Chapter 3
THE NURSEMAID’S TALE
The widowed Mrs. Threadmont met Cecilia in the upstairs hall. “Let me take him, ma’am.” The young woman reached to take Hugh from Cecilia’s arms. Hugh fussed. “Hush, hush, little one. Let’s not wake my Ronnie. I’ll get you cleaned up and fed in a trice,” the woman cooed.
Cecilia smiled at Hugh in Mary Alice Threadmont’s arms. “Thank you, Mary Alice,” she said.
“He did take from that new bottle we ordered, so he has had something to eat, but it has been a while.” She was grateful to have Mary Alice Threadmont as Hugh’s nursemaid and sometimes wet nurse.
That she had experienced widowhood soon after her own babe had been born was a distressing circumstance.
However, it allowed her to take the wet nurse position with the Branstokes.
Her late husband had been a tenant farmer on the Aldrich estate when he’d been kicked in the head by one of the horses, only to fall backward against another horse who reared up and trampled him beneath its hooves.
It had been a heart-wrenching accident for all who witnessed the incident and for those who had not but knew the man to be an honest, hardworking, devoted husband to his young wife.
Though the Aldriches had promised her a pension on behalf of her late husband, Mary Alice preferred to work and had approached Cecilia with the offer of her services when her child was born.
Cecilia quickly agreed and had Mary Alice and her young son move into Summerworth Park to acclimatize themselves to the household and its routine.
In the five months since Hugh had been born, she had proved a treasure to Cecilia.
Cecilia followed the widow into Hugh’s nursery and watched her prepare to give Hugh a bath. “Mary Alice,” Cecilia said as she watched her pull his small arm out of his garment, “did you know Mrs. Jones well?”
Cecilia had liked Mrs. Jones, but, in light of her death, she wondered how well she had really known her and was curious as to the opinions of others.
“Know her well?” Mary Alice shrugged. “I suppose as well as a body could know the vicar’s wife. She is always good to me and wouldn’t hear no gossipy untruths that said my Ronnie did not die, as reported in the inquest.”
“People would do that?”
“Lord love ya, ma’am, yes. Nothing the village likes more’n is imagin’n the worst, like they done with the Baron and Lady Aldrich.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I could tell you the worst tale-bearers, too… Why do you ask about Mrs. Jones?” she asked as she turned toward Hugh.
Cecilia inhaled deeply. “The woman is dying—she might already be dead,” she said, her voice low. It seemed unreal to speak of her as dead. She felt her throat tighten and her eyes burn again, as they had on the meadow.
Mary Alice whipped around to face Cecilia. “Dead!” she exclaimed, her face white as a sheet. “What? How?”
“We saw her down the escarpment.” Her face grew pinched. “Her body lay on a small ledge, contorted in a most unnatural manner.”
Mary Alice looked at her numbly. Hugh, forgotten, rolled on his side. Cecilia stepped up to her son, laying a steadying hand on him. With her other hand, she gently guided Mary Alice to sit in the chair by the table.
“I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you—at least at the moment—but I fear it will become common knowledge before nightfall.”
Mary Alice nodded weakly, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Y-y-yes,” she said slowly, her voice broken.
Then, she looked up at Cecilia and cleared her throat.
“Yes, it will,” she said again, stronger.
She ran her tongue across her lips. “I am glad I come to hear of it from you… You say she is dying, but might be dead now? How?” she finally asked into the silence between them.
Cecilia shrugged. “We don’t know yet.” She picked her son up, burying her face against his neck.
She needed the touch of his young life to shore up the agony of another’s death.
“That is up to the doctor and the coroner when she dies, I presume. Sir James said she was near death. She could have been pushed, or—I suppose—it might be a suicide.”
“Mrs. Jones? Commit suicide?” The idea of suicide drew Mary Alice out of her temporary shock. “No, no, I hardly think so, milady,” she argued. “That would not be what Mrs. Jones would do.”
“There will be plenty to imagine such, for we saw no sign of her pony cart or horse on the meadow, but we did find her favorite brooch.”
“The one with the dancing girls on it?” Mary Alice asked.
“Yes. It was on the other side of the meadow in the tall grasses, the clasp broken.”
“The other side? Do you suppose she could have been looking for it and got too close to the edge?”
“And the ground gave way beneath her?” suggested Cecilia.
“Yes.”
Cecilia considered that possibility and nodded.
“That might make more sense than someone pushing her, or her throwing herself off the cliff. Both my husband and Lady Aldrich did warn me that the edge was known to be crumbly. I’m sure the men who came to get her body will consider that factor as well. ”
Mary Alice gathered herself together and busied herself about the room. She handed Cecilia a clean gown for Hugh.
“Thank you.” Cecilia slipped the gown over Hugh’s head and pulled the garment down. “Are you all right now to take Hugh for a while?” Doubt colored her voice.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Mary Alice, as crisply as she might. She began loosening the top of her gown so she could put Hugh to her breast.
“I’ll take Hugh for the night,” Cecilia told her as she watched her hungry son suckle. “However, I would appreciate your taking him all day tomorrow, I believe I shall be busy talking to people about Mrs. Jones and her death.”
“Yes, ma’am. I can do so… I can’t help thinking about her brooch.” She stroked the fine hair on Hugh’s head. “You know it represents her daughters?”
“Her daughters! I wasn’t aware she had daughters,” Cecilia said, sitting down on the daybed in the room.
Mary Alice nodded slowly. “Yes. Twins. Faith and Hope. They’re a mite older’n me. I didn’t know them well—none of us did, as the vicar and Mrs. Jones sent them to a lady school.”
“You mean like a finishing school?”
“I guess. I asked Miss Faith about it when they come back from their schoolin’. She said it was so they could marry up, but she said it with a laugh like that were a funny notion. They weren’t here long afore they left. Don’t know where they went or what jobs they mighta got.”
“They will need to be notified. When I speak with the vicar tomorrow, I’ll see what we can do to get them here in a timely fashion. They may need a letter to their employers to verify the need.” Cecilia stood up. “Thank you for telling me about Mrs. Jones’ daughters.”
“Acorse, milady. And I be seein’ you tomorrow. Early like.”
Cecilia waited in the morning room for James to return home, curled up on the couch with her rust-colored tabby cat, Randy, in her lap.
The animal seemed to sense Cecilia’s disquiet and purred quietly, bunting her hand for her to pet him.
Cecilia did as the cat requested and found her disquiet ease with the calming, petting motion, though she couldn’t stop thinking about Mrs. Jones and the vicar. –And the fact they had two daughters!
What would that poor man do without his wife to keep him smiling, for Cecilia knew she had.
After her discussion with Mary Alice, she knew there was much she didn’t know about the vicar’s wife.
Two daughters! She’d never mentioned them—nor, interestingly, had anyone else.
In a village as gossipy and full of tales as Mertonhaugh, how could that be?
How were the vicar and his wife able to send them to a finishing school?
That was not typically within the stipend of a vicar.
Perhaps Mrs. Jones had had money, or another relative had and wished to see benefits bestowed upon the girls.
Better in many ways than simply funding dowries.
The daughters were no longer in the area.
Where did they go? Were they married now, or did they leave to discover work?
She hoped not to London. That was a rough place for two young women from the country to find their way.
Too many who went to the city found themselves caught up in the bawdy houses, gambling dens, or simply reduced to begging on the streets.
She paused and laughed humorously at herself for her racing mind. She did not have James’ ability to take all bits of information in stride; instead, she must dissect each bit of knowledge and play with it.
She sighed and rang for Coggins.
“Yes, milady?” he asked from the doorway.
“Could you please light the lamps and close the drapes? I hadn’t realized the lateness of the hour.
Ask Cook to hold dinner, please, and in the meantime, as we await James, please bring me a sherry.
—Actually, bring the tray with extra glasses…
and brandy as well. Sir James may prefer that after his afternoon activities. ”
Coggins nodded. “Of course, milady. As you say.”
Cecilia could tell by his solemn, heavy-eyed expression that the news about Mrs. Jones, and where Sir James was, had spread through the household.
Coggins had barely handed Cecilia her sherry when they heard a commotion in the front hall.
James was home.
“Quickly, Coggins, have him come in here before he goes upstairs to clean up,” Cecilia said.
Coggins did as she asked, and in another moment, James stood in the morning room doorway. Covered in white chalk dust, he resembled a ghostly shade more than a man.
“Cecilia, love, I am in all my dirt,” he said tiredly. “Can’t I tell you everything after I’ve changed?”
“Yes, you can; however, first…brandy. You deserve it,” she said, rising from her seat on the sofa, much to her cat’s meowed dismay. She poured James a glass of brandy, then took it over to him.
“She spoke to me,” James revealed tiredly.
“She did?” Cecilia’s eyes widened. She’d known she’d been alive, but she hadn’t realized Mrs. Jones had had any moments of communication.
“Yes. It wasn’t much, and I’m certain our magistrate will make a hash of it,” James said.
“You haven’t told him yet?”
“There wasn’t the opportunity with him taking command as he did. We were his enlisted soldiers, told what to do and basically ordered not to speak or think.”
Cecilia laid a hand on James’s arm. “What did she say?”
He took another sip of his brandy before answering.
“She said no and then pennyroyal, then stop, and she was quite agitated when she said stop.” He paused and looked across the room, like he was visualizing again what had happened.
He turned back toward Cecilia. “That effort, I feel, is what took her to the edge. She fell into unconsciousness. She passed soon after, before Dr. Patterson scaled down the cliff face to examine her. …I confess, my love, my realization of her life, followed so swiftly by her death, hit me hard, as it reminded me too vividly of my men dying in Spain,” he confessed.
He handed her back the brandy glass as his head dropped down to his chest..
“My dear heart,” she said. She reached up to lay a hand on his pale, dirt-streaked face. “Thank you for seeing to Mrs. Jones during her last moments. I’m sure it gave her comfort not to be alone. Wait a moment, and I’ll pour you another glass of brandy to take upstairs.”
He clasped his hand around hers and held it against his cheek, then moved it to his mouth and kissed her palm. She sighed at his attentiveness. She saw him sigh deeply when he dropped her hand.
“Tomorrow’s inquest should prove interesting,” he said in a sad, pained manner.
Cecilia’s heart went out to him for what he’d been through to be with Mrs. Jones, and with the memories it evoked. “You look so tired,” she said. “Would you like to forego the dining room tonight and have a dinner tray in your chambers?”
“Will you join me?” he asked, looking at her fully, his dark eyes clouded with pain.
She smiled slightly. He was ever so steadfast, so phlegmatic. It hurt her soul to see him brought down now. “You get your bath while I get Hugh settled for the night, then I consider dining privately together to be an admirable idea.”