by Issy Brooke
Adelia rolled her eyes. So far, so contradictory.
“However,” Harriet wrote, “There is a third way, and to this you might turn to Newbolt. Give the money, but send it in his care only, with the instructions that it is to be delivered from his hands to the hands of the master of the school that they have chosen for your nephew Wilson.”
If that were possible, it would solve all the problems. The Pegsworths could not claim that Adelia had shirked her duty but it would stop the money being waylaid by either Alf or Jane and frittered on whatever base pleasures they indulged in. Adelia trusted Harriet’s judgment. Thoughtfully, she folded the letter away. Now she simply had to find some money, and hope that the Reverend Newbolt didn’t get a sign from a passing blackbird that he should sail to the East Indies with it.
AND THEN ANOTHER NOTE came for Adelia and this one was from Lady Beaconberg, though she had signed herself Marguerite and wrote in a style so familiar it was as if they had been best friends since girlhood. In it, she begged for the greatest indulgence she could think of; would Adelia possibly consider staying at her house for a few days, to be an ally to her in her grief?
Adelia found the plea terribly sad. It spoke volumes about the state of the woman’s circle of friends; they were nothing more than hangers-on and society dilettantes, none of them who were now available to support the lady in her grief. As for Lady Beaconberg’s own blood relatives, Adelia could not recall a thing about them. Perhaps they were dead, or estranged, or simply uncaring. Whatever the circumstances, poor Lady Beaconberg now found herself utterly alone, and constrained by the conventions of mourning to remain in her own house, at least for a while.
Her daughter Elizabeth should have been some comfort to her mother, but Adelia remembered the flighty girl’s hint at her own dalliances, and thought that perhaps the young Elizabeth was going to make the most of the situation while her mother’s attentions and emotions were elsewhere. Adelia found that she wanted to like Elizabeth and forgive her the youthful foolishness, but she simply could not, and she was ashamed of that.
So she instructed Smith to pack her things and went to tell Theodore and the others of her temporary change of accommodation.
ADELIA ROLLED UP THE gravel driveway to Dovewood a bare two hours later, her travelling case at her feet in the carriage. It was a long driveway, calculated to impress, and the coachman let the horse walk at a sedate pace. It would not do to go charging up to the front door of a house of mourning. As they got to about halfway, a young man peeled out of the hedges that lined the drive, and caught up with the coach by walking briskly on the diagonal so that now he was alongside, and looking up with a worried face. Adelia knocked on the roof to ask the coachman to stop, but when she poked her head out of the window, the young man recoiled in surprise.
“Forgive me! I am mistaken. I thought that – sorry.”
“This is my son-in-law’s coach.” The Parker-Grey’s crest was painted on each of the doors. “Were you expecting to see Mr Parker-Grey?”
The man was respectably dressed, though pragmatically rather than finely. He doffed his hat to her. “Ah, no. He does not call here often. I thought that it more likely might have been Mrs Parker-Grey.”
“My daughter,” Adelia said with warmth. “I can pass on a message to her if you like; who shall I say is enquiring?”
“Oh, oh, no, you must not trouble yourself. In truth it was not her that I wished to speak to. I am concerned about – I hoped to speak to – well, perhaps send a message to ... Miss Parr.”
Ah. So could this be the young swain that Elizabeth Parr had pledged herself to? Although, Adelia reflected, it was equally likely that she had a string of hopeful young men, and it was not entirely certain that this man was the true object of her affections. She smiled kindly, and said, “Well, I am staying here for a few days, to keep Lady Beaconberg company, and if I can be of any assistance in passing a message through her to her daughter, I should be glad to oblige.”
He paled. Clearly the idea of the mother finding out about the daughter’s love interest was a horrifying one. “Oh! No, you must not trouble them at such a time! I am indebted to you...” and he was gone, walking at a trot that became a run as he reached the trees.
The coach rumbled on and Adelia shook her head ruefully. She resolved to corner Elizabeth privately as soon as she could.
THE COACHMAN WAS FROM the Parker-Grey household and as he helped her alight, she asked if he recognised the young man who had accosted them.
“Rowlandson, my lady. Francis Rowlandson.”
“What manner of man is he?”
“A decent one, by all accounts. Clever enough for his station in life.”
“And his station is...?”
The coachman grinned lopsidedly. “Middling, my lady. He is going into his father’s business – mills, I believe, cloth or yarn or something – typical Yorkshire self-made men, though to hear him speak you’d think he were from down South.” The coachman’s own accent was broad, and his expression when he spoke of the “south” was one of disapproval.
“Was it unusual that he should wish to speak to Mrs Parker-Grey?”
“Not at all. She speaks to everyone hereabout, and his father had endowed one of the local village schools, and she approves of that sort of thing.”
“And I approve of her approving of that sort of thing,” Adelia replied with a glow of pride which she tried to smooth over, pride being a sin even if it were pride in the goodness of one’s own offspring. She had no wish to bring bad luck down on the family. “Does she regularly convey messages between the young man and the people in the house, though?”
The coachman smiled. “As to that, no my lady; it is not a habit.”
Then it was a recent development, perhaps a bold move on the part of Rowlandson to make the most of the attentions of the house being elsewhere. The coachman began to carry her things into the house, and she went on ahead, to be received by a housekeeper and shown to the room that was to be her home for the next few days.
The house was quiet. Adelia got herself unpacked and settled. She wished she had asked Smith to come with her, but she knew her lady’s maid was enjoying a certain amount of leisure time while staying at the Grey House, as Mary had assigned a maid of her own who knew the ways of the house to assist Smith in all things. If she brought her to Dovewood, her usual duties would no doubt resume, and awkwardly too. Smith was familiar with the Grey House so Adelia thought it best to let her stay, but now she was thrown on her own resources.
A thin faced and silent woman came to her door about an hour before dinner, offering her services to help her dress, which was welcome. This serving maid was not to be drawn into conversation no matter what tack Adelia tried, and she gave up in the end, and allowed herself to be turned and pinned and brushed and pressed into place like a mute dressmaker’s form.
On her way down to the dining room she was able to seize a chance to speak to Elizabeth. The young woman, beautifully dressed in the most gorgeous black gown, was walking slowly down the stairs, as if lost in thought.
Adelia caught her up. “Miss Parr. Please allow me to humbly offer my most heartfelt condolences. If there is any assistance that I may render to you while I stay, or at any point in the future, please do not hesitate to call upon me. And I am not saying this for form’s sake. I absolutely mean it.”
Elizabeth’s porcelain face was composed and passive. “Thank you, my lady,” she murmured, every inch the demure daughter-in-mourning.
“There was one other who sent his regards,” Adelia continued as they reached the ground floor. “I met a young man on my way here who seemed to know you.”
Elizabeth walked very quickly away and Adelia scampered to keep up. But the young woman kept her head turned away and did not reply to Adelia’s words. Adelia tried again, saying as they approached the dining room door, “He was concerned and I believe his name was...”
“Lady Calaway!” Elizabeth stopped and whirled around to fac
e her. Adelia was struck by how tall she was, and how imperious. Had she lived in Boudicca’s time, a woman like Elizabeth Parr would have commanded armies. “Might I remind you of my state of mourning? You said just now that you would render me any assistance possible. This, then, is what I request of you: that you speak no more of any related matter. You understand exactly what I mean.” And she turned around and entered the dining room, leaving Adelia in a faint state of shock, transported back to her own schooldays when teachers had spoken to her in equally firm tones that expected complete obedience. It was doubly shocking that such a demand came from a young girl barely into her adulthood.
Goodness me, she thought as she followed Elizabeth’s straight back into the room. I rather pity poor Rowlandson if they do have an understanding between them. She has all of her mother’s confidence, but less than half of her wisdom. And that is saying something, given her mother’s own approach to life.
Lady Beaconberg was already at the table. She nodded at Adelia, and smiled very faintly.
After Lady Beaconberg had said grace, she whispered to Adelia, “Thank you so very much for coming,” and that was the last thing anyone uttered as the silent meal dragged on and each of them remained trapped in their own thoughts. Lady Beaconberg seemed disinclined to speak, and no one else could break the peace.
When the interruption came, Adelia was rather glad of it.
THEY HAD JUST RETIRED. Although there were no men at the table, and the meal had been a sombre one, still Lady Beaconberg seemed keen to follow the usual patterns of hospitality and she led Adelia and her daughter into the drawing room and offered around some sherry, which Adelia was happy to accept.
It was not yet late. Adelia sat on a wide chair and cast about for a suitable topic of conversation. Lady Beaconberg still seemed unwilling to talk, and Elizabeth took a novel to a corner of the room and sat staring at one page without ever turning it. Lady Beaconberg ordered a small fire to be lit, which threw out no heat at all, and she appeared to be content to gaze into the flames. Adelia wished she had a book to read, or to pretend to read; either would have done. She tried to sit still, feeling like it was a test of her patience not to fidget or squirm. Again she felt like she was at school again. First Elizabeth had shouted at her like a school mistress and now she was being expected to sit in silence.
A maidservant tapped at the door and sidled in. “If it please you, ma’am, but there is Sir Arthur here to see you.”
All of Lady Beaconberg’s placid reserve was cast off in an instant. She sat bolt upright and spat out, with sharp venom, “How dare he! What does he want?”
“He said only that he wished to convey his respects, ma’am.”
“He can leave a card like everyone else. Send him away.”
“Of course.” The maid bobbed a curtsey and left. Silence closed in on them again. Silence which was broken by rapid footsteps and a rapping on the drawing room door.
They heard the voice of the maidservant saying, urgently, “No, sir, you cannot go in! Carstairs, someone fetch Carstairs at once...”
Lady Beaconberg was on her feet as the door was flung open. There stood Sir Arthur, dressed in black, his face looking lined and strained.
“I have lost someone too, you know!” he blurted out. “It’s not all about you.”
“Get out!”
“Marguerite, listen.”
“How dare you! How dare you address me as if you know me!”
“I have known you for nigh on twenty years and there are things we must address. You don’t know what happened...”
Behind him, a tall butler appeared.
“Carstairs!” Lady Beaconberg said in strident tones. “Eject this man with as much force as is necessary and send for the police if he ever sets foot on my land again.”
Sir Arthur jerked his arm angrily, shaking the butler’s grasp loose. “I shall see myself out. But mark my words, Lady Beaconberg, this is not over. You know it is not! You will face the truth in the end, Lady Beaconberg.”
He slammed the door as he left.
Lady Beaconberg sank down to the chair again, quite pale, a delicate sheen of sweat on her upper lip.
Elizabeth was watching from her secluded spot but she did not stir from her seat and she did not speak. Adelia fancied that there was a hint of amusement playing in her eyes.
There was nothing like amusement on Lady Beaconberg’s face. “How dare he! As if I can talk business at a time like this.”
“He did say he wanted to pay his respects,” Adelia said cautiously. “Perhaps under the circumstances, as he is indeed the business partner of long standing...” But she tailed off. Lady Beaconberg’s face was thunderous.
“It was all about business, no matter what he dressed it up as. It always is, and I want no part in it! Now my poor dear husband is dead, that man can get out of my life and never return to it. Never. We shall not speak of this matter again.”
Adelia sipped at her sherry.
Elizabeth quirked a sly smile and continued to stare at one page of her book.
Lady Beaconberg fanned herself, sighed, and resumed her meditation on the flames.
The fire crackled, the clock ticked, and somewhere a floorboard creaked.
Now was not the time, Adelia surmised, to suggest a round of gin rummy.
Nine
“My dear heart,” Theodore said to Adelia the next day, “I spoke to everyone at the club. The two men argued but by all accounts, they were often at loggerheads; that is how they ran their business. There is no suggestion of foul play. Does Lady Beaconberg still insist that there was?”
“Yes. She mentioned it yet again this morning at breakfast,” Adelia told him. “So I assured her I would visit you today and ask you how the case progressed.”
He wanted to fling his hands in the air like an exasperated washerwoman. “There is no case!” Apart from the discrepancies around the carriage accident but surely the reports he had heard were simply wrong.
“There is perhaps more than a mere business disagreement between Sir Arthur and poor Lord Beaconberg,” she said, and proceeded to tell him of Sir Arthur’s unwelcome arrival the previous evening and how he was received – and ejected. “We were all most shocked.”
“Lack of breeding,” Theodore said, shaking his head. “Yet I do like the cove, for all that; and as you say that he said, he has lost someone too. He must be grieving for the loss of a dear friend.”
“They did not seem like friends to me. And the lack of breeding was on Lady Beaconberg’s part, in truth.”
“Yet they once were friends, Sir Arthur and Beaconberg, at least.”
“I suppose they must have been,” she said. “But I know nothing of Sir Arthur’s family.”
“And is family so important?” he asked her, looking at her closely. “For one’s reputation, I mean.”
She turned away. “I shall do my best to assuage Lady Beaconberg of her fears but she is a singularly determined woman. And even you concur that perhaps the body was found in an unusual way.”
“I am not certain that it was. I suspect that the policeman was mistaken and the reports are wrong and rumours have twisted the truth. Tell that to Lady Beaconberg but also do assure her that I shall endeavour, today, to get to the bottom of that matter once and for all. It will put her mind at rest.”
“If it were foul play, it all points to Sir Arthur being the cause of it, doesn’t it?” Adelia said musingly.
“Does it?” Theodore tapped his thumbnail on his teeth until he realised his wife was wincing. He sat on his hand. “Who inherits? That would be his wife, I would imagine. So surely that makes her a suspect.”
“Oh, Lady Beaconberg is positively distraught. She would not be so upset if she were the cause of all of this.”
“Unless she was trying to throw us off the scent!”
Adelia smiled at him and he bristled at the note of indulgence that came into her voice as she said, “In that case, she need have said nothing. If she were th
e root cause of this accident – and I cannot see how – then as the police have ruled it a terrible tragedy, all she needed to have done was to remain silent. By insisting that there was foul play, she has only drawn attention to the event. It makes very little sense. Lady Beaconberg is many things – snobbish, shallow, mercenary – but she is not stupid.”
“Mercenary,” Theodore repeated. “Money makes people do many things. While you stay with her, I suggest only that you pay as close attention as possible to Lady Beaconberg and her situation. As for my part, today I shall be paying a visit to the coroner himself. We have some mutual connections and I will work those connections to my advantage. I will find out exactly how and why Lord Beaconberg died.”
Adelia nodded. “Very well. Though such spying makes me feel somewhat like a snake. Good luck to you, too.”
He pressed her hands, revelling for a moment in the soft warmth of her skin, and then took his leave. He had already sent a note to the coroner, full of apologies at the intrusion and mentions of their mutual friends, and was hoping to gain admittance to his offices that very day.
HE WAS QUICKLY AND surprisingly successful.
The coroner, a Mr Emrys Jenkins, was small, dark, Welsh, and full of joy at meeting Theodore. “I have heard all about you, sir, all about you!” he exclaimed with glee, plying Theodore with brandy before they were half into his offices in York. “Godfrey Jones told Sir Hamilton who spoke with Lord Fanshawe – you know the man? Everyone knows the man! – and related to us all, at some length, the doings at Mondial Castle. What a carry-on! What an adventure! You are working on a pamphlet, I assume? I cannot wait to read it. Cigar?”
“No, and no thank you.” A pamphlet? The idea had not even crossed Theodore’s mind. He wondered what Adelia would say to that. And then he quickly resolved not to mention it to her. Knowing his wife, she’d not only agree, but she would grab a pen and begin the process herself.
