer. You want a woman who will be a help and support to you, not a flighty creature who will over-spend her pin-money every quarter. Trust me, practical is better than pretty.”

  “Is it so?” he said, smiling down at her. “I shall point out to Father what a mistake he made in marrying you, then.”

  She had the grace to blush. “Oh, well… a second marriage is quite different. A man may please himself then, you know. But for a first marriage…”

  “I take the point.” He sighed. “Miss Milburn, then.”

  5: Chance And Good Fortune

  Charles had a chance to view his prospective bride in happier circumstances at church on Sunday. All three sisters attended, arriving just as the Starlingford carriage was disgorging its occupants. His eye was instantly drawn to the pretty middle sister, clutching a handful of primroses, which she arranged carefully on a freshly-dug grave near the lych gate. Pretty and sentimental, then, for old Bill Smith, the present smith’s grandfather, could mean nothing to her. The youngest sister bore a vacuous expression, so his gaze passed swiftly on to Miss Milburn. She was studying him with some intensity, and not with favour, to judge by her unsmiling countenance. His step-mother diverted his attention, and when he next looked, the sisters were halfway to the church door.

  The angle of the Leatham pew was such that he could see nothing of the sisters during the services, but there they were outside the church as the worshippers spilt out into the churchyard, the vicar busily introduced them to the worthies of Bursham St Matthew. His step-mother bustled across to the trio straight away, gesturing to him to follow. Reluctantly, his heart sinking at the prospect of three simpering females, he did so.

  “Miss Milburn!” his step-mother called breezily. “Do let me introduce you to my son. Come along, Charles, and meet the Miss Milburns. This is my son Charles, who would much rather be off with the army than lounging about at home, I am sure. The country is very dull for an active young man, but your coming is just the thing to liven us up. Charles, this is Miss Milburn, Miss Elinor Milburn and Miss Penelope Milburn.”

  He bowed, they curtsied and he waited politely for Miss Milburn to speak first.

  “How do you do, Mr Leatham. Have you run down any more young ladies lately?” Miss Milburn said.

  If she had smiled he might have thought it a jest, but her expression was anything but friendly. “I do not make a habit of it, madam.”

  “I am very glad to hear it. It would be shocking indeed if we could not walk about the footpaths and byways of Hampshire without the fear of being mown down by gentlemen riding too fast.”

  “I was not riding too fast!” he began, before catching his step-mother’s delicately raised eyebrow. Quickly, he turned to the youngest sister. “I trust you suffered no harm from our unfortunate encounter, Miss Poppy?”

  “Oh no, except that the dear little mouse ran away. I do so love mice, don’t you?”

  “Erm… I cannot say…”

  “Although Caro says that we must let the barn cat roam the house and it kills all the dear little mice. That is such a pity, isn’t it? Susie screams when she sees one, but I like them. Such funny little creatures, with their tiny noses! But we are to have chickens soon, just as soon as Caro can arrange it. Baby chickens are such darlings, aren’t they?”

  “Erm…” He looked helplessly round for support, but found his step-mother engrossed in a discussion with Mr Christopher. Miss Elinor had wandered off to fiddle with the flowers she had left on Bill Smith’s grave. Only Miss Milburn remained. Desperately, he said, “And how do you like this part of Hampshire, Miss Milburn? It is very different from Romsey.”

  “Oh, very. I have never seen so much mud in my life before.”

  Again he looked for any sign of humour in her manner, but could see none. “It is an inevitable consequence of wet weather,” he said coldly. “You will grow accustomed.”

  “I am sure of it, but that does not make it an attraction. The town is superior to the country in every way, in my opinion.”

  “That is because you know nothing of the matter,” he said hotly. “The country has so much beauty in its woods and fields, so much open space and good, clean air, so much freedom to move about untrammelled by crowds or a press of vehicles. There is no comparison.”

  “Indeed there is not. Towns have convenience, cleanliness and every want within easy reach. The country has wild animals everywhere, hostile gamekeepers, pleasant walks made dangerous by young men riding too fast, and mud. Inordinate quantities of mud.”

  “Miss Milburn, it is disingenuous to—” His eye was drawn by the younger Miss Milburns, who were now in animated discussion with several members of the Smith family at the flower-strewn graveside. “Do tell me, why has your sister laid flowers on the grave of a man she cannot have known?”

  “Oh, that is Lin’s latest scheme to make money,” Miss Milburn said calmly. “She thinks if she makes up posies of pretty flowers, she can sell them to grieving relations.”

  “But why could they not pick their own flowers?”

  “They could, of course. Lin will work that out, in time. For the moment, she is happily occupied scouring our wilderness of a garden for wild blooms and tying them into pretty bunches with ribbon.”

  He could think of no sensible answer to this, so attempted none. He threw a helpless glance at his step-mother, who at last recognised his dilemma and came to his rescue, sweeping him off to their carriage, where his father waited patiently for them.

  “They are crazy, those Milburn girls,” Charles said, as he helped his step-mother to her seat. “Are you quite sure you want me to marry one of them, Mama?”

  “Perfectly sure,” she said. Then, as he tucked a rug around her against any chills, she added, “Not the younger ones, for they would not suit you at all, but Miss Milburn will do admirably. I shall call upon her again this week, and you may accompany me, like the dutiful son you are, and then you will see.”

  “Will I,” he said, not in the least convinced.

  But as he watched Mil
dred break off her earnest discussion with Mr Christopher on the nuances of his sermon text and approach the carriage, Miss Milburn, for all her antipathy towards him, seemed very much the lesser evil.

  ~~~~~

  John Christopher arrived at the kitchen door promptly at seven o’clock the following morning, armed with his own scythe and whetstone, and was directed at once to the neglected lawns.

  “Aye, I knew you’d be needing me,” he said smugly. “Mr Wishaw always did the garden himself, but he were never interested in the lawns. Always let them get long. Now the kitchen gardens, he’d be there digging and hoeing and weeding till all hours, but the lawns he cared nothing for.”

  When she took a tankard of ale out to him mid-morning, Caroline said, “Why are you not at school, Mr Christopher? With your father a clergyman, I’d have thought you’d have been chained to a desk with your Greek primers.”

  He laughed. “Nay, I’m no scholar, and Father never expected it of me. There’s no money for schooling, Miss Milburn, not at the parsonage. Father’s taught us our letters and some numbering, but that’s the extent of it. Tossed out at twelve to make our way, we are. Anne and Lucy are in service, and I help out at the Starlingford Home Farm in the summer. Now Walter — he shows some cleverness. Father’s teaching him Latin and a bit of Greek. Might get a scholarship, who knows? He’s ten, and maybe he’ll make something of himself, but the rest of us are only good for scything.”

  He laughed, not in the least discomfited, and Caroline left him to it. He was a good worker, and fast, for the garden quickly emerged from its wrapping of long grass and weeds. It was surprising how much better the house looked when the ragged, brown grasses surrounding it were scythed down to the ground and the green spring shoots were visible. Before long, a path to the kitchen garden had been uncovered, and Lin was able to don her stoutest boots and gloves, and begin work on her project of supplying the house with fresh vegetables and herbs. First, however, they needed seeds, and the helpful Mr Christopher informed them of a lady in Bursham All Saints who could supply them with several of their most urgent requirements. Since Bursham All Saints also contained a grocer and a haberdasher, it was no hardship to decide that an early visit was very necessary, despite the mud on the lanes.