The Exploits & Adventures of Miss Alethea Darcy (34 page)

“Perhaps you should go down to Pemberley,” Fanny suggested.

No, Alethea didn't want to go to Derbyshire; memories of that happier world of childhood were too acute. “I have no desire to rusticate, thank you,” she said to Fanny.

Then Mr. Fitzwilliam happened to mention Melville Place, where Napier's London house was situated. “It is a good address,” he said. “You will have no trouble finding a tenant in due course.”

“What,” said Alethea, “a house where there has been a murder? Only a ghoul would want a lease on it.”

Mr. Fitzwilliam looked surprised. “Your husband was not killed in Melville Place,” he said. “I thought you knew, he was murdered elsewhere.”

“Why need we go in at the back of the house?” Alethea asked Figgins as she inserted the key into the lock of the small door that led into the mews of 17 Melville Place.

“When there's been a murder done, folk like to come and gawp.”

Once they were inside, with the door closed behind them, the sounds of busy London streets retreated. No heads looked out from the stalls, no familiar smell of horse and hay and leather hung on the air. A half door swung to and fro on a creaking hinge. A carriage, shafts up, stood in the coach house. Grass grew between the cobbles. It was all neglected, and the forlorn scene made Alethea wonder anew about her late husband.

She knew nothing of his London life, she had merely thanked God when he went to London for days or a week at a time. Although she had soon learned that the respite of her husband's absence was paid for when he returned to the country, his desire to control and destroy her intensified by his visit to London.

“Napier wasn't murdered here,” she said. “I hadn't realised that until Mr. Fitzwilliam started talking about this house.”

“It makes no difference. If that lot of gawkers get a glimpse of you, and know you for who you are, they'll be buzzing round like bluebottles. Best to go in this way and not give them the chance.”

“It looks so desolate without any horses or grooms or stablemen; why is it all so unkempt, I wonder?”

“We'll find out soon enough.”

“He never liked this house,” Alethea said, as Figgins pushed open the door that led to the servants' quarters. “Once, when he was drunk, he said that every time he stepped foot in it, he could hear his father's voice in his ears. I believe he and his father never got on together. His father disapproved of him; I dare say he was an estimable man.”

“As well for him,” said Figgins as she led the way down a narrow, dark, odorous passage, “for then he may be sitting up in heaven on a cloud, whereas Napier, if he has his just deserts, will be spinning on a hot spit turned by Old Nick himself.”

They found Watts the caretaker in the kitchen, a clay pipe in his hand and a large tabby cat curled up on his wide lap. He turned bibulous red eyes on them and heaved himself up from his wooden seat, tucking the cat under a brawny arm.

“Here is Mrs. Napier,” said Figgins briskly. “So put that great animal down, and make yourself useful.”

The caretaker stared at Alethea. “Mrs. Napier? In the kitchen?”

“Yes, we came this way for convenience,” said Alethea. “However, you may show us the way upstairs, if you please. It is very musty down here, I must say.”

Alethea wasn't at all perturbed to find herself in the regions of the house that most young ladies never ventured into. In her younger days, when she and Figgins had crept out of the Fitzwilliams' house in Aubrey Square, dressed as men so that Alethea could join her musician friends, they had frequently come and gone through the servants' entrance.

They passed through the doors that separated the two parts of the house and were in the hall. Dusty rays filtered through the fanlight over the door, otherwise it was as gloomy there as it had been below stairs.

“Not expecting company,” the caretaker said; “me and Mrs. Watts hadn't got any rooms ready.”

Alethea opened the nearest door and found herself in a dingy parlour, furnished in the fashion of the last century, with a faded Turkey rug upon the floor and shabby damask curtains hanging at the windows.

“Open them shutters, Watts,” Figgins said. “Look lively, now.”

Alethea drew a squiggle of notes in the dust on an ornate commode, then regarded the dust on the fingers of her gloves with some astonishment.

“What do you expect if you go doing that?” said Figgins. “The hem of your dress is quite thick with dust, too; black is terrible for showing dust.” She turned back to Watts, who was trying to slide out of the room so that he could dive back to his chair in the kitchen. “Did your master not care that his house was so ill kept? Where are the rest of the servants?”

“There aren't none. There was Mr. Holbis here, from time to time, as looked after Mr. Napier, his gentleman's gentleman he was, but he was sent off on half wages while Mr. Napier was away, and he ain't been back. Mr. Napier never stayed in this house, although there are some of his clothes upstairs, what Mr. Holbis says are out of fashion. He wasn't allowed to take them, which was wrong, for cast-offs belong to a gentleman's gentleman, as everyone knows.”

“Holbis was a slimy creature,” Alethea said to Figgins. “I am glad he is not here, he would be no use to us. However, if are there no maids, no footmen, no one in the kitchen, it will be impossible to stay here.”

“You will have to bustle about and see what you can do, you and Mrs. Watts,” Figgins said to the caretaker.

He stared at her, aghast. “There ain't no amount of bustling's going to get this house straight. In old Mr. Napier's day we had a staff of twelve, not counting those out in the stable.”

“You leave the staff to me,” said Figgins, wrinkling her nose as she lifted a cushion. “We don't need twelve, but we do need a cook and help in the kitchen, and maids, and someone to scrub. I'll get my brother Jack over, if it's all right with you, Miss Alethea; he's just come out of the navy, where he was steward to a naval officer as has been made admiral and gone off to a shore post overseas. Jack didn't fancy any more overseas, he's had enough of foreigners to last him a lifetime, he says, so he'll be looking about for a position. He can come here meanwhile and give us a hand. Here, you, Watts, find a boy who'll take a note; look sharp now, we haven't got all day.”

The sound of a bell pealed in the distance, followed by a brisk rapping at the front door.

“There now,” said Watts, visibly distressed. “Who'd have thought it, callers and at this hour, can't they see the knocker's off, meaning we ain't at home?”

“That'll be Griffy,” said Alethea, running into the hall. She threw her arms round the rather fierce-looking woman dressed in expensive but unfashionable blue bombazine who stood in the hall, looking about her with some dismay. “Oh, I'm so happy you've come, Griffy, we are in such a fix. Have you heard about Napier?”

“Is there anyone in London outside Bedlam who hasn't heard?” said Miss Griffin. “Well, Figgins, I'm glad to see that you're back with Mrs. Napier. Now, be careful with that portmanteau, it contains papers, and I don't want them fluttering all over the room, thank you. Alethea, what are you doing here? Why aren't you with Lady Fanny, or the Gardiners?”

“I have been with the Fitzwilliams, and have been driven nearly mad with nothing to do, and Fanny all solicitousness and my cousin full of disapproval, so I decided to come and stay here.”

“It is quite improper for you to be here alone, at such a time.”

“I have Figgins, and now I have you, Griffy dear.”

“I am not at all sure that I shall stay. Your message was so urgent that even though I am in the middle of the most exciting part of my tale, I felt obliged to put down my pen and come to Melville Place. However, it all looks to be in very poor order and I am not of a domestic turn of mind, as you know.”

“No, no, nothing domestic will be required of you, I promise. We shall find you a comfortable place for your writing and you may go on with your novel just as you would in your own house,” said Alethea. “In the evening, you can read me what you've written, as you used to when I was in the schoolroom. And I shall tell you something of my travels; you will be interested to hear of the dangers we faced while crossing the Alps.”

“You have been abroad? I had no idea. Indeed, I haven't had a word from you since your marriage. You never wrote to me.”

“I did, indeed I did, but Napier made sure none of my letters were ever sent. I was so mistaken in his character, I can't tell you what a monster he turned out to be.”

“I dare say,” said Miss Griffin with a significant look at Watts.

“Are you still here?” said Alethea. “You may go, Watts, and you are to do just as Figgins tells you.”

He didn't look as though that was a prospect to bring him much pleasure, and he went grumbling off while Figgins began issuing a stream of instructions to his broad, resentful back.

“Why, here is a cat,” said Miss Griffin, who liked cats. “A very handsome cat. Why do you laugh?”

“Oh, because Napier couldn't abide cats, and here is this creature lording it in his house. Although I don't know why I call it his house, for it seems he never lived here. I wonder where he stayed when he was in London.”

“I can tell you that, for it is in the newspapers; I don't suppose you have read them. He kept rooms a few streets from here, a handsome set of lodgings, apparently, done up in some style.” She gave Alethea a sharp look. “That is where he was killed, did you know that much, at least?”

“I knew it was not here, and I am most grateful for it, otherwise I could not have come. Griffy, ours was not”—she hesitated, searching for words—“it was not a happy marriage.”

“That's as may be, only you'd best mind your tongue when others are about, especially the servants. Figgins is to be trusted, of course, but you cannot be sure of anyone else; that Watts looks a thoroughly disagreeable fellow.”

She was removing her hat as she spoke, and Alethea gave a sigh of relief. “You'll stay? Oh, thank goodness.”

“For the time being,” said Miss Griffin. “Now, perhaps Figgins might be prevailed upon to make a pot of coffee. A strong cup of coffee, if you please.”

Figgins was as good as her word, and by midday her brother, in a footman's apron, was busy about the house. A friend of Mrs. Figgins, who had once been in service, came round to oblige in the kitchen, bringing with her a sniffing waif of a granddaughter to lend a hand. Jack rustled up some old shipmates who were more than happy to earn a few shillings putting the house to rights in the nautical way, and Mrs. Watt, fearing that she would be quite superseded if she let anyone else loose among her mops and buckets, set to with surprising energy, so that the house began to look much more the thing.

Not that Alethea cared much about it. She had found a harpsichord in the drawing room, its case slightly attacked by worm, but with the strings intact. She at once set about tuning it, causing Mrs. Watts to cast scandalised looks in her direction and set up a muttering about widows, but Alethea took no notice; absorbed in the pitch of her strings, she was oblivious to criticism, merely desiring Mrs. Watt to take her noisy bucket elsewhere.

Lost in her music as she was, she could still not shut out thoughts of her future. More than anything else, she needed to know how she stood, financially and legally. How could she find out? The family lawyer would know, but even if she summoned him, he would be shocked at being asked such a question, and probably be so full of contorted language that there would be no understanding a word of it: lawyers were not in the business of giving straight answers.

Her father would tell her, or Mr. Gardiner; they were neither of them available to be asked. Mr. Fitzwilliam might or might not know; either way, she could not trust him to tell her the exact truth. He would be so horrified, was already so horrified at a young woman's presuming to display any sense of independence, that he would hedge and fall into a temper and be no use at all.

Did Griffy have any views on the subject?

“None,” said that lady, when they were sitting together at the dining table, enjoying an excellent meal prepared by one of Jack's cronies. “This floating island pudding is extremely good; I must obtain the receipt from the cook. I have never had any chance of an inheritance; such money as I have and have ever had is what I have made by my labours, and since I never married, I have always managed my own affairs. It is different for you; there is property and a good deal of money, I dare say, and you have various members of your family to advise and guide you.”

“That's just it, I don't want to be guided. I want to be like you, and not have anyone telling me what I may and may not do.”

“That is your wild streak coming out, Alethea. I always warned you to take care how you let go of restraints, for there is no knowing where your actions may lead you.”

Figgins had come into the dining room to clear the table and set out the dessert. “Ask that Mr. Manningtree, Miss Alethea, that's my advice. He's bound to be a magistrate and all that, he will know what's what if anyone does.”

“Mr. Manningtree?” said Miss Griffin. “A clever, troubled man; I remember him from dear Camilla's wedding. I am sure he is knowledgeable about such things, but what has he to do with you?”

Alethea, thinking how much time she had spent in Titus Manningtree's company, and in what outrageous circumstances, had to consider before she answered. “I have seen something of Lady Hermione, Alexander's mother, recently, and Mr. Manningtree is a very good friend of hers; she is his godmother, in fact. Figgins was greatly impressed by him.”

“Figgins is a good judge of character, but you can hardly be asking your forthright questions of a man whose connection with you is so remote. We are used to your ways, within the family, and even there your wildest schemes and pranks have all too often had to be smoothed over and kept from your nearest and dearest. A comparative stranger would be shocked to hear you talk the way you do.”