Chapter Twenty
Farrah’s mother remained in a foul mood for the rest of the day, refusing to discuss her sister’s loss and constantly berating Farrah for suggesting that it was beyond time to set past grievances aside.
Sophia sulked and snuffled, complaining that she was getting a head cold and somehow managing to place the blame for that at Farrah’s door too.
‘I will have a blotchy face and red nose and won’t be fit to be seen when the duke calls!’ Sophia wailed, sending Farrah an accusatory look. ‘It is so unfair!’
The atmosphere inside the house became unbearable.
Mama’s prolonged silences and Sophia’s litany of complaints wore Farrah’s nerves thin.
She attempted to retire to her chamber but her mother, in an intransigent mood, refused to excuse her, although she didn’t say a single word to her for half an hour.
Farrah could be stubborn too and refused to break the silence.
‘I do not know what the world is coming to,’ Mama eventually said.
‘What did you make of Mrs Armstrong, Mama?’ Farrah asked, curious to learn if her mother had been previously acquainted with their new neighbour.
‘I really believe Agnes must have taken leave of her senses, inviting such a woman into her drawing room. Mrs Armstrong is definitely not one of us, and standards really must be maintained. It is more important than ever now that the middle classes are getting ideas above their station. I dare say she was uncomfortable to find herself in such superior company, while I was equally uncomfortable having her thrust upon us.’
Farrah hadn’t noticed Mrs Armstrong’s discomfort.
If she felt out of place she hid it well.
If anything, Farrah thought that she had found the situation entertaining.
There had been a hint of mockery in her expression at unguarded moments.
Farrah wondered, not for the first time, why she had accepted the duchess’s invitation.
It might have been impolite to decline, but Farrah didn’t imagine for one moment that such concerns would trouble their new neighbour.
That being the case, Farrah wondered if her reason for attending could have been to meet Papa’s family.
To meet her, Farrah.
The thought made her gasp, drawing a curious look and an inevitable frown from her mother.
Mrs Armstrong was acquainted with Papa and knew where he was, Farrah was absolutely certain of it.
But Papa was hiding from his family, from his debts, and did not want to be found.
So why had Mrs Armstrong singled Farrah out and made a point of dropping Papa’s name into their conversation by nefarious means? It made absolutely no sense.
‘I thought her gown was lovely, if a little young for a lady of her years,’ Sophia said, briefly emerging from her sulk, presumably referring to Mrs Armstrong’s attire. ‘Superb quality the likes of which we ought to be enjoying,’ she added, sending Farrah yet another accusatory glance.
‘What do you know about the lady, Mama?’ Farrah asked.
‘Nothing at all. I believe her father was a successful trader of some sort,’ she said, with a dismissive flap of one wrist, ‘but she married a man considerably below her station.’
‘He must have been rich,’ Sophia said enviously.
‘That is quite beside the point, Sophia,’ Mama replied. ‘Money does not a gentleman make. You will do well to remember that.’
No, thought Farrah, returning her attention to her embroidery, it does not, but it certainly helps.
Finally managing to escape from her mother on the pretext of having a headache, Farrah lay awake long into the night, mulling over the events of the afternoon but failing to make any sense of Mrs Armstrong’s motives.
She woke early and dressed in her warmest morning gown.
She knew that her mother would not emerge from her chamber until noon, which would allow Farrah the time to make the journey she had in mind without having to face any awkward questions.
She would definitely prefer not to reignite the previous day’s argument since she fully intended to visit her aunt.
Despite the fact that they had only met once, she sensed that her presence would be welcome and her condolences kindly received.
She asked for the old cob to be harnessed to the gig, and would make her way to her aunt’s abode by that means.
It would have been far quicker to take the carriage, but she was averse to John Coachman knowing what she planned to do.
Convinced that he had revealed Madame Celeste’s identity to Freeman, she could no longer trust the man who had been employed by her family for as long as she could recall.
Mercifully the rain held off, replaced by a weak spring sun, and Farrah enjoyed a drive that took her almost two hours to complete since the cob moved only at a plodding pace.
She was stiff and cold by the time she reached her destination.
The gates were closed and adorned with a black mourning wreath.
‘Damn! I should have stopped to consider.’
She lingered outside, wondering what she ought now to do, when a porter emerged from his lodge and blinked myopically up at her.
‘You’ll be Lady Farrah,’ he said, opening the gate. ‘Her ladyship is expecting you.’
‘She is?’
‘Oh aye. Gave specific instructions to admit you.’
‘I see.’
Farrah drove up to the house, where a footman emerged to take the cob’s bridle.
If he was unimpressed by her indifferent mode of transport, he was too well trained to give any sign.
Farrah climbed down from the box seat, stretched her aching limbs, lifted her skirts and ascended the entrance steps.
She was not surprised when the doors opened before she reached them and her aunt’s butler inclined his head deferentially.
‘Her ladyship is in the drawing room, if you would care to follow me.’
Lady Bartholomew, clad in black, rose from a chair in front of the fire when Farrah was announced and walked towards her, arms outstretched.
‘I hoped you would come, my dear,’ she said, engulfing Farrah in another of her warm embraces.
‘How could I not?’ she replied. ‘I am so very sorry for your loss, dearest aunt.’
‘I am not,’ her aunt replied, dabbing at red-rimmed eyes with a lace handkerchief. ‘My beloved husband was never going to recover. He was in great pain, and it tore at my heart to see him suffer and not be able to ease that suffering. Now at least he is at rest, and for that I am grateful.’
Farrah seated herself and accepted an offer of tea. She was still cold from the long drive and held her hands out to the fire.
‘We were at the duchess’s afternoon tea party when your note arrived,’ Farrah said, stirring her tea.
‘I would like to say that Mama was upset on your behalf and intends to write. That is what she told the duchess’s guests when the attention switched to her, but I am afraid nothing could be further from the truth. ’
‘That does not surprise me. Your mother is, I’m sorry to say, a disappointed and bitter woman.
She will not change. Believe me, I have tried to heal the breach over the years, but she has rebuffed all my efforts and it’s far too late now.
’ Lady Bartholomew sighed. ‘But still you came, and I couldn’t have hoped for more.
I did not know you would be there when I wrote to Agnes, but I had high hopes that the news would reach you. ’
‘How?’
A brief smile broke through the lady’s grief. ‘Why through the duke, of course.’
‘You are assuming …’ Farrah felt colour flooding her cheeks. ‘Oh, never mind.’
‘How are things at Dalton House?’
‘Fraught. Mama refuses to face reality and is convinced either that Papa will return with overflowing pockets or that Sophia will make the duke fall desperately in love with her, thereby resolving all our problems.’
‘She always did live in a dream world.’
‘I made Mrs Armstrong’s acquaintance at Alton Hall yesterday.’
‘Ah!’
‘You know her, Aunt?’
‘I know of her. I heard she had taken the lease on the Houghtons’ manor house. They are travelling for a year and so have let it, you see.’
Farrah nodded, aware of the property’s location but not that its owners were taking a grand tour. ‘The duke heard her name mentioned in connection with Papa and asked the duchess to invite her to her tea party so that we could get the measure of her.’
‘And did you?’ Lady Bartholomew offered Farrah a plate of pastries. She made a selection and nodded her thanks.
‘Not at all. I felt rather like a mouse being taunted by a cat.’ Farrah paused with the pastry raised to her mouth.
‘She made it abundantly clear that she has a connection to Papa but did not offer any further details.’ Farrah fixed her aunt with a supplicating look.
‘Do you have any information in that respect? You are the only person I have been able to find who has seen Papa since he left London, and perhaps you know more about his activities than you feel able to tell me.’ Farrah waved a hand by way of apology.
‘Pray excuse me, that was impolite. You are grieving and anyway, you do not have to tell me anything you would prefer not to, especially if you yourself were confided in.’
‘You are aware of Armstrong’s main source of income, one assumes, given that the duke appears to have unearthed a great deal of information about him.’
‘He is … was … a moneylender.’
‘Indeed. And a most ruthless one, from what I have heard. Your father was desperate and took a loan from him. My husband would have talked him out of such an idea, had he been aware of his intentions in advance. It seems his name was mentioned to your father at his club, and he saw a way out of his dilemma. How he intended to make the repayments was not a question he could answer when my husband asked him. Your mother is not the only member of your family who is unwilling to face reality, I am afraid.’