The Dead Queen's Garden (14 page)

On overhearing Melicent’s peevish complaint that the manor was draughty, he had solemnly told her, ‘You are quite correct, madam, to fear. It is well known that many persons take cold from the
injurious
currents of air that seep through window and door frames. Remember the adage, “When the wind comes upon you through a hole, it is time to make your will and take care of your soul.” You would do well to take to your bed and recall those wise words.’

The doctor now made his way towards Lily, clearly bent upon charming her, but the butler entered at that moment, bearing cake and wine. Baulked of his prey, Dr Chant shrugged and turned towards Charlotte, who was sitting beside Miss Armstrong just out of reach of the ferocious heat of the roaring fire.

‘I hope I do not intrude?’ He sat down with a nod at Charlotte, his smile turning to a hastily-disguised scowl as Melicent Penbury tripped over to them, with a girlish squeal of laughter.

‘Oh, do pray allow me to join you, dear Mrs Charlotte, I so rarely have the opportunity to converse with ladies. The women in our little town you know, very worthy persons of course, but….’ she shook her head. ‘One does miss the company of refined people of one’s own kind.’

‘Oh, do just call me Charlotte,’ Char begged, casting about for an innocuous topic. ‘I believe there are rumours of snow in the air. How delightful, I have never encountered snow before, it will be a new pleasure.’

‘I did not think it ever snowed so far south,’ said Sibella quietly. ‘I was brought up in Northumberland so it was never a novelty.’

‘Have you visited this part of the world before?’ put in Melicent, her eyes alight with curiosity as Sibella hesitated and stammered a little, a fleeting colour staining her pale cheeks.

‘Indeed not,’ she said decidedly. ‘Winchester is quite unknown to me,’ she added. ‘It was a whim of my sister’s, I believe, that led her to choose the city for our short holiday.’

‘A whim?’ With a snort of laughter that contained little humour, Dr Chant broke into the conversation. ‘Believe me, my dear Sibella, nothing your late sister ever did was by a mere
whim
,’ there was a scornful twist to his lip as he went on, ‘her every action, rather, was the result of calculation, believe me.’

Charlotte stared, while Sibella looked away, biting her lip and Melicent Penbury sat up, eager at the prospect of dissension. The doctor continued, ‘But your brother must have known this part of the world quite well, must he not?’ Dr Chant leaned back in his upholstered walnut chair, thumbs tucked into his waistcoat, watching his fellow guest as he went on, ‘After all, he was employed as secretary to Lord Granville both in London and in the country. My dear late wife,’ he allowed himself a moment of solemn remembrance by bowing his head, but Charlotte detected a note of sarcasm. ‘Yes, Verena told me her brother was very
well-regarded
by both Lord Granville and his lady. Sadly, I fear the young man left their employ rather hurriedly and under a cloud.’

The malice in his expression was pronounced as Sibella shrank back in her chair, her face drained of colour. Melicent, who had
been turning from one to the other with an avid interest, now joined in the conversation.

‘Good gracious me,’ she said, with her usual gasping, breathless manner. ‘Is that the brother you told us had emigrated to Australia, Miss Armstrong? How sad it is when families are rent asunder by misfortune. When was it that your brother left these shores?’

Short of causing a diversion by dancing a hornpipe, Charlotte realized there was little she could do to protect Miss Armstrong from this interrogation. Besides, she was intrigued; the circumstance of the brother’s employment by the Granvilles seemed a startling coincidence, bearing in mind the way his sisters had stumbled into a slight acquaintance with young Mrs Richmond from the manor. That thought slipped into her mind and without knowing quite why, she asked:

‘Did your brother resemble you, Miss Armstrong? I did not think you and Mrs Chant were very much alike. Family likeness is sometimes very marked, other times it is barely noticeable. For example, I do not resemble my late mother at all, as she was small with fair hair and blue eyes, but I lately met an old servant who insisted that our voices were almost identical. What do you think, Melicent? You must have observed many instances of this in your various charges.’

Her praiseworthy attempt to broaden the discussion resulted in a faint smile from Sibella but Melicent sat bolt upright in an attitude of outraged dignity and Charlotte remembered, too late, that the former governess resented any reference to her earlier occupation.

Dr Chant still wore that expression of bright-eyed malice. ‘I believe Edward Armstrong bore a very close resemblance to his sister Verena,’ he said, shooting a glance at the silent Sibella. ‘Not merely in facial appearance but in character also. In any event, he was not to be trusted and was despatched to Australia in an attempt to avoid a scandal, where he later died, and in answer to your question, madam,’ he bowed to Melicent, ‘I understand that his departure took place about eleven or twelve years ago.’ The sarcasm was clearly apparent now to Charlotte as he added, ‘As I said, he left under a considerable cloud.’

C
HARLOTTE
BLESSED
THE
manor’s infant son and heir whose angry wails had the effect of breaking up the party rather earlier than she could have hoped for. Agnes sent for her cloak and, after the customary quarter of an hour of fussing, succeeded in tearing herself and her slightly befuddled husband away from her ancestral home and back to the vicarage. Lady Frampton was always ready for her bed, and had indeed been nodding away beside the fire for the last hour, while the ill-assorted guests made no objection when Lily whisked herself anxiously away to the nursery to assuage little Algy’s hunger, leaving Barnard hovering uncertainly between the drawing-room and above stairs.

While Lily was saying goodnight, Sibella whispered urgently to Charlotte,‘I really cannot go visiting tomorrow, pray help me to explain to my kind hosts.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Charlotte nodded in sympathy. ‘I’ll stay at home too,’ she began, when Lily burst in on the conversation.

‘What’s that, Char? Barnard, come here at once.’ She was agitated. ‘Here is Miss Armstrong saying she won’t go out to tea tomorrow and dear Charlotte offering to stay at home with her.’

A chorus of dismay and disapproval soon had Sibella shrinking into her chair but it was Barnard’s exclamation that clinched the argument.

‘That cannot be right, Char; I tell you what, I’ll send a note to say that none of us will attend.’

Sibella bowed to the inevitable and insisted that she could not spoil the family’s fun and Charlotte hastily took her to one side, lest Lily should carry on the discussion.

‘I understand that you feel awkward at the prospect of meeting the
Granvilles, but there will be so many guests there that you will not be remarked upon,’ she assured the other girl. ‘Lady Frampton will take you under her wing and you may sit quietly out of the way of the festivities. Nobody will make you feel uncomfortable, I promise.’

It was a relief to escape to her room, away from Dr Chant’s barbed remarks and Sibella’s discomfort, although Melicent Penbury looked to have enjoyed her evening, darting little questions here and there. Charlotte frowned as she recalled Sibella’s awkward attempt to deflect the intrusive interrogation.

‘As I mentioned, I am from the North,’ she had explained reluctantly. ‘As I explained last evening, my father was a parish priest and my mother was connected, rather remotely, to the local gentry.’ She sighed and lowered her eyes. ‘When Papa died, my brother Edward inherited what money there was, with instructions to take care of his sisters.’

She paused and Charlotte shot her a wry glance. ‘Oh dear, that sounds fraught with difficulties; it didn’t work for Elinor and Marianne Dashwood, did it,’ she suggested and was rewarded by a brief smile of understanding.

‘I’m afraid it was like that,’ admitted Sibella. ‘My brother was not – was never very good with money.’

She was interrupted by a snort of knowing laughter from Dr Chant and by an exclamation from Lily who had moved over to join the other women. Bristling, Lily exclaimed, ‘You mentioned someone called Dashwood, Charlotte? And you know them too, Sibella? How can that be, are they a local family? I was under the impression that I was acquainted with all the local gentry, so I cannot understand it. I should like an introduction but the name is unfamiliar to me.’

She glared suspiciously at Charlotte who hastily said, ‘It’s a book by Miss Austen, Lily; just some people in a book.’

Charlotte undressed rapidly, anxious to leap into bed and to forget the uncomfortable evening. She was putting her dark brown hair into its neat night-time plaits when there was a tentative tap at the door.

‘Miss Armstrong?’ She was startled but hospitable as she ushered the other young woman inside. ‘Are you still anxious about attending tomorrow’s party? I’m sure we can find you a veil if you would like that. Here, come and sit by the fire, it’s bitterly cold everywhere, Barnard says he thinks it will snow tomorrow.’ Aware that she was babbling in her surprise at this overture, Charlotte sat her guest in the warm while, still shivering slightly, she flung her new shawl around her own shoulders.

Still without speaking, Sibella warmed her toes at the small, bright fire. Charlotte sat quietly, wondering what could have prompted this unexpected visit, but willing to wait for enlightenment.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sibella made to rise, but Charlotte put out a hand to stop her. ‘It’s not the party, I’ll do as you say and sit quietly out of the way.’ She shook her head, ‘I should not have – but you did say I might come and I….’ She hesitated again then clearly made a decision. ‘The thing is, Mrs Richmond – well, Charlotte then – I don’t know what I am to do and I wondered if I might confide in you to some extent?’

At Charlotte’s nod, Sibella went on. ‘Thank you, you see I am singularly alone now and you – you have been so kind and so sympathetic, I believe I can talk to you. It’s all so difficult.…’ She composed herself and took a deep breath. ‘First of all, I should perhaps give you a clearer picture of my family circumstances. As I said this evening, my brother and sister and I were orphaned quite young and Verena was adopted, on an informal basis, by a distant cousin of our mother’s. It was not ideal; our old governess had married late in life and she offered to take my sister under her wing and bring her up.’ Sibella sat frowning at the fire and Charlotte waited quietly for her to continue. ‘It would have been so much better for Verena, in many ways, if she had remained at her boarding school in Newcastle. However, her new guardian was a wealthy, childless widow who led an empty society life and she took Verena out of school and installed her in the London house, so delighted was she to have a real-life doll to dress and indulge and parade amongst her friends and acquaintances. Verena was already showing signs of beauty, even at a little under thirteen, and she
became what her adoptive mother made her: another vapid, vain society flibbertigibbet with not a notion in her head apart from clothes and fashion and compliments.’

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and gratefully accepted the handkerchief Charlotte held out to her. ‘As a child, she was sweet and loving, but everything changed. I helped a neighbour with her children for some months until I decided to seek a position as a governess in London to be near my brother and sister.’

Charlotte was sympathetic. She too had considered employment as a governess, though in the end she had given in to her mother’s pleas, looking away in shame as her erratic but charming stepfather carried on his career as a confidence trickster. But no longer, she reminded herself firmly; these days I am a respectable widow and no-one is any the wiser.

‘Edward obtained a post with Lord Granville as a junior secretary,’ Sibella was saying. ‘One of our Northumbrian neighbours used his influence with his lordship. It was a godsend. Edward’s career until then had been unsteady, to say the least. He tried university but was sent down for some misdeed that I was never informed about, then he joined the army briefly. He took – borrowed – the jewellery my mother had left me and sold it to purchase a cornetcy but that did not answer either. Again, it was never explained to me, but I suspect he was … that he….’ She pulled a face. ‘At any rate, the position in London dropped into his lap at an opportune moment and he seemed to be making a go of it. So much so that he sent me my train fare to London and said he had found me a post as a governess.’

She paused while Charlotte poked up the fire and added some coal, saying with a shiver, ‘I have never been so cold in my entire life as I have been these last few weeks. There, that’s better. Do go on.’

‘It was a happy time,’ Sibella smiled faintly. ‘My charge was a well-behaved small girl who was a delight to teach and at that time Verena was thriving under the cosseting she was receiving, while Edward seemed happily settled with Lord Granville. So much so, indeed, that he speedily became the pet of the household, with her ladyship being particularly fond of him, and inviting him to dinner whenever they were a man short.’

‘Did you meet the Granvilles too?’ Charlotte asked.

‘Oh yes,’ Sibella nodded and looked away. ‘They were so kind; sometimes they allowed Edward to invite me to their receptions. It was a wonderful time – but he threw it all away.’ She gritted her teeth. ‘He was – he was a womaniser, although I had no idea of it at the time. Did I say that he was exceedingly good-looking? Well,’ she faltered. ‘You saw my sister, the resemblance was very marked and I was told, in no uncertain terms, that he had betrayed a young society lady by making up to her. I also learned afterwards that in order to satisfy the demands of the several women who were the objects of his attentions, he altered bank drafts, just a little at a time, so that his theft was undetected, but he grew too careless, too arrogant. He was discovered when he attempted to obtain money for some sensitive information he had gathered at the government office where Lord Granville was a junior minister.’

‘Forgive me,’ Charlotte broke in as Sibella’s voice faltered into silence. ‘But I did not observe you in conversation with the Granvilles. Did they not acknowledge you? How uncharitable, when this was none of your doing.’

‘The Granvilles were bitterly hurt and disappointed,’ Sibella explained. ‘Lady Granville particularly, for she overheard Edward laughing as he described her as a “tiresome old woman”.’ She frowned and sighed. ‘It would be unthinkable to expect them to renew the acquaintance and I do not wish to do so. I never expected to see them again, it was a terrible coincidence that Verena chose to visit Winchester; I supposed they would be in Town. Besides, they were kind at the time. To avoid scandal, they sent my brother packing without prosecuting him, although they would have been completely within their rights. Verena’s guardian refused to allow me to see or speak to my sister again, and even forbade me to write, while my employer was an acquaintance of Lady Granville’s and I lost my position also because of the shame. I was tarred with the same brush, as it was said that I must have been aware of Edward’s behaviour, which was a complete and odious lie. I knew nothing of what he had done and it was a very dark and difficult time for me.’

‘My poor dear,’ Charlotte was all sympathy and took the other girl’s cold hand in her own as Sibella blushed and stumbled
awkwardly over the explanation, not meeting her eyes. ‘It must have been dreadful, but it is surely a comfort to know that you were reconciled with your sister before her untimely death.’

Just after midnight, when Charlotte had been lying in bed for more than an hour listening to the wind whistling about the windows of the ancient manor house, she gave up her attempt at sleep and reached out to light her candle. Shivering, she wrapped her new shawl around her and was about to snuggle down into her pillows once more when she noticed that the fire was very low. No wonder it’s so cold in here, she grumbled, and scrambled with considerable reluctance out of bed. Mercifully there was plenty of coal and kindling set ready in the hearth and she blessed the efficiency of the household.

I’ve never been so cold in my life, she thought, but at least I have a fire and I’m safely tucked up in a beautiful house with every luxury to hand. She recalled a conversation with Will:

‘If you ever have to be a beggar, Char,’
he had said, ‘
Try to make sure you are not destitute during an English winter. Poverty is easier by far to cope with in a warm climate, believe me; I’ve tried both and there’s no comparison.’
He had laughed at her expression and continued,
‘I mean it, Char. If there’s water and the occasional insect to hand, you won’t starve.’
He had hesitated then,
‘Mind you, I’ve been fairly close to starvation in the Outback and I have to admit that the hunger was pretty terrible. If it hadn’t been for those ants and that timely lizard….’

Charlotte smiled and shook her head now as she recalled her childish shriek of disgust at his suggestion, but shivering, she could understand what he had meant about the cold weather. She tended the fire until there was a good blaze going, with the flames crackling and sparks flying up the chimney, then she scuttled across the polished floorboards to pull the curtains closer. With a gasp of amazement, she stared out at the garden as the clouds parted and the moon sailed majestically into view. Clear as day, she saw that the wind had died down and that snow had cloaked the earth with ermine.

‘Oh, how magical,’ she exclaimed and gasped as she spotted a pair of roe deer picking their way on dainty feet across the
snow-covered
grass as they headed for the refuge of the woods.

Scrambling back into bed, Charlotte knew that sleep was far away so she reflected on the day’s happenings. She shied away from thinking of Elaine Knightley, frail and gallant and surely almost on her deathbed. The idea was too painful, so her thoughts hurried onward to the startling incident at the church gate. Why had the fat old pony suddenly taken it into its head to try to gallop off like that? It had led a pampered existence, as befitted an elderly equine gentleman, with a comfortable stable in the yard of Rowan Lodge and the run of the paddock that ran alongside the lane, whenever it fancied a spot of exercise.

Miss Cole insisted that there was a dog in the case, and kept to her story. Everyone else seemed to have shrugged and accepted that as the cause of the incident, but Charlotte had seen no dog and neither had Oz Granville, whose temper had been sorely tried by the officious behaviour of his mother’s companion. Sleep was beginning to overtake her when Charlotte suddenly exclaimed aloud, ‘Bessie! What in the world was Bessie doing on Finchbourne village green?’

Bessie had looked startled, Charlotte now recalled, at the name of Charlotte’s village; perhaps the smith’s brother had something to do with that. Had she been near enough to the scene at the church gate to have witnessed anything untoward?

It was no use; Charlotte’s eyelids drooped as she dozed off with one thought lingering in mind:
I wonder if Bessie saw a dog?
It was surely nonsense but she took the notion into her dreams.