Chapter 49
The following day saw two unexpected events for Lucy. The first was the arrival of a package from London, which she fully expected to be from her sister, but instead turned out to be from Mrs Calloway. The parcel had a small note attached, which Lucy read with interest.
Miss Elliot. As mentioned, a dress for hardier wear. A friend in the city completed it yesterday. I might have waited until my return to deliver it myself, but your sister insisted on sending it straight away to surprise you. She wishes you well and hopes to see you again by week’s end.
Lucy was as surprised and pleased as might have been hoped and went to her room at once to try on the garment.
It was a curious affair, light canvas with a brown hue, plain but well tailored.
There were no frills that might tear or rip, and the seams were especially sturdy.
Lucy felt as if she were wearing a dress made from aprons and it should certainly not see a ballroom or any civilised gathering, but as hardy clothing that would resist and disguise stains, it was quite ideal.
It was comfortable enough and gave her arms a wide range of motion.
It seemed that Mrs Calloway and her connections had done an excellent job of fitting the exact specifications.
She was in the midst of examining the dress in her mirror when she heard the sound of a coach driving up to Atherton.
For a moment her heart leaped and she wondered if it were Captain Dashwood, but she realised the sound was all wrong.
How strange a thing was it that she might tell a man by the sound of his coach wheels?
Curious to discover the visitor, she decided that formally changing would be too complicated an affair and instead took a chance that the plain dress should not be too odd as to be inappropriate for visitors.
She need not have been concerned, for standing at the door, having been welcomed in by her mother, was a visitor who managed to be as familiar as could be, yet wholly unexpected.
‘Margaret?’ Lucy exclaimed, worried that her early return might be the portent of ill news. However the smiling demeanour and unexpected hug from her sister quite put to rest any such concern.
‘Lucy … whatever are you wearing? Oh, never mind, I have such news. Come through into the parlour.’
She followed Margaret to discover she was not the only arrival. Oliver St Martin stood with their father. The man was as taciturn as ever, but there was a mirror of the mood she had just seen in her sister, which led her at once to a series of suppositions.
‘As all the family is in attendance,’ the tall man began, ‘I ask that I might address you all together.’
‘By all means.’ Andrew Elliot nodded, taking a seat on his favourite couch, Alice sitting beside him and Lucy on a chair.
‘I have been in London this week on business,’ started Oliver.
‘It was there by good fortune I chanced upon Margaret lunching with her cousins. They invited me to join and I did so. We have met twice since, in honest circumstances I assure you, and it led to some discussion. My recent speculation has been successful. I am at present in negotiations for the purchase of a small estate in Norfolk. It is not large, but the income is steady. As you know, I have no claim to St Martins Hall. But with this purchase I may secure a future. It is a future I wish to share with Margaret. We decided to return early from London to seek the blessings of our families.’
There was a momentary pause as Mr Elliot turned to his eldest daughter. ‘And, Meg? Is this your wish?’
‘It is, Father.’
There was a brief glance between the two parents, conferring in swift silence and then he nodded with a smile.
‘Then I wholeheartedly give you my blessing.’
Margaret smiled and happily took the hand of her husband-to-be, a man who in this moment looked happier than ever Lucy recalled seeing him.
Since she had first entered the parlour she had greatly suspected this to be the objective and this the outcome, and yet it all unfolded better than she might have imagined.
She wiped a tear from her face, discovering the fabric of her dress to be coarser and more impermeable to water than she expected.
There were congratulations and handshakes and hugs, which even Lucy engaged in.
Mrs Elliot was already discussing plans as to when and where the day might occur.
As to be expected, it was Oliver who kept the most level head and suggested that, prior to any plans, he wished to talk to his father and introduce Margaret as his betrothed.
‘I hope it is not too disorderly with the renovations.’ Mrs Elliot chuckled.
‘Renovations?’ Oliver asked.
‘Yes. Surely you are aware of them?’
‘I have been in London a week and should have been a week more. That is quite enough time for my brother to have had a flight of fancy on renovations. Well, it is their house. We shall have our own soon enough.’ He smiled again, squeezing Margaret’s hand.
‘With your leave, Mr Elliot, we shall be on our way.’
‘We shall be back in time for dinner, I hope,’ Margaret added.
‘I look forward to it.’ Andrew Elliot nodded and escorted them to the front door.
Margaret and Lucy exchanged one last hug, and each could see true happiness in the other.
As she watched the coach drive off (a Thornbrook modified for long travel), Lucy felt a lightness and optimism. If Margaret and Oliver could overcome their obstacles to marriage, then it was quite possible that she and James could do the same.
The happy news spread through the household and Lucy spent an hour making a list of all the activities and preparations that would be needed for a successful wedding.
Margaret would, of course, have the final decision on it all, but Lucy felt it only right to give her a firm basis to work from.
It would be a summer wedding, and that lent itself to all manner of possibilities that were restricted in colder seasons.
The only dampener to the fine mood of the household was that the couple had perhaps decided to dine at the St Martins’ instead, for there was no sight of them as the meal time approached.
‘George probably decided to throw them a banquet,’ Lucy suggested to her mother.
‘Well, I suppose there will be ample opportunity to host them all in the coming weeks. I might even show Sir Walter my preserves.’
Lucy was glad to see her mother’s good humour remained.
As the summer sun finally slid below the horizon, Lucy found herself in the parlour, tinkering with a model coach while her father read the newspaper.
The model was not a perfect replica, but she was able to plan what alterations she might make if adapted to a full scale.
In addition, she was pleased to discover a handy pouch in one of the dress folds that could hold a few small tools.
She looked up as she heard an exclamation from her father.
‘I say, Lucy, here’s a bit of news about your Captain Dashwood!’
‘Really?’ She looked up from her work in surprise. ‘Not ill news, I hope?’
‘A bit of a mixed bag, I should say. Shall I?’
‘Please.’ She nodded.
‘John Dashwood passed away yesterday at the age of seventy-two, following several years of ill health. Dashwood gained much standing during the Revolutionary War, with his political advice well received. Though ultimately unsuccessful, his fellows praised his determination and honesty in the colonial affair. He is survived by his only son, Captain James Dashwood, who succeeds him as the eleventh Earl of Westchester.’
‘The Earl of Westchester?’ Lucy remarked, a chill running through her despite the warm night.
At no point had Dashwood ever mentioned such a thing.
But someone had. When?
George St Martin. On the night of the ball she had overheard him in the corridor. With everything that happened later she had quite forgot about it.
It was as if a pin had been pulled in her thoughts and they whirred in a widening gyre.
George had been referring to Captain Dashwood.
She realised now that there had been sarcasm in his tone in using the title, something she was prone to missing.
What had his exact words been? No trace of the stolen goods had been found and they suspected the Earl of Westchester.
She had assumed they were talking about the missing brandy. But what if something else had been stolen? Stolen by Dashwood that very evening, during the one dance where everyone was present, and his absence might be overlooked.
Why would George suspect Dashwood?
Because Dashwood suspected them. Because they knew he was on their trail.
Another pin came loose as the machinery of her mind sped on.
So much made sense in this new light. Robbers waiting on a known path to feign robbery but intend murder.
The thefts at Rathbone Manor when it was known he would be at the ball.
The St Martins Hall intruders, there to pass on stolen goods only to receive bullets as their reward.
George had to be involved. Was Sir Walter? Was Oliver? Lucy froze as the possibilities crossed her mind.
But Oliver had not been present at the shooting of the intruders. He had not been involved in the planning of the St Martins’ ball, which now seemed to have been part of a larger plan. Until she saw evidence to the contrary, she would not place guilt upon the man Margaret loved.
The man she was to marry.
The man she had accompanied to St Martins Hall.
And who had not returned.
‘Lucy? Are you all right?’ Her father noticed her stricken expression and her drawn silence. ‘Surely it is not so great a surprise that his father died.’
His voice broke her from her thoughts. Her sister was in danger. Thoughts alone would not help her. Action had to be taken.
Lucy rose sharply to her feet. ‘I need to get to St Martins Hall at once.’
‘Whatever do you mean? It is dusk. Surely you do not need to go now?’
‘Yes, Father.’ She was already striding from the room. ‘Now!’