“Yes. A little girl.” His eyes went unbidden to the doctor, who was hastily repairing the damage to the body. A little girl. Not a son who would avenge his father. Not a new heir. A helpless baby girl who would be no threat at all, to anyone.
A child now orphaned, and to no purpose.
Chapter Twelve
“Shall I make myself discreetly invisible?” Will asked.
“If you like. In fact, you might go downstairs and see if there’s any sign of breakfast. I’ll be down when the doctor’s finished. That girl should bring up the water soon, and I imagine Amelia will rally the troops to do whatever is needed. Ask whoever’s serving to make up a pot of coffee for the doctor, would you? I know he’ll need to speak to my father before he leaves.”
Relief was not long in coming. Even before Margaret managed to find a basin of hot water, Amelia returned. Anticipating what they would need, she had gone to fetch their old Nurse, whose face lit up at the sight of Mark’s newest and last child, one small bright spot to end a long and very dark night. David was happy to hand the baby into the Nurse’s arms, relieved to have someone far more qualified to care for her.
“Boy or girl?” Amelia murmured, standing close.
“Girl.”
“Ah,” she said, a world of meaning in the syllable.
“Yes, and safer for it,” he said as he made use of the washbasin. “But only for the present. What remains to be done?” David had been worried that his sister might be too shaken by this latest catastrophe to carry on, but she seemed to be in much the same state he was—numb, the way men could get after the cannon had been battering them for hours with waves of sound and concussion. Too numb to feel, but not quite too numb to function.
“I need to sit down and make a list,” she said, smothering a yawn. “I cannot seem to keep a thought in my head. I spoke to Father. I think Mama will give Kirby instructions about what to do about …” She glanced at the bedroom door, and her composure wavered a little. “There’s no end to it, is there? How much longer will this go on?”
“I don’t know.” He gave her a hug. “Poor old thing, why don’t you run downstairs now? I sent Will off to find some breakfast, and you deserve it as much as he. Or would you like me to have something sent up to your room?”
“I should like to go down for breakfast, I think. But first I will go and wash my face and see if Jane is awake.”
“She slept through all this?”
“Yes. It would have been cruel to wake her. She stayed with her own mother through her last illness, and it was a difficult death. I know she would have sat with me, but since she and Virginia were never close, I thought it best to let her sleep.”
“Was Virginia ever close to any of you?” he asked.
“She and Mary got on very well,” Amelia said. “We were all on reasonably good terms, but Jane and Genie and I did mean to go and live with Mother at the Dower House when Mark inherited.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to live with her, either,” he said.
Amelia smiled sadly. “It’s true Virginia could be difficult, but I pitied her. I think if she had ever been able to give Mark a son, she might have been more assured and less fretful.”
David thought it more likely that she would have become insufferable if that were the case, but Amelia generally viewed people less cynically than he did himself. “Since we’ll never know, there’s no harm in hoping you were right,” he said. “Go along, then. I’ll see you downstairs.”
He felt he ought to stay until Dr. Fiske had completed his examination of the body, but the doctor said he required no assistance for that task and David kept catching himself dozing off. He finally decided that there would be no harm in a walk down the hall, so he excused himself and stepped out of the suite. The rest of the household was up and about, and the Earl, who had apparently slept long enough to shake off his fatigue, was pacing the hall outside Virginia’s suite when his son emerged.
“Amelia told me,” he said without preamble. “Did Virginia ever wake and explain what she was doing out in the hall?”
“No, sir. She passed away without saying a word. Does Mother know?”
“Yes. Took it well. She said that at least Virginia is at peace now.”
“I hope so.” His mother’s view was at least preferable to the notion of Virginia’s angry spirit storming through the halls—though if she could be persuaded to haunt Ronald, that might be worth seeing.
“I wanted to name the child after your mother,” his father said abruptly. “She says we should name her Michaela, after Fiske. That seems fair enough—he did save her life.”
“Dr. Fiske certainly deserves the honor,” David said. He felt he ought to suggest consultation with Virginia’s family, but decided there was nothing to be gained by it. The baby would most likely remain here at Grenbrook, in any case. This had been her father’s home. She would be the apple of everyone’s eye, and unlikely to object to any name her grandparents chose to give her. “What of Mark’s other daughters?” he asked.
“They’ve never liked it here, and I don’t want to bring them out from London under the circumstances. That Stafford woman dotes on those girls, so I think it’s best they stay with her for now. I hope she wants to keep them with her in London until she can marry ‘em off. I expect she will if I pay for their keep!”
David blinked. He had not considered Mark’s three elder daughters, and he pitied them, but he hoped his father was right about their Grandmother Stafford. “And the new baby?”
“Even if I were fool enough to pack a newborn off to London, your mother isn’t! I need to send word about the funeral, of course, but I shall let her decide whether the girls need to attend. Since Virginia meant to have the child christened here, I mean to prevent those Staffords from giving her one of those insipid milksop names that she saddled the first three with. Didn’t do them any good that I ever saw.”
Patience, Prudence, and Verity would probably not appreciate their grandfather’s assessment, but David was inclined to agree. He was able to avoid any comment on the matter, because Dr. Fiske appeared and asked for a word with the Earl. David waited only long enough to see if his presence was required, then went off downstairs to find Will and a large quantity of coffee.
* * * * *
As usual, Grenbrook’s staff saw to it that breakfast was everything one might desire, even if one had awakened to a shocking tragedy at an ungodly hour. Will was halfway through a large plate of eggs and ham when Davy made his way downstairs, followed shortly after by Lady Amelia and Jane Winston. They were seated in a smaller salon a little way from the main dining room, and there was a dearth of conversation among them after an announcement from Amelia that Anne was having breakfast in her mother’s rooms, and Eugenia was fretting because Nurse would not let her come near the new baby until she was absolutely free of what had developed into a bad cold. “I hope she is well soon. Not that Nurse needs any help, but Genie could do her white-work there, and have something happy to distract her.”
As they sat there eating quietly, Will thought how much the situation felt like the first break after a battle, after the decks had been cleared and the bodies counted.
Finally Amelia stirred. “I wonder if there must be an inquest on Virginia’s accident. I hope not.”
“It’s required in cases of sudden or violent death,” Davy said. “This was certainly sudden. But I think the chance of it being ruled accidental is very good. The medication would have disturbed her balance and her judgment, and she showed no sign of being suicidal. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“I only hope the jury does not hold poor Margaret responsible,” Jane said.
Davy shook his head. “She had been doing some mending—I saw it on the floor beside her chair. To use the lamp’s light, she’d have turned away from the bedroom door, and it’s obvious she was knocked unconscious. She hadn’t any reason to injure herself, and I doubt she had the guile.”
It seemed to Will that Davy was avoiding any mention of their suspicions. He knew that Amelia was aware of them, but perhaps there was some reason for not involving Jane. “I’d guess Margaret was asleep at the time,” he said, and both ladies nodded agreement.
“Very likely,” Davy said. “What else would—” He stopped, listening, and Will heard the sound of raised voices coming down the hall. Ronald had apparently returned, his father had met him on the way in, and from the sound of it neither of them was aware that anyone else was near enough to hear them.
The Earl was not modulating his voice. “Heir or not, you are under my roof and I demand an explanation of where you have been!”
“I was out with friends. Why? Is there anything going on in the house that required my presence?”
“Your brother’s wife fell down the stairs while you were out!”
“She would hardly need my assistance to do that.” Ronald sounded bored. “She is well, I trust?”
“She is dead, damn you! And I have had all I am going to stand of your gadding about the county while the household is in mourning! Are your friends unwilling to respect our bereavement, that they invite you to stay out until all hours when you should be here at home?”
“I have not asked them, and I am very grateful that they refrain from ever mentioning the proprieties.”
“I want their names. I’ll have none of them in this house again, not while I live.”
“Surely you don’t imagine—” As they passed the closed doors and continued on down the hall, their voices became muffled, and then stopped abruptly.
“They’ve gone into Father’s office,” Amelia said. “I do hope he had something to eat before Ronald came in.”
“I saw one of the maids bringing a tray when he went off with Dr. Fiske,” Davy replied. “But that is a good question, if he can get an answer to it. Where has Ronald been keeping himself? Unless things have changed a great deal since I was last home, most of our neighbors would observe the proprieties to the letter. If he’s been out cocking or playing cards, I think he would have to go pretty far afield.”
“I have no idea where he might have gone,” Jane answered, eyes on the teacup she had barely touched. “I know of a few gentlemen who avoid his company, but none who seek it.”
“Might there be…” Amelia glanced at Will, then said carefully, “a woman? I hesitate to say a
lady...
and should probably not say even that.”
Davy met Will’s eyes. “It’s possible,” he said. “In fact, I might almost say very likely.”
“Yes,” Will agreed, “but how are we to find out? If your father is angry that one of his sons has been riding around the countryside instead of staying at home where he belongs...I could go, I expect, but I don’t know anyone.”
“No, Will, I think we may do it together, and with Father’s blessing. Mrs. Jordan is already here to care for the baby, and it was good of her to come at such an hour. I’m sure we could get away to take a gift to her family.”
“Not only could you, Mama has spoken to me about that very thing,” Amelia said. “She wishes to send Mr. Jordan a basket of food and perhaps a bottle of wine, since his wife will be staying here.”
“Doesn’t he have family right there in the village—a sister, if I remember?”
“Of course—and she’ll be glad of the provisions, if she’s caring for Mr. Jordan and their little boy.”
Davy shrugged with a slight smile. “You see, Will? We shall observe the proprieties and see if we cannot observe something else as well. I must go and see my mother in any case; I’m sure she will give me my orders.”
“Finish your breakfast first,” was his sister’s practical advice.
“And before we go anywhere,” Will said, “I think we ought to nip outside and check the ground beneath a certain window. Can we do that without being observed?”
“Oh, certainly,” David said. “We might be seen by some of the servants, but not by my brother. There are French windows in the next room. We don’t generally use them at this time of the year, but they open on the same side of the house as Ronald’s room. So long as he remains with Father in the office across the hall, he cannot see us.”
“I’ll stay here,” Jane offered. “If I hear them coming out, I can wave my handkerchief in that window—”
David nodded. “A bit melodramatic, but it will serve. Come, Will!”
“I’m coming too,” Amelia said, following along. “If we should need to tell Father about this, the more witnesses the better.”
They made a hasty exit through the French windows and hurried along the side of the house to see what they could find while Jane remained with her tea in the breakfast room, handkerchief at the ready.
“At least these are very old slippers,” Amelia said, gamely treading the spongy wet grass. “And thank goodness the rain has stopped!”
The rain had soaked the flower beds all around the base of the building, but the earth directly below the window in question had been churned up beyond what any groundskeeper would do at this time of year.
“Look,” Will said. “That proves it.” He pointed to the mark of a boot-heel, the edges slightly melted from the rain but clear enough to be certain that it wasn’t anything other than the spot where someone had dropped down from the ropy strands of ivy.
David frowned upward, noticing an uneven outward bulge in the vegetation. “And I’d say the vines are pulled away from the wall—there, just below the window, and again a few feet lower, over to the left. You wouldn’t notice it unless you were looking, but see the difference between those places and the growth under the other windows?”