Chapter 17
Seventeen
The next morning, Isabel woke early and hurried to the library. The cupboard door hung open, the ox-gall odor filled the room. The small vial lay on its side, the pungent liquid dripping from the shelf to the floor. The vellum test paper was smeared with ink.
Frozen, she looked at the shelf. It had to be a nightmare. No matter how many times she blinked, the shelf remained in disarray. The smell of the ox gall filled her nose until she could taste the bile in her mouth. Isabel turned and rushed from the room. A maid polished the mirror in the corridor.
“Have you seen my brother about?”
The maid shook her head.
“My mother?”
“I believe she is in the breakfast room, miss.”
Isabel thanked the maid and hurried to locate her mother.
Mamma was talking with David, who was not yet properly attired for the day, wearing neither vest nor coat.
“I am afraid dinner was not the success for my wife that I thought it to be last night.” David ran his hand through his hair.
“So you have already seen the library?” asked Isabel.
The shocked look on Mamma and David’s faces answered. David bolted from the room. Isabel and Mamma hurried after him.
David stood in the center of the room, holding his shirtsleeve over his nose.
Mamma stepped closer to the cupboard where they had stored the painting supplies last evening. “Did she ruin the miniature, too?”
“No. After dinner I had an uneasy feeling, so I retrieved it from the library.” Isabel unwrapped the ivory miniature from her handkerchief. “It is quite safe.”
“Thank heavens for that.” Mamma rang for the maid.
Isabel had pity for the poor girl who had to clean up the mess so she corked the jar.
Thankfully, the bottle had not been smashed.
At least she had enough ox gall to complete the miniature, and no one would have to clean up shards of glass.
“It is a rather unpleasant odor. Vinegar will help. At least there are no signs of rain so we can air out the room.”
They returned to the breakfast room. David sank into his chair, leaning back until he stared at the ceiling. “I only thought she had tried to get to Oliver last night.”
“I should not have mentioned the painting,” said Mamma. “I was only trying to converse about something wholly unconnected with my grandson or Susanna’s intense melancholy.”
“It is not your fault, Mamma. Susanna has never liked my artwork.” It was more than a simple dislike. The systematic removal of the paintings that Isabel painted from the walls of Leadon Hill started before Oliver’s birth.
“Nonsen—” David stopped the defense of his wife before it started. “Before we were married, Susanna prided herself on her painting skills. I had not thought on it much. I believe you are right.”
Mamma set down her teacup and tilted her head. “I have never seen her painting.”
“Her parents’ house was full of her paintings.
Something similar to how many we hung of Izz’s.
Only—do not think less of me for saying so—her paintings didn’t show the skill Izz’s do.
Several weeks after moving here she realized some of the paintings on our walls were Izz’s when Edward saw Susanna admiring the one in the parlor and commented on our sister’s skills.
” David’s brow furrowed. “It isn’t in the parlor anymore, is it? ”
Isabel shook her head. “None of my paintings are.”
David glanced around the breakfast room. “Wasn’t that one of the ruins right there?”
“It has been gone for weeks.” Mamma sipped her tea.
“How many have been removed? Why did you not say anything?”
“This is Susanna’s home now. It is not my place to tell her how to decorate.” Mamma continued to eat as if nothing was wrong.
How could her mother have so little feeling about what Susanna had done? Isabel studied her mother. It took a moment for her to discern the tightness around Mamma’s eyes. Perhaps she felt the pain and was choosing to set it aside.
“Izz, why did you keep quiet?” asked David.
“When I complained about the attic room, I was told to be patient. I assumed you could see as well as I could that my paintings were being systematically removed from the walls.”
David rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t notice. With father’s death, and the baby—”
Mamma reached for her son’s hand. “No one expected you to notice. As much as I love Isabel’s paintings, they are not the biggest problem we face.
Susanna must be helped, if possible. I had hoped, as our doctor did, that a couple of weeks of deep rest would improve her spirits.
I thought she was much improved last night.
Obviously not, judging by the library. Did she slip away from you twice then? ”
“I don’t know. I cannot bear to lock her in her room. I had only a footman in the corridor near the nursery. I didn’t think she would wander anywhere else.”
“Admittedly, I know little of these things, but would a visit to her parents be helpful?” Silence hung in the air as Isabel’s question settled around them.
Finally, David shook his head. “We could not leave the baby.”
“Take him with you then. Her parents would love to see their grandson. Their brief visit for the christening was hardly enough for any grandparents. The nurses can travel in a separate coach with him if necessary.” Mamma smiled an encouraging smile.
“You think we should go then?” asked David.
“It may be that her own mother can help in ways we cannot. The familiarity of her home may be soothing,” said Mamma. “Susanna has never felt at home here. She often talks of missing the sea air and the bustle of visiting London.”
“Then let us prepare to leave in the morning. I’ll send an express so they expect us.”
How hard it must be for a bride to move in with her husband’s family not having a place to call her own.
The Godderidge’s only had the townhouse in London and Leadon Hill.
While David and Susanna had spent their first few months in London, the summer heat and smells drove them away.
Isabel didn’t believe her family was difficult to love, yet Susanna had never fit in.
While the conversation continued around her, Isabel thought about her future.
What if she didn’t like her future family?
What if her mother-in-law was as uncouth as Mrs. Dalrymple?
Isabel shuddered. She would be better off as a spinster.
Isabel chided herself. She had only met the woman briefly.
To form such an opinion on such a short meeting was uncharitable.
David left the room with Mamma discussing and planning a visit to Susanna’s home.
Isabel returned to the library. Though the scent of vinegar lingered, the odor was not as offensive as it had been.
She prepared herself and her paints. The miniature needed to be completed before tonight’s dinner party.
It would be the best time to give it to Mr. Dalrymple.
She hoped he would like it. Silly thought.
She hoped Jane would like the miniature.
Mr. Dalrymple’s approval was unnecessary.
A fact she reminded herself of several times as she added delicate details to the little painting.
Victor’s staff set the dining table with the finest china and linens.
A low fire burned cheerfully in the parlor—as a cold wind blew in during the afternoon—and the room had taken on a bit of a chill.
A fire in August was preposterous. Usually, the windows would be flung open, hoping for a cool breeze.
Victor walked around the dining room again, rechecking each detail he knew his staff had already cared for.
“I say, chap, you’re as nervous as a whelping dog,” Barlow leaned against the doorjamb. “You would think you were expecting the Royal Family.”
“It is the first dinner party I have hosted since my sister married.”
“That was three years ago. You honestly have never invited one of your neighbors to dine?”
“The vicar and his wife have been here several times. The magistrate has dined with me several times.” He had invitations enough, and the fact he lived alone had been enough to mollify those who might be critical of him not hosting a dinner party.
Barlow shoved off the doorframe into an upright position. “Had I known you had become such a recluse—”
“I’m not a recluse. I get out of the house all the time.”
“That is not what I meant. You are not being social at all. Do not tell me that going to Town for four weeks out of the season is enough to count.”
“A month is more than enough time to see what the market holds. I have not made any social errors.” His defense was weak at best. While there were many beautiful women, most either wanted his money or looked down on him because he had made his fortune by starting in trade.
He had put Miss Godderidge in the latter category, but their interactions of the past month were disproving his assumptions about what she thought of him.
Barlow might have a point, a month might not be long enough.
This next season, he would endeavor to stay, no matter how tedious he thought the marriage mart to be.
“Other than that faux pas with the flowers,” said Barlow with a teasing grin.
“How was I to know Palmer was jesting? He said it was the newest thing to do.”
“Palmer is the same as he was in school. You should have known enough to ask me or another of our friends. The same flowers to every woman you danced with? I cannot believe you fell for that.”
“As I recall, you were quite busy that night.”
Barlow cleared his throat. “At least come and settle yourself in the parlor. If you are hovering about the door when any of our guests arrive, they will find it mighty peculiar.”