Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
When everybody had either picked at or inhaled the breakfast of their choice—I ate sparingly but steadily—Dantry caught the eye of the footman at the sideboard, and that good fellow withdrew, closing the door in his wake.
“The first priority of the day,” the earl said, “is to offer my thanks to those who freed me from what might have become permanent incarceration. What I witnessed at the Retreat must be made public, and active oversight of such institutions must become a matter of law. I was treated well enough, but others were not. I will not forget them, and I will not forget the family and friends who came to my aid.”
He acknowledged the assemblage with a lift of his tea cup—fitting libation for such an odd toast—and most of the table beamed at him in response. The earl occupied the head of the table. Sheldon had been seated figuratively below the salt, at a corner across from Hyperia and beside Sir Clive.
If Sheldon was pleased or relieved to see his brother, he was hiding it well. Dantry’s younger sibling had eaten little and looked worried.
As well he should be.
“What I don’t understand,” Dantry went on, “is how you found me. Nobody saw me meet with Huffnagel. He brought a horse for me to ride, and I was admitted to the Retreat in the still watches of the night. I expected to walk out the next day, having experienced, or at least observed, some of what an asylum is truly like.”
“You left us clues,” Miss Weatherby said. “Your hat among the yews. Your spurs at the livery stable.”
“You did mount a thorough search, didn’t you?
Huffnagel seemed almost eager to facilitate my request when he had to know full well what my intentions were.
He’s the ombudsman for the Retreat. I knew he could arrange my visit discreetly, but I didn’t expect him to be so enthusiastic about the notion.
That gave me enough pause that I parted with my hat and hung my spurs on a post at the livery.
I also asked Deemster to keep watch for any peculiar goings-on in the vicinity of the Dovecote, lest Sheldon get up to more mischief. ”
Setting a watch had been shrewd, but Deemster had been guarding the wrong mousehole.
“We did suspect Fletcher,” Hyperia said. “Julian believes Fletcher supported kidnapping you so he could slip his enclosure act through Parliament in your absence.”
“He’s been trying to get his hands on a huge swath of common land for years,” Dantry said. “Alphonse’s position as MP is intended, I am certain, to ensure that enclosure bill is eventually passed.”
“Your lordship won’t let that happen.” My observation earned me several puzzled glances.
“I won’t?”
“You will not. You found the very explicit love letters that Alphonse returned to his latest conquest on the occasion of parting ways with her, just as she had reason to fear that she’s carrying his bastard.”
“I did what?”
“Trixie,” Miss Weatherby murmured. “Short for Beatrix, with a B. She’s very pretty, and she and Cook have been at daggers drawn lately.”
For good reasons. “Trixie is decimating the Knot’s stores of rue, pennyroyal, tansy, and I forget what else, all of which can bring on a miscarriage.” I’d been reminded of those medical facts by Elmer Fines’s partner in passion. She knew her herbs, and those herbs had left her free to frolic.
“The undercook wrote those letters?” Dantry’s consternation was evident in his expression.
“I was concerned that Elizabeth Stoneham might have… Oh dear. Alphonse can be charming, and Elizabeth was going for constitutionals—I believe she was called Betty in her youth—and I wasn’t sure how to return the letters to their author without great awkwardness.
But you tell me Alphonse took advantage of a woman in service? ”
“He wouldn’t see it that way.” Hyperia’s words carried a baggage wain full of disgust. “He made overtures. Beatrix was receptive, thinking herself to have finally caught the eye of a gentleman who was courting her in good faith. He flattered her, misrepresented his interest, and then, when he learned she was with child, he likely threw a few coins at her and went on his way.”
“He will throw a wedding ring at her,” Sir Clive said. “If she’ll have him. In the alternative, he will dower her if she’s developed other options.”
I was certain Sir Clive was mentally loading another blunderbuss—and not with birdshot.
Alphonse’s political career was in mortal peril, did he but know it.
Scandals came and went in Town, but in the shires, leaving a young woman to cope with a bastard child was not tolerated, not when the father was heir to huge wealth.
The young woman would be judged foolish and fallen, but the child would be regarded as blameless and deserving of paternal support.
“I had no idea Trixie was in such difficulties,” Miss Weatherby said. “I thought she might have been sweet on Deemster, who certainly seems to have a soft spot for her, but I never imagined…”
“I hope she doesn’t marry Alphonse,” Hyperia said. “He’ll resent her and the child, and he doesn’t deserve the opportunity to make anybody miserable ever again.”
The duchess sipped her tea and held her peace. She and Sir Clive would doubtless discuss the whole business between themselves and ensure that Trixie the Undercook and her offspring suffered as little as possible for her misplaced trust.
“What of Huffnagel?” Dantry asked. “How did you come to suspect him?”
“I didn’t,” I said, “not initially. He was genially concerned for you, tolerant of your political zeal, though frustrated by your unwillingness to compromise. He wished me every success in locating you and went so far as to explain that you are a handy bad example of what happens when radicals are allowed a voice in government.”
“I am radical because I expect the wealthiest empire in the world to see that our children, widows, and old soldiers are fed?”
“Claude.” Miss Weatherby’s tone was laced with affection.
The earl fell silent.
“I came to suspect Huffnagel only gradually,” I said.
“The evidence of my own eyes suggested Fontaine is an excellent steward. My reasons for interviewing him had to do with Sheldon’s mishandling of the ledgers, but I was also curious about old grudges, past scandals, and—quite honestly—any family tendency to mental imbalance. ”
Everybody, save Sheldon, found it necessary to study their plates, the pot of crocuses serving as the centerpiece, the curtains filtering the beams of morning sun.
“Dantry’s ma wasn’t right in the brainbox,” Sheldon said, scowling at me. “Nobody ever gave me details, but I know that much.”
“She was young,” Dantry said, “and, to all accounts, a happy bride.”
“Until she wasn’t,” the duchess said quietly. “The countess withdrew from Society, and we heard rumors of melancholia and worse.”
The discussion had become abruptly painful.
Best to have done with it. “Fontaine told me the old earl sent his countess to the seaside in hopes of a cure for her condition. I am all but certain he instead had her shut up at the Retreat, where she eventually expired. Sheldon informed me that the Arbuthnots had been sponsors of the Retreat at one point. I suspect that sponsorship amounted to a bribe to keep Huffnagel’s mouth shut. ”
“Some ombudsman.” Miss Weatherby glowered at the crocuses. “How many other families was he extorting funds from?”
“I knew nothing of this,” Dantry said. “Papa never said a word, but you apparently saw the tombstone, didn’t you, my lord?”
I nodded. “Pale marble, large, situated to face the Dovecote, no name or inscription other than a pair of crossed spurs and a sprig of greenery, a botanical symbol for protection and hope.”
“An olive branch and spurs are on our coat of arms,” Sheldon said. “You concluded the late countess was buried at the Retreat simply based on that?”
“No,” I said, “but taken with the rest of the circumstances, including what Her Grace recalled of Lady Dantry’s movements in Society, I adopted that theory as a working hypothesis.
Then too, Huffnagel seems to believe that Dantry will take no action against him.
That arrogant conclusion suggests Huffnagel believes he is still holding the high cards when it comes to scandal and family standing. ”
Dantry took a measured sip of his tea. “His lordship is in error. He may bleat Mother’s unfortunate final circumstances to the heavens, and I will merely disclose what she endured at the Retreat all the more loudly—what the ombudsman himself knew was afoot and did nothing to avert.”
For a man supposedly lacking in focus and prone to odd fits and starts, Dantry had apparently been doing some hard thinking.
“I should have shot him in the foot when I had the chance,” Miss Weatherby said. “Blown his dratted foot off. His good foot.”
Sir Clive patted her hand. “A soldier never fires a weapon impetuously. We follow orders, my dear.”
Sheldon put his table napkin beside his plate. “Well, if this is all settled, and Lord Huffnagel is bound for the assizes, then might we agree the business of Dantry’s disappearance has been satisfactorily concluded?”
The bright tone fell flat.
“Not quite,” I said when Dantry chose not to contradict his brother. “Ladies, I noticed some daffodils blooming in the conservatory. I’m sure a few blossoms gracing the atrium would be a very appreciated cheerful note on a day that began with too many challenges.”
Hyperia rose, kissed my cheek, and led the retreat. The duchess followed, and Miss Weatherby brought up the rear in her Bath chair.
“Why did you send them away?” Sheldon asked. “All’s well that ends well, right? Dantry and I have that little matter of the extra invoices to sort out, but that’s family business.”
“Sheldon, shut your mouth,” Dantry said wearily. “You are a thief and a liar and a coward, but for all that, you are to be pitied.”
Sir Clive rose and began rummaging in the sideboard.