Chapter 18
It was not long after Ralph’s letter reached London that an answer was returned by post, arriving the same day as the weekly newspaper from London. The familiar script on the direction rang an alarm, and Ralph retreated with the newspaper and the letter to his study to read them in private.
As expected, the letter was from Libby Clifford, and its tone was even more demanding than her first letter.
She berated Ralph for refusing to believe her and informed him that she would write a copy, made in a fair hand, of the letter she had sent Will announcing her pregnancy and then enclose another copy of the letter she had received from Will in return. What other evidence could he want?
The first enclosure was a sheet of paper, written in the same handwriting, of a letter dated some months prior informing Libby’s “generous lover” that he had left something of himself with her and that before the year was out, she hoped to present him with a babe who had her own fair looks and the Aldine charm.
A second sheet of paper was folded inside the first enclosure, this one in the same hand but with a completely different style and tone.
Libby, you naughty minx,
What do you mean writing me at my home? You know my man is tasked with sending any messages between us. And furthermore, what do you mean you’re in the family way? I assumed your fellow Cyprians would have taught you how to take precautions for that possibility.
I shall visit you in person and tell you what I think of this unfortunate development, but in the meantime, no more letters, or—I promise you—there will be no more parcels from Rundell & Bridge.
Will
Ralph groaned. This flippant, foolhardy letter could well have been drafted by his own feckless brother.
He had only to imagine it in Will’s spiky handwriting, rather than the softer curves of the transcriber’s pen.
It was clever of Miss Clifford to provide her evidence in this manner, for if she had sent the original document, Ralph would have been likely to destroy it.
The details were damning as well as the tone.
It was highly probable that Will’s valet had been a go-between, bringing messages from the theatre to Will’s home so that no one would spot them in the regular post. The deplorable attitude towards the actress’ announcement was all part and parcel of Will’s shocking sense of morality.
Ralph did not think the actress had the education to affect this bored, polished decadence or forge a letter in this style.
Still—he could not say for certain that the letter was really a true transcription of Will’s own words until he saw the original letter in his half-brother’s own hand.
But to do that, he would have to journey to London again… .
A knock sounded on the door of Ralph’s study. Ralph set down the letter and said to come in. “Beggin’ pardon, sir,” said Polly, poking her head around the corner, “but Mrs. Aldine is wonderin’ if ye are done with that London newspaper.”
“Oh, does she want to read it for herself?” said Ralph.
“Ah s’pect as much,” said Polly with a shrug.
Ralph folded the newspaper and held it out to Polly. “You may tell her that I have not even begun to read it, but I willingly cede it to her first perusal.”
“Don’t know as ah can remember all that, but th’ mistress’ll be pleased as a partridge to have it first.”
“Ever my goal in life,” said Ralph with a faint smile.
“To make my wife pleased as a partridge.” The smile faded as soon as Polly left the room.
His wife would not be pleased to hear that he was returning to London without her once again.
But the decision was made. It remained only for him to decide how to communicate the news.
He folded and quartered the actress’ letter and the transcription of Will’s letter, tucking them into his own coat, but the other enclosure detailing her unfortunate “announcement” had fallen amongst some blank sheets of paper.
Without realizing it, he swept them all into a pile and placed them in the drawer of his desk.
The following morning, Ralph preempted Polly and brought Helena’s cup of coffee and sweet roll to her room. “Ralph,” she said sleepily, pulling her covers up over her night rail, but without any hint of alarm.
“Good morning, my dear.” He handed her the coffee as she sat up taller in the bed and laid the sweet roll on the table by the bedside. “How you can eat in bed so daintily is beyond me. If I did not sit at the table with my breakfast, there would be crumbs and stains all over the bedclothes.”
Helena gave a soft laugh. “Well, if you must know my secret, Polly usually gives me a tray to put over my lap.”
“Ah, my mistake,” said Ralph, looking around the room for the absent item, and then giving up with a shrug.
He picked up the small wooden chair that sat in front of Helena’s mirror and moved it next to the bedside for him to sit on.
Then, he watched Helena as she set the coffee down and then picked up the sweet roll to take a bite. Those perfect, bow-shaped lips—
Her eyes flew to his. Turning away, he cleared his throat and attempted to come up with a new topic of conversation. “Are you still pleased with Mrs. Mabley?”
“Yes, indeed. Did you not care for her lamb stew? I tried to watch your face as you tasted it at dinner last night, but you are so polite, I could not tell if it displeased you. Is there anything you want me to say to her?”
“No, no,” said Ralph hurriedly. “I found the lamb stew very satisfactory. There are no complaints to be made on my account. Your Mrs. Mabley seems excellent in every respect.”
“Yes.” Helena hesitated, setting down her sweet roll now in favor of her coffee.
“I did see her crying in the kitchen yesterday. I was not sure whether I ought to ask her anything about it, so I pretended I did not notice.” Her soft blue eyes looked to Ralph for direction.
“Do you think I ought to speak to her about it?”
“I’m no expert on women crying,” said Ralph, with a wry twist to his mouth, “so you must do as you think best.” He was hoping to avoid making his own wife cry when he told her his unfortunate news.
“Darling,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, trying out a new endearment, and delighted to see that this too did not make her flinch.
“I’ve had another letter about some business in London. ”
Instantly, her eyes became wary. Guarded. “Oh?” She took a sip of coffee. Or perhaps just held the cup in front of her lips as a shield.
“I’m needed there again. There’s a document I need to examine in person.”
Helena’s breast rose and fell beneath the bedclothes. She placed the coffee back on the table. “Surely a copy of the document can be sent by post?”
“Ah, but I need to see the original. And it’s too valuable to be forwarded.”
“Are you packing me off to Lady Compton’s again?” Her tone was fragile. Hurt.
Ralph kept his own tone carefully neutral. “That depends on what you want. Do you want to stay here at the guest house?”
She breathed deeply. “Yes. I have my pianoforte and Mrs. Mabley now. I’m sure I shall be perfectly comfortable here all alone.”
Ralph looked at her considerately. “It should be a two weeks’ trip at most. I would not leave if you were not still a couple months from confinement. I’ve spoken to Lady Compton about a doctor, just in case there are complications and you should need someone. Polly knows whom to fetch.”
Her eyes took on a panicked look. “A village doctor? Will he know what to do?”
He took her hand. “They’ve been having babies in Northumberland as long as they’ve been having them in London, my dear. You will be in good hands. I daresay Lady Compton knows a thing or two about childbirth as well.”
Helena breathed again. “Yes, she knows something about everything.”
“And I’ve made sure that you have a good deal of money in case of emergency. There is a packet of pound notes in my desk if you need it.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“I suppose you’re leaving today?”
“Yes.”
Helena sighed and turned her face away from him. But Ralph noted, with pleasure, that she did not let go of his hand.
“Helena.” His voice was hoarse. “May I give you a good-bye kiss?”
Her lips parted in surprise. “Of course.” She turned her cheek back towards him.
But Ralph wanted more than that. He leaned forward across the bedclothes until his lips found hers, meeting them in a soft, tender kiss as unfamiliar as it was exquisite. It lasted only a few seconds before they both broke away, a new veil of shyness falling between them.
“Good-bye, Helena.” Ralph stood up from the chair, releasing his wife’s hand with reluctance. “I love you.”
“G-good-bye,” she replied in confusion, and Ralph’s last image of her was a pile of blond tresses in delicious disarray around a flushed face with dreamily blue eyes and pink, bowed lips.
“How curious that he should go to London again so soon!” said Lady Compton, adjusting the skirt of her coral dress as she seated herself on the Aldines’ emerald sofa. “I asked Sir Anthony, and he said that your husband had given up his work as a solicitor. What on earth can have drawn him there?”
Helena sat quietly. Given up his work as a solicitor?
He had never said as much to her. And if that were the case, why would he need to examine documents?
She stuffed down the worrisome thoughts and focused instead on maintaining a placid countenance.
“I am not certain, Lady Compton. If he had wished me to know, he would likely have told me.”
“You are marvelously patient, my dear. If Sir Anthony had hared off to town without telling me why, I would have gone after him.” She gave Helena a sympathetic look. “But of course that is out of the question in your condition.”
Helena offered her neighbor the plate of scones.
Lady Compton took a bite of one. “I see Mrs. Mabley is continuing to perform her work admirably.”
“Yes, her meals have been divine, and of course it is gratifying not to fear what might appear on the tea tray.” The only thing that was dissatisfactory about her work was the constant tear-stained face.
It troubled Helena to see that a servant of hers was sad.
She had not yet plucked up the courage to ask the reason for it, however.
She wondered if Mrs. Mabley had a Mr. Mabley somewhere, far away.
That was certainly a reason to cry. Helena had found herself shedding a tear or two last night after Ralph’s sudden desertion.
Lady Compton nodded sanguinely. “Fear has no place in relation to the household menu. That should afford a certain expectation of success, not a feeble hope of edibility.” She gestured to the large window. “The weather is finer and finer this week. Have you been taking exercise still?”
Helena looked down at her rounded belly.
“On occasion.” She took a deep breath. “Although I had an unpleasant experience the other day when I went walking on the footpath. In London I had a maid or footman with me whenever I went walking. Here, there is no need for such a thing…except when there is. I met Mr. Whitmore the other day while I was walking, and he was, once again, more friendly than I liked. He intimated that if I were lonely, I could turn to him as a friend.”
“Upon my word!” said Lady Compton, her voice turning thunderous. “Was there anything indecent in his suggestion?”
Helena wrinkled her nose. “Not exactly. Still, it was warmer than I liked. Ralph happened upon us at that moment, and I could tell that he did not appreciate how familiar Mr. Whitmore was.”
“I will have Sir Anthony speak to him. Too familiar indeed! If he were not so good at making Gerald mind him, I would send him about his business.” She shook her head.
“Mr. Whitmore has been the most successful in a long string of tutors. Gerald can be…difficult, and many of these fellows sent here straight from university have no idea of the firmness needed with a healthy, headstrong boy.”
“I wonder if Gerald might do even better though,” ventured Helena, “with someone who showed him affection.”
“Affection?” repeated Lady Compton. “Do you not think that respect is paramount? Mr. Whitmore has both the intellectual capacity and the temperament to command a boy’s respect.”
“And the eyebrows,” murmured Helena.
“What was that?” Lady Compton laughed as she realized what Helena had said.
“Yes, his eyebrows are rather formidable, I’ll grant you that.
But I do not see that affection is a necessary foundation for education.
For marriage, indeed.” She looked at Helena meaningfully.
“But there is no doubt on that score that you and Mr. Aldine are laying such a foundation.
“How can you be so sure?” Helena felt her shyness overcome by surprise that Lady Compton would say such a thing.
“Why, it is as plain as Mrs. Jenkins’ cooking that your husband adores you. You were too intent on the keys of the pianoforte the other night, but when you began to sing, his face glowed like the sunrise. He could not take his eyes off you.”
Helena blushed. “I’m sure you are exaggerating, Lady Compton.”
“My dear,” said Lady Compton with assumed severity. “I never exaggerate.” She rose from her seat. “Do let me know if you change your mind and wish to stay at the hall.”
“I will. Thank you,” said Helena, rising as well to take leave of her guest. She watched Lady Compton through the window as she walked down the path and climbed into her waiting carriage.
Then she crossed the room to sit at the pianoforte, opening up the music she had sang the night the Comptons visited.
Ralph had been the first to say, “I love you.” But, in her own way, she had been trying to communicate the same for the last fortnight.
Goodbye, Helena. I love you.
She had not replied in kind, but surely, he knew. “I love you, Ralph,” she whispered. She would tell him when he returned—in English, not Italian. And if he kissed her again, she would leave him in doubt of her feelings on the matter.