Chapter 4 #2
“And then, all of a sudden, she was so badly off that she had to be shipped to Switzerland. How likely is that, I ask you?”
Livia had heard Lady Somersby ask that question before, at a different house party to which the Holmeses had been invited. Those were happier times—Lady Somersby hadn’t implied that anyone except Lady Ingram herself had been involved in the decision to decamp for the Alps.
“Sometimes things deteriorate with catastrophic speed.”
“I’m sure they do. But if she was in a terrible way, what was wrong with English physicians?
They exist in great abundance in London, and our schools of medicine are not in the habit of producing quacks.
Not to mention, why a sanatorium? It is not a place for stowing the desperately ill.
And last I inquired, she wasn’t suffering from polio, asthma, tuberculosis, or any other chronic disease for which a sanatorium offers suitable treatments. ”
Livia saw where this was going. “Everybody knows about her bad back,” she retorted, her voice acquiring a nervous squeak. “And Switzerland has thermal springs for rheumatism.”
“No one needs to disappear overnight to soak in hot springs,” Lady Somersby pointed out. “She could have taken proper leave proper of her friends and acquaintances.”
“Perhaps she didn’t wish to. Perhaps she was fed up with Society and her back hurt and she just wanted to be away. This was your conjecture earlier, remember?”
Lady Somersby waved her hand again, brushing away her own erstwhile theory as if it were a wasp at a picnic. “Or perhaps she learned about her husband’s involvement with your sister and was so upset that she simply had to run out.”
Livia’s grip on her fan tightened—would that she could whack Lady Somersby and get away with it.
“That is farfetched, my lady. First, Lord Ingram and my sister are friends of long standing. Second, if Lady Ingram knew her husband at all, she would know that he would not abandon a friend in need. And third, let’s suppose she assumed the worst, that Lord Ingram wasn’t only helping my sister but keeping her, how would that make him any different from any other man in Society?
Even if they weren’t severely estranged, how many women have you known to become upset enough over a husband’s indiscretions to leave children behind? ”
“Well,” said Lady Somersby slowly, “there is sense in what you said. I concede that particular theory might be flawed. But it is highly odd, isn’t it, the entire situation with our host and his absent wife?”
“Whatever their situation is, ma’am, I can assure you that it has nothing to do with my sister.”
Lady Somersby soon moved on. Livia slumped into a chair, feeling as if she’d wrestled a bear. If only she had any confidence that she had been the winner of the contest—or at least a survivor.
“Miss, the carriage is ready to take you to the village,” said the butler to Livia as she left the breakfast parlor the next morning.
Livia had been thinking, rather intensely, of getting away from Stern Hollow for a bit.
She still loved her room, of course, and she longed to explore the grounds.
But the current atmosphere, with the gossip ladies in residence and all the other guests whipped into a frenzy of curiosity, was hardly conducive to her peace of mind.
“I haven’t ordered a carriage.”
Her luck was such that if she didn’t point this out but tried to take advantage of the butler’s mistake, he would realize his error just as she was about to climb into the carriage, and she would be left on the front steps looking like the fool she was.
“His lordship ordered it for you, Miss Holmes.”
Livia had to swallow past a lump in her throat—she was not accustomed to being looked after so thoroughly. “Do please thank his lordship for me. Tell him I’m beyond grateful.”
As it turned out he was there in front of the house when she arrived. Her smile faltered, however, when she noticed his bloodshot eyes—it was as if he hadn’t slept at all.
She cursed the gossip ladies. “Are you all right, sir? You look a little under-rested.”
“I’m well.” His voice, too, sounded scratchy. But his hand was steady as he helped her into the carriage. “Take as much time as you need in the village.”
It was only as the door of the carriage closed that she realized he had left a folded note in her gloved palm.
From High Street, make your way to Rampling Cottage on foot, a twenty-minute walk. You will be warmly received there.
“Oh, Charlotte,” Livia murmured. “Charlotte. Charlotte. Charlotte.”
She must have held her sister for a solid two minutes, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
Reluctantly, she let go, and only because Charlotte did not enjoy sustained contact. “Is your Mrs. Watson here?”
“She went out for a walk. Usually I go with her. But given what happened at Mrs. Newell’s, I thought chances were good Lord Ingram would point you my way as soon as possible.”
Livia resisted the urge to enfold Charlotte in another long embrace, but she did cup Charlotte’s face and kiss her on the forehead. Her sister had taken all this trouble to station herself nearby, just so they could meet. “You should have told me.”
“There’s always the risk that my letter goes astray. Mamma and Papa can’t do anything to me, but they could keep you at home and not allow you to go anywhere. Which would not have been a desirable outcome.”
Charlotte showed Livia into a plainly furnished sitting room, where a tea tray had already been set out. Charlotte put a kettle to boil on a spirit lamp. Then she set a plate laden with sliced cake and finger sandwiches before Livia. “You haven’t been eating properly.”
“When you’re not there, nobody cares whether I eat or not.”
“I’m here now, so tuck in.”
A sandwich in hand, Livia told Charlotte about Lady Avery’s letter. Charlotte, however, was more interested in the flooding at Mrs. Newell’s house. And when Livia had given a satisfactory account, she asked, “How long will her guests stay at Stern Hollow?”
Some of Livia’s delight at her reunion with Charlotte was already draining away.
“Word is we will be there no more than three days. Obviously, Mrs. Newell’s party ended the moment the cisterns broke and we are at Lord Ingram’s not to continue the revelry but to make other arrangements without being too rushed or uncomfortable. ”
She didn’t want to go home yet. She never wanted to go back home.
“Poor Lord Ingram. He didn’t look well this morning. Can you imagine, having to host Lady Avery and Lady Somersby, who are going about pondering—right under his roof, no less—whether his wife left because she discovered that he’d been keeping you?”
Charlotte tsked. “For gossips of their distinction, they should know that Lord Ingram has far too many scruples to keep me. That man can be frustratingly hidebound.”
Livia’s brows shot up. Surely Charlotte didn’t mean she found out for herself that Lord Ingram wouldn’t take her for a mistress? No decision on Charlotte’s part, however outlandish, should surprise Livia anymore. But she was surprised at this possibility—perhaps even a little shocked.
“Anyway,” murmured Charlotte, “he and I are only friends. Let people think what they will. It can’t hurt me. Nor will it reduce his standing in the long term.”
Clearly Charlotte, like Lord Ingram, was minimally concerned with the information ladies Avery and Somersby were currently disseminating. If Charlotte, with her extraordinary perspicacity, didn’t see anything to worry about, then Livia had absolutely no reason to go on agonizing.
Or at least every reason to ignore the misgivings that refused to go away on their own.
A question occurred to her—she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before. “Do you know why Lady Ingram left so abruptly?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No.”
Livia sighed and took a bite of a finger sandwich. “I guess I’d better tell you about Bernadine, then. She’s no longer at home.”
Half an hour later, Mrs. Watson returned from her walk.
Had she not been so sincerely amiable, Livia would have been roundly intimidated by her beauty and confidence.
As it was, her delight in meeting Livia melted away not only Livia’s feeling of being overawed but also her remaining wariness toward a woman of the demimonde, even one who had been so instrumental to Charlotte’s success and independence.
Charlotte had mentioned that occasionally Mrs. Watson dressed with unnecessary splendor to warn “proper” ladies that she wasn’t one of them. Such must not have been her objective today. While her dress did not lack flair, it still possessed an elegance that made Livia sigh with aesthetic longing.
And she was so warm, so maternal without being in the least limiting, that Livia found herself confiding about her recent difficulties with the second half of the Sherlock Holmes story.
Charlotte had told her that she could do it, but Mrs. Watson made her believe that she indeed would.
Being encouraged by her felt like those rare occasions when Livia threw aside her parasol and simply lifted her face to the sun.
As reluctant as she was to leave the cottage, she returned to Stern Hollow with a smile on her face and floated up the grand staircase.
Now she would sit in her beautiful room and luxuriate in memories of the outing: Charlotte’s sweet face, Mrs. Watson’s beautiful soul, and the renewal of hope in her own heart.
Perhaps she would even take out the moonstone, cup it in her hands, and—
Lady Avery was in her room, hastily closing a nightstand drawer.
Livia stared at her, unable to believe what she was seeing. “Ma’am, wh—what are you doing?”
Lady Avery’s eyes darted to the space behind Livia, as if wondering whether she’d been discovered by more than just insignificant Olivia Holmes. But there was no one else in the passage.
Livia stepped inside and closed the door. “Lady Avery, why are you in my room?”
Her voice was unsteady—she was not accustomed to demanding answers.