11 The Losseter Pool
“Ishall not be here for dinner this evening,” Cora said at breakfast that Sunday. “I am dining with the Hammonds.”
The gentlemen had all departed the breakfast parlour, and only Cora and her daughters remained, lingering over their coffee and toast.
“How charming,” Charlotte said. “I did not know Georgie was beginning to entertain.”
“Perhaps we shall all receive invitations in turn,” Augusta said.
“Georgie is an excellent cook,” Maria said.
“Is she?” Charlotte said. “Her cakes are incomparable, but we know nothing of her skill with a leg of mutton.”
“Who else will be there, Mama?” Sophia said.
“I believe it will only be Mr Hammond Senior and Mr Garford.”
“Mr Garford!” Charlotte said. “Why him, I wonder?”
“The poor man!” Maria said. “I expect Georgie feels sorry for him, after his house burnt down and all his possessions were destroyed.”
“Yes, I am sure that is it,” Charlotte said, but she looked sideways at Cora, who sipped her coffee complacently and said nothing.
She toyed with the idea of wearing a morning gown for the occasion, given the relatively lowly rank of the Hammonds, but in the end she chose evening wear, although one of her plainest gowns, one that Great-aunt Trotter would have approved.
She was glad of her choice, for the others were all properly attired for the evening, too.
Cora could hardly have imagined, just a few weeks ago, that she could enjoy herself so much in the humble surroundings of the Hammonds’ attic apartment.
Its low ceilings, unpapered walls and well-used furniture put her in mind of the schoolroom, although a very comfortable one.
But the welcome she received was warm, the food was excellent if not elaborate and the company was entertaining.
Cora said little, for the Hammonds, father and son, were well educated and able to talk on many subjects outside her experience.
Georgie said little, too, but Cal — surprisingly, he was well able to hold his own in such company.
More than once he mentioned a book he had read which neither of the Hammonds had encountered, and his descriptions made the topics covered sound very academic.
That would be his access to the library at Lampton Priory, she supposed.
There was only one course and no question of the ladies withdrawing, so they sat on, while Cora played with strawberries and cream, and Georgie fed the baby, swathed in a shawl.
Occasionally a tiny fist emerged from the covering to wave contentedly in the air.
He was four months old now, but there was no question of a wet nurse and Georgie, doting mother that she was, never minded being tied to her infant.
For an instant, Cora wished that she had been free to make that choice, too.
But with the girls, there had been wet nurses within a few weeks.
Only with Richard had she had him to herself for longer, since a wet nurse could not be found at once, and then she had hardly been able to enjoy that special bond between mother and child for Roland grumbling that she could go nowhere until she was released from the chore of feeding.
A chore — that was how he saw it, but it had not seemed so to Cora, and clearly it was not so for Georgie, either.
Almost reluctantly, and apologising for spoiling the convivial atmosphere, Jamie Hammond raised the reason for their meeting. Cora related the little they had learned from Mrs Trout, and Jamie admitted that he had not discovered anything significant from Ben Lovell.
“He supplies Red Jenny to a number of people around Brinshire, but in the vicinity of Staineybank, it is only Mrs Trout, a couple of women in the village, and the old woman at Woodend Cottage.”
“The witch?” Cora said.
Jamie smiled and shook his head. “The ignorant villagers call her that, but she is simply an elderly woman with some knowledge of herbs and no scruples about supplying them to anyone with a few coins in her hand. She is harmless, and she has no man to support her, only a daughter living with her now.”
“No son? No husband for the daughter?” Cora said.
“The daughter was married, but he was a soldier and died, by all accounts, leaving her with two children,” Jamie said. “Timmy is one of them.”
“Timmy the kitchen boy?” Cora said, astonished.
“Indeed. When he has grown and earns a footman’s wage, he will be able to do something for his mother and grandmother, but he only earns six pounds a year at present.
His sister is in service, too, over at Frickham, but I doubt she earns much more.
Two women living alone still have rent and other essentials to pay for, even if they keep chickens and grow their vegetables.
Well, we are no further forward with the origins of the Red Jenny in Mrs Richard’s tea. ”
“We can’t even be sure it was Red Jenny,” Georgie said.
“Hard to see what else it was,” Cal said.
“A tea that tastes bitter, the tea merchant agrees it’s tainted and two ladies lose their babies within hours.
Can’t be coincidence. The question is how it got into the tea, and why.
Or rather, why that tea and no other. The heir’s wife — it could be deliberate. ”
“That would be a very serious situation, if it were true,” Jamie said.
“You don’t believe it?” Cal said.
“I strongly hope for it not to be true,” Jamie said.
“If it were deliberate, it could only be because Rowena herself wished not to be pregnant, which would be concerning, or someone else wished it, which would be even more concerning. I would prefer an accidental contamination, although it is hard to see how it could happen. As for who, Ben Lovell pointed out that the tea caddies were kept on an open shelf just off the servants’ hall, and everyone knew that.
Anyone could have slipped into the pantry and added something to the tea. It would only take moments.”
“Anyone being the Staineybank servants?” Cal said.
“Or the butcher’s boy, the coal merchant’s men, the chandler… an endless list, who all enjoy a meal in the servants’ hall. Oh, and any number of postilions, and the neighbours’ coachmen and grooms, when we have guests. Impossible to work out who it might be.”
“Then we’ll just have to work on the why,” Cal said, with a wry smile. “It’s a puzzle and no mistake.”
“Jamie loves a puzzle,” Georgie said with a fond smile at her husband.
“You have resolved the mystery of Mr Goodenough, I hear,” Cora said. “Are you still convinced it is all to do with black sheep?”
“I am,” Jamie said, “although I admit that Mr Garford is a shade tricky to fit to the pattern. I thought he was illegitimate, but he assures me he is not, so it is not that. But there must be some reason, and the duke’s theory that it relates to women he admired in his youth will not fly, will it, Father? ”
“His grace knew every woman of rank in England,” the elder Mr Hammond said, with a smile.
“He loved women, and was powerfully drawn to them, as they were drawn to him, or so his reputation suggests. If you gathered any random selection of the Beau Monde in a room today, you would find that almost all of them could boast a female ancestor who was admired by the duke.”
“But there again, Mr Garford hardly fits that pattern,” Jamie said. “Are you quite sure you are legitimate, Garford? It would make my theory far more plausible if not.”
Cal chuckled. “I can’t oblige you in that way, I’m afraid, but you’re on the right track in looking for a black sheep. One day, perhaps, I’ll tell you the whole story, but for now, be content to know you’re in the right of it.”
“Ha! I knew it!” Jamie said, punching the air triumphantly. “Four black sheep! It is as I thought.”
“Except that Mr Chamberlain is not a black sheep,” Cora said.
“No, but his valet is — killed a man in a duel, or thought he had, and fled to the continent.”
“But it was not Pendleton who was summoned by Mr Goodenough,” she said sweetly. “Rowena, then Lady Juliet Payne, then Mr Chamberlain and now Mr Garford. Those are the four who were sent letters, and what interests me is who? Who sent those letters? Who is Mr Goodenough?”
“No one we know, I am sure,” Jamie said.
“But it must be,” Cora said. “It can only be someone from Staineybank, someone who knew of Rowena’s likeness to the portrait in the library. Someone who knew that an orangery was planned. Someone who had access to a sheet of paper already franked.”
“Someone rich,” Georgie put in.
The others all turned to her. “Rich?” Jamie said. “How so?”
“Rowena and I were brought here in a coach and four, with every convenience provided. We stayed overnight at a very comfortable hotel in Birmingham. What is more, Mr Goodenough gave Rowena a purse of one hundred guineas.”
“And what did Mr Goodenough look like?” Cora said. “Respectable?”
“Perfectly so. Soberly dressed, like a clergyman. He told us when he would arrive and there he was, to the very minute, and the most pleasant journey imaginable. Hampers of food provided, and rugs in case of draughts, and the coach so comfortable.” She sighed.
“Rowena was suspicious at first, but she’d obtained a detailed list of all the places we’d pass through from a neighbour, and when she saw that Mr Goodenough was taking us on that route, it reassured her that he wasn’t abducting us or anything of the sort. ”
“Was that the same for all of them?” Cal said. “He turned up with a carriage at a certain time?”
“For most of them he asked the recipient to write so he could make arrangements.”
“Write where?”
“To Mr Goodenough, Castle Street, Brinchester,” Jamie said. “Of course, there is no such person on Castle Street, or anywhere in Brinchester, according to the post office. It is very frustrating.”
The five went over and over the details, and Jamie even brought out his copies of the letters for Cal to read, but no fresh ideas sprang into their minds.