Chapter 17 #2
Coralie had been filled with questions, which Blythe answered as truthfully as possible.
This child was Coralie’s half-sister, and as it turned out, a distant cousin to Nicholas, whose mother had been related to Lunetta.
Nicholas had caught some of Coralie’s contagious exuberance but he was generally more subdued.
“We don’t care if she’s noisy,” Coralie said. “Well, not much,” she added, grinning. “We helped with the Stockwell babies, remember? In any case, I’ve told Nick about how annoying he was when he came to my nursery. Come, Nick, let’s go and escort Maddy upstairs.”
Maddy’s greeting, a shrill, indignant wail, reached them before Radley stepped into the room holding her charge, with Morley close behind.
Coralie scooped up the baby and bounced her, shocking her into wide-eyed, curious silence as Nicholas tickled her cheeks and made faces at her. Lady Hermione put aside her knitting to join the chorus of Maddy’s admirers.
Radley approached Blythe and Graeme and took two bags from Morley. “This larger one is what swaddling and clouts she has. I’ll take that up to the nursery and go through it. This other…” she handed the smaller bag to Blythe, “is special things for the babe for you to hold for her.”
Moisture clogged Blythe’s throat as she remembered the cache of special things she’d saved from her firstborn, as well as the garments she’d been working on for the baby she lost.
“How was she?” Blythe asked, finally.
Radley knew who she meant and shook her head. “It won’t be much longer.”
Graeme had brought a doctor to examine Lunetta the day they’d captured Lord Vernon, and the very same day he’d somehow arranged for a nurse for the baby.
After hauling Lord Vernon to Newgate, Morley and Jarrow had returned and taken detailed statements from both Lunetta and Thornsby.
Thornsby would not be charged with any crimes, nor, given the state of her health, would Lunetta.
As for the marquess, Graeme had been very busy. Since the events of that day, Blythe had barely seen him, a fact that had her emotions alternating between apprehension and anger. Trust me, he’d said. With no news on the matter at hand, she was feeling desperate.
With her brother escorting her, she’d returned to Bridie Lane the day after Lord Vernon’s arrest to discuss little Maddy’s future and offer her help.
Though her own income was shaky, Blythe could somehow continue to pay the nursemaid, or she could provide a stipend to help a relative with the child’s care.
Or, if Lunetta wished it, she could take Maddy in and raise her with her sister, Coralie.
She hadn’t asked Graeme’s permission—he’d been off elsewhere in meetings. And whatever happened, if he truly wanted to help Blythe, he would have to help everyone who was under her protection.
Lunetta had listened stonily, and at the end, she’d summoned her strength and rudely told Blythe to leave and never come back.
Proof, Blythe supposed, that no good deed goes unpunished.
A note from Lunetta arrived a few days later. It was a stilted apology and an acceptance of Blythe’s offer to take Maddy into her home as her ward. Only impending death had broken her pride. That and perhaps Thornsby’s unwillingness to take on the child’s care.
“She told me a bit about herself today,” Radley said. “About her people and how she came to be doing that work. The usual sad story.”
“You must write it down,” Blythe said. “When Maddy is older, she may want to know.”
There was another rap at the hall door, and a few minutes later, Mr. Jarrow came bounding into the room. He called a greeting to them and went over to meet the new member of the household and pat Nicholas on the head, and then he said something to a blushing Coralie in a teasing tone.
“Ye gods,” Graeme muttered.
“Don’t worry,” Blythe whispered. “Coralie and I have discussed this.”
He sent her an astonished look and smiled. “She must have a season before—”
“Yes, yes.” She extended her hand to Jarrow, who was in fact crossing the room to join them.
“I’ll take them all to the nursery,” Radley said, and ushered the children and the baby upstairs where two new nursery maids were waiting. Lady Hermione excused herself and went with them.
“Well, Mr. Jarrow,” Blythe said, “what will your mother say about the new member of my household?”
His smile was rueful. “She will no doubt relish the gossip, but now that matters are settled, I am sure you will see to it that you have the upper hand in our local society.”
Matters were settled? She’d been at home to callers the past two days, hoping to glean some gossip.
Unfortunately, though she discovered Diddenton seemed to have more enemies than she’d previously known, no one had any rumors to impart.
There’d been a hint in the morning’s newssheets about the Chilcombe matter, but she’d hardly dared to hope, assuming it might just be a story planted by one of Diddenton’s enemies.
“As long as Mrs. Jarrow doesn’t suffer an apoplexy,” Graeme said. “One parent in poor health is enough.”
“What news do you have, sir?” Blythe asked. “You seem rather cheerful.”
He smiled. “Yes, well, I have found a physician—which truly was the primary reason I came to London—and will escort him home with me. We leave in the morning.”
Blythe smiled tightly. “I hope he is able to help your father. Now, Mr. Jarrow. Mr. Morley. Lord Chilcombe.” She fixed each of them in turn with a frown.
“I’ve been promised a briefing. Lord Chilcombe has been gone every day before breakfast and hasn’t returned home until long after I’ve retired.
All I know of my fate is the precious little that appeared in the newssheets today.
And we all know how scurrilous that can be. ”
“There’ll be more in tomorrow’s paper,” Graeme said. “Diddenton has, today, formally accepted that a new will could not be found and has withdrawn his challenge to the one executed at the time of your marriage. Not quite without prejudice as he insists that a new one existed.”
“But the old one will stand?”
“Yes.”
She squeezed her eyes shut a moment and let out a long breath. And then remembered. “But his claim to Bluebelle Lodge…”
“He won’t be pursuing it,” Graeme said. “That is a longer story. I wonder… I’m famished. May we tell you over a tray of sandwiches?”
Blythe glanced at the clock. “Shall we call it an early dinner? Since you’ve been gone every night, we’ve resorted to simple fare, but if you gentlemen are willing—”
“Yes of course,” Graeme said. “You must join us, Jarrow, Morley. Ah, and here is Captain Lynford.”
Blythe greeted her brother and then went to arrange matters with the servants and fetch Hermione from the nursery, stopping only in her bedchamber to drop off the valise with Lunetta’s treasures for Maddy.
Dinner was a less formal affair in the breakfast room. Graeme sent the servants away and he, Morley, and Jarrow, told the tale of the last few days.
Blythe found herself too excited to touch the tender piece of roast that Graeme sliced and put on her plate, until his urgings turned to teasing threats that they would tell her no more unless she took a few mouthfuls. Too exhausted to fight, she chewed woodenly.
The story that unfolded began with events that occurred before she’d ever met Archie or Lord Vernon.
The Marquess of Diddenton bore a particular grudge against Archie’s grandfather dating back to the abolishment of the slave trade, which had interfered with Diddenton’s profits from his plantations in the West Indies.
Then, at Cambridge, Archie had befriended the marquess’s third son, who’d died in an accident that the marquess blamed on Archie.
So Diddenton’s antipathy toward the Earl of Chilcombe was firmly established, and he was particularly incensed when his youngest son, Lord Vernon, became fast friends with Archie.
Lord Vernon, however, had seen Archie’s weaknesses, and he knew his father’s.
He conceived a plan and convinced his father that Bluebelle Lodge would be prime land for a lime pit.
He convinced Diddenton to buy Wickworth Hall, found a surveyor to adjust the property lines and, since a survey was so mind-numbingly easy to contest, he falsified the land descriptions in title documents stored at Wickworth Hall.
Then persuaded his good friend Chilcombe to avoid an expensive land dispute.
Diddenton could hardly claim to be innocent. He had now, however, besides his foreign trading interests, a railway bill he was trying to push through parliament. Thus, he yielded quite readily.
“He is taking himself off to the Continent for a time until the scandal dies down,” Morley said.
“And what of his son?” Lady Hermione asked. “Will he hang?”
Graeme exchanged a look with Jarrow and frowned. “No. Lord Diddenton has worked out an arrangement. Lord Vernon will be placed in a private lunatic asylum.”
Blythe gripped the edge of the table while panic coursed through her. “Then we are still in danger.”
“He is being taken to Charenton in France,” Jarrow said. “Former home of the Marquis de Sade. It is a secure facility. Though I perfectly understand your concern.”
“The king was reluctant to allow a trial to proceed,” Graeme said, gently. “We cannot prove he murdered Archie. We have Lunetta’s statement, but we won’t be able to call her to testify in a trial. His attack on her…” Graeme groped for words.
“A prostitute’s life has less value,” Blythe said, bitterly.
Lord Vernon was wily. He would find his way out of any asylum. And when he came to Bluebelle Lodge, she would…Would what? Kill him? Could she possibly bring herself to take a life?
“Blythe.” Graeme’s gentle tone called her back to the present.
They had reached the end of the story and the end of the meal.
She stood. “Do stay and enjoy your port, gentlemen. Hermione, will you excuse me as well? Safe travels, Mr. Jarrow.”
She hurried out of the room and went to the nursery where she found a maid watching over the sleeping baby while Coralie and Nicholas curled up with books.
She managed a cheerful good night and kisses and then went to her bedchamber, her mind in a turmoil.
What was she to do? Memories flooded her of the night she’d miscarried. Lord Vernon hadn’t put the drugs in her tisane; he hadn’t cornered her and ripped the nightgown from her body; he hadn’t held the whip that struck her back; or…
She dropped her head onto her hands and tried to breathe. Her husband’s clumsy assault that night had not been love making. Lord Vernon had done no more than watch, but he’d been the puppet master and Archie the puppet.
And yet Graeme thought the punishment proposed for Lord Vernon was fair. Because it was politically advisable. Because he wanted to force her to accept his protection.
She stood and paced the room, grasping for calm.
She would stay the course. She would see through the Season, socialize, find her place in society so that Coralie might have a chance at a season in a few years.
Then she and the children would return to Bluebelle Lodge and begin again mingling with local society.
Perhaps Diddenton could be pressured to sell Wickworth Hall.
She must ask Graeme if that was possible. He said he would help her.
She plopped down on the bed and saw the valise lying there.
She would not cry over Lunetta Casale, no matter how sad her life had been. But her child… what special items would Lunetta have saved for her?
Giving in to curiosity, she opened the case.
An embroidered baby’s christening cap, aging and yellowing, fell out.
There was a handkerchief under that, also embroidered with golden daffodils, and this one newer, bearing the initial M.
An unadorned handkerchief twisted around coins.
She set all of that aside and reached for a large envelope that had been secured with a twist of string.
Heart racing and fingers shaking, she opened it and unfolded the papers inside.
The Last Will and Testament of Archibald Townsend Stafford Blatchfield, Baron Chilcombe, Viscount Stafford, Earl of Chilcombe. Flipping to the last page, she read the signatures and date.
She fell back on the bed, clutching the papers to her heart, her body beginning to tremble.