A Poisoned Season (20 page)

“You could marry Colin,” Ivy said. “All these problems would disappear.”

“Marriage does not make problems disappear,” Margaret said.

“I’m not about to marry Colin simply to save my reputation.”

“That wouldn’t be the only reason for doing it, but perhaps it’s the push you need to finally make a decision.”

I was appalled to hear my friend say this. “Is that how you feel? That I need to finally make a decision?”

“Oh, Emily, no, I just—” She stopped. “I’ve never wanted anything but your happiness.”

“When will you understand that her happiness does not depend on finding a husband?”

“Margaret, don’t,” I said.

“I’m not advocating husbands in general, just Colin in particular,” Ivy said. Margaret rolled her eyes, and I was too tired to continue the argument. “I’m going home. I’m sorry, Emily, I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

“I know.” I embraced her.

“Send for me if there’s anything I can do,” she said, then left us. Margaret watched her go, a look of supreme dissatisfaction on her face.

“Does she really consider husbands a panacea?”

“I don’t know, Margaret,” I said, thinking about the strife in Ivy’s marriage.

“I like her very much, Emily, but I can’t help but wonder if you’ve outgrown her friendship.”

I’m ashamed to admit that I said nothing in defense of my dear friend.

C
olin came to me that night, in evening kit, astonishingly handsome. His eyes were all seriousness as he dispensed with the usual greetings and refused to hand Davis his top hat, silk scarf, and walking stick. “Change your dress. We’re going to the opera.”

“It’s lovely to see you, too,” I said.

“We’ve no time, Emily. I don’t want to be late.” His voice had taken on the calm tone it always did in situations of extreme gravity. I did not question him. Meg dressed me as quickly as possible, lamenting all the while that she did not have time to do my hair justice. Despite her frustrations, she managed to work such a miracle that I do believe Colin’s breath caught in his throat as he watched me descend the staircase into the hall.

“‘She walks in beauty, like the night /Of cloudless climes and starry skies…’” he said as he watched Davis slip a cape around my shoulders.

“Byron. Very nice.”

In short order we arrived at Covent Garden. As we entered Colin’s box, where Margaret, Jeremy, and Mr. and Mrs. Seward were waiting for us, an uncanny hush fell over the theater. All eyes were on us as the gentlemen shook hands and Margaret and I embraced. Our audience began to chatter once again.

“They will not defeat you,” Colin said, handing me a pair of opera glasses. The lights dimmed, the curtain rose, and I did my best to pay attention to the performance, despite being sadly distracted. The music was glorious, but the story of Aïda’s doomed love was not the thing to lighten one’s mood. This did not trouble me in the least. I was comforted in the knowledge that, no matter how bad things got for me, the odds that I would ever be shut up in an Egyptian tomb, waiting to suffocate, were very, very small.

17

M
Y APPEARANCE AT THE OPERA SAVED ME FROM BEING COMPLETELY
ostracized by society. Margaret and I were both considered eccentric enough to remain friends despite my alleged affair, but the fact that Colin and Jeremy were on good terms cast doubt on the veracity of the rumor. Both gentlemen were highly respected, and it made little sense to believe that a man of Colin’s stature would seek out the friendship of someone who was flaunting me, the woman everyone presumed he wanted to marry, as his mistress. Truly, the most infuriating part of all this was that Jeremy suffered not at all for the rumors. Dalliances, after all, were expected of a gentleman, and while he might be criticized for not having been as discreet as he should have been, his social standing was not compromised in the least.

I was also helped by the distraction caused by another theft. This time, it was not an object owned by Marie Antoinette that was stolen but a portrait of her, by Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, one of the queen’s favorite painters. Charles Berry’s outrage over this event captured everyone’s attention for almost a week, and I welcomed the respite from being the centerpiece of society gossip. Still, invitations to social
events came almost as infrequently as they had when I was in mourning for Philip. This was not an entirely bad thing; it left me plenty of time for my investigations.

I’d had no response from my admirer since my last notice in the
Times,
but imagined that he had been too busy with the planning and execution of this latest theft to tend to romantic matters. After the incident of the flowers in the carriage, Colin had spent a good hour teaching me the best ways to avoid being followed, as well as the techniques he employed when he tailed someone. Although I did my best to persuade him, he would give me no descriptions of the circumstances in which he had used these fascinating skills.

As I thought more about my situation, I decided that I wanted to be followed, to draw out this mysterious man. I was tired of waiting for another note, and I thought if I could at last meet him face-to-face, I could persuade him to give me the rest of Léonard’s letters. One thing concerned me, however: He had tailed me the day I went to Oxford Street in search of information about the letters. When I left Oxford Street, I’d had my encounter with Mr. Berry, whose hands had been too forcefully thrust too close to my neck. Surely if the thief cared for me, he would not have stood by and watched another man threaten me. Had he stopped following me before I’d reached the park? Or could it be that Charles Berry was the man for whom I was looking?

It seemed unlikely that he could pull off such a scheme, but I began to consider him more carefully than I had before. His licentious behavior might be deliberately contrived as a cover. Hadn’t Cécile and I both ruled him out as a suspect almost immediately because of it? Furthermore, he’d made no secret of the fact that he wanted me for a mistress, and I had rebuffed him at every turn. Could he believe that taking a mysterious approach might endear himself to me? The idea that he would consider such a course of action seemed ridiculous,
but I refused to dismiss it out of hand. Certainly he had reason to want all the stolen Marie Antoinette objects. Who, in fact, had better motive?

My butler tapped on the door and entered the room. “I’ve removed all the flowers, madam.”

“Thank you. I’ve no doubt that you’ve heard this latest rumor about me?”

“Yes, madam, I’m sorry to say that I have. None of the staff lend it any credence, and I’ve ordered them not to speak about it to anyone. I will not tolerate gossip coming from this house.”

“I’m concerned because I believe the story did come from this house. Only someone who knew where you put the envelope that came with the flowers would have known to include that particular detail.”

“Madam, I can assure you that I—”

“I would never, for a moment, suspect that you were involved.”

“Thank you.”

“But what of the rest of the staff? Have you noticed any discontent belowstairs?”

“I can’t say that I have, but let me assure you that I shall look into it at once.”

I hated the notion that there was someone in my own household spreading rumors about me, and that, coupled with my recent revelation that the house was not really mine, made me feel horribly unsettled. The feeling was to quickly get worse. That afternoon, Philip’s sister, Anne, called on me. I did not see her often—we’d never been close—but we respected each other and had always been on friendly terms.

“The house looks lovely,” she said as she sat in the drawing room. She and Philip had grown up here, at least when they weren’t in Derbyshire at Ashton Hall. It was Anne who had insisted that I stay here
after Philip’s death. She and her husband had a fine house in Belgravia and hadn’t wanted to see me displaced.

“It’s kind of you to call,” I said. She refused my offer of tea and played nervously with the trim on her sleeves.

“All of us in the family are…concerned, Emily. It’s not that we believe these dreadful stories circulating about you, but…it’s awkward, you see. This was Philip’s house, and will be Alexander’s someday—”

“It’s Alexander’s now,” I said. “I’m fully aware that I am here only because of your own generosity.”

“Mother doesn’t know what’s being said about you, but I’m afraid that if she were to find out, she’d insist that you leave at once.”

“But I haven’t done anything, Anne.”

“Of course you haven’t. Yet the house at Berkeley Square is gaining a sort of notoriety. Can you understand that we must do everything we can to avoid having the family name embroiled in scandal?”

“I understand perfectly. I shall start looking for another house.”

“No, Emily, I’m not here to evict you from your home. We all know how much Philip loved you and wouldn’t dream of asking you to leave unless…” She didn’t continue but blushed furiously. I was struck by how much she looked like her brother, the same sandy hair and light eyes. “Perhaps you could just try to fit in better in society. I know that you find it tedious, but it is our lot in life, and we may as well make the best of it.”

She didn’t stay long, and I felt perfectly awful when she left. It was true that I found much of society tedious, but I had never intended to make my casual acquaintances feel it so keenly. I wanted to be gracious, kind, to put others at ease, not to make them feel as if I were sitting in judgment of them. Clearly, I was not succeeding at any of this, and regardless of Anne’s reassurances, I knew the time had come for me to find a house of my own.

I
did not leap eagerly to the task of looking for a house, but did force myself to discuss the matter with my solicitor. He was shocked that I would consider leaving my current home, which I took as evidence that the story of my downfall was not so well known that it had spread even to the professional classes. Of course, I would need not only a house, but also to furnish it entirely, fill it with books, and hire a staff. I couldn’t expect to take all of the Ashton servants with me, but I would fight to the death to keep Davis. Him, I could not do without.

I left the office feeling thoroughly downtrodden, as if my life were being taken apart a piece at a time. I walked aimlessly for a while, wanting to sit in the park but knowing that I would encounter nothing but icy stares there. I might as well return home.

Back at Berkeley Square, I found the stage set for a scene that had been played out too many times in my life: I, tense and worried, would arrive home to find my mother, irritated and ready to lecture, waiting for me. Resigned to go at least one round with her—I hadn’t spoken to her since this latest debacle over Jeremy—I greeted her with a sigh and sank into a chair, surprised to find that she was in the library, not the drawing room.

“I will accept none of this, you know,” she said, tapping the point of her parasol against the floor. “You have behaved badly—there is no question of that—and after all your father and I have done for you, we deserve better.” I could not bring myself to respond; this, however, presented no problem. My mother always preferred soliloquies to dialogue. “Through it all, I have done whatever I can to secure you the best possible position, and I will not abide having my work destroyed by idle gossip.”

“Mother, I can assure you that I never—”

“Do not interrupt me. It is intolerable to think that the daughter of
an earl could be treated with such absolute contempt, that her reputation could be sullied on the basis of so little fact.”

“Mother?” I was aghast.

“Why shouldn’t a gentleman send you a roomful of flowers? You’re quite possibly the richest girl in England. I shouldn’t think you’d have to do more than slightly acknowledge an eligible bachelor to inspire him to such a gesture. The idea that he would have done it only after…” She had no intention of finishing the thought. “I despair for the jealous cow who invented this fiction.”

I sat there with my mouth open, completely unable to form a coherent thought. Never did I think I would see the day when my mother, my harshest critic, would come to my defense.

“I won’t stand for it, that’s all there is to it. You’ve invited more than your share of trouble, but these stories have gone too far. Even if you were guilty, it would go against all things decent to give away one of our class, and that’s what these vicious people are doing. I know of more badly managed affairs than I can count but would never have the bad taste to expose those involved.”

She paused for a moment, hoping, I think, that I would press her for details of these affairs. When it became clear I was not going to, she continued.

“I’ve arranged for us to have tea with the queen on Tuesday next. No one can doubt your innocence after that. Her Majesty would never tolerate being in the presence of a fallen woman. I wonder if you should wear mourning?”

“I’ve been out of mourning for months.”

“Yes, but you haven’t seen the queen in all that time. You might endear yourself to her if she thinks that you honor your late husband the way she does poor Prince Albert.”

“But surely someone will point out to her that I stopped wearing mourning, and she’ll think I’m being insincere.”

“Oh, I suppose so. Still, it wouldn’t harm you to return to, not mourning, precisely, but maybe some sort of fashionable dress in subdued colors. If only you had been able to get some of the viscount’s hair to make into a ring.”

“If only,” I said, managing not to roll my eyes.

“This would all be much easier if you would just behave like any other rational girl and marry one of your suitors. I don’t care whom, though why you haven’t accepted Bainbridge is a mystery to me. It’s almost as if you don’t want to be a duchess, but that, of course, would be absurd.”

“What makes you think that he’s proposed?”

“Don’t toy with me, Emily. If you wanted him you could have him on a platter.”

Hearing my mother speak like this made me smile, then laugh, so hard that I had difficulty breathing. She watched me, her lips pursed, not amused in the least.