Chapter Sixteen
IRENE GLANCED AT GIDEON, surprised. “That sounds ominous.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I am not sure there is anything have-cavey there, but…some things were odd. He was quite frank in his poor opinion of my mother, for one thing.”
“Yes, I noticed. He certainly saw her in a different light than Lord Jasper.”
“Which, I wonder, is the true picture?” Gideon mused. “The devoted mother and sweet and charming woman of my uncle’s view? Or the callous, deceptive strumpet who Owenby saw?”
Impulsively, Irene reached out to lay her hand upon his arm, sympathy swelling in her chest. “I imagine that the truth lies somewhere between those two. But I think Lord Jasper’s opinion of her must be more accurate.
Owenby’s perception is no doubt colored by his love for and loyalty to your father. ”
Gideon smiled down at her, his hand coming up to cover hers.
“Thank you for your kindness, but I am not hurt by what he said. Whatever my mother was, the truth is that I have no memory of her. And while, God knows, I would prefer to believe that she was not a cold, wicked woman, it would not make any difference in my life if that is true. But I cannot help but be struck by the peculiarity of the man’s response.
It is true that Owenby was a most devoted servant—he was with Lord Cecil from the time he went off to Eton, so I understand.
And in my father’s will, he left Owenby a nice retainer for his years of service.
Still, in general, I find that servants are reluctant to speak ill of anyone to those of higher station.
And people of all sorts are reluctant to speak ill of one’s mother. ”
“Yes. He was…well…ruder than I would have expected.”
“And another thing—he did not seem to have any particular fondness for me.” He looked over at her. “Did you notice?”
“He was not effusive,” Irene agreed. “Still, he did not seem a demonstrative sort. And he probably would not have been around you that much as a child. Children generally are relegated to the nursery.”
Gideon nodded. “True.”
Irene said carefully, “I am sure that had you grown up there, he would have known you better and had fonder remembrances of you.”
Gideon glanced at her, and a smile quirked up one corner of his mouth. “Irene, are you trying to soothe my wounded feelings?”
She cocked an eyebrow and replied somewhat testily, “Well, you seemed perturbed about the fact that he did not greet you with enthusiasm.”
“Thank you for your concern.” He bowed his head toward her, grinning in a way that warmed her. The awkwardness between them was gone for the moment, and she felt a closeness to Gideon that had been missing since their conversation after his grandmother’s revelation.
“However,” he went on, “I was not hurt by his manner any more than by his words. I merely found it rather odd. Wouldn’t you think, as devoted to my father as he was, that there would have been some expression of relief or pleasure that his father’s son had been found safe all these years later?
I thought an old family retainer would have been more… ” He trailed off, shrugging.
“‘Oh, Master Gideon, thank heaven you’ve been brought back to us after all these years’?” Irene suggested lightly.
He smiled back at her. “Exactly. Something along those lines. Perhaps you did not notice it, but every time he looked at me, his eyes were cold. Even disdainful.” He paused. “Do you think me fanciful?”
“No. I can think of few people I would call less fanciful than you,” she answered honestly.
“I did not notice any particular coldness toward you, but then, I was not on the receiving end of his gaze. If that is the opinion you formed, I would think you had good reason for it.” She hesitated, then went on.
“What, then, do you suspect? That Owenby might have…killed her?”
His expression turned rueful. “It sounds a bit far-fetched.”
“Well…Owenby did seem to dislike her a good deal. Perhaps he discovered her affair with your uncle, and he wanted to rid your father of her. He could have forged the letter. Or perhaps your father knew what he did and helped him conceal the crime. Maybe Lord Cecil did not want to lose the man, no matter what he had done.”
If their reception at Owenby’s cottage had been cool, it was more than made up for by the rush of pleasure that appeared on the face of his mother’s maid when they arrived at her cottage and she saw Gideon.
“My lord! Oh, my!” She reached out to touch his arm, then remembered herself, blushed, and curtsied instead. “Lord Radbourne, it’s so wonderful to see you! Please, come in, come in.”
The maid, whose name was Nancy Bonham, whisked them into the single large room of her tiny row cottage, quickly picking up a basket of sewing and stowing it behind a sofa and in the same motion directing Gideon toward the comfortable-looking chair beside the fireplace.
“Please, sit down. Could I get you a cup of tea? I’m so happy, so happy, you came,” she chattered, beaming and wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “You must excuse me. I’m not usually so easily overcome, but to see my lady’s boy…” She stopped, choking up.
“No, don’t apologize,” Gideon told her, smiling back at her. “I should have come to see you earlier. I am afraid I did not realize—I have no memory of my life here before.”
“You do not remember your mother?” Nancy exclaimed in a shocked tone.
“Oh, my, how terrible for you. She was such a sweet, kind woman. A fine lady, so good to me. And she loved you so very much. You were the light of her life, you know. There are some ladies as don’t pay much mind to their children, leaving them to the nurse or governess, but not her ladyship.
Whenever you were sick, she was right there at your bedside.
And she would tuck you into bed each night and read you a little story. You loved that, you did.”
“Tell me about my mother,” Gideon said.
The woman needed no urging. She launched into a long paean to the Lady Selene’s temperament, looks and character.
“Her eyes were much like yours, you know. That same clear green. People always said you favored Lord Radbourne, but I thought you had more the look of Lady Selene. Her hair was dark, too, and she was tall. So refined she was, a true lady in every sense of the word. His lordship was lucky to have married her, I’ll tell you that, though he never would have admitted it.
The Bankeses were always a proud lot. And, of course, his mother was a Lilles, and we all know how they are.
But your mother was a Walbridge, and her line went back as far in Norfolk as ever the Bankeses were here. ”
She went on at some length about Lady Selene’s family and her own family’s long tradition of serving them, from there launching into a description of her ladyship’s many kindnesses, not only to Nancy herself, but to the poor of the village.
Finally, when she paused, Gideon said quickly, “Nancy, can you tell me about that day she left. What happened?”
“Oh, that horrid, horrid day!” She teared up again, bringing her handkerchief back out of her pocket and dabbing at her eyes.
“I never dreamed…I saw she wasn’t in her bed, of course, as soon as I went into her room.
The bed was turned down, just as I’d left it the evening before.
She hadn’t slept in it at all. I didn’t know what to do.
I—” Nancy looked down at her hands “—I didn’t want to tell Lord Radbourne.
I didn’t want to…get her in trouble with him.
He—” She glanced up at Gideon a little uncertainly.
“Go ahead,” he said calmly. “It does not matter what you say about him or my mother. They are…I have no attachment to them. I did not know either of them, so I do not feel as one would normally feel about a parent. You will neither please nor offend me with what you say. I simply want to know the truth.”
“Your father was a man with a quick temper. He was not always kind. And she—She was not happy.” Again she looked away.
Irene leaned toward the woman. “You said you did not want her to get in trouble with him. Why did you think that she would? Why would he have been angry? Why wouldn’t he simply have been worried because she had gone missing?”
The older woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and this time her eyes went to Irene. “She was a good woman. You have to understand that.”
Irene nodded. “I am sure that she was. Was—Had there been other mornings when she was not there?”
“No,” Nancy replied slowly, shaking her head. “But sometimes, well, there was a time or two when, earlier in the night, she was not in her bed. She was always there the next morning, though.”
Irene kept her gaze on the woman so reluctantly answering her question. She knew that the maid would be more willing to communicate what she knew about Lady Selene to another woman, and she wanted her to forget as much as possible that Lady Selene’s son was sitting right there.
“Was she meeting a lover?”
Nancy’s chewed at her lip nervously, and her hands twisted in her lap.
“Yes. I mean—I think she was. I fell asleep sitting in her room one time, waiting for her so I could help her undress. I woke up when she came in. It must have been four o’clock in the morning.
Why would she have been up that late? And there was something about her face—so flushed and happy.
And there were other times when—she would just seem so much happier for a bit.
She would come in from the garden, her arms full of flowers, and she would be humming and smiling.
There were periods when she was happier for weeks at a time.
And then she would be sad—I would catch her sitting, looking out a window, and there would be tears in her eyes. ”
“Do you know who the man was?”