Chapter 17
The storms forestalled Gage’s and my plans to retreat to the dower house with Emma that afternoon, but they didn’t stop me from spending more than an hour in the nursery with my daughter.
We read books and played with her doll Rosie, and then curled up together in the window seat, watching the rain while she chattered away and I pretended to understand.
I would have stayed longer, but a maid from the kitchens came looking for me. Duty called.
Once a snaggle over the evening’s menu was sorted, there were queries from Mrs. Taylor about the rooms being prepared for the additional guests arriving on Saturday.
Then Bowcott needed instructions for the ball.
It was to be held in the great hall, which meant rearranging most of the furnishings.
We debated the merit of positioning the small orchestra in a corner versus the balcony overhead, ultimately deciding on the balcony.
Gage, his father, and I had briefly conferred about urging the new guests not to come or, at the very least, canceling the ball.
But we’d swiftly realized that many of the guests were even now en route, and if we were already going to have a house filled with people, what difference would a few dozen more arriving for a ball make?
All things considered, our only course seemed to be to forge ahead.
And hope we apprehended Miss Whitlock’s killer before anyone else reached Bevington Park.
By the time I retired to my bedchamber to switch gowns, I had only moments to exchange the briefest greeting with Gage, who thankfully was already dressed in his dark evening attire, before sending him down ahead of me to greet the guests in the mauve drawing room before dinner.
I must have appeared as ragged as I felt, for he gripped my hand when I would have turned away.
“Tomorrow morning after breakfast,” he promised. “We’ll collect Emma and slip away.”
To our home in the dower house, he meant. I smiled up at him in gratitude, and he leaned forward to steal a kiss before haring off to shoulder our responsibilities.
Dinner that evening was a fractious affair.
Clearly, the day’s events had proved universally unsettling, for many of the guests behaved either irritably or giddily.
It was not the most conducive combination, particularly to the group’s harmony.
Before the last course was served, I was so frazzled from smoothing over tiny squabbles and deliberate misunderstandings that I was considering leaving the table without a word and fleeing into the night, heedless of the gossip that would arise from such an act.
Gage appeared as if he wanted to join me.
I was only too glad when it became time for the ladies to adjourn to the drawing room.
I deliberately slowed my steps as we processed, hoping to speak with Mrs. Birnam, but she seemed determined to avoid me.
At the doorway to the drawing room, I glanced back to find her turning toward the staircase while Matilda advanced toward me.
“Mother isn’t feeling well,” she said, her voice soft with nerves. “She asked me to make our excuses.”
In other words, she expected her daughter to retire as well, to attend to her.
Perhaps I should have been more charitable.
Perhaps I should have accepted this flimsy pretext with a gracious nod.
But Mrs. Birnam certainly hadn’t seemed indisposed at dinner, and I was tired of her rude dismissals and the domineering way she treated her daughter.
Matilda’s eyes widened in surprise as I marched past her toward the base of the staircase.
“You really must speak with us, Mrs. Birnam,” I called up to her as she slowly mounted the steps.
“No, I really must not,” she replied, not even bothering to turn to address me.
I ground my teeth and turned to Matilda, who shrank back a step at the ire in my eyes.
“You are all making this much worse for yourselves. Your silence only communicates callousness and guilt. The truth will out, Miss Birnam. It always does. And when it does, you may find you’ve forfeited the opportunity to explain. ”
With this, I whirled away, striding around the corner into the great room in order to take a moment to collect myself.
Rarely did I speak so harshly to anyone, and the memory of Matilda’s wounded expression made it worse.
But truly, someone needed to make her see reason.
Her mother might be compelling her to remain silent, but she was the one ultimately choosing to obey.
I closed my eyes, pressing my hand to the tight cornflower blue bodice of my gown as I tried to slow my breathing. I would linger a few more seconds, allowing Matilda a chance to make her escape. Her mother would be waiting for her at the top of the staircase, making sure she obeyed.
Feeling my pulse slow, I returned to the corridor to rejoin the other ladies but was brought up short by the sound of raised voices. They were coming from the dining room, and they seemed furious. Though I couldn’t make out every word being said, they seemed to be discussing the Factory Act.
“…You’re only concerned with profits!”
“Those bairns’ families need their extra wages tae survive.
Refusin’ ’em work or shortenin’ their day only creates greater harm.
” That was Mr. Birnam, presumably making an argument for why children under the age of nine should be allowed to work in his factories and why children between the ages of nine and thirteen should be able to work longer than nine hours in a day.
The second man, whom I now recognized as mild-mannered Lord Milngavie, hurled a few insults at Birnam before addressing the point from a different angle.
“…then ye should pay the workers ye do have more, so that they’re no’ reliant on sellin’ their weens oot as slaves!
” Such was his anger that the Scots brogue he strangled in order to speak like an Etonian-educated nobleman broke through.
Birnam retorted with a few insults of his own. Ones so vile that even I was shocked, and several of the other men spoke up to object. A woman behind me gasped, and I turned to see that the shouting had even captured the attention of the other ladies in the drawing room.
“What would ye ken aboot it?” Birnam flung out at the last.
“I ken plenty,” Milngavie snapped just before he thrust open the dining room door with a bang, startling most of the ladies listening.
He stumbled to a halt, clearly not realizing the audience they’d garnered.
His cheeks flushed before he offered us a penitent bow.
“Apologies, ladies,” he murmured and then retreated up the stairs.
I ushered the women back into the drawing room, hardly knowing what to say. That had been an unexpected and rather disconcerting altercation.
When the gentlemen joined us, they seemed to deliberately avoid discussing it.
I could tell from Lord Gage’s face that these latest developments were not to his liking.
I could also tell that he felt Gage and I were not working fast enough to resolve the matter of Miss Whitlock’s murder.
But truly, I didn’t know what miracles he expected when we were thwarted at every turn.
—
“This was not the house party you were hoping for, was it?”
Recognizing my sister’s voice, I straightened more slowly from the slouch I’d adopted, perched on a bench hidden amid the rose arbor the following morning. I’d come out here looking for Matilda, who I knew preferred the gardens, and not finding her, decided to steal a moment to myself.
I couldn’t have known for sure that Alana had been searching specifically for me. She might just as easily have been taking a stroll among the beauty of the flowers. But somehow, I knew she was there for me.
“No,” I admitted, not even bothering to put on a brave face.
“Now I know how you felt when Lady Godwin was murdered,” I commiserated, harkening back to the house party Alana had hosted nearly three years ago to reintroduce me to society after my scandal.
One of the guests had been murdered, and because of my macabre reputation, I’d been pinned as the likeliest suspect.
Of course, I had also met Gage, and we’d embarked on our first inquiry together, so it wasn’t all bad.
My life had certainly changed irrevocably since that moment.
“Yes, well, everything turned out well in the end.” She sank down beside me, her brow lightly furrowing. “For most of us.”
I guessed she was thinking of Lady Godwin and her murderer, who had ended up dead himself. It was a morbid topic for such a beautiful morning. The storms and rain had moved on, leaving behind cooler temperatures and sunshine.
“I suppose this is at least partially my fault,” Alana said. “After all, I encouraged you to invite the Birnams.”
“I would have done so without your encouragement,” I admitted. “And that doesn’t make any of this our fault.”
“No, but you definitely can’t describe them as restful company.”
“No,” I said with a sigh. “And I don’t know what that means for Trevor,” I dared to admit, though I felt disloyal to our brother doing so.
Alana turned to look at me. “I also have serious reservations,” she admitted and then grimaced. “But will Trevor listen to them?”
“I’m more interested in the quandary of whether we should even voice them.”
“We have to,” she insisted.
I frowned.
“No, I’m serious. There’s no need to be hurtful. But if we don’t speak up now, we may be dooming him to a life of unhappiness.”
I didn’t know that it was as grave as that, but then maybe it was. After all, one of his in-laws might have murdered someone. Still, I had faith in my brother’s good sense. “He won’t do anything rash.”
Alana was less credulous. “So you think, but love makes you do rash things.” She arched her eyebrows, urging me to remember.
I had to admit she was right. After all, I’d done my fair share of rash things, all for the sake of love. But that didn’t mean I believed she was right about Trevor.