Chapter 20
Helena halted in the corridor at the top of the stairs.
On the right side was the small room Finch had occupied, and then further down the corridor her own room, only slightly larger than the maid’s.
On the left side was Ralph’s study, a room that she had entered only rarely, and beyond that was a fourth room.
Ralph’s bedroom. A sanctum she had never entered.
Helena glanced back down the corridor, ensuring that neither Nell Mabley nor Polly was coming upstairs at this moment.
Then, daringly, she turned the knob and pushed open the door.
The tiny room was a mirror of her own, although the curtains and the wood of the furniture were a darker color.
The space was tidy with tucked and folded bedclothes and nothing out of place on the floor, the windowsill, or the wash basin.
She wondered if Polly had straightened this room, or if Ralph had left it in this pristine condition before departing on his travels.
The latter, probably. Her husband was not one to leave a matter unmanaged, a mess unsorted.
The neatly made bed was modest, plain, and unassuming.
Small. Unbidden, the thought came into Helena’s head that if two people lay together on that bed, their limbs would be all tangled up together before the night was through.
Her cheeks pinked and she ran a hand over the coverlet.
What would it be like to sleep in this bed?
She could do it tonight, before Ralph returned.
A footstep on the stairs startled her, and she hurriedly backed out of the room, closing the door just before Polly’s face appeared at the top of the stairs. “Do y’expect Mr. Aldine tomorrow?” the maid asked cheerfully. “Should ah air out his room?”
Helena swallowed. She had expected Ralph to return yesterday.
But perhaps his business in London was more complicated than he had thought.
Lady Compton had seemed certain that Ralph had given up his work as a solicitor, but maybe there was a final closing of his cases that needed to occur, a passing on of knowledge to his colleagues.
“Yes, tomorrow,” said Helena, “or the day after.”
A muffled sound came from downstairs. The two women’s eyes met. “Is that the knocker?” asked Helena, just as Polly blurted out, “Ah think there’s someone at the door, ma’am.”
With Polly scurrying ahead of her, Helena hastened down the corridor and stairs until she reached the front door. Polly threw it open, and they were both greeted by the sight of their neighbor.
“Sir Anthony!” said Helena, trying to disguise her disappointment. Of course, it was not Ralph. And she must not slight Sir Anthony with a look of dismay.
“Mrs. Aldine, I hope I do not disturb you, but we had a letter for you delivered accidentally to the hall today. I was heading into the village to meet with Mr. Foote, and I thought I would bring it by the guest house.” Sir Anthony bowed and presented Helena with the letter.
Helena could see at a glance why the postal boy had been mistaken. The letter had her name on it, but it was addressed to Carham Hall. And the imposing ducal seal upon the paper no doubt seemed more congruous for a baronet and his lady wife to receive than for a pair of untitled newlyweds.
Helena thanked Sir Anthony prettily and waited most patiently for him to take his leave of her before she slid a long, white finger underneath the seal of the letter. What on earth was Geoffrey writing her about? Was this an invitation to a wedding she could not attend?
It took only a few seconds before all the color drained from her face and she was groping her way into the parlor to find a seat on the sofa.
“Polly!” she said with a growing sense of horror.
“What is it, ma’am?”
“Can you read this to me? Tell me that my eyes are deceiving me!”
Polly rubbed a toe in circles on the floor. “Ah canna read weel.”
Helena moaned. “Then listen. My brother writes that Ralph has been imprisoned.”
“Cor! What for then?” asked Polly. “He would never swipe somethin’.
“Not for theft,” said Helena. “For m-murder. Oh heavens! For k-killing an actress at the King’s Theatre.
” She had been there once. With Will. And with Ralph too, she remembered, now that she cast her mind back to the incident.
But what on earth would Ralph have been doing at such a place on this trip to London?
Had he truly taken the time to enjoy the theatrics of a play instead of hurrying back to Carham?
And how could he possibly have been accused of murder just for being in the audience?
There must be more to it than a simple visit to the theater.
Had Ralph visited the actress backstage? Privately? In her dressing room?
Helena felt as if she was going to be sick, the same nauseated feeling that had attended the first three months of her pregnancy and that had mercifully gone away up until now.
“Will he be hanged then?” asked Polly, clearly unaware that such a question was de trop given Helena’s current state of distress.
“Hanged? Certainly not! It is not proven. They simply conducted an inquest—and I’m certain that inquests are often mistaken. He must merely stay in prison to await trial.”
“Will ye go to London an’ visit him in prison?”
Helena pushed herself up from her seat on the sofa and began to pace the room.
“Geoffrey instructs me not to go. He says that he shall attend to everything and that I must stay in the north, or everything we’ve planned for the baby will be ru—” Helena paused.
There was no need to reveal too much to Polly.
As far as Helena knew, the hardworking maid had no idea that the baby Helena carried was conceived outside of wedlock.
“It is difficult for a woman so far along in her pregnancy to travel,” she said, covering over the real reason for Geoffrey’s reticence to have her return. She began to pace again.
Geoffrey was right. A return to the metropolis while she was still pregnant would occasion talk.
Although it was merely rumor here in Coldstream and Carham that the Aldines’ marriage was of recent date, it was certain fact in London.
If a woman married less than half a year should suddenly be brought to childbed, everyone would suspect that there was some sort of havey-cavey business about the child.
To go to London risked scandal of the very sort they were trying to avoid.
And yet, what if she chose not to go to London and Ralph’s trial went poorly?
She knew him too well to think that he could have committed murder.
But what if a negligent judge and a hostile jury convicted him of that crime?
She might never see him again. She might never have the chance to throw her arms around his neck.
She might never have the chance to tell him that he had wound his way deeper into her heartstrings than anyone had before.
Helena swallowed down the bile pooling in her throat.
And yet, how could she manage a trip to London alone?
She had never organized a carriage ride in her life.
She had never paid for a room at an inn, or indeed, even ordered her own supper at a public house.
Was it possible for a lady in her circumstances to travel without a companion?
“If I did go to London,” Helena began hesitantly, standing still once again and leaning a hand against the top of the emerald sofa, “would you go with me, Polly?”
“Cor!” Polly’s eyes grew wide, and she took a large breath audibly. “London! Ah never thought t’go there.”
“Would your mam let you go?”
Polly squared her shoulders. “Ah dinna think she could stop me. But how would we get there? Would Lady Compton lend ye her carriage?”
Helena’s brow crinkled. It was far too great a favor to ask of her kind neighbor.
As far as she knew, the Comptons had only one carriage.
They could not give it up for the two weeks it would take to travel to London and back.
“Perhaps we could rent a carriage. Is there a livery stable in the village?”
“Mayhap?” said Polly doubtfully. “Or leastwise, Auld Donald has a wagon or two he could lend.”
The idea of riding in a jolting wagon for three hundred miles or more was not one that Helena favored.
Still, it would not be amiss to discover what vehicles “Auld Donald” had for hire.
Helena walked over to the window and saw that the sun was sinking in the sky.
Mrs. Mabley would have dinner on the table soon, and it was too late to transact business in the village.
“Tomorrow morning, Polly, we’ll walk into the village and see what’s to be done. ”
“Aye, ma’am,” said Polly excitedly, as if she’d been promised a special treat.
Helena, having already endured the trip from London to Carham and undergone the horrors of the investigation surrounding Will’s death, was far more apprehensive.
Geoffrey had been the prime suspect in that case, but he had been exonerated without ever being taken into custody.
This could only mean that the evidence pointing to Ralph was far worse than the evidence that had pointed to Geoffrey.
Or that Ralph bore no title to shield him from suspicion.
She tried to remember the name of the investigator from Bow Street who had ferreted out the truth.
Perhaps the same man could be engaged to find evidence to exonerate Ralph.
She could only pray that, in the process, he did not uncover things about Ralph that she would rather not know.
There had to have been a seemly reason for him to cross paths privately with an actress!