A Murderous Marriage

by Alyssa Maxwell

  “Then please let Lady Julia know I must speak to her.”

  “Must speak to her?” Miss Blair chuckled. “Really, Miss Huntsman—”

  “Huntford.”

  “Yes, well, who is the employer here, and who the maid?”

  Eva clenched her teeth rather than speak her mind to this woman. They reached the bottom of the stairs, and she turned to look Miss Blair up and down. She had dealt with arrogant women before, and not always ones born to the aristocracy. She remembered one in particular who had believed she’d been born to better things than what fate had delivered to her. That woman had dressed above her means and had lorded over whomever she could. Eva quickly assessed Miss Blair’s wardrobe. While her taste could not be faulted—her attire not only suited her but also complemented her physical attributes perfectly—she had clearly not spent a fortune on her ensemble. No, her frock and matching jacket had been store bought, the fabrics good but certainly not the best.

  “Whatever are you staring at, Miss Huntford?”

  “Eva, is there something you wanted?”

  With a burst of relief, Eva glanced up to see Lady Phoebe peering down at her from the top of the stairs. “There is, my lady.”

  She couldn’t help a little grin of triumph as she eased past Miss Blair to retrace her steps.

  As she reached the top of the stairs, Lady Phoebe whispered, “I saw you trying to enter the dining room, much to Miss Blair’s disapproval.”

  “To put it mildly. She is the most difficult individual I’ve come across since I had the pleasure of Myra Stanley’s acquaintance last summer.”

  Lady Phoebe gave a dramatic shudder, then sobered. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  That her lady would immediately assume Eva’s errand involved something unpleasant said much about the nature of their relationship and their shared experiences in the past year.

  “There is something wrong, my lady. I overheard the viscount and Sir Hugh Fitzallen talking only minutes ago, here in this very pantry. Obviously, they slipped in here so as not to be overheard.”

  Any other mistress might have scolded Eva for eavesdropping, but not Lady Phoebe. “What were they saying?”

  “They were very cryptic, and I only heard a snippet of their conversation. They were both clearly uneasy, but the viscount said Sir Hugh was overreacting.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know, but Sir Hugh said the viscount wasn’t taking whatever it is seriously enough. And then he thrust out a wedding invitation and asked how he could be overreacting about this. There was quite a bit of urgency in his voice.”

  “A wedding invitation? How strange. What could have been written on it, other than whether or not the person invited planned to come?”

  “I wish I could say. The viscount called it a prank. And then he said he was expected for more photographs with the family, and added something most curious.”

  “More curious than what you’ve already told me?”

  Eva nodded. “The viscount said he couldn’t think of any reason to put the photographer off without his wife asking questions.”

  Lady Phoebe’s mouth dropped open in a show of indignation. “Do you think he’s hiding something from Julia? What could it be?”

  “I wish I knew. Although . . . he might simply resent the photographer out of jealousy. It seems the viscount wasn’t happy about the attentions Mr. Mowbry paid your sister during the photography sessions.”

  “I noticed that, too. A cheeky sort, that photographer, albeit in a quiet way. But then, men typically do trip over their feet when it comes to Julia.”

  Eva heard the slight resentment in Phoebe’s tone and understood. She had been living in her elder sister’s shadow for years now, and while Lady Phoebe had her own achievements to be proud of, it sometimes rankled her to see how effortlessly her elder sister moved through society, and among young men in particular. Eva moved on quickly. “They left the pantry soon after, and that’s when I tried to come in to speak with your sister. I thought perhaps I should warn her, but in all honesty, I don’t know what I would have said if Miss Blair hadn’t blocked my way.”

  “I wonder if Miss Blair is aware of whatever the men were talking about.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. I assumed she was merely exercising her authority.”

  “Humph.” Phoebe tapped her forefinger against her chin. “I know you mean well, but it might be best to say nothing to Julia about this just yet.”

  “But those men were clearly uneasy about something. It might affect her.”

  “And it might have nothing to do with her. Eva, my sister always knows exactly what she’s doing.”

  Eva doubted that—in fact, she knew Lady Julia to be a lot less assured than people often believed—but she kept that thought to herself.

  “She’s Gil’s wife now, and that was entirely her choice. Yes, I know Grams has been after her to marry, but no one threw Gil into her path. It was her doing, and any matters that arise between them from here on in are none of our business.”

  With a sigh, Eva found herself reluctantly agreeing. “I suppose you’re right. She probably wouldn’t appreciate my interfering.”

  “That’s right. You know Julia. Once her mind is made up, there is no changing it. We owe it to her, if not to trust her judgment, then at least to let her make her own mistakes.” She ended with a grim lift of her mouth, which assured Eva that she, too, worried for her sister’s future.

  Below them, the galley door opened, and heels clacked their way up the spiral steps. Eva leaned over the railing to see Miss Blair framed in the circle of the stairwell.

  “It’s time to cut the cake,” the woman said with a tap at her wristwatch.

  “Already?” Phoebe frowned. “We haven’t been here two hours yet.”

  “True enough, Lady Phoebe, but the bride and groom are anxious to begin their honeymoon, and they can’t very well do that with all these people on board.”

  Eva gasped at the implied meaning. “Miss Blair, you will not speak to Lady Phoebe in that impertinent way.”

  “Oh dear, I do apologize.” The woman didn’t look one bit sorry. “Lady Phoebe, you strike me as a thoroughly modern woman. If I have offended you, please forgive me.”

  Eva narrowed her eyes at the secretary’s obvious amusement.

  “You are not mistaken in your impression, Miss Blair,” Lady Phoebe replied evenly. “You have not offended me at all.” Miss Blair showed Eva a satisfied smile. But Lady Phoebe hadn’t finished. “However, should you ever dare take such a liberty with my sister, she’ll see you out on your ear within the hour.”

  * * *

  “Julia doesn’t look very happy, does she?”

  Phoebe agreed with Amelia. The cake having been cut, the bridal couple stood to one side of the tiered confection while a team of waiters passed around slices on small plates. While most brides at this point looked on with an air of happy satisfaction, delighting in their guests’ enjoyment, such was not the case here. “She looks . . . puzzled.”

  “Yes, she does.” Owen came to stand at Phoebe’s other shoulder. His hand briefly touched hers before easing away to his side.

  “As well she should.” Grams stood nearby, her arm linked through Grampapa’s. Speaking just above a whisper, she added, “I fail to see what all the rush is about.”

  “Nor do I.” Owen’s eyes narrowed on the bridal couple, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  Grampapa issued a rumbling sigh. In the next moment his mouth stretched into a smile that didn’t fool Phoebe for a moment. He hadn’t been in favor of this marriage, but after asking Julia once if this was what she truly wanted, he had kept his opinions to himself. Gripped by a sudden welling of affection coupled with nagging worry for her aging grandfather, Phoebe went to his other side and slipped her hand into his. When a waiter offered him a serving of cake, he shook his head with a mumbled “My doctor forbids me.”

  “I don’t wish any, either.”
Phoebe waved the waiter on. No, all things considered, she thought she might choke on it. Oh, Julia.

  The groom was speaking, thanking everyone for coming, but Phoebe barely heard a word. Fox ambled over to her, his plate piled high with yellow cake, French cream, and berries.

  “No cake? Are you mad? This is stupendous.” He scooped a forkful and held it out to Phoebe. “Taste. Go on, taste it.” When she shook her head, he persisted. “If I were you, sister, I’d develop a fondness for wedding cake. Isn’t that right, sir?”

  “Young man, watch yourself,” their grandfather replied sternly. “You’ll behave like a gentleman, or this is the last social occasion you will attend whilst I breathe.”

  Fox opened his mouth, then wisely compressed his lips and turned to listen to Gil, who was still addressing the guests.

  “And we look forward to seeing you all when we return.” His words poured out in a hurry. “The launch is here, and you may begin boarding.”

  Julia placed a hand on his forearm. “Gil, most of our guests haven’t finished their cake yet.”

  He paid her no mind. With his arm outstretched, he took several steps forward, as if to herd people from the room. The gesture succeeded. Almost as one, the company set down their plates on the nearest surface and began shuffling through the doorway into the main saloon. Miss Blair appeared among them, her arms piled high with overcoats, and added her voice to the effort of ushering people out to the deck.

  More than a few curious glances were exchanged, but everyone kept moving. Except for Phoebe and the rest of the family. They remained in the dining room, and once the crowd had thinned, they surrounded Julia. With a glance over her shoulder, Phoebe saw that Owen had gone only as far as the saloon. His gaze met hers warmly, his concern evident. His slight nod seemed to say he would wait for her while she bade her sister good-bye, and that made her feel less bereft.

  “My dearest granddaughter, you were beautiful today. We’re so proud of you.” Grams clasped Julia’s shoulders and kissed her cheeks. Grams remained dry-eyed as they parted, and Phoebe didn’t wonder. Life to Grams was a stoic progression of performing one’s duty. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t miss Julia or worry about her. She would. But she wouldn’t dwell on it or allow it to disturb her outward composure. To do so would be disturbingly un-Grams-like. Raising her silver eyebrows, she smiled at the groom. “Gil, take good care of her. Or you’ll find yourself dealing with me.”

  Gil chuckled, a sound he cut off short with a look of uncertainty. Grams stepped back to allow Grampapa his turn to wish Julia well. Phoebe’s throat constricted and her heart ached at the sight of the tears gathering in his faded blue eyes as he stepped up to Julia and wrapped his arms around her. He held her close for a long moment, started to release her, then held her more tightly. Phoebe heard the breath leave her sister, but Julia spoke no word of complaint.

  “Be well, my darling, and call on me if you ever need anything.”

  “I shall, Grampapa. Thank you.”

  Amelia’s turn was next, her eyes no drier than Grampapa’s. “Julia . . . oh, Julia!” The rest was lost in sobs. She pulled away from her sister and retreated into Grampapa’s embrace. That left Fox and Phoebe. The former, apparently still smarting from the chastisement issued by Grampapa, merely stood on tiptoe to press a clumsy kiss to Julia’s cheek.

  Phoebe’s and Julia’s gazes met then, a furtive, almost wary look veiling Julia’s sentiments. Phoebe reached out to hug her, and Julia leaned toward her and touched Phoebe’s shoulders, but barely. Her cheek skimmed Phoebe’s briefly. Then she pulled away and straightened, and slipped her hand into the crook of her husband’s arm.

  “There now, the good-byes are said.” Gil’s tone was dismissive.

  “Lord Annondale, are you detaining your guests?” Miss Blair strolled into the dining room as if she owned it, as if this were her celebration. Phoebe noted with no small amount of annoyance that she had the look of an exasperated schoolmistress admonishing a student. “I saved seats for the Renshaws on the launch so they won’t have to wait for the next trip.”

  “We wouldn’t mind waiting,” Grampapa said.

  “Good heavens, we wouldn’t keep you waiting for the world. No, no, you must come now. I’ve reserved the best seats in the launch cabin for you, so you’ll keep warm.” Miss Blair had continued her advance into the room and now stopped in front of Gil. “Shame on you, sir, for keeping them so long. I cannot take my eyes off you for a moment, can I?”

  Gil’s already florid face deepened yet more with a flush, yet when Phoebe expected him to censure his secretary, he merely gazed at her fondly.

  “Gil didn’t detain anyone, Miss Blair,” Julia said tartly. “They are my family, and they wished to say good-bye privately.”

  “Splendid,” Miss Blair responded. “And now they have.”

  Julia spoke again without any further acknowledgment of Miss Blair. “I’ll see you all again in the morning, before we sail.” With that, she quickly kissed Grams again, hugged Grampapa, patted Amelia’s cheek, and turned away.

  CHAPTER 4

  Phoebe and Owen strolled along the Egypt Esplanade, which hugged the waterline along the Isle of Wight, beyond the Royal Yacht Squadron precincts. When Phoebe had first come here as a child, she had expected to find small-scale pyramids and statues of the Egyptian rulers and gods. Her letdown had nearly wrought tears. But then her father had patiently explained that the name of the esplanade had nothing to do with Egypt, but rather with the gypsies who had inhabited the area some three hundred years ago. Her disappointment had been short-lived as the wonders of ancient Alexandria faded before images of bright-colored tents and the vivid-hued clothing of lively dancing gypsies.

  Now, however, there were neither pyramids nor gypsies along the esplanade, but merely trees and shrubbery on one side and the wide-open water on the other. The winds off the Solent hadn’t ceased, and a light drizzle put a sheen on overcoats and on the green to their left. They walked on the landward side of the roadway, and Owen held an umbrella over their heads, attempting to angle it against the breeze. Phoebe had traded her cashmere shawl for a velvet coat that wrapped her in warmth. They might have remained at the hotel, but the only privacy to be had from family and the other guests was to be found out of doors.

  “You mean to say you’ve never asked Gil how he lost his leg?” Owen turned to Phoebe with an incredulous look.

  “Of course not. We all know it happened in the Second Boer War, but the details certainly aren’t any of our business, unless he offers up the information, which so far he hasn’t. I suppose he doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  Owen chuckled. “How very British of you, my dear.”

  She swatted his arm. “So tell me how it happened.”

  “They were at the Battle of Bergendal, which should have ended the war then and there with a British victory, except it didn’t. About five days in, apparently, their column was surrounded, and the two of them and about a dozen other men were cut off from their fellows. In an all-or-nothing bid, they decided to fight their way through, and Hugh came face-to-face with an enemy soldier, who fired at point-blank range.” He shifted the angle of the umbrella as the wind changed directions. “By some miracle born of instinct, Gil shoved Hugh out of the way, and the shot went awry. They thought they were in the clear, but then someone behind them opened fire with a machine gun.”

  “Oh! I didn’t know they had those back then.”

  “They weren’t quite as deadly as nowadays, but yes, they existed. Sir Hugh was wounded in the arm. Nothing overly serious. Gil’s leg, however, was destroyed. Several of the men died. Hugh and Gil and some of the others barely made it out. Hugh carried Gil across his shoulders.”

  “Good heavens, Hugh was a hero.”

  “They both were. Hugh would have died if not for Gil.”

  “Hmm . . . I wonder, though . . . Would Gil have lost his leg if not for Hugh?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Savi
ng Hugh distracted him—it must have. If not for that, would he have detected the presence of the machine guns behind them? Would he have gotten out of the way sooner?”

  Owen tipped his head as he considered. “It’s possible, I suppose. But how could Gil have done differently? He couldn’t have let his friend die if there was something he could do to stop it.”

  “No, of course not. I just wonder if he ever thinks about how things might have turned out differently. They’ve been friends a very long time, haven’t they?”

  “They met at Eton and attended Oxford together. Their experiences in South Africa cemented their bond, and their activities coincided quite a bit after that. During the Great War, Gil and Hugh were part of the Dublin Castle administration in Ireland, both serving in the office of the chief secretary.”

  “Fitzallen. That’s an Irish name, isn’t it?”

  “Anglo-Irish, with an emphasis on the Anglo. Hugh’s family have been landowners outside of Dublin for generations. Still are, but most of his immediate family left their cousins to mind the flocks, so to speak, and brought the bulk of their money back to Britain. Hugh was an MP for a while, years ago. Stood for Brampton.”

  “And Gil served in the House of Lords. It’s almost as if they’ve lived parallel lives, isn’t it?” She thought of the conversation Eva had overheard on the Georgiana. “Did anything unusual happen in Ireland?”

  “Lots of unusual things. Those were not easy times in Ireland. Still aren’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You might not have heard much about it at the time, because the war in Europe was raging, but there was an uprising in Dublin four years ago. Members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood occupied the main post office and a few other public buildings in the city. They wished to bring attention to the cause of Irish independence. They made demands for a voice in their own governing and refused to back down.”