CHAPTER TEN
Louisa and Hetty Goodworth travelled home in near silence, once Mrs Goodworth realised that bland comments about the ‘niceness’ of the dishes set before them would elicit no response whatsoever.
Upon reaching Elliston Court, Louisa bade her a murmured good night and went straight up to her bedchamber, where she said almost nothing as her maid helped her prepare for bed.
With the curtains closed about her, and left in the darkness, Louisa wept.
She had never wept for Dembleby, though she had done so because of him often enough in the past, when she had wept with anger mingled with her misery.
This, though, was misery alone. She had no defence, and it felt as if none could stand with her.
‘Why can you not leave me alone?’ she sobbed into her pillow. ‘Why?’
Lady Holdenby was quite a force in local society, but she did not go out much in the winter, so her standing up for Louisa Dembleby did not do as much good as otherwise it might.
The fact that the late Lord Dembleby had died upon the hunting field was duly distributed, but counted for little when everyone noted that the widow had never been seen to sigh, or shed a tear, or even tremble a lip at the mention of his name.
Lady Molesley did, in fairness, admit she had never heard anyone mention his name, but that in turn was pounced upon, for the widow had not mentioned him herself.
Not a single ‘my poor dear Dembleby’ had passed her lips, and her appearance in half mourning, whilst technically correct, had been in a gown so suited to her that it might have been chosen anyway.
It was universally agreed, therefore, that she was not ‘widow-like’.
153‘Had he been many years her senior, one might perhaps have forgiven it,’ said Lady Honoria grudgingly.
‘After all, we do know that some girls are almost thrown at men old enough to be their sires, sacrificed upon the altar of maternal pride.’ Her own two nieces had made acceptable but hardly stunning matches. ‘But Dembleby was not such a one.’
This was greeted with nods of agreement, and without anyone declaring that it must be so, the ladies all decided that, for a while at least, calls would not be made to Elliston Court and no dinner invitations, which might have been acceptable at this juncture, would be forthcoming.
Louisa, who had previously put down the lack of visitors to the very cold weather, realised that the chill was not in the air, but in relations with her neighbours.
It could not be said that she missed the company of most, and Lady Barkby was unlikely to call at all for some time because of her bereavement.
However, it rankled that these women should judge her, judge her upon a lie passed on from mouth to mouth from a woman they did not know, and yet instantly believed over herself.
What was it about her that made it seem even possible that she was culpable in any way for the death of her husband, whether they knew the manner of it or not?
She was angry, and she was a little afraid.
Would it tarnish her reputation so that in the longer term it might harm Emily?
Would the young daughters of Mrs Delabole and Lady Mary Guarlford be kept away when of an age when girls met and formed friendships, and learnt to be sociable with their peers?
Some of this Louisa voiced to the one person who did 154visit, who was Lady Holdenby, who arrived so swathed in furs that Louisa thought Emily, had she seen her, would think she was a bear.
The old lady, who complained at having to come out and risk catching her death, despite not having been actually requested to call, took tea and gave her opinions and advice. Louisa was clearly expected to listen.
‘This is a small-minded society, where very little happens, though I will say your burglars provided the most unusual interest in several years, in fact since Lettice Paignton’s daughter ran off with a penniless dancing master in Bath. That kept them going for months.’
Louisa was about to open her mouth to say that they were not exactly ‘her’ burglars, especially since Lady Holdenby had been one of the victims of their crimes, but the old woman held up a hand and hushed her.
‘The thing is, everybody knows everybody, and has for years. You arrive and the dovecotes flutter, but then you do not fit in, because you are young and independent minded, private and not some die-away watering-pot eager for them to take you under their wings. In short, you do not conform to expectations. So they cannot discuss how they are aiding you, “poor little thing”. You have thus deprived them of entertainment.’
‘But I …’
‘Aurelia Simmondley has a spiteful streak, always did. She also writes more letters than a clerk in a solicitor’s office.
I have no doubt she has raised your name in the hope of finding out “details” about your unknown past. What she got back must have exceeded all her hopes.
Just 155how did you manage to alienate your mama-in-law so thoroughly, I wonder? ’
‘That is simple, ma’am. As I said, I failed to produce an heir.
Like Dembleby, she saw me as there for that purpose.
She regards daughters as, at best, surplus, and generally as a blight.
I have cut myself off from the family so I do not know if the new Lady Dembleby succeeded where I failed, but woe betide her if she has produced a girl.
The son that might have made me acceptable I lost before I was five months gone, which was “my fault”, and Emily was an irrelevance.
She is a nasty woman, Lady Holdenby, and if she could do me harm, even now, she would. She has.’
‘Pah! It is all scum floating like cream.’
‘Yes, but unless there is an elopement, or a marriage, or … or something exciting, it will remain to be bandied back and forth, making me “dangerous”.’
‘Are you afraid of being shunned?’ Lady Holdenby said this in a tone that implied that ‘yes’ was the wrong answer.
‘No.’ Louisa gave the correct answer, but qualified it. ‘That does not concern me. If they wish to keep away, so be it, but I have Emily to consider.’
‘Good grief, girl, the child is not old enough to learn her letters yet. All this will seem so lost in the past nobody will think of it as she reaches an age to mix with others.’
‘I wish I were so confident, ma’am.’
‘You are being a “worrying mama”. Understandable with one chick, I suppose, but it is foolishness. Brazen it out, and by the time the apple trees are with blossom they will have given up trying to be stand-offish.’
‘It just seems so … unfair,’ complained Louisa.
156‘Life is not fair, and the quicker you learn that the better.’
‘I like it here, in this house, but everything is being tarnished.’
‘Fiddlesticks. What I say is you have let yourself wallow in low spirits. Well, a year in blacks for a man you clearly did not dote upon would be enough to do that to many your age. At this rate you will be needing to take the waters in Bath, but be warned, they are foul. Cannot think why anyone drinks the stuff when there is good sherry to be had, but there. A glass of sherry before dinner every night works wonders upon the system. Now, is there more tea in the pot?’
Lady Holdenby departed thinking she had given sound advice, but would have been less pleased had she known the seed she had sown.
Lady Barkby, wrapped about in her grief, heard the gossip late, but hear it she did.
Her first reaction was simply an automatic ‘oh dear’ when Mrs Cheddleton, come to ‘comfort her’, disclosed all that had passed at Lady Holdenby’s dinner party.
It was the version from Mrs Lipscomb, suitably embellished and adorned with that lady’s own views.
Only afterwards did she actually think about what had been said.
She was by nature a kindly woman, inclined to worry, and to think the best of people.
At present, however, she was in the strange void created by grief, in which every action felt three times the normal effort and rather pointless, and her thoughts all negative.
It seemed therefore typical of how life had treated her that this young woman, to whom she had extended 157friendship upon her arrival in the district, should prove unworthy, if not downright dangerous.
When she thought of Benfield having been in the woman’s house she almost had palpitations.
He found her quite agitated when he entered the room a half hour afterwards to sit with the newspaper, and asked its cause.
‘How can it be? How can we have been so deceived?’
‘Deceived by what, Mama?’
‘Not “what”, dear, by “whom”. Lady Dembleby.’
‘I can hardly think how she has deceived anyone. You are not going to tell me she is an imposter.’ He smiled, though it was wary.
‘No, no, far worse.’ Lady Barkby paused for a moment and then lowered her voice. ‘She killed her husband.’
‘She did what?’ His response was so sudden that his mother jumped.
‘Don’t shout, Benfield. I have it on good authority from Maria Cheddleton, who got it from Aurelia Simmondley and from Augusta Lipscomb.’
‘The local tabbies then.’ He sneered.
‘You ought not to be disrespectful, Benfield.’
‘They ought not to spread salacious gossip. Really, Mama. What utter nonsense. If you believe any of it, I am ashamed.’
‘But how can it not be true? It comes from the Dowager herself, Dembleby’s own mama, and who would know better what happened.’ She put her hand to her cheek. ‘I am not saying she murdered him, at least I do not think so, but …’