Death of a Dowager (4 page)

Chapter 4

“I am warming to this whole scheme of running away to the city,” confided Edward, later that day. “I believe I have been in need of a change of scenery. I promise you, Jane, that my mood will improve.”

“If it pleases you, then it pleases me,” I said. Yes, he had been rather low of late, although we both had tried to dismiss it. My husband had been a man of great physical prowess. He had often spoken to me of the pursuits he had hoped to teach our son, but even as Ned grew more and more adventuresome, Edward had come to feel his limitations accordingly. As a result, the restrictions of his missing appendage and poor eyesight weighed on Edward heavily.

An unruly thatch of his hair fell over his scarred forehead as he reached for my hand, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed it. “My darling girl, you are too good. We both know that London is anathema to you. You are never more pleased than when taking a long walk or curling up with a good book. Or even putting charcoal to paper and recording what fantastical images you conjure up in that busy mind of yours! Ah! Don’t try to argue, Jane. You could have suggested that we rent another house out here in the country instead of decamping to the city. However, I know you have agreed to this for my sake, and I accept your sacrifice with good humor.”

“Speaking of sacrifices, our ride in the coach should prove most interesting. Our son has become quite the explorer. Be forewarned that we will have our hands full trying to keep him out of the straw on the floor of the coach,” I said with a scarcely contained laugh.

“Ned will find your efforts to curtail his activities most annoying! Perhaps poor Lucy would be better off to travel without us,” Edward said.

“Oh, ho, ho, no, you don’t!” Lucy’s voice sang out as she entered the room, carrying a bouquet of snowy white daisies with egg yolk yellow centers. “This trip to London will give me a chance to practice my mothering skills.”

“You will do just fine with Evans,” I assured her, as I had been doing since the news first came of the boy’s impending arrival.

“Jane is right, dear Lucy. There is no need for you to serve an apprenticeship at motherhood.”

“That is kind of you,” she said as she tapped him on the shoulder, “but I am determined to carry out my new responsibilities to the utmost of my abilities. My job is to provide Evans with every advantage. His life will be the apex of mine, and due to my efforts, he starts at a higher rung on the social ladder. All that I’ve endured for the sake of the beau monde
will be worthwhile when my son is accepted into the fold. I shall call in all my outstanding chits, so that my son benefits from my arduous years of enduring hours of innocuous pleasantries in the name of greasing the wheel of social approval.”

“You make it sound ghastly,” I said.

“Most of the time, it has been,” she admitted.

Her judgment on this subject baffled me. Lucy seemed to act as a barometer, with her needle fluttering first over one extreme and then the other. Now she was telling us how valuable she found society—and also how tedious. Which version was truer?

I proffered my own conclusion. “I believe you overvalue the worth of the ton and underestimate your own gifts. The ton matters not.”

“I beg to differ,” said Lucy. “The ten thousand have great power, even more so because our new King exhibits so little constancy of purpose. His mercurial nature is largely influenced by those around him, and what is fashionable at the moment. Therefore, the ton can make or destroy a person with their acceptance or denial—because as they lean, so bends the King’s will.”

“I cannot imagine such influence! To my way of thinking, anyone lucky enough to receive your affection has a tremendous advantage over his or her peers.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Edward nodded toward her. “Lucy, I bless the day that Augie married you. Thanks to his good taste, we are all a happy band of your beneficiaries.”

“And I owe you a debt of gratitude for persuading him to ask for my hand. Oh, I do sincerely hope that you and Jane consider yourself fortunate to have me. I know I can be rather bossy at times. Toward that end, I have been doing some thinking. I suggest that we make good use of the three days we’ll have in the coach. I have in my possession a listing of all the operas, concerts, and plays now appearing in London. Of particular note is Rossini’s
Tancredi
at the Italian Opera House.”

“
Tancredi
? Is that based on Voltaire’s play
Tancrède
?” Edward wondered.

“Yes, the same. Fanny Corri-Paltoni has been reprising the principal role.”

“That’s capital!” Edward responded with more gusto than I’d heard in days. “Jane has never been to an opera, and I have longed to escort her. I heard Corri-Paltoni on the Continent a few years back.”

“Yes,” said Lucy, “and this piece is quite demanding, with two lengthy arias and no less than four duets.”

Edward and Lucy began to discourse about music in a lively manner. Although I play piano (adequately) and sing (passably), my skills in this arena are, admittedly, lackluster. Edward was an accomplished singer, and he had a God-given beautiful tenor voice. Discussing the mezzo-soprano diva caused him to brighten with interest.

More and more, the timing of this trip fit everyone’s needs. We could leave Ferndean to the efforts of the builder, offer companionship to Lucy as she waited for Evans to arrive, interview Mr. Lerner for the position here in the county, and get his opinion on Edward’s diminishing vision.

Yes, it would be good for all involved, except . . . except that small still voice inside me that yearned for solitude and a simple life.

But Lucy had other plans. “Jane? You’ll want a court dress for wearing to the opera. We need to discuss which styles and colors might look best on you. You can visit my mantua-maker so you have the proper accoutrements for any event.”

“I have a lovely silk dress in claret that will be quite suitable.”

Lucy’s smile was indulgent. “No, my dear. It most certainly will not!”

I thought my friend mistaken but let the matter drop.

“To London!” Edward raised his teacup, and I followed his lead.

“To London!”

Chapter 5

Since the Rochester barouche had been lost in the fire at Thornfield Hall, James drove us in his dray to Millcote, where we could board the coach for London. The night we spent in that village would have been pleasant enough, except that Mr. Carter had insisted we take supper at his home. Edward had taken him up on his offer before I had the chance to share my concerns.

I knew from prior experience that Mrs. Carter thought our marriage shameful. Unfortunately, her opinions had been formed by ugly commentary provided by the Dowager Lady Ingram and her daughter Blanche.

At one time, the whole county had expected Edward to marry the beautiful Blanche Ingram. They were both superb equestrians, and their families had long been neighbors. Blanche was acclaimed far and wide for her great beauty, whereas my husband would never be called attractive, because his features lacked classical proportions. Despite their mismatched pulchritude and a vast difference in their ages (though not as large as the difference between my own two and twenty, which was less than half of Edward’s midforties), many thought that he and she made a good match.

But Blanche’s heart harbored no real love for Edward. Indeed, the Ingram family was only fortune-hunting. To expose their avarice, my husband caused a rumor that his income was only a third of its real value. In a blink, the Ingrams had dismissed him as a suitor.

When they discovered that they had been tricked, and when Edward proceeded to marry a governess—me—both Blanche and her mother thought themselves very ill-used. They responded by blackening my name to all and sundry. Mrs. Carter fell prey to their disappointment. I learned as much the last time I traveled through Millcote on my way to London to visit Adèle, but I chose not to share the news with my husband. What was the point? Why upset Edward further? He and I both valued Mr. Carter’s opinion. If Mrs. Carter thought me unsuitable, that didn’t matter a fig to me.

But her wrath did make this an uncomfortable situation, to say the least.

While my husband now enjoyed a leisurely cigar in the Carters’ garden, Lucy and I were deposited abruptly by Mrs. Carter in her drawing room and left to our own devices. Through the walls of the house, we could overhear Mrs. Carter scolding her husband. Fortunately, Amelia had taken Adèle and Ned outside for a breath of fresh air, or they, too, would have been treated to hearing Mrs. Carter chastise her husband about my low character.

“Goodness,” whispered Lucy. “No wonder the good doctor travels to London on a monthly basis. The poor man has reason to want to escape! But what on earth has kindled this attack against you?”

“The Honorable Blanche Ingram and her mother, the Baroness Ingram of Ingram Park,” I said quietly.

“Ah. So even Mrs. Carter has heard Lady Ingram blame you for robbing her eldest daughter of Edward Rochester. Or more correctly, for robbing her of the Rochester fortune. As if Blanche isn’t enjoying still being on the marriage market,” Lucy said softly, “despite growing longer in the tooth every day. Rejecting suitors left and right. Honestly, Blanche takes it as sport, and her mother indulges her and plays along. It has been nearly ten years since she was presented at court. While all her contemporaries are happily married and raising heirs, she still appears at Almack’s, flirting and fawning over men with titles.”

“What is Almack’s?”

“A social club. Admission is highly coveted. It is the most likely place that an unmarried woman would meet a suitor after she has made her debut.”

“And you have seen Blanche Ingram there?”

“On occasion, as it is a grand place to see and be seen. Blanche and I are little more than nodding acquaintances, but Lady Ingram is sister-in-law to my dear friend Olivia Grainger. I would have introduced you to Lady Grainger the last time you were in London, but she was in Bath, taking the waters.”

“Well, whatever shortcomings the Honorable Blanche Ingram owns, Mrs. Carter must think she hung the moon,” I said.

“Yes.” This came on the wings of a sigh from my friend.

The bell for supper rang, and we assembled around the Carters’ table. Had Edward been able to see the derogatory glances Mrs. Carter cast my way, he would have been outraged by the woman’s behavior. As it was, I pinched Lucy’s leg black and blue in an effort to prevent her from leaping across the table and jabbing our hostess with a fork. Poor Mr. Carter struggled all evening, sending conciliatory glances first to me and then to his wife, gestures that she rejected with a sniff of disapproval.

I went to bed that night at the coaching inn grateful for the cover of darkness so that I could relax the pleasant but insipid expression that had frozen on my face. With Edward’s sturdy back as my shelter, and his steady breathing as my lullaby, I finally drifted off to sleep.

The trip to London proved exhausting. Ned could not understand why he needed to stay confined to such a small space for the duration of three days. Passengers came and went, many with muddy boots and one whose head lice were determined to abandon their happy home and come throw their lot in with us. I smashed a dozen or more as they crawled up my arm.

The coach itself must have been missing its springs, a lack that exaggerated every bump and hole along the North Road. Our driver seemed to aim the conveyance toward any protrusion or rock in our path. He must have thought it sport to see how bone rattling a ride his passengers could endure.

The swaying of our carriage preyed upon poor Amelia’s stomach, causing the girl to retch miserably until she finally fell into a swoon. Lucy tried to soothe the girl, while Edward, Adèle, and I struggled to keep Ned off the floor of the coach. His toys were of little interest, but the straw under our feet fascinated him. I shuddered each time he offered me a handful of dry stalks encrusted with muck, mud, and offal.

By the end of our journey, my jaw muscles ached from clenching, and my arms hurt from wrestling with Ned. Needless to say, my lower portions were sore and bruised from the constant jostling of our seats. How I envied those with more padding on their bones!

At last we arrived in London, bedraggled, cross, and bug-infested. Williams, Lucy’s coachman, met us at the carriage inn and quickly transported us to #24 Grosvenor Square, where Lucy’s brother, Bruce Douglas, graciously overlooked our disheveled and dirty state and welcomed us to his sister’s house.

Lance Corporal Bruce Douglas reminded me of the Greek god Helios. With his sun-burnished skin, strands of gold in his hair, and the glint of steadiness in his eyes, he was a specimen any artist would adore painting. All that kept him from being pretty was a fight-battered nose and a feathery mustache. A keen gambler, a bon vivant who loved to carouse, he worked as an inquiry agent, tracking down thieves and solving problems beyond the purview of the constabulary. Like his older sister, Mr. Douglas offered constant surprises, because they were both more complex, more loyal, more erudite in obscure knowledge than one might first suppose upon meeting them.

Fortunately, Higgins, the butler, and Polly, Lucy’s lady’s maid, represent the best of their professions. They adore their mistress and did not recoil from our miserable state. Instead, both took one look, assessed our woebegone condition, and began preparations for our benefit. I longed to submit to their tender care, but first I accompanied Lucy to her drawing room where she locked the King’s letter in her strongbox. In short order, all of us were bathed, deloused, and sent to bed for some much-needed rest.

While we adults were catching up on our sleep, Ned and Adèle discovered that Bruce Douglas was a doting “uncle” who knew exactly how to entertain bored children, and that Higgins was a pushover for the Young Master and French poppet, or so I heard the next morning at the dining room table. Over a buffet breakfast, Lucy, her brother, my husband, and I discussed what we might see and do in the city. As I sat in comfort and nibbled at toast while drinking Lucy’s favorite blend of black tea with bergamot, it occurred to me that perhaps a pampered life in London was exactly what my family needed.