Bride of a Distant Isle (42 page)

Ah.
The light footsteps I'd heard.

“But the door was locked. There was nothing I could do once Mr. Everedge had decided. To be clear, we weren't sure of your mental state. None of us knew about the honey. And, of course, we servants have our own sweeteners downstairs.”

I leaned forward. “Thank you,” I said. “For all you have done.”

“I believe that Maud was asked to procure the cap from your room under a pretense, and she kept it. When Mrs. Everedge next asked her to remove the combs from your rooms, Maud refused. Perhaps that was when she decided to leave service; she gave the cap, quietly, to me. Perhaps she knew something about the honey. She was very particular about sweeteners for Mrs. Everedge.”

I did not reveal Clementine's absinthe addiction; no doubt Mrs. Watts already knew about it, as I recalled the housekeeper and Maud arguing near the sugar cubes at the breakfast sideboard.

“Maud's gone?”

Mrs. Watts nodded. “Moved to London last week. Mrs. Everedge accused her of conspiring with you, and Maud did not want to tarry and be accused by the mister and missus of heaven knows what . . . as you were. Mr. Everedge had been acting odd as well. She thought, we all thought, really, that perhaps it was floating in the miasma and any one of us might be next.”

It did not do to sympathize or socialize with the mad; others thought you might be mad, too.

“Mrs. Everedge will miss her. Good lady's maids are hard to find. Maud's mother was a scullery maid, and she worked hard to raise herself above that station.”

I sat back in my chair. “Maud told me about clipping things to my crinoline, things I wanted to keep private.”

Mrs. Watts grinned and wrung her hands a little. “An old lady's maid trick. 'Twas good she shared it with you, but that's most likely how she knew how to help Clementine procure your cap.”

“Do you have my ruby hair combs?”

She looked surprised. “No. Are they missing? Perhaps they were removed when you were taken to Medstone.”

I shook my head. “No, they went missing before I left.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I don't know. The cap I know about, and the portrait of your parents . . . I believe it was burnt. Mr. Watts saw someone from the stables lighting the burn barrels shortly after the portrait was discovered, something that gave off a greasy odor when set alight. He couldn't be sure. Neither of us could, miss. We did what we could. It was he that left the slip of paper with Mr. Lillywhite's name.”

“I am most grateful for all that you both have done on my behalf.”

She stood. “What will you do now, miss?”

I took a deep breath and walked to the window, looking out. Where could I go? What could I do? I exhaled, fogging the window, which had lacy frost webs in each corner, before turning back to her. “I'm not certain what I shall do.”

“Mr. Everedge has answered rather sharply for his role in this matter,” she said. “It does not appear Mrs. Everedge will answer for hers . . . whatever part she may have played.”

“None,” I said, “according to her account.” I sighed again and remembered her last words to me. Nothing had changed. “With Edward dead, I need not marry Mr. Morgan. Nor be returned to the madhouse. Perhaps I'll end up in the poorhouse.” I tried to keep a jesting tone, but that was not a thing to jest about.

“If I may suggest, you'd make a fine lady's maid,” she said. “With some training. Maybe Lady Leahy could help.”

Yes, that was just the person with whom I needed to speak—Lady Leahy. In spite of Mrs. Watts's kind encouragement, a lady's maid position was not for me, but perhaps Elizabeth's friends had contacted her about a governess position. It would not be what I would have chosen, but would be a respectable way in which to settle.

“Would you be able to bring some writing papers to me?” I asked. “And then post letters for me? I'm very sorry, but at the moment I do not even have enough money to pay for a post.”

She nodded. “Certainly. I'll do better than post them. I'll ask Lillian to give them to Mr. Galpine, so they'll be sent off with all speed. She's back at her father's house now. How many sheets of paper will there be?”

I allowed myself a smile. So Lillian still held sway over Mr. Galpine.

“Two,” I said. One to be sent to Elizabeth in London. One to be posted to Malta. To Marco.

E
dward's funeral was held shortly after that; we all wore mourning attire, myself and little Albert included. I wore it as a matter of form, and to respect the past he and I shared, but I should not wear it long; after all, he had tried, in effect, to murder me, or at least my spirit. I thought it unlikely anyone would dare to reprove me.

Clementine had purchased a fine coffin for Edward, which was installed in the family mausoleum overlooking the sheep fields. She'd made a point of telling me she'd had the other coffin burned, even though she would have to pay Medstone for it.

The afternoon after he was buried she called me to his study, which she had taken over. She perched on the edge of a leather chair; I sat across from her. She was close enough that the licorice spirit from her breath traveled across the space and further embittered the air between us.

“I've decided to make you a generous offer,” she began. “I shall have the proceeds from the sale of Highcliffe very shortly and I will fund the, er, installation fee or whatever it's called for you to take sacred vows. To become a nun, as you said you wanted to.”

“It's a dowry.” I looked her in the eye. “I did not tell you that I wanted to become a nun. Someone at Pennington overheard me considering it and told you, which is why you raised the subject.”

“Yes, well, you're not the only one with friends at Pennington,” she neatly volleyed. I knew her implication was that Elizabeth was her friend and had told her.

“I don't make a habit of befriending carriage drivers, but I do understand that one was your source.”

“Do not refuse my offer, Annabel,” she said. “Or rebuke me in my kindness. I shall not offer again.”

“Did Edward tell you I'd learned my father's name?”

She shrugged. “Yes, and what of it? There is nothing that can be proved even if your mother was married. I've enquired of Lillywhite. I wanted nothing to complicate the sale of Highcliffe.”

Yes, of course. If I were proved heir and not Edward, she would not be able to sell Highcliffe.

“The cap, the necklace, the portrait . . .” I said. She did not flinch.

“The Maltese stamps at Galpine's.”

Then she did.

“Oh yes, I know you had gone looking for them. To remove them.” She said nothing, and I stood. “I'm sorry, but I have no calling to take sacred vows.”

“Then you'd best find another position somewhere, with someone, quickly. You will remove yourself from my home within the week.”

I turned to leave the room. “If my claim had been proved, I would have taken care of you and Albert.”

“I
am
taking care of you, Annabel,” she said. “Consider very carefully my proposal to fund your joining the Benedictine sisters in Winchester, as it will be my only offer. I've made enquiries. It seems they would welcome you.”

EARLY DECEMBER, 1851

A
note arrived two mornings later, laid on my dressing table. I assumed Mrs. Watts had placed it there. It read,
Please meet me this afternoon in the Abbey.

My heart leapt. Could it be from Marco? But the handwriting was a woman's. Marco would not have received my letter yet in any case, would not perhaps until just before Christmas. Then, too, there was no guarantee he would even respond. Was he the man I'd thought him to be? Or was he the man Edward claimed he was? Perhaps I should never know.

Lady Leahy, Elizabeth, would not have sent me a secret note, and though I still hoped to hear from her, too, she had probably only just received my letter. Who could have written this?

I did not have to wait long to find out.

After a light, welcome luncheon of salmon patties prepared by Chef, who had come back at my pleading until Clementine concluded Edward's affairs and returned to London, I pulled my boots on and walked down the stairs.

Emmeline tended the sheep in the distance; they looked like giant puffs of breath hanging in the winter air. She waved at me, and I waved back. I slipped my way into the abbey.

“Hello?” I called out. “Who's there?”

A moment of fear passed through me; could Morgan have had his “sister” write the note and be waiting for me? Surely I would have seen his carriage. He had not tried to contact me since the night Edward had died.

“Miss Ashton.” I turned around and saw Lillian waiting behind the door.

“Lillian!” I grinned and then my face fell. “My combs!” My ruby combs, the ones that had belonged to my mother, were neatly pushed into her hair.

She laughed. “Yes, your combs.” She shook her hair out a little and then handed them to me. “One night when I approached Mrs. Everedge's room, to update her as to Albert's illness, I heard her instruct Maud to take the red combs from your room. I was not eavesdropping; she had not even cared to shut her door, so bold was she. Maud refused. When you left for Winchester that night . . .”

“The night of the soirée at Lord Mansfield's,” I said.

“Precisely. I went to your room and took them. I knew you could not keep them safe, but I could hide them at my father's house.”

I wrapped my hands around the combs, not caring if they pinched my palm in the process. “Thank you, Lillian. How go matters between you and Mr. Galpine?” I let my eyes twinkle at her.

“Very well indeed,” she said. “I expect he shall soon be speaking to my father. It is for that very reason I have not taken on another position after Mrs. Everedge let me go. She was not pleased with me; I would not speak ill of you to the nurse who came to care for you in your, er, affliction.”

“You've heard, then, that I was not truly afflicted. The constable has all but determined the cause of my symptoms to be a particular honey from Turkey that induces something like madness.”

She blushed. “Yes. I'm sorry to say that none of us was sure if you were well or not, and would not have expected that of Mr. Everedge.”

Nor should you have
, I thought. I smiled at her. “Do not remonstrate with yourself.” I would not tell her, but there had been recent times when I had not been completely certain I was sound! “It may be that soon I shall have to apply for a position. I must leave Highcliffe by the end of the week. Was Mr. Galpine able to post my letters? Mrs. Watts said she would deliver them to you.”

“Indeed he was,” Lillian said. “He's also safely kept the postmarks from Malta from years past. He understood the true meaning of them once Mrs. Everedge asked to rip them from the book.” She kept smiling broadly, in a most unexpected way. I was truly happy that she'd returned my combs to me, but that did not seem to call for this level of jollity.

“I hope to hear back soon,” I said.

“Indeed you shall!” She took my arm in her own.

“When I first sent the note to you,” she said, “I thought that the happiest news I would have to share with you would be the return of your mother's combs. But I was wrong.”

I tilted my head. “How?”

“Mr. Galpine handed me a letter, to you, from Lady Leahy. He was most insistent that it safely make its way to you and asked if I might assist. I assured him I would place it into your hands myself!”

She handed me the letter, sealed with an “L” for Leahy.

“Now that I've delivered both the combs and the letter to you, and I've no fear of Mrs. Everedge stopping us, I'll share my most happy news.”

She smiled so largely I expected to hear her laugh. What was the cause of this?

We walked around the grounds until we'd nearly reached the Edge of the World. I saw Emmeline, in this distance, keeping an eye on me.