Chapter 18 #3
“I thought it would be a quiet evening. But first Miss Fitzjohn came up and began looking through her mother’s desk and side table.
I was in here reading, but I’d left the door open to listen for Lady Celia, so I watched her though the gap.
I didn’t know whether to say anything or not, so I remained hidden. ”
“Did she find what she was looking for?”
“She took a small bundle of what looked like letters with her. And something blue. A cup or maybe a vase. I didn’t see it well.”
“Ah.” The letters and blue vase, Anne realized, then said, “She looked lovely by the way. You have quite a way with hair.”
“Thank you.”
“Then?” Anne prompted.
“She had been gone for maybe half an hour when the door to Lady Celia’s room opened again.
I crept to the door and looked, and this time it was Mr. Dalby.
At first I froze, wondering if he might be coming to tell me he’d changed his mind, or to apologize.
Instead, he too began looking through Lady Celia’s desk. Then he stepped toward her bed. . . .”
Anne’s stomach clenched. “What did he do?”
“He leaned down as though to speak in her ear, or perhaps to kiss her cheek. I don’t know because I accidentally leaned against the door and it creaked open.
He jerked upright and turned. I suppose it was deceitful of me, but I pretended to be surprised to find him in the room and apologized for intruding.
He did not explain what he was looking for.
Said something about coming up to look in on his aunt as a guise for seeing me.
For a moment, I was pleased. Then I saw the look in his eyes.
I retreated, saying I had some sewing to finish, and he followed me. I promise it was not an invitation.”
“I believe you. Did you tell him about Robbie?”
“No. When I resisted his advances he grew irritated. In the mood he was in, I knew that news would not be well received. How na?ve I was. I know I should not have given in to him before, but I sincerely believed he loved me.” She gave a bitter laugh.
“Only later did I learn he was already married—that he had made all those empty, beautiful promises knowing full well he could not keep them. . . .”
“All that, and yet you remain here. Why?”
Rosa shrugged, eyes distant. “For my son’s sake. In the slim hope that he might yet have a father. Now I realize how wrong I was to think a man who could lie so well, who would use someone so deceitfully, could ever be a good husband or father.”
“Now you know, will you leave Painswick Court?”
“Soon. But first I want to do something.”
Worry rose. “Do . . . what?”
“Make him pay.”
“Oh, Rosa, no! Please don’t do anything reckless. Think of your son. Your uncle.”
“Don’t worry. I will be careful. But I happen to know Lady Celia plans to revise her will. . . .”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Not directly. But she asked me to pick up the draft of a new will from her solicitor when I went to Gloucester.”
“So that’s what he was looking for, a new will? Does she intend to disinherit him?”
“I certainly hope so. I want to see him suffer.”
“Rosa . . .” Anne said, studying the girl’s hard expression. “I fear for you.”
“Don’t. I am not the same foolish girl I once was.”
“Do you know where this new will is?”
Her eyes glinted. “I do. And I’m not telling.”
The following day, while the curate paid a call on Lady Celia, Anne again sat in the window-seat alcove she loved, sipping tea and reading a newly arrived letter from Fanny, who must have written back by return of post.
Anne,
I don’t know what to say. Are you certain? Or did his aunt lie to you? I find it difficult to believe your—her—assertions that Mr. Dalby was not forced to end things with me. And this other young woman you mentioned. Did you fabricate her simply to injure my feelings?
You said Albert Palling blames him for his sister’s death. That is more difficult to dismiss. I want to believe you wrote all you did with the best intentions, yet it is difficult, I own.
I will endeavor to accept this information as true and adjust my earlier conclusions.
I have also decided that perhaps it is time to confide in Stephen about my old heartbreak and former love.
He is skilled in counseling others. I wonder if he might offer wise and understanding counsel to his own wife?
In the meantime, stay away from Mr. Dalby. For your own sake, as well as mine.
Fanny
Anne winced at the cutting words. She had known her sister would not enjoy her last letter, but she had not expected rebuke or recrimination. She hoped the letter had not done more harm than good.
As Anne refolded the paper, she heard a nearby door open. For a moment, she felt confused. The nearest door was the rarely used one that led into Mr. Dalby’s dressing room across the passage, where his valet would sleep, if he employed one.
She was surprised and disappointed to hear Rosa’s and Mr. Dalby’s hushed voices in the passage, the two no doubt thinking themselves alone.
Anne’s stomach sank. What had Rosa been doing in Mr. Dalby’s room? Had she learned nothing?
“Well then,” Rosa was saying, “if you are uncomfortable, it’s up to you to leave.”
“Don’t fool yourself. My aunt may like you as a lady’s maid but she would dismiss you in an instant if she thought you were trying to entrap her nephew.”
“Unless . . . Shall I tell her my version of events first?” Her syrupy sweet tone belied her words. “After all, I gather Lady Celia is in the process of revising her will. She ought to have all the pertinent facts before she does so. Do you not agree?”
“How would you know anything about that?”
“A few days ago, I retrieved a draft of the document from her solicitor in Gloucester.”
“Is that where you went?”
“Yes.”
As quietly as she could, Anne set down her things and rose, tiptoeing to the door she was concealed behind.
Rosa went on. “When I first arrived, I hoped your aunt would come to like me, so she would approve of a marriage between us. I also hoped to become reacquainted with you when you happened to visit. I did not know you planned to move back to Painswick Court. At first I was thrilled, but now I’ve come to care for Lady Celia and care nothing at all about you. ”
Looking through the crack between wall and hinges, Anne saw Mr. Dalby cross his arms over his chest.
“So you admit your little plot has failed. I suppose Dr. Finch was in on it too? I barely looked at the man initially, him not being female, but then I remembered seeing him with you in Cheltenham. You have both wasted your time here.”
“No. My time has not been wasted. For being here with you has cured me. I never thought to get over you, yet I find I’m quite recovered. The romantic fantasy has lifted like mist, and now I see who you really are. And I loathe you.”
Mr. Dalby reached for her, but she pulled away from his grasp.
“Rosa . . . wait,” he entreated, sounding almost hurt.
Perhaps it was the first time in his life he had been spurned by a woman. Or perhaps he was merely afraid of what she might tell his aunt.
“I’ve waited long enough. Good-bye, Mr. Dalby.” Rosa stalked away, disappearing from view.
Anne watched the man stand there for a moment, staring after Rosa, and then he turned and retreated through his dressing room door.
For the next few hours, Anne worried about Rosa as she carried out her tasks, wondering why the girl continued to tempt fate by putting herself in Mr. Dalby’s path, even in his very bedchamber.
Soon, however, Anne learned Rosa had an altogether different motive for having entered the man’s room.
From the alcove windows, Anne saw him once again sitting on a bench watching Katherine practicing archery alone. Anne idly wondered why Jasper had not joined her.
Rosa came and stood beside her, gazing down as well, wearing a smug, expectant expression.
Suddenly Mr. Dalby rose with an odd look of panic and hurried away with none of his usual confident swagger, all but running to the outdoor privy.
He remained there for some time.
What in the world? Was he ill?
She glanced at Rosa and found her still gazing in the direction he had disappeared, a smirk on her face.
Anne recalled again hearing the girl come out of his dressing room earlier that day. Worry shot through her.
“Rosa, what did you do?”
She turned to meet Anne’s gaze and her smirk blossomed into a satisfied grin.
“Oh, I’ve learned a lot from you and Uncle Ernest. Extract of Turkey rhubarb and senna in his water pitcher. Clearly quite effective.”
Turkey rhubarb and senna were both well-known purgatives. And together? A highly potent laxative.
“Rosa . . .” Anne repeated, slowly shaking her head. “You shouldn’t have done that.” Yet her reproof held no bite. In fact, Anne could not quite restrain the quiver of a grin on her lips.
Rosa shrugged. “He deserves far worse.”
As revenge went, it was rather mild. Though Mr. Dalby would be unpleasantly occupied for some time.
Anne took a deep breath. “Very well. You’ve made him suffer with the rhubarb and senna. Let that be enough.”
Rosa shook her head. “It’s not enough. Not even close.”