Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Mrs. Holly was holding court in her sitting room when Tamsin arrived, which was not unusual. What was unusual was that she appeared to be alone except for her daughter, Mrs. Matilda Elgin, who sat quietly reading a newspaper. Usually, Mrs. Holly had a gaggle of friends to sit with and gossip.
The elder woman turned at Tamsin’s entrance with the bright, immediate interest of a person for whom any visitor was a welcome development.
“Miss Mayweather! How delightful, and on such a day as there is much more foot traffic than a Friday usually merits. We were speaking of your family not a moment ago, were we not, Matilda? I said to her this very morning that I had not seen your stepmother at the committee meeting last Tuesday, and I wondered whether she was quite well. Is she quite well? She looked rather pale at the Stevenson supper, though I suppose we all did. The candlelight in that room is most unflattering, and if they would only adjust the sconces I think we would all fair the better for it. I have said so before and no one listens, but there it is.” She drew breath.
“Sit down, sit down. Matilda, ring for more tea. Now, tell me, Miss Mayweather—”
“Tamsin has only just arrived, Mama,” Matilda said, with the patient precision of someone steering a large and enthusiastic vessel. She folded the newssheets with care and placed them on the table at her elbow. “Perhaps we might let her catch her breath.”
“Of course, of course. Catch your breath, my dear.” Mrs. Holly watched Tamsin do so, though she appeared fully prepared to resume the moment breath had been caught.
Warily, Tamsin chose a chair near her friend.
“Good day to you, Mrs. Holly. Thank you for your welcome. Matilda.” She raised her eyebrows, using a look she and Matilda had perfected over the years as they navigated their socially enthusiastic mothers.
It requested, rather clearly, for a private moment.
Matilda pursed her lips thoughtfully as her mother began with her questions again.
“Now, how is your stepmother? And those dear little ones—Henry is my favorite, such a lively child. I saw him when I visited your mother last week. He told me he had been chased by a goose. Was he chased by a goose? It seems unlikely, yet he was very certain about it. I did not think your family keeps geese.”
“He was,” Tamsin confirmed with a wry smile. “He had been feeding a neighbor’s goose and ran out of peas before the goose was satisfied.”
“Ha! Isn’t that like a fine little lad!” Mrs. Holly settled back, her satisfaction evident.
“And your father? I have not seen him at any of the dinners for ages. I know the man likes his books and his birds, but one would think a dinner of special preparation would bring him out of the woods, so to speak.”
“Mama.” Matilda’s voice was gentle but urgent. “I wonder if you might ask Cook about the matter of Thursday’s supper. You mentioned this morning you had…concerns.”
Mrs. Holly blinked. “Did I? I don’t recall. What problem with the menu for Thursday?”
“The fish, I believe.”
A moment’s silence passed while Mrs. Holly searched her memory.
“Ah. Yes. The fish.” She rose with a frown of grievance.
“You are quite right. I shall go directly.” She moved toward the door, then turned back.
“Miss Mayweather, I do apologize, but I must deal with this small matter. You will stay for tea?”
“Oh. I…” Tamsin glanced at Matilda, then at Mrs. Holly. “I am afraid I cannot stay long.”
“I am certain we may prevail upon you to return another day,” Matilda said pleasantly. “I will be certain to schedule it, Mama.”
“Yes, of course. Well.” Mrs. Holly regarded Tamsin with warm and slightly unfocused sympathy, the way she regarded anyone who could not stay for tea. “Give my love to your stepmother. And tell Henry to mind dangerous geese.”
She swept out, closing the door behind her, and the room was suddenly, blessedly quiet.
Matilda turned to Tamsin, a grin on her usually calm expression. “I am delighted I remembered the fish. That will keep her well occupied for a quarter of an hour at the least. Now.” She leaned forward, as focused as Tamsin could want a sympathetic friend to be. “Tell me everything.”
And Tamsin told her.
But not everything. She was not yet certain what everything was, so explained what she did know.
The dinner. Her father’s careful vagueness and what lay beneath it.
Her stepmother’s fury and what that would cost in days of household tension.
Leopold’s demand for the accounts. Charles’s quiet disappearance.
The three oldest sisters in mourning. Her concern for the younger children, who knew nothing of it and must continue to know nothing of it for as long as possible.
“They have school. Lessons. The little expenses of their nurserymaid and books. New clothes, when we do not have the right size to hand down.” Tamsin twisted the strings of her reticule.
“I know I can help accommodate the older girls—we can remake gowns in this year’s styles, and I am seamstress enough to disguise that something was of an older fashion made new.
They have many dresses and gloves and the like already.
But it does not seem fair to the children to make them pause their music lessons and schooling. ”
Matilda listened without interrupting. This was one of the things Tamsin valued most about her: that she did not reach for reassurance while you were still speaking, did not smooth things over before they had been fully laid out.
She simply listened, her amber eyes steady and her hands folded in her lap, until Tamsin had finished.
She was quiet for a moment in the way that meant she was thinking rather than preparing to speak. Another fine trait in a friend, to consider how to say a difficult or tender thing rather than letting it fall idly from her lips.
“Your father has done this before,” Matilda said at last.
That was perhaps what hurt the most. Tamsin could remember, years ago when he had first remarried, the financial state of affairs being quite challenging.
Only three years ago they had decided not to employ so many servants as in the past. She had suspected it was a decision made based on economy and had curbed her individual expenses accordingly, though nothing had been directly spoken of.
“Yes. He has. Not to this extent—or if he has, he managed to resolve it so quietly that none of us knew.” Tamsin looked down at her tea.
“The difficulty is, I cannot know what I am actually dealing with until someone looks properly at the accounts. Leopold demanding them is not the same thing as Leopold understanding them, or sharing what he finds, or making a plan. He has always lived without a care for who paid the bill, as the heir.” She bit her lip.
“That is unkind to say of one’s brother, but I am not in a fit state at present.
Please, do not judge my family too harshly on this matter. ”
“No, no, of course not,” Matilda agreed, reaching out to put a gentle hand on Tamsin’s wrist. “You are in a difficult position. You need someone discreet you can speak to who can give you advice. I wish I was more understanding of such matters.” She paused.
“Christopher would be my first thought. My brother is discreet and understands this sort of thing precisely.” She paused again and shook her head with a sigh.
“But he is away until Thursday at the earliest, some matter of paperwork he had to see to in person.”
Thursday felt very far away. The coal merchant would not wait until Thursday. Henry’s music teacher certainly would not.
Her heart contracted. It would fall to her to speak to the music teacher, as she was the one at home during all the lessons. Her stepmother was often out, her father either buried in his study or out in the fields with a telescope and notebook.
“Is there anyone else?” Tamsin asked before wincing. “I am sorry. I have laid so much at your feet and now expect you to find me answers I cannot find myself.”
“This is what friends do,” Matilda said, gaze already clouded as she returned to her thoughts again.
“There is Mr. Eastwood,” she said finally.
“Lyness Eastwood. He has managed his brother’s estate for some years now and has a reputation for both competence and discretion.
I have heard Christopher speak well of him, which is not a thing my brother does carelessly.
” She tilted her head. “I believe Lord Hartwell and his mother are engaged this afternoon. A private lecture on botanical cultivation at Mrs. Suddaby’s is going on at this very moment.
My mother had no interest, but from her reputation Lady Hartwell would not miss it for anything.
” The faintest suggestion of amusement crossed her face.
“We could call at Castlegate now, if you wished. I am acquainted with Mr. Eastwood sufficiently to make the introduction.”
Tamsin set down her cup, relief pouring through her. “Now?”
“Unless you would prefer to wait until Thursday.”
“No, I would not.” Tamsin rose, her pulse steadying. As long as she had direction of some sort, she could quell the panic in her mind. She needed steps to take, or reassurance, or…well. Anything that would give her a measure of peace while the household fell apart silently around her ears.
“I will inform Mama that we have an errand to run at once. If I tell her it is a matter of fashion, she will think nothing of it.”
They went on foot, which suited Tamsin better than a carriage.
The air was cold and clean, smelling of chimney smoke and turned leaves, and walking gave her something to do with herself other than worry.
Matilda kept pace beside her, though her friend’s stride was longer, as she was a tall woman quite accustomed to walking.