Chapter 25
The picnic was postponed until the following day while the staff scrambled to reorganise themselves. Charlotte arranged for Holly to assume Mrs Dent’s duties temporarily while Holden assisted below stairs.
By the next morning, the household had largely settled back into its usual rhythm.
Charlotte and Sarah tidied the schoolroom after a productive morning of lessons with Tom.
As Charlotte leafed through his notebook, she felt a quiet sense of pride.
Even his maze sketches had improved; the lines were neater now, more deliberate—almost resembling maps.
She was surprised to realise how fond she had grown of the boy.
Unfortunately, such agreeable developments were not reflected elsewhere in the household.
Mrs Dent’s death had shaken Mrs Wilberforce considerably—though more, Charlotte suspected, from the disruption it caused to the house party than from any deep affection for the woman herself.
Yet once Charlotte and Holden restored order below stairs, Mrs Wilberforce recovered quickly, even remarking that she had never much liked Mrs Dent.
The guests, meanwhile, speculated endlessly. Lord Stanley handled every inquiry with vague explanations and his usual cool dismissiveness.
Charlotte, however, could not stop thinking about Mrs Dent.
If the Odd Fellows were involved, how had they discovered she was under suspicion? Or had guilt truly driven Mrs Dent to such an end?
No. Charlotte could not reconcile herself to it.
The locked room, the note, the timing—it all felt too neat.
With renewed resolve, Charlotte galvanised her plans to uncover the remaining two Odd Fellows.
Indeed, the more she considered it, the more convinced she became that using herself as bait was an entirely sensible plan—provided she exercised caution, of course. The difficulty lay elsewhere.
How, precisely, was she supposed to entice information from Lord Wolverton when she scarcely knew how to flirt?
By midday, preparations for the long-promised picnic were underway. At the Captain’s enthusiastic insistence, Mrs Wilberforce declared that Charlotte, Sarah, and Tom must all join the excursion.
Most ladies travelled by carriage whilst the gentlemen—and a handful of adventurous ladies—rode ahead on horseback. Amongst them, Wolverton’s magnificent white Arabian drew immediate attention, its coat gleaming beneath the sunlight like polished ivory.
She overheard several ladies sighing over the creature as Charlotte climbed into the carriage.
As the party set off, she watched Lady Susan flutter beside him upon her mare.
Drat. Lady Susan had already attached herself to Wolverton and monopolised nearly all his attention. Therefore, Charlotte could not deny feeling relieved when Sir Oswald abruptly disrupted the arrangement.
‘Wolverton, that beast is more beautiful than my wife!’ Sir Oswald declared far too loudly—well within Lady Oswald’s hearing.
Lady Oswald rewarded him with a glare of such concentrated venom that even made Charlotte wince slightly on his behalf.
Wolverton merely inclined his head in acknowledgement before spurring the Arabian forward, leaving Sir Oswald lumbering indignantly behind upon his stout mare whilst Lady Susan watched him go with wounded confusion.
Charlotte noticed at once that Wolverton seemed in an unusually sour mood today. His smiles appeared strained, his manner sharper than before. Had something disturbed him?
The picnic itself was arranged beside a charming brook surrounded by rolling green meadows and clusters of wildflowers.
Parasols bloomed across the grass while servants laid out cold meats, cheeses, fruit, and wine.
The young gentlemen soon organised an archery competition and eagerly persuaded the unmarried ladies to participate.
Miss Fraser and Miss Oswald became so fiercely competitive during a croquet match that their mothers were forced to admonish them repeatedly for unladylike behaviour.
Lord Stanley politely invited Charlotte to join the archery teams, but she declined.
He did not press the matter, though she experienced an absurd little pang of disappointment when he later partnered Miss Pearson instead.
More frustrating still, Lady Susan’s relentless pursuit of Wolverton left Charlotte with no opportunity whatsoever to speak to him privately.
The Captain, meanwhile, remained invariably at her side, fetching her cordial or a shawl whenever she looked chilly.
Charlotte coyly accepted his attention, though she became increasingly disgruntled whenever she caught the spinsters watching from the corner of her eye, taking obvious delight in their interactions.
When the good Captain was finally pulled away—quite forcibly—by Miss Fraser, Charlotte found herself indulging, despite all good sense, in thoughts of matrimony to him.
He would make the sort of steady, reliable husband any sensible woman ought to want.
She could not—not now. But perhaps, once all this was over. ..
Well. She might consider it.
It was perfectly clear that Lord Stanley was not permitting the investigation to interfere with his own courtship efforts, so why, precisely, should she be expected to do otherwise? Charlotte thought rather wilfully.
Thus occupied, she was surprised when Mr Hamilton approached her during a pause in the games. Until now, he had scarcely acknowledged her existence.
‘I always find a bracing game of archery revives the spirits,’ he said cheerfully.
Charlotte swallowed a mouthful of cheese before replying. ‘I prefer admiring the scenery. There is something restorative in nature.’
‘Ah, but I suppose you are rarely afforded the opportunity, confined as you are to a dusty schoolroom. Tell me, Miss Lucas, do you ride?’
‘I... I used to.’
She recalled riding with her father across open fields and narrow tenant lanes. A tight lump formed in her throat, though she mastered it quickly.
Then an idea occurred to her.
‘Though I confess,’ she added lightly, ‘I would give anything for the chance to ride that Arabian. Would you not?’
‘Oh, unquestionably. By Jove, she is a magnificent creature—a dream to ride.’
Charlotte looked at him carefully.
‘Then you have ridden her? When? I do not recall seeing you do so.’
‘Oh, I met Wolverton at last year’s house party.’
Charlotte paused. Something was amiss.
Wolverton had told young Matthew Stanley that the Arabian had only been gifted to him a few months ago. Either Wolverton had lied—or Mr Hamilton was lying now. Unless...
‘It must be agreeable,’ she said lightly, ‘seeing the same company every year?’
‘Oh, certainly. These gatherings are always diverting. And how are you enjoying the house party this year, Miss Lucas?’
Charlotte looked momentarily disconcerted.
‘This is my first.’
‘Why yes.’ He smiled. ‘Though I could have sworn I saw you here last year. Perhaps I confuse you with the previous governess.’
Charlotte resisted the urge to roll her eyes. To people like him, all governesses were evidently interchangeable creatures in plain gowns.
‘And how do you know Lord Wolverton?’ she asked casually. ‘You seem to be great friends.’
In truth, she had no notion whether they were close at all, but she decided it prudent to probe where she could.
He hesitated—not for long, but Charlotte caught it.
‘Er... old acquaintances, I believe—from Oxford.’
‘I understand you are Lord Bainbridge’s nephew,’ she continued. ‘It must be a comfort to have family living nearby.’
‘Yes. I was close to my cousin Freddie. God rest his soul.’
‘I heard of his passing. Such a tragedy, to die so young. How did he pass again?’
Charlotte already knew the truth through clandestine means last year. Frederick Bainbridge, heir to the title, had died of syphilis—a fact carefully concealed beneath layers of polite society fiction.
He looked away. ‘A carriage accident, I believe.’
A lie. What else are you lying about, Mr Hamilton?
‘At least you still have your uncle,’ she said. ‘That must be some comfort.’
‘Not at all.’ His face twisted. The bitterness in his voice startled her so much she nearly choked on her cordial.
‘I beg your pardon?’
He chuckled. ‘No need to be alarmed—it is no secret. We merely tolerate one another. We do not exactly see eye to eye.’
‘Oh. How unfortunate.’
‘You’re forthright, Miss Lucas.’
‘I apologise. I did not mean to pry.’
‘No, no. I rather like it,’ he said, though his expression contradicted the claim. ‘Truth is, I objected strongly to his marriage. The poor girl was scarcely out of the schoolroom. I made my opinion known... and my uncle retaliated by cutting off my allowance.’
Charlotte’s heart sank. ‘Was the lady unwilling?’
‘Entirely. Though I believe she has resigned herself to it now.’
As Mr Hamilton looked towards Lady Bainbridge, Charlotte thought she detected genuine tenderness in his gaze.
If he is in love with her, then it would complicate matters considerably, Charlotte thought
‘I even offered her parents a sum,’ Mr Hamilton continued bitterly. ‘But my uncle offered more than money. He offered a title.’
Charlotte grimaced. ‘Ah yes. The irresistible lure of nobility. I am sure her parents sleep soundly knowing their daughter is now a lady.’
That earned a genuine laugh from him. ‘I believe you and I shall get along famously, Miss Lucas.’ Then, almost abruptly, he rose to his feet. ‘If you will excuse me, I believe it is my turn.’
But instead of returning to the archery game, he crossed directly towards Lord Bainbridge.
Another lie...
Mr Hamilton was rapidly climbing her list of suspects alongside Wolverton and Boulton. There was something decidedly awry in his manner.
No sooner had he left, Mrs Hill appeared carrying another plate laden with cold meats and cheese.
‘Thank you,’ Charlotte said absently.
The old lady lowered herself beside her with considerable effort. ‘How did you find young Hamilton?’ she asked hopefully, evidently convinced Charlotte was once again on the verge of securing herself a husband.