Love Bade Me Welcome (22 page)

I kept my head averted, wishing I could block my ears, too, slide under the covers and disappear, but it was not to be. He put his fingers under my chin and gently turned my head to face him. His eyes were inches from mine. I could see gold flecks floating in the dark irises, wrinkles etched at the eyes’ corners, could feel his breath on my lips.

“Please don’t. I don’t want to hear this. Have some respect for the dead.”

“The dead? What of the living? How long am I to be kept in this limbo? He’s gone, Davinia. No amount of mourning will bring him back. He was mad, and the child you grieve was of his blood. Start anew. We...”

“Please stop!” I shouted in a quavering voice.

He stepped back, startled at my strong reaction. “I’m sorry. I got carried away. We’ll speak of this another time.”

“No! No, we won’t, Homer. We won’t speak of this again. I have something else I would like to speak of. Let me remove to the dower house. It’s empty. Your mother doesn’t want it. Let me go there.”

“Why do you want that?”

I wanted only to be out of his way, not subject to these informal visits at all hours. “A woman likes to have a house of her own. I need the—the privacy. It will be a diversion to fix it up, to run an establishment of my own.”

“You can be better looked after here.”

“I don’t want to be looked after. I’m not a child. It will give me something to look forward to
.
”

I had unwittingly uttered the magic phrase. I could see his thoughts traced across his face: It will get her up out of this bed, where she has been malingering too long.

‘‘Very well. I’ll send the servants over to see what needs doing. You’ll want a man and woman to tend you. There is a garden too that will provide some sun and exercise.”

I sat straight up, smiling. I wanted to hop out of bed that instant. “I’ll have a small housewarming—only the family. The saloon is quite spacious. Millie and Jarvis will pay me visits. And yourself, of course,” I added quickly, as I saw the waiting look on his face.

He smiled softly, nodding his head. “Yes, I think this would be good for you. And it is not very far from Wyngate after all.”

Not far enough to suit me, but at least it was a roof of my own. A first step away. From there I could more easily make arrangements for my next move, to Norfolk, with some privacy. Any letter coming or going, any visitor or trip I made was monitored here.

He spoke on in an agreeable way of refurbishing the house. The visit that had begun so inauspiciously turned out to be one of the less unpleasant ones. Really, Homer could be so remarkably kind, thinking of half a dozen ways to make my remove easy, and the house inviting.

After he left, promising to replace the bonbons Millie had snatched, I had to ask myself if it was possible he had not killed Norman, not pushed me down the stairs. Because if he had not, I was being very unjust. It was possible Norman had got the poison in some other way. The pair of black gloves were of a common sort. Homer didn’t even wear black gloves. He wore York tan ones. It might have been a prowler who did not want to be discovered—even an escaped criminal or lunatic. Even, I confessed warily, those black gloves might have been my imagination. I might have dreamed them after the fall, during that nightmare drive home, and awakened with the belief I had actually seen them. The stairs were dark, narrow, and steep. My descent would be hard without a push.

Was it possible Homer was so dissolute he would make love to the wife of the man he had murdered? One thing at least I believed: He
did
care for me. Too many kindnesses had been bestowed, little thoughtful gestures and gifts. And if these had not convinced me, that kiss in his study had. The memory of it was not completely banished. Bulow said nothing would ever be proved, and he was probably correct.

Maybe I should just go to the dower house and make a life for myself there. I could never marry Homer, with such doubts as I entertained, but I could find some measure of happiness. A longer reading of this hypothetical future told me this was unlikely. Homer was too persistent to let things go on in that lackadaisical way. So I was back at the beginning. It was a first step away from Wyngate.

It was the move that finally cured me. I took long walks up and down the hallway till my legs were strong enough to take me down the stairs. Nevans said he had never seen such a change in a patient, and Mather told him that if I had been up and walking from the first week, I would have been better a week before. The first place I went was to Thalassa’s room, to renew our interrupted acquaintance.

Her face glowed with joy when I appeared at her door. She held out her arms, and I went to her, to be clasped against her bosom. “My darling girl, how I’ve missed you. I never resented my useless condition so much as I have these past weeks. Only a few rooms away, and I couldn’t stir a finger to help you. And now Homer tells me you are leaving us, wretch!”

“I’m not going far. Am I stealing your house? Homer didn’t tell me who has the right to it, which makes me think it’s yours by law.”

“It is ours. Matters are arranged so that any of us old spare dowagers are destined to share it.”

“Then I’ll pay you rent for half. I have some money from Norman.”

“I intend to gouge you for every penny, and will take the whole in
time,
if you please. You must alot me a generous number of visits, as I cannot go to you.”

“I will. You’ll be tired of seeing my face at your door.”

“That will take a great many visits. I am fortunate to have such obliging children. Homer could not be more considerate. He thinks of everything to cater to my whims. He is a wonderful, thoughtful son. Folks
do
say, you know, that if a woman wants to know how her husband will treat her after the first fascination has worn off, she must look to see how he treats his mother. Homer’s wife will be a lucky girl. But of course I have no one special in mind when I tell you this,” she added, with a mock serious face.

“He told you about our talk.”

“He tells me nothing, but I worm everything out of him. I knew by his fit of nerves he was more than a little concerned for your health, and having eyes and ears in my head, could see and hear he was pouncing down the hall weighted with gifts ten times a day. He has not taken to whistling, so I know you have not said yes, but we are hopeful, Homer and I, of capturing you.”

“We shall see,” I said, and was uncomfortable implying this lie, this possibility of my capture. She took my embarrassment for modesty and changed the subject.

Other than that one subject, the visit was pleasant. We got all caught up on our gossip. Like her son, Lady Blythe was eager to shower me with things, in this case items for use in my new house. Linens and plate and dishes—anything I needed she was eager to supply.

While I planned for the move, Homer was tied up in larger matters, which lessened his attentions. He had sold Farnley Mote and taken over Laversham’s place, which was now annexed to the Wyngate property. The house, however, was not being used, so that he saw an agent about renting it to some family who did not want to farm the land. I had thought he would have a hard time, but life provided another surprise. He got a tenant with very little trouble. A retired captain, wounded in the Crimea and unable to get about an estate, wanted a large country house. He had a wife, a sister, and a few other relatives who would require plenty of roof space, without the accompanying land. Homer gave them the home garden and sufficient space for chickens and a cow, to lessen their expenses. They all came to dinner and provided a pleasant evening’s diversion. The captain was of particular interest to me because of my father; the ladies were genteel and educated. I felt we would be seeing a good deal of them in future.

The day before I moved I spent the entire afternoon out of my bedroom, very busily too, paying a visit to Thalassa, overseeing my packing, meeting with the footman and maid who were to do for me at the new home, and taking a farewell of Wyngate. After dinner I was tired enough that I planned to go up to my room and get a good night’s sleep, to be ready for the morrow. I would sit with Millie only till the men returned from the dining room, in order to thank Homer officially for all his help. That duty could not be neglected, for propriety’s sake, for he was very helpful and generous.

We did not go to his study on that occasion, as there was no longer any need for him to consult me on anything.

“I want to thank you for your help, Homer,” I started in, as soon as he joined us, “Letting me have the house...”

“It is half yours in any case, till Mama dies, at which time it becomes solely yours till
you
die, or remarry. There is no reason to thank me.”

“I’ll pay for the servants out of my allowance.”

“You can continue to stable your horses here. Don’t worry about fresh produce, dairy stuffs, meat—all that will come from Wyngate.”

“I want to pay something!” I exclaimed, disliking to be beholden to such an extent.

“Like my mother, I intend to exact full payment in visiting privileges,” he said, with a gallant bow from the waist.

“Me too. I will be dropping in as often as my work allows,” Millie informed me. I wondered if she would come. There was no telling with her. She might make a positive nuisance of herself, or she might never come at all. I knew suddenly that I would miss her if she followed the latter course.

“Do
come. Come to see me often,” I urged her.

“You come to see me too. You’re young and supple.”

“Davinia will be here often—every day, I hope,” Homer told her.

I rather wondered he had not mentioned my requiring a chaperone or companion, but the subject did not come up, and I didn’t raise it, knowing my stay was to be short.

“Very often,” I agreed, but did not commit myself to daily visits.

I was deeply disturbed in my feelings for Homer. Alone at night in my bed, he was the man who had murdered Norman and killed my child. But when I was with him, seeing his kindness and his true regard for me, it was hard to see him in that guise. The first dreadful fear and disgust dissipated when I was able to get out of bed. Now that I was on the brink of leaving the house, I was half sorry to go. Getting away was wise, before my feelings progressed any further.

“I’ll bring over my cutaway coat and let you help me set in the sleeves,” Millie told me, as though conferring a rare treat. “I never could get a sleeve to go in without wrinkling or pulling. Nasty things, sleeves. I can’t imagine who ever invented them. Probably that Catherine de’ Medici. She invented everything else, or brought it over from Italy with her. Let me have a look to see how the tailor got yours in, Homer.”

She got up and began feeling the armhole of his jacket, muttering to herself. “I have got the hole of mine too small. I can see that much at least,” she decided.

“Are you not following a pattern?” I asked her.

“Of course I am. I drew up a pattern from one of Jarvis’s coats, but I made the armholes too small. I shall go and cut a whank out of it this minute.”

She wandered off, but not in the direction of the stairs. She went down the hall towards the pantry staircase. “I hope it won’t be necessary to have her locked up,” Homer said, shaking his head.

“They did not lock up George Sand,” I reminded him.

“She is a baroness. Lunatic nobility are termed eccentric, not insane like us commoners. Shall we take tea in my study?” he asked, as the servant brought in the tea tray.

“Perhaps Jarvis planned to join us,” I said, to put off returning to that private spot, the scene of so many memories.

“He is taking brandy in his own study. There is something I have to say to you.”

I cast a look of the utmost suspicion on him, “About the estate jewelry,” he added rather quickly, to tell me it was not lovemaking that was on his mind. “It is best discussed in private,” he added.

I was highly curious to hear what he had to say, and went along with him. “Did you find it?” I asked eagerly, for it preyed on my mind.

“Possibly. We have not had time to investigate, but Jarvis found a key and a note in the bottom of the carton of papers of Norman’s.”

“Which carton?”

“The small one containing papers from his desk—bills and receipts and domestic papers regarding the lease of the cottage. Perhaps you will want to go over them.”

“Oh yes, the servants packed it. Maybe I should take a look, though I was in touch with all the tradesmen and made sure there were no bills outstanding when I left. What did the note say?”

“It gives the name and address of a bank in Cambridge. He went to school there, you know.”

“Yes, perhaps this bank and key date from his student days and have nothing to do with the recent past.”

“It’s worth looking into. He may have put the jewelry there for safekeeping.”

“And the money as well! The money your father was saving to buy Laversham’s.”

“I hope so. It will be a windfall for you. It was Norman’s money. I think you should send Rupert to look into it. You’ll have to give him a power of attorney to act for you in the business. It will save you the trip.”

“I will. But I still don’t understand why he would lock up the jewelry,” I said, thinking aloud.

“You have said your life was simple. There would be no occasion for you to wear it, and theft is always a worry. My own father kept it in a vault in London after my mother became an invalid. Norman removed it, but it is possible he decided to bank it at Cambridge—closer to Norfolk.”

“But still inconveniently far away.”

“That’s true. We are not sure what the box might contain.”

“What will you do if the jewelry is not there?”

“Hire a detective, I think, and see if he can trace it. The only other thing we can think of is that Norman sold it.”

It occurred to me that I had only Jarvis’s word that Norman had removed it from that bank vault in London. Perhaps
I
should hire a detective too, and make sure it was Norman who had removed it. But my hope was that it would turn up in Cambridge, so I said nothing.