Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) (27 page)

“I
came to see you,” said Lady Joanna unnecessarily. “According to Renfrew only
minutes after you had departed. And may I say how glad I am to see you up and
about.”

“Thank
you, Lady Joanna, but where is Miss Parrish?” asked Isobel looking about. “Please
do not tell me that you and Lord Charles have been alone here all this time.”

“It
has not been so awfully long, not quite an hour. And we have not been alone.
Manning is there.” She pointed to the far corner out of the room. Isobel had to
turn to see her maid who was sitting in a chair sound asleep. Her mending lay
in her lap, a sharp needle dangling precariously between the thumb and
forefinger of her right hand.

“I
should really ring a peal over both of your heads, but I have not time. I must
go out again. Lady Joanna, I am sorry to be rude, but perhaps it is time you go
home. I would enjoy visiting you on another occasion,” said Isobel tersely.

“Come
now, Isobel. We are doing nothing wrong. We had Manning in here and the door
was wide open,” Lord Charles countered mildly.

“Manning
was sound asleep and Lady Joanna was practically sitting in your lap, but truly
I have not time to brangle with you.” She walked over to her sleeping maid.
“Manning!” she shouted a scant few inches from her ear.

The
abigail tensed, then her whole body jerked. She cried out as the needle in her
right hand pricked the palm of her left. Her eyes flew open.

“Manning,
I must change quickly. Please go and ready the mud colored round gown, I will
be up presently. Lady Joanna, I hope to see you soon. I will have Renfrew call
for your carriage,” Isobel added with an attempt at sounding agreeable. She did
not wait for an answer but hurriedly left to find Renfrew.

The
groggy and slightly bleeding Manning rose to do her mistresses bidding, her
forgotten mending sliding to the floor. Lady Joanna, uncustomarily quiet
throughout this whole exchange, rushed to help the flustered maid. They walked
together to the door of the parlor and Manning exited. Lady Joanna turned to
take her leave of Lord Charles.

“Lady
Joanna, you will come again, I hope, for I could not choose dairy cows without
your assistance. I fear Hidenwood would more closely resemble a menagerie than
a dairy farm.” He bestowed his most charming smile upon the girl, which caused
his swollen mouth a good deal of pain. Had he been able to see himself, he
would not have bothered, the effect not being as charming as he had hoped.

Lady
Joanna, taking in the gruesome attempt, replied pertly, “If you feel you cannot
do without me, I suppose I might be constrained to help.” She tried for
nonchalance, but could not suppress a pleased sparkle in her eyes.

“I
am grateful for your largesse, My Lady,” said Lord Charles, feigning solemnity.

Lady
Joanna curtsied with equal solemnity and turned to take her leave. She
hesitated and turned back to Lord Charles. “You do not find me amusing, do you
Lord Charles?” she asked.

“Certainly
not. Exasperating more like,” replied Charles, his eyes dancing.

Lady
Joanna smiled, apparently pleased by his answer.

“I
regret that I cannot walk you to the door, My Lady,” he apologized, waving his
hand at his incapacitated body.

“Has
not that chair wheels?” asked Lady Joanna looking pointedly at the very things.

“Assuredly,
it does,” agreed Lord Charles.

“Then
I shall wheel you to the door, so that you may accompany me and have no such
regrets.” Lady Joanna walked briskly to Lord Charles, gingerly lowered his
raised leg and with only a little difficulty on her part and a fair amount of
discomfort on his, wheeled Lord Charles into the entry way and up to the front
door. Renfrew was nowhere about. Lady Joanna, opening the heavy door herself, took
her leave of Lord Charles and walked into the late afternoon gloom, a bemused
smile playing about her lips. Lord Charles had a matching, if not distorted,
one.

*****

William,
the coachman, having consulted a map, turned south on Woburn Place toward the
Thames. The street would change its name several times before they turned onto
the Embankment and reached the newly opened Waterloo Bridge. The ever darkening
streets were congested and noisy. Despite the traffic, William kept a brisk enough
pace.

Inside
the carriage, Lady Whitcomb chattered and Isobel sat silent, both for the same
reason. They were nervous. They did not know the area, they did not know Lady Tyndale’s
circumstances, and they did not know what their reception would be. Griffin,
who was also with them inside the coach, ignored the ladies and maintained a
sullen silence. After Lord Charles had learned of their errand, he insisted
they take Griffin with them as well, much to the valet’s displeasure. Refined
ladies and gentlemen – and gentlemen’s gentlemen for that matter - did not go
haring off to Lambeth! The mood lightened a bit as they approached the newly
finished bridge. William paid the two shilling toll and the coach began to
cross London’s famous river. There was enough light to see the Thames and all
three inside the coach enjoyed the view. William was too busy fighting the
bustling traffic to enjoy the sights, but Renfrew and Jem who sat beside him
made many exclamations and pointed out boats and various landmarks.

Twenty
minutes later, after negotiating the bridge the group found themselves on
Waterloo Road. Moments later, William turned onto Webber St. and pulled up in
front of number thirty nine. It was a narrow building, not new, not old, not
especially clean, but not exceptionally dirty. There were curtains in all the
windows and several candles flickered in the ever fading light. Shabbily
genteel, thought Isobel, as she eyed the peeling paint and lifted the weathered
knocker.

A
tall, gaunt woman, probably in her forties, answered the door. She was dressed
in a clean but worn muslin gown that was in fashion three seasons ago. An
apron, cambric mob cap and wary expression completed the woman’s ensemble.
Isobel felt that the phrase shabbily genteel applied to this woman as well.

“Yes?”
she asked concisely.

“My
name is Miss Isobel Kennilworth. I am a friend of Lady Tyndale. I have heard
that she resides here and I wish to see her.” Isobel did not smile, but spoke
pleasantly.

“I
have not seen her in days. She owes me for the quarter.” Her speech was
cultured, her manner barely civil.

“Do
you mean that she is not in?” asked Isobel, retaining her poise.

“I
mean that I have not seen her.”

Isobel
gave the woman her haughtiest glare. The woman repaid Isobel in kind. Lady
Whitcomb spoke from behind Isobel, squeezing past her niece to stare down the
insolent woman. “We are here to see Lady Tyndale and see her we will. Now,
allow us to pass!” Lady Whitcomb was at her most fierce and imposing, though
she was dressed in an old gown of emerald green, assuring Isobel it was the
drabbest thing she owned.

“As
I said, she owes me fifteen pounds for the quarter,” she answered, unperturbed
by Lady Whitcomb at her most dictatorial.

Isobel
stared at her in shock and looked askance at her surroundings. “Fifteen
pounds?”

“The
place may not seem like much to you, but it is clean and it is respectable.
That is more than can be said of most boarding houses hereabouts.” The
shameless woman had her hand outstretched toward Isobel, palm upward!

Fuming,
Isobel opened her reticule and extracted a five pound note. “I will give you
five. If I find my friend is here and all is well, you shall have the rest. You
may guard the door to bar our exit if you do not trust me.”

The
woman grabbed the proffered note and stood aside. “Third floor. Second door on
the right.”

Lady
Whitcomb entered the narrow entry, which was meticulously clean as touted, and
began to ascend the winding stairway. Isobel turned back to the carriage and
addressed the men. “I will call you if you are needed. Please, take care. This
street is very narrow.”

Isobel
caught up to Lady Whitcomb and they climbed their way up to the third floor.
Lady Whitcomb winded from her exertion, refrained from speech. Isobel was glad,
for her stomach was aflutter at the prospect of the upcoming interview. They
reached the second door on the right and Isobel knocked, receiving no reply.
She tried again. Again, nothing. After a third and much louder attempt, the
door across the corridor opened and a young woman peered out. She silently
appraised the ladies knocking on Lady Tyndale’s door.

“Are
you friends of Lady Tyndale?” asked the timid young woman, opening the door a
wider. She was poorly dressed, but neat as a pin. Her hair was a lovely shade
of auburn and her green eyes sparkled. She carried herself with a certain
elegance, though she was very young, no more than nineteen, and her speech was
refined.

“We
are. We would like to see her. Do you know where she might be? I am Miss
Kennilworth and this is Lady Whitcomb.”

“I
am Serena Endicott. I believe that she is home,” she said quietly. “I think she
is ill,” she added with a worried frown. “I tried to see her yesterday; she was
supposed to care for my daughter while I went to work, but she would not allow
me to enter. I am worried about her. She would not answer my knocks at all
today and Mrs. Bigelow will not open the door for me.”

“Mrs.
Bigelow is the whey faced bean pole that answered the door?” asked Lady
Whitcomb.

Mrs.
Endicott giggled. “That is she.”

“I
will find Mrs. Bigelow and she will open the door for me!” declared Isobel. “I
gave the woman five pounds for heaven’s sake.”

“She
forced you to pay five pounds to enter?” Mrs. Endicott was wide-eyed.

“Not
precisely. Evidently Lady Tyndale is tardy with her quarterly rent and I paid
Mrs. Bigelow a portion of it.”

“Oh,
but Lady Tyndale has already paid Mrs. Bigelow for the quarter. I know for I
was there.”

“Did
she indeed? Well, I am only grateful I did not pay the full fifteen pounds.”

“But
Laura’s rent is only twelve pounds a quarter.”

“I
shall go and fetch the estimable Mrs. Bigelow.” She turned to her aunt who was
still winded from her three story climb. “Perhaps it would be best if you
stayed here, Aunt Maude.” Lady Whitcomb simply nodded and Isobel strode off.

The
voice of a crying child sounded within Mrs. Endicott’s rooms. “Excuse me, I
must see to Charis.” She turned to Lady Whitcomb. “Would you care to come in
and sit down while you wait?”

“How
very kind,” breathed Lady Whitcomb. “I believe I shall.”

Mrs.
Endicott led Lady Whitcomb into her small, slightly disordered sitting room and
offered her a chair. The crying became more insistent and Mrs. Endicott excused
herself. She returned in moments with a beautiful little girl with golden
ringlets and huge blue, tear-stained eyes. Lady Whitcomb guessed her age at
somewhere between two and three years old.

“Charis,
this is Lady Whitcomb. She is here to visit for a while.” The little girl
wriggled out of her mother’s arms, picked up a well-loved rag doll, and walked
over to Lady Whitcomb, full of curiosity.

“Well,
hello, Miss Charis,” said Lady Whitcomb. “It is a pleasure to make your
acquaintance.”

Charis
continued to stare at her with wide eyes. “Pwearsure. ‘Quaintance,” said the
little imp, suddenly breaking into a smile and handing Lady Whitcomb her grimy
doll.

“Why,
thank you, child.” Lady Whitcomb was touched by the goodness of the offer, if
not by the object itself. She took the proffered gift.

Suddenly
the precocious little girl held out her arms to Lady Whitcomb. “Up, pwease!”
Lady Whitcomb was unable to resist the child’s charm and complied.

“Charis,”
cried Mrs. Endicott embarrassed. “I am so sorry, Lady Whitcomb.”

“No
need to be sorry. I adore children.”

Outside
in the corridor the voices of Isobel and Mrs. Bigelow could be heard as well as
more knocking.

“Mrs.
Endicott, if you would be so kind to assist Miss Kennilworth with Mrs. Bigelow,
I would be happy to stay and look after young Charis here.”

“Oh,
I could not ask you to do me such a favor, My Lady.” Mrs. Endicott knew her
cherubic faced babe did not always behave like an angel.

“You
would be doing us a favor. I am sure Charis and I will get along famously,”
Lady Whitcomb assured her.

Mrs.
Endicott objected a bit more, but was finally convinced, when the voices grew
louder. Mrs. Endicott entered the corridor.

“You
will open the door, Mrs. Bigelow, or I will call Bow Street and tell them how
you cheated me out of five pounds.”

“Cheated
you? I never!” protested Mrs. Bigelow.

“I
happen to know that Lady Tyndale did in fact already pay you for the quarter.”
As she said this Isobel inadvertently looked at Mrs. Endicott.

Mrs.
Bigelow eyed her young tenant with narrowed eyes. “And I suppose you believe
the ‘widow’ Endicott. Widow, my eye.” A cruel smile touched her lips as she saw
Mrs. Endicott color.