Chapter 12
A DINNER PARTY
Again, they had Romley drive them to the Mortlakes’ estate, and again requested he continue his questioning of the servants, as he might. Romley could be a personable and well-liked person when he chose to be. They felt certain he would be invited into the servants’ hall in the manor.
When they arrived at the Mortlakes’, they were surprised to find the invitation list small.
Besides the Mortlakes, their son, and the twin girls, only the Aldriches, themselves, and the Vicar had been invited.
When Cecilia looked questioningly at Lady Elinor Aldrich, already seated in the drawing room, her friend subtly raised her brows at their surprise at the invitation.
The Aldriches had previously been ostracized for Elinor’s trade origins.
Cecilia wondered if this was a good outcome of gossip created from the story of her first marriage to a merchant.
Had the gossip given cause for a widening of the acceptable members of society?
Cecilia hoped so. Lord and Lady Aldrich were delightful assets to the community.
“Thank you all for coming,” the earl said when the guests had gathered in the drawing room at Mortlake House, a formal room gleaming with gold trim and filled with stiff, upright furniture pieces. It was a room to intimidate others. An interesting choice for this gathering.
Lady Mortlake wore was wearing a charcoal-gray gown, which served to highlight her fading golden hair.
On either side of her sat two women who Cecilia surmised were Mrs. Jones’ daughters.
One wore a fashionable black gown of black bombazine, the other a plain indigo-blue muslin gown with black trim.
The women were identical in appearance if one discounted the expressions each wore and their attire.
“Thank you for coming, Lady Branstoke,” the countess said, rising to greet her.
The women who sat on either side of her rose as well.
“Allow me to make you known to Mrs. Jones’ daughters, Hope and Faith Jones,” she said, indicating the black-attired woman as Hope and the blue-attired woman as Faith. The young women curtsied.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Cecilia said. “I know your relationship with your mother was not the best, but allow me to tell you, I knew her as a good woman, an asset to our community.”
“We know,” said Hope stiffly. “Yes, I was disappointed in her; however, I loved her always.”
“As did I,” said Faith.
“I am gratified to hear that,” Cecilia said with a warm smile.
“Please sit here,” said Lady Mortlake. “I need to circulate more with my guests.”
Cecilia nodded and took her seat between the young women.
“My fiancé has spoken of you and your husband,” Hope said enthusiastically. “I am delighted to meet you.”
“He has? In what context? Who is your fiancé? I must know him,” Cecilia said, surprised at this opening to friendship with the sisters.
“He’s a solicitor, Richard Hargate of Hargate, Owen, and Hargate.”
“Oh, gracious! You are engaged to Richard Hargate! Yes, I do know him. He works almost exclusively for our good friend, the Earl of Soothcoor.”
“Who you saved from the hangman’s noose last year!” Hope bounced a little on the sofa.
Cecilia noted Faith turning to look at her sister, her interest piquing at their conversation.
Cecilia shrugged. “We had to! Anyone who knows the earl knows he could not have murdered Mr. Montgomery. It was an aberration of justice to even suspect him of murder.”
“And before that,” Hope went on, “you saved his nephew from life as a chimney sweep.”
“My gracious, Mr. Hargate has been telling tales,” Cecilia said, smiling at her. She turned to Faith, for she did not wish to be telling tales of the past, and wanted to include her in the conversation. “Did you know my husband is your employer’s cousin?” Cecilia asked her.
“He told me when I was leaving. He said if I needed anything, to go to him.”
Cecilia smiled. “Yes, and don’t hesitate.”
“The earl told us that it was Sir Branstoke who spotted our mother after she fell.”
Cecilia’s smile dimmed. “Yes, he did. And he climbed down the cliff to check on her.”
“And she was alive?”
“Yes…but not for long. I sent some water down to my husband, and he was able to wet her mouth so she could speak. He stayed with her until the magistrate and others arrived. We hope he gave her a modicum of comfort before she passed.”
“She spoke?” Faith asked, her eyes wide. “What did she say?”
“‘No pennyroyal. Stop.’ We don’t know what her intention was with those words. Miss Georgia Inglewood had passed away some days before your mother, and she had come to Mrs. Jones to ask for pennyroyal. She had turned her down.”
“Did she die from pennyroyal?”
“The official cause of death is recorded as iliac passion, a problem with her appendix.”
“The recorded cause,” said Hope.
“Yes,” Cecilia said. “I can tell by that clarifying statement you have spent considerable time around a man who practices law.”
Faith raised her hand to mask a laugh at her sister’s expense.
Hope bristled, then relaxed and smiled. “Where was the vicar when all this was happening?”
“Your father,” Cecilia gently corrected, “was told by the magistrate he could not come with them when they went up the downs to where she was.”
“Where was he the night before?”
“He’d gone to Canterbury to petition the Archbishop for a curate for the parish. He’d returned home and found she wasn’t home. He wasn’t immediately concerned, for she had a habit of going up into the downs by herself.”
“Really? Our mother go up into the downs? Why?” Faith asked.
“She’d taken up painting,” Elinor said, joining them. “She loved painting nature at all times of the day and in all seasons.”
“Our mother? Painting?” Hope exclaimed.
“Yes. It was something that she enjoyed.” Elinor continued. “She once told me she found it soothing after all the parish demands. She loved the parish and loved what she did for everyone; however, she recognized within herself a need for alone time.”
“Cecilia,” James said softly, coming up behind her. He gently grasped her elbow.
Cecilia excused herself and stepped away, letting Elinor continue to lead the discussion regarding Mrs. Jones and her role in the community.
James led her over by the fireplace. “Mortlake has asked if we might host the post-burial gathering,” he said, his voice low.
Cecilia frowned. “Us? Why?”
“Because we are the closest property of importance to the cemetery, and it would be neutral ground for all.”
“Neutral ground? Interesting turn of phrase,” she said, contemplating both the rationale and the work involved.
“Only we and the Aldriches are not involved—in any way—with the events that led up to Mrs. Jones’ death.”
“Meaning Georgia Inglewood’s death.”
“If we discover who killed Miss Inglewood and why, we discover who killed Mrs. Jones.”
“You believe that?” Cecilia asked.
“I do.”
Cecilia nodded. “I’ll set Mrs. Vernon to preparing for a gathering of the parish. Do we know yet when the funeral will take place?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“Almost a full week since her death.”
“But at least before Sunday.”
“I hope we are not putting too much confidence in Miss Inglewood’s diary for the truth.”
“Not too much. We’ve learned enough about Miss Inglewood to understand she would have needed to brag in some way, and in what better place than her diary?”
“True. –Oh, look, James. The vicar is sitting alone over there. I don’t like how the girls have ignored him. Since Lady Mortlake uses dinner place cards, I’m going to ensure they cannot ignore him.”
“Don’t get caught,” James admonished.
She raised her brows at him. “Me? –Go speak to the vicar while I do a bit of table arranging.”