Death of a Dowager (18 page)

Chapter 37

Lucy led the way to Lady Grainger’s chambers. The woman was in bed, curled up into a ball. In that careless world of slumber, she had no worries, and her relaxed face looked decades younger. Clutched in one hand were two small tufts of hair; a thoughtful person had clipped a bit of Mags’s fur as a remembrance. Lucy leaned over her friend, lightly brushing a palm across the older woman’s forehead to check for fever. In response, Lady Grainger sighed and murmured but remained asleep.

The chambers were spacious, in colors of muted yellow and bluebell, accented with judicious touches of white. Her furnishings included a large bed, a dresser, a low table, and two chairs sitting across from the fireplace, which was surrounded by shelving filled with books. Someone had started the coals on the hearth, and the heat they gave out was most welcome. A deeply cushioned navy blue chair sat next to the fire, waiting for a reader to curl up in it, with a footstool nearby.

Lucy crawled up onto the bed beside her friend and assumed a watchful attitude.

I took the deep chair near the fire and rested my feet on the footstool, taking care that my boot soles did not soil the fine needlework surface. It had likely been done by Lady Grainger, as the subject matter was a dog resembling poor Mags. Thus comfortably ensconced, I took time to enjoy my surroundings. The room was pleasant and quiet, except for the soft sound of Lady Grainger’s breathing. “Lucy? I hope you didn’t take Blanche’s threats to heart. She can’t possibly think people will really shun you.”

“No, I’m not worried. I think she’d been drinking. I could smell it on her breath, couldn’t you?”

“No, I wasn’t close enough.”

Lucy laughed. “Lucky you. Or lucky her. I could use a glass of gin right now.”

“Where and how did you learn to fight like that?”

“I have an entire life history to tell you, but this is not the time. Suffice it to say, even as children, Bruce and I quickly learned the natural desire for self-protection. After our mother died, this was strengthened by my recognition that if anything happened to me, Bruce would be all alone in the world.”

“But what about your father?” I asked.

“Some other time, Jane,” she said with a sigh and a frown. “But as for what you called fighting, that was nothing. Over time, I learned what I could about self-defense. Sad to say, I had many chances to hone my skills and pick up pointers.”

I thought back to my life at Lowood, the charity school I had attended. On occasion, girls fought, but the scuffles were short-lived. Usually, the end result was a scratch, or slap, or pulled hair. Nothing more. What sort of scenes had a society lady like Lucy witnessed, to have learned a more brutal method of fighting? I was intrigued to see this uncouth side to my friend. While Lady Grainger slept on, I decided to pursue the topic.

“I know nothing about defending myself, and clearly such knowledge could prove useful. Can you share any tips with me?” I asked Lucy. In truth, I expected her to demur, but Lucy warmed to the subject immediately.

“You noticed, I am sure, that Miss Ingram did not expect my attack. Surprise is paramount, especially for us females. It is best if you are underestimated. Let your opponent think you are defenseless or at the very least bewildered. Blanche was so occupied with her insults that she forgot I might stand up for myself. Note that before I struck her, I did not betray my moves. That is critical in such instances. If you tense up or flinch or divert your eyes, you warn your opponent. You must stay relaxed and nonthreatening so that the blow you deliver is shocking.”

That much was true. Lucy’s punch to the gut had seemed to come out of nowhere.

Lucy paused to think. “The best way to induce someone to start talking and forget everything else is to antagonize them. When we are angry, we become blind and deaf to everything around us. Ironic, isn’t it? Our anger inflames the situation, yet distracts when one should best be attentive!”

She continued, “The location of the strike is critical. I hit her high and between the ribs. Right here,” said Lucy as she touched the inverted V where the ribs parted above her waistline. “Essentially, my blow forced her to exhale mightily. She had no choice. I knocked the wind out of her. Very effective because your enemy cannot chase you or retaliate. It takes a while for someone to recover. Fortunately for me, she was wearing a morning dress and not much of a corset underneath.”

“What would you have done if she had advanced on you?” For a moment, I had thought Blanche might do exactly that.

“The human body has many spots without natural armor,” said Lucy, “where it is not protected by bones. Any soft spot is vulnerable, as are the arches of the feet, the eyes, ears, nose, and face in general. Also, anytime you exert a pressure that forces a body part to move opposite to the path decreed by nature, you can inflict damage. So, for example, our elbows bend thus”—she raised her arms to illustrate—“and to force them to bend the other way is to inflict great pain. This is particularly, spectacularly true with fingers, I might add. They are very easy to bend and break.”

I winced, not liking to think how Lucy could know all this. “What if one’s assailant has a weapon?”

Her expression turned grave. “Of all the weapons one might use against you, a knife is the most treacherous. A person can inflict so much damage, so quickly. Even in the hands of an amateur, a knife is deadly. The best result in most such attacks would be to come up with a distraction. There are always weapons at hand if you take advantage of their natural properties and the element of surprise. I once tossed a bucket of cinders in a man’s face when he came after me with a knife. Naturally, he raised both hands to rub his eyes and dropped the blade. Then I kicked it away.”

I struggled not to show my surprise. How could such a situation have occurred? Surely not in a drawing room while making calls. Perhaps while she was visiting Augie in India? I opened my mouth to ask, but having warmed to her subject, Lucy continued her lecture on defense.

“So, if I were to advance upon you right now, how could you defend yourself?” she asked me.

“I’m not sure.”

“Think, Jane. Look around. You are a naturally observant person. What nearby object might inflict a painful blow?”

“The oil lamp?” One sat on Lady Grainger’s bedside table next to Lucy.

“Yes, good choice. Furthermore, if it broke, the oil and fire would consume your opponent. That would definitely slow him or her down. Consider also that you are surrounded by books. Imagine slamming one down on a person’s hand or head. Very painful.”

“However did you come to learn all this? To think this way?” I asked. “What on earth made it a necessity for you?”

But Lady Grainger interrupted by rolling over and finally blinking open her eyes.

“Olivia, dear?” Lucy spoke to her softly. “It’s me, Lucy, and my friend Mrs. Rochester.”

“Mags?” asked Lady Grainger.

“I am sorry,” Lucy said, leaning down to plant a kiss on her friend’s cheek.

Levering herself into a seated position, Lady Grainger looked around. Lucy gave her a hug and climbed off the woman’s bed. After gathering herself, Lady Grainger lifted her chin, and through a veil of tears she said, “Where is Mags? Her . . . body?”

“Stanton has her. He wrapped her in a favorite blanket.”

“Good.” The woman seemed to pull herself together. She turned to Lucy. “Tell Stanton to prepare a grave between the holly bushes, so that all will know that my affection for her is evergreen, and that my heart bleeds over her loss. Call Dorsey. I want her to help me dress. And Lucy, retrieve the Book of Common Prayer from my library. You know where it is. I shall ask Stanton to read from it. That’s not blasphemy, is it?”

“Jane is the cousin to a clergyman.” Lucy deferred to me.

“God made animals before he made man. Surely they are precious in his sight,” I answered, although truly, I had no formal training and could not recall my cousin St. John’s position on such matters.

Lady Grainger seemed relieved.

“Should I ask your nieces to join us?” Lucy’s face held no animosity, no sarcasm.

“Absolutely not. They are in mourning for their mother and have no room in their hearts to spare for my Mags.” Lady Grainger sighed. “And in truth, I have no wish for their ill will to corrupt my memorial.”

Chapter 38

Blanche had retreated to her room, where I could hear her slamming around. Mary was nowhere to be found. Lucy quickly plucked the Book of Common Prayer from its accustomed home, and we descended the staircase to the foyer where Stanton and Dorsey stood at attention. She told them what Lady Grainger had asked. Dorsey hurried upstairs to help her mistress dress.

“I have already made preparations, ma’am, for Mags to be put to rest,” said Stanton. “I had guessed where Lady Grainger would want the dog buried.” He blushed. “My mistress and I have had many occasions over the years to share our thoughts on life after death, and I know she considers the holly bush to be symbolic of this world and the next. The glossy leaves attract, but like so many of life’s experiences, they hide a prickly thorn that can also wound.”

Barely a few minutes passed before we heard Dorsey clear her throat. Lady Grainger stood at the top of the stairs. Obviously, she had done much to dress herself, because it had taken her no time at all to get ready, and although her dress was rather haphazard, a thin shawl cast over her shoulders did something to disguise her general disarray.

The lady of the house smiled down at her butler, a long, tender gesture of appreciation. “Thank you so much, Stanton, for all you’ve done for me. Rest assured, I know who my friends are. All of you prove your affection for me with your good offices.”

“It is always my pleasure to serve you, ma’am. May I offer you my heartfelt condolences. Mags was much loved. We all enjoyed her. This has been a very sad time for the entire household.” He spoke with great dignity.

Lady Grainger stood a little taller and pulled her shawl close around her shoulders. “I can also count on you, I hope, to make sure that we are not interrupted.”

With that she descended the stairs.

Once they were eye to eye, Stanton gave her a brisk nod. “Dorsey consulted with me, and as you know, we took the liberty of saving two little locks of Mags’s tail. So she sewed this little purse for you.” He passed Lady Grainger a small silk pouch.

Lady Grainger slowly opened her fist and stared at the two hanks of hair. Dorsey opened the purse, and reluctantly the lady pressed the tokens inside.

“Also, I retrieved Mags’s favorite blanket and wrapped her remains in it. Along with that old silk stocking of yours that she loved so much.”

“How incredibly thoughtful of you.” Lady Grainger looked relieved. “Thank you so much for thinking ahead.”

He inclined his head. His eyes were full of emotion. “My duty, ma’am. Only my duty. As I told the ladies, I have opened a shallow grave in a secluded spot by the back wall between the holly bushes. You see, as I told the ladies, I guessed that would be a fine resting spot. It’s rather at the back of the garden so Mags won’t be disturbed by visitors. You know what a light sleeper she always was.”

Lady Grainger’s eyes sparkled with tears, and she smiled at him tremulously. “What would I do without you, Stanton? Dorsey, will you take my arm? I’m feeling rather unsteady.”

We followed Dorsey and Lady Grainger out into the soft morning air.

As Lucy had promised, Lady Grainger’s garden was a delight. The mix of colors and textures caused my fingers to ache for my watercolor brush. The far edges, left and right, were deep shades of blue, larkspur, phlox, and forget-me-nots. These merged with the blue reds of roses and the clearer red of poppies. This slowly changed to white blossoms, foxglove, and Queen Anne’s lace, and finally in the center was a circular herb garden. Although this occasion was solemn, my heart danced with happiness at our surroundings, so obviously planted with love and an artistic eye. Instead of dwelling on this sad day, I jumped ahead to imagine one day having tea out here.

A fresh pile of dirt rimmed a tidy hole in the rich soil at the center of the beds. Stanton came from the shed with a small bundle cradled in his arms. When he arrived at the graveside, he paused, waiting for Lady Grainger’s direction. We bowed our heads and waited while Lady Grainger pulled back the blanket. She cried softly as she stroked Mags one last time.

“Dear, dear Mags. You never had a cross look for anyone. You were always thrilled to see me even if I only left the room for a moment. You woke up every morning excited about the day ahead. I shall miss you with all my heart, faithful friend, and I pray that you will wait for me on the other side.”

She replaced the blanket over the dog and nodded to Stanton. He gently lowered his parcel into the grave.

Lucy passed him the prayer book, opened to the burial ceremony, and Stanton read in sonorous tones a fitting message of thanksgiving and hope. At the end, we joined in saying, “Amen.”

“Please take care of . . . putting her to bed,” said Lady Grainger to her butler. She turned on her heel, unwilling or unable to watch dirt falling on her friend. As she walked, she paused to talk to her plants. “Coming along nicely, I see. Oh, I see that bit of bonemeal did you good. Dear, dear, you need more water, don’t you?”

She stopped at a spot where stems had been cut almost even with the dirt. “Stanton?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He put down the shovel and came to her side.

“What on earth?” She pointed to the shortened stalks. “Someone has been chopping at my foxglove.”

“I believe Miss Mary has been helping you with your gardening,” he said in such a way that suggested he thought little of the girl’s efforts.

“She’s hacked them nearly to the ground! If you see her out here, let me know,” said Lady Grainger. “I shall put a stop to that right away.”

Lucy and I walked her back toward the house. We were almost there when she turned to her lady’s maid. “Dorsey? Instruct Cook to prepare tea—and summon my nieces to join us. It’s high time I made some changes around here.”