The Dead Queen's Garden (8 page)

‘I’ve seen it before, you know. A “Change” baby he must ’ave been and her took poorly near the whole nine months, as is so often the way with older ladies. And ’is Lordship kept in London a lot of the time, seeing as ’ow ’e was in the Government at that time, though ’e’s retired now.’ The old lady shot her companion a
malicious
grin. ‘Not that ’e was up to much then, too busy running after the young ladies, so I ’eard. But there, as to Lady Granville, well, it was more than enough to turn ’er into a fussy old hen with ’er one chick, I’m sure, and who can blame her.’

Charlotte listened with only half an ear, though with a moment’s sympathy for Lady Granville; another memory was teasing her but
nothing came to mind so she shrugged it off. It’s none of my business, she told herself firmly and picked up her well-worn copy of
Persuasion
which she knew almost by heart. After her earlier life, always on edge lest Will Glover’s schemes should come undone, followed by her desperate journey across India during the Mutiny, it was still a novelty and a treat to find herself at leisure to enjoy herself.

‘Gran?’ Even Anne Elliot’s travails in Lyme Regis for once failed to keep her interest. She ignored Lady Frampton’s disgruntled muttering as she pursued her thoughts. ‘Who would inherit Brambrook Abbey and the title if – if anything happened to young Oz?’

‘Now what maggot have you took into your ’ead, you silly wench?’ The old lady cocked an eye at her companion and sighed. ‘Oh, all right, let me see. I believe the house and money would go to some cousin or other, lives in Yorkshire and has never been near the place. But ’e’s the son of some great-aunt of ’is Lordship, so there’s no more Granvilles to inherit the title, and it would die out.’

She roused herself. ‘You ain’t got some bee in your bonnet about that poor old servant’s death the other day, ’ave you? Because you can just stop that at once, you ’ear me, gal? That Maria Dunster was killed by person or persons unknown, the constable said so and so did the coroner, so don’t you get all fanciful and start looking for something to connect it to this poor young lady’s death. I won’t ’ave it, Char, you mark my words.’

Tucked up in bed later that night, Charlotte nonetheless found herself reflecting on the christening party.
Stop this at once
, she told herself firmly, I cannot see any point in this conjecture, there was certainly no sinister stranger from Yorkshire in attendance. This is merely the product of an over-active imagination, no doubt brought on by drinking sherry at Barnard’s insistence. Tomorrow will see an end to such fancies.

She frowned and nibbled at her thumbnail. Tomorrow would also bring a reluctant visit to Winchester. Somehow or other, Charlotte had found herself appointed to take the brougham into town in the early afternoon and rescue the bereaved Miss Armstrong, along with her bags and baggage and convey her to the
manor to spend Christmas with her new friend, Lily. Poor soul, thought Charlotte, as she snuggled down under the covers. It won’t be much of a Christmas for her but I suppose she can retire to her room if it all becomes too merry for, she yawned, I can’t see Lily cutting down on the festivities. This is her first winter as lady of the manor and she has plans afoot, plans that are intended to dazzle the neighbours, even though young Algy’s extreme youth will no doubt curtail several of his mother’s more extravagant ideas.

Next morning Charlotte shivered awake to a sparkling frost on her windows and, for a moment, yearned for the warmth of her far-off childhood climate. With due consideration towards the solemnity of her task, she dressed again in her brown woollen dress and fished out her most sober bonnet ready for the journey. Her plan to visit Elaine that morning had been thwarted by a message from Knightley Hall advising her that Mrs Knightley was not up to visitors that day but hoped to see Charlotte on Christmas morning. Sighing, she busied herself about her usual tasks, wrote letters, did some mending, interviewed the cook, and listened once more to Lady Frampton’s views on child-rearing as it should be applied to young Algy. At last she bade her farewell and set out at a brisk pace across the village and up the short drive to the manor and invited herself to luncheon.

Lily preceded her into the dining-room, waving to the footman who placed a chair for Charlotte. ‘What a colour you have, dear Char,’ she remarked, with a slight note of envy in her voice. ‘You surely have not walked up from Rowan Lodge?’ She turned to cast a glance in the mirror and pouted at her own rather pale complexion and pudgy cheeks.

‘Certainly,’ nodded Charlotte, as she tucked into some ham from one of Barnard’s prize pigs. ‘I think I’ll make my way into Winchester fairly soon and rescue your unfortunate friend in good time. A private lodging house in St Thomas Street, you said, I believe, Lily? I’ll bring her straight back here unless of course she has reconsidered and has other plans.’

‘I doubt she’ll do that,’ said Lily, with a toss of her head. ‘Her note was most urgent and it seems clear that she has nowhere to go
at present, with Christmas on top of us now. Besides, from what she said, she has precious little in the way of funds.’

As Charlotte muffled herself once more in her pelisse and shawl while taking her leave, she threw a deliberate crumb of praise towards her sister-in-law. ‘I am full of admiration, Lily,’ she said, giving the other girl an affectionate hug. ‘I’m sure Miss Armstrong will be eternally grateful to you for your generosity, particularly at this festive time of the year. You are quite the Good Samaritan.’ There, she thought as she clambered into the Finchbourne double brougham and waved farewell to the gratified lady of the manor; that should help to ease Miss Armstrong’s stay. Lily dearly loves to be seen as Lady Bountiful.

A shout from Barnard made her pause. ‘Here, Char,’ panted her brother-in-law as he galloped up to the carriage. ‘I’ve written a note to Dr Chant, inviting him to stay a day or so if he finds himself detained in Hampshire. It seems only right and proper, poor fellow, it’s not the time of year to be stranded in some hotel or other,
particularly
in the circumstances.’ He thrust the note into her hand and hastened back to the stables saying, ‘Got to get back to the ratting. It’s going famously, the boy is in seventh heaven.’

Charlotte smiled as they swung out on to the main road, glad that young Granville was enjoying his sport. Dear Barnard, he would do what was right, if it killed him, bless him, even though Charlotte suspected that neither he nor Lily had taken to the
new-made
widower.

The coachman drew up outside a narrow, red-brick slice of a house in St Thomas Street in Winchester, a short distance up the hill from the cathedral, and just off the High Street.

‘I’ll wait, shall I, Miss Char?’ asked the coachman who, like most people in Finchbourne, both manor and village, had adopted this informal method of address. ‘Yes, please do,’ Charlotte nodded. ‘I’m hoping to be out quickly but if there looks to be some delay, I’ll let you know.’ She took a deep breath and climbed the two high steps to the door, where she seized the bell handle and tried to ring in a muted manner suitable to a house of mourning.

A subdued young maid showed her into the parlour and went in search of Miss Armstrong, but to Charlotte’s dismay, she found that
the stout, middle-aged gentleman standing in the bay window was the bereaved widower himself, Dr Chant. He gave her a curt bow and glowered at her but, after a cursory appraisal, he straightened up and advanced on her with his hand outstretched. Aha, she managed to conceal a sardonic smile, though her outward demeanour remained demure. He has recognised me as a part of the family at the manor and, moreover, has just noticed that my muff is sable and that my rig-out, though plain, is well-made and modish – or at least, as modish as Winchester fashions allow. Whatever grief he was feeling at the loss of the pretty wife who must have been at least twenty-five years his junior, it had not prevented him from brushing his straight grey locks forward so that it disguised his receding hair line, nor was his smooth pink brow furrowed by sorrow.

‘I believe we met the day before yesterday, ma’am?’ The voice was unctuous with a suitable touch of gravity and his hand, equally suitably, was warm but not pressing. ‘I regret that I do not recall your name?’ He stroked his neat grey beard then dashed a hand to his eyes, which, Charlotte was intrigued to see, held no sign of moisture or grief. Indeed, she was slightly shocked to observe that there was an air of unmistakeable interest about him as he discreetly looked her up and down. And his poor wife lying dead, perhaps in this very house, she frowned.

‘I am Mrs Frampton Richmond,’ she announced in a ceremonial way. ‘I am here on behalf of my relatives at the manor to offer succour to Miss Armstrong and, of course, to you, sir, if there is any way in which my brother-in-law might be of service to you, in this sad time.’ There, she thought, handing him Barnard’s note. Honour is satisfied. Now, for heaven’s sake let Miss Armstrong hurry up and let me go home.

Fortunately, the door opened at that moment and Miss Sibella Armstrong, slipped into the room. Now here, thought Charlotte, was yet another person who bore no sign of the ravages of grief one might reasonably expect. Miss Armstrong was indeed pale, and her expression anxious and unhappy, with her brow creased in a frown, but her blue eyes were not rimmed with red, nor was her handkerchief sodden with tears.

‘Mrs Richmond,’ she said, her voice composed and low. ‘It is kind indeed of you to give me shelter at this sad time.’ Her gaze flickered towards the doctor who stood aloof from the two women. ‘The servant is carrying my luggage out to your carriage and I am quite ready to leave at once.’

‘I am so sorry to hear of your sister’s sad death,’ Charlotte said quietly as she turned towards the door. ‘I believe you will be comfortable at the manor while you collect your thoughts.’ She gave a formal half-bow of farewell to Dr Chant, who responded politely though she was intrigued to note that his face darkened as he nodded distantly to Miss Armstrong. She, in turn, bobbed a slight curtsy but as the two women turned away, the doctor spoke.

‘Mr Richmond has kindly invited me to stay for a day or so,’ he said, hesitating a little. ‘If I might accept, that would ease my
difficulty
. I have decided to have my wife’s body interred here in Winchester instead of returning the – the coffin to London, but the undertaker tells me he can do nothing until the 27 December. Today being Christmas Eve, I am thus detained in Hampshire for a few days and would be glad to trespass on the hospitality of the manor later this afternoon.’

Charlotte concealed her lack of delight at this intelligence – she had hoped he would hasten to London to seek solace with his illustrious friends – and assured him of a warm welcome from the squire and his lady, all the while aware that the doctor’s late wife’s sister bore no sign of pleasure at this development and indeed, looked distinctly unhappy at the prospect.

As Miss Armstrong climbed into the Finchbourne brougham, Charlotte stood aside while one of the lodging house servants, a stout, elderly woman, panted back up the steps to the house.

‘Why, thank you, ma’am,’ the woman began, then, when she overheard Charlotte urge Miss Armstrong to make use of a fur rug that was lying on the carriage seat, she stopped short with an exclamation of astonishment.

‘Why, surely I know that voice?’ The woman peered up at Charlotte’s startled face and frowned for a moment. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, miss,’ she began. ‘For a moment I took you for a former mistress of mine, but she lives far, far….’ She stared searchingly at
the tall young woman beside the open door of the brougham and her broad face broke into a smile of delight. ‘Well, I never did! I took you for Mrs Glover, but no, ‘tis not, I see that, but…. Surely, it can’t be you, Miss Char? All grown up and a real lady now? What in the world are you doing here in England, and looking so prosperous too? Is his reverence with you? And your dear ma, how does she go on?’

Charlotte stood frozen to the spot, staring at the servant. Her worst fears were realized. Here was someone from her childhood; someone who knew too much about her and who could ruin the house of cards that was the lovely, make-believe life she had built for herself.

‘G
OOD
G
OD
!’ C
HARLOTTE
pulled herself together, resolutely banishing the feeling of dread, as she summoned up a smile. ‘
Bessie
? Bessie Railton?’ She stretched out her hand. ‘Surely it cannot be? What in the world are you doing in England? And in Winchester of all places?’

‘Why, bless you, Miss Char, I mean, ma’am. I thought I’d like to see the old country once more before I die so when my last mistress died, leaving me a tidy little legacy, I hopped on a ship and here I am.’

Charlotte had herself well in hand now and her eyes narrowed. ‘So what are you doing working in Winchester as a maid, Bessie, if you had a legacy? And how in the world did you recognise me? I cannot have been any more than twelve or thirteen, the last time I saw you.’

The older woman gave a gap-toothed smile and looked round hastily. ‘Ah well, it was this way, Miss Char. I met up with a man who liked a bit of a flutter and what with one thing and another, by the time the ship landed in Southampton I found meself a bit embarrassed for cash. Luckily one of the passengers needed a maid for a while, so that tided me over and somehow or other I’ve ended up here. But tell me about your ma, dear? You don’t look like her, of course, but my goodness me your voice is hers to the life, which is how I knew you the minute you spoke. How does she go on?’

‘Ma – my mother died last year,’ Charlotte said briefly and stiffened at the outburst of comment and commiseration. ‘Mr Glover was offered an incumbency in India so I went with him, but sadly he died of a fever almost at once.’ She bit her lip but it was better to get the next part over with. ‘I married a major in the British army
but he died as well so I am now living with his family in Finchbourne, a few miles down the road.’

‘Well, what a how d’ye do to be sure,’ exclaimed Bessie. ‘And your poor ma, God bless her. She was a dear soul and his reverence too, and him so lively always.’ She heaved a gusty sigh as she pressed Charlotte’s hand with touching sympathy and wiped her eyes. ‘Ah me, it’s as well his reverence never came to hear of the trouble that befell his congregation not long after you left the town.’

Charlotte gave a shiver of apprehension, as Bessie continued. ‘It was a gang of those rough diggers that were passing through,’ she said, with disapproval. ‘I heard about it from the grocer’s wife, who used to write to me now and then. It seems those ruffians turned to and stole the funds that had been collected to build a new church, the rogues. Some of the townsfolk were all for chasing after his reverence and begging him to come back and help raise some more money, him having such a genius for it, as you might say. But there, they thought better of it, what with his poor mother being on her death bed, poor soul.’

Overriding relief was shot through with a pang of shame. That had been the first time Molly and Charlotte had encountered Will’s methods and they had been shocked to the core to discover that the dying mother did not exist. Will Glover, Charlotte recalled, had been a man of great charm, eloquence and kindness, and she adored him along with everyone who met him, but there was no denying he had barely a moral bone in his body. Some of the games he played with other people’s property gave the family some dreadful moments, she reflected, staring with unseeing eyes at the smartly-painted front door of the lodging-house. If only he hadn’t had that queer kink in him, he could have risen to any height. Still, he was dearly loved in his lifetime, she gave a slight shake of her head and smiled inwardly, and he was sincerely mourned by her, in spite of his failings. There’s many a great man could wish for no better epitaph, she supposed.

She pulled herself together and glanced at the carriage, and then at the sky, which had a lowering, yellowish look that boded ill, so she fished in her purse.

‘Here, Bessie, I mustn’t keep Miss Armstrong waiting, but you must come and see me as soon as you have a half-day off. We’ll talk about the old days then.’

Bessie Railton eyed Charlotte’s guinea with considerable respect. ‘Right you are, Miss Char, ma’am, I mean. But….’ she leaned closer to Charlotte and whispered. ‘I’ll be glad to talk to you, there’s something funny about the other young lady’s illness, but I daren’t say anything or I’ll lose my place and it’s a good one. The mistress is open-handed and good to work for.’ Her cheerful expression vanished as her brows met in a puzzled frown. ‘I’d value your thoughts, Miss. I mean, ma’am. You always did have a good head on your shoulders, even as a child.’

‘What do you…?’ Charlotte turned to look over her shoulder at the waiting carriage and shook her head. ‘No, I really must take Miss Armstrong home to my sister-in-law now, but listen, Bessie.’ She took the maid’s hand and gave it a squeeze, ‘I live at Rowan Lodge, in Finchbourne, it’s a village a little way outside Winchester, anyone will tell you how to get there. Oh?’ at an exclamation from the older woman. ‘You know the village? And I’m Mrs Richmond now. Come and see me as soon as you are able and we’ll talk about this. And about old times too.’

The journey home was conducted in near silence with both women absorbed in their own reflections. To be sure, Charlotte did ask her companion if she was comfortable but on receiving a nod of assent, settled down to consider the implications of Bessie Railton’s sudden re-emergence into her life.

All the old anxieties came flooding back and it was a relief to look out of the carriage window and realize that they were approaching the village of Finchbourne. Not long now, Charlotte sighed, politely concealing her relief. I’ll just see Miss Armstrong safely ensconced at the manor and pass on Dr Chant’s message to Barnard and Lily, and then I can withdraw discreetly and make my escape.

It was not to be that simple. To be sure, Lily received her bereaved guest with an air of overwhelming graciousness, assuring her that Barnard would be gratified to hear that the doctor would arrive later in the day, but Charlotte was instantly aware that some
kind of crisis had ruffled her sister-in-law’s customary iron-clad complacency. She was not left long in ignorance.

‘Char,’ Lily spoke in an urgent whisper once Miss Armstrong had been conveyed upstairs to a well-appointed room in the Queen Anne wing, with instructions to make herself comfortable and to have a good long rest. ‘I know that you and Gran are to dine with us tomorrow and stay the night, but please – you simply must come and stay with us tonight as well, and for a few days over Christmas too. I shall go mad if you do not!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lily.’ Charlotte’s response was swift and bracing. ‘What in the world is the matter? I tell you quite frankly, my dear, that if you’ve been squabbling with Barnard again over the colour of the curtains for your bedroom, I shall persuade Gran that we won’t even come up to the manor for our Christmas dinner tomorrow, let alone stay the night as Barnard wished. We’ll eat bread and cheese instead.’

‘How can you be so absurd, Char?’ Lily was momentarily distracted from her plaint. ‘As if I would ever be so foolish as to consult Barnard about an important thing like curtains, particularly when he suggested such a dull brown brocade. Besides, I never argue with my dearest husband.’ She ignored Charlotte’s sceptical eyebrow and hurried on, ‘That’s beside the point. The thing is, that dreadful Melicent woman is driving me to distraction. First she must feel faint, then she must complain of the stuffy atmosphere in her room and to cap that, she must announce in a very loud voice that she is sure Mrs Chant died as a result of some careless mistake by our cook yesterday.’

‘Oh good Lord,’ Charlotte almost groaned. This was just the kind of stupid gossip that she dreaded. Such a tale, embroidered upon as it would inevitably be, would destroy the peace of the manor and the village and almost break poor Barnard, her dear, well-meaning if bovine brother-in-law. ‘I hope you scotched that silly idea very firmly, Lily?’

‘Of course I did, and so did Barnard. Even Captain Penbury, to give him his due, roared at her that she must guard against starting a rumour so uncomplimentary to her kind hosts. But Char,’ Lily was now clutching at the other girl’s arm. ‘Don’t you
see? Melicent Penbury is the worst cat imaginable and now she sees we are seriously disturbed by her maunderings, she’ll give us no peace. And here we are, with Miss Armstrong already in the house and Dr Chant about to descend on us, and both of them grieving. How can we protect them from Melicent’s dreadful scandal-mongering?’

Charlotte was intrigued and shaken to see that Lily, whom she had never before seen in the grip of any emotion other than rage or smug self-satisfaction, was actually shedding genuine tears.

‘Char,’ pleaded Lily. ‘If only you and Gran would come tonight and stay in the house, I think I could support the next few days. I don’t know how it is, but you seem to have the knack of keeping Melicent in her place. And you know what dear Gran is like about what she calls Melicent’s silly megrims and fancies. Dearest Char, do say you will come to our rescue?’

Charlotte opened her mouth to refuse, while her mind squirrelled around in an attempt to dredge up an excuse, but before she could speak, Barnard Richmond bounded into the hall, with young Master Granville hot on his heels.

‘Lily, my dear, and Charlotte too? Excellent, I’m glad to see you, Char. We have had capital sport, have we not, young Oz?’ He rubbed his hands together and clapped the boy on the shoulder.

‘Oh, Mrs Richmond,’ Oz was beaming as he held out an extremely grubby hand to Charlotte. ‘It’s been absolutely splendid. Mr Richmond let me hold back one of the terriers and it only bit me the once. And at the command, I let it go and my word, you should have seen those rats run. I never saw anything like it in my life, it was first rate.’

‘Yes indeed,’ Barnard said, with a genial laugh. ‘I think we had better go and wash our hands, Oz, and then I’m sure Mrs Richmond will have something good for us to stay our stomachs. I could eat a horse, I do believe.’

‘Stay for a cup of tea, at least, Char, and a bite to eat,’ pleaded Lily. ‘You’ll see how badly That Woman behaves.’

Charlotte nodded and slipped up to her own old room to take off her bonnet and tidy her hair. She knew Lady Frampton would be tucking in already to her own hearty tea, with no anxiety about
Charlotte’s whereabouts, and she could see no help for it but to stand by Lily.

‘I’m sorry, Gran,’ later, at Rowan Lodge, Charlotte knelt beside the old lady and took her hand. ‘I didn’t have the heart to abandon poor Barnard to the atmosphere at the manor. What with Lily coming the gracious chatelaine and Melicent sighing and gasping, holding a plaintive handkerchief to her eye now and then, and all the while sending out her nasty little darts, I could picture murder being done at Finch….’

She gave a sudden tiny gasp and halted in mid-sentence. Fortunately Lady Frampton took no notice and was swift to scold over what she described as Charlotte’s foolish nonsense, but Charlotte bit her lip, unable to dismiss an idea that now, insidious as a snake, refused to go away. Nonsense indeed, she shook her head and tried to pull herself together. Time enough to consider this foolishness when she had a moment to consider it when she was alone, which would probably not be until bedtime.

And that bedtime, she sighed, would not now be spent at Rowan Lodge as she had hoped. She had known that neither she nor the old lady could bear to see poor Barnard harried and chivvied out of his senses by a couple of warring women, so here they were, making the most of their last peaceful half hour at home before tackling the atmosphere up at the manor.

‘Very well, Lily,’ she had conceded. ‘I’ll persuade Gran that we should stay with you tonight as well as over Christmas Day as we planned. That should give you some respite from Melicent’s
behaviour
– though I’ve told you before, all you need to do is give her a firm set-down. I warn you though, Gran may have some cross words to say about it, you know she likes to have plenty of warning before she has to make any change.’

She suggested that Lily send down a pleading message to Rowan Lodge and, as they had known she would, Lady Frampton gave in to the inevitable, albeit with a good deal of complaint. Before going home to oversee the removal and confronting a testy old lady, Charlotte had eaten her way calmly through the very good tea put before her at the manor and then volunteered to
accompany Oz Granville on one final visit to the stable yard, and afterwards to drive him home in the pony chaise, or walk with him before the weather closed in.

‘That sounds a capital notion, Charlotte, and I only wish I could make time to come along with the pair of you.’ Barnard bellowed approval of this scheme, glancing wistfully at his womenfolk while young Master Granville looked pleased and opted for the walk. ‘We’ve had a good, full day of it, have we not, young Oz? First we dropped in at all the farms and cottages, not staying more than a few minutes for we had a long list to see to, but I believe I can say the tenants were pleased with their Christmas parcels, and
particularly
gratified by a visit from their young neighbour here.’ He nodded complacently as he downed the last gulp of ale from his tankard, ignoring Lily’s pained glare at his refusal to drink tea. ‘Aye, and then it was back here for the ratting which was a splendid affair. We must ask your Mama, Oz, to allow you to come along next time we mean to have a clear out. I’m sure she would want you to have that pleasure.’

The boy looked doubtful as to his mother’s permission or pleasure, but was clearly sincere in his thanks to his host as he and Charlotte took their leave. Charlotte had tried to engage their bereaved guest in polite conversation, but with little success. It was hardly surprising, she sighed, as she nodded farewell to Miss Armstrong. The poor woman was clearly shocked and must be wondering what on earth was to become of her if, as Charlotte understood, she was between situations as a governess and without a settled home.

Sibella Armstrong had answered all Charlotte’s efforts with a monosyllable or shake of the head, keeping her eyes lowered and eating very sparingly. She had suffered an introduction to the other house guests, Captain and Mrs Penbury, and had shaken hands with Oz Granville rather diffidently, turning away immediately to find her place at table, though Charlotte thought she saw Sibella slide more than one sidelong glance at the boy, her expression unreadable.