The Ranleigh Question, page 12
part #2 of Lady Althea Mystery Series
“They must be preparing to go to sea,” Jane said.
“I think you are correct. Let us only hope that Mr. Bonaparte is not as well equipped.”
“I have faith in the Navy. Father always said England was nothing but for her navy. It is a great deal too bad that we no longer can boast of Nelson, poor man, but I’m sure our current command has the affair well in hand.”
“Let us ride down into the town and see for ourselves, shall we? And then perhaps some refreshment at one of the inns. All of this riding has left me parched,” Althea said.
The path down towards the town was narrow and winding and delayed them another twenty minutes, but then they were in the streets of Torquay. As they had seen from above, the town was full of persons going to and fro, attending to the naval personnel down at the harbor. The ladies meandered in and out of the narrow streets until Althea found what she was looking for. “I think we will inquire about a parlor here,” she said, as she reined her horse in at the yard of the Blue Bottle Inn.
An ostler approached them and helped them to alight. Upon admittance to the parlor, they were informed that a private room was available for a light luncheon.
When they were left alone, Jane said, “Now tell me why we have come here. It cannot be to follow Mr. Smithson, for we have seen nothing of the man.”
“That was only part of the reason, although this trip has proved to me that one may easily travel back and forth to Torquay from Ranleigh. I wanted to come to the Blue Bottle because I was told that the body we found on the beach had stayed here before his untimely end.”
“You don’t think it was anything but an accident, do you?” Jane said.
A servant entered with two glasses of claret on a tray and a second followed with a small selection of bread, pickles and cold meats. Once the food was laid out and the servants had retired, Althea said, “No, but still I wondered what sort of inn it might be. And as this one seems most respectable, I suppose he couldn’t have been involved with anything very nefarious. Probably just a little too much to drink and a wobbly walk along the pier.”
Jane nodded, apparently satisfied. “This beef is very good, by the way.”
Althea tried a piece. “It is indeed. So now that my curiosity has been fed, tell me more about your plans for the wedding. Does Cousin John know we are to hold it during his visit to Dettamoor Park?”
“I have written him, and he tells me he is most happy to come and stand with me.”
They talked on about the wedding plans while Althea tried to figure out how she might speak to the woman known as Big Meg without arousing Jane’s suspicions. In any case, the opportunity presented itself more easily than Althea could have imagined.
A large woman appeared with two more glasses of claret and asked if the ladies needed anything further. Jane inquired after the facilities and Althea made some pretext about discussing the preparation of the beef, so that once Jane had left the room, Althea said, “Sorry to be impertinent, but I don’t have much time. You are called Big Meg, are you not?”
The lady looked surprised. “Yes, madam.”
“A friend of yours named Bonnie found a dead gentleman on the shore. She said the man had stayed at this inn prior to his death and that you would know something about him. Do you remember a tall gentleman in a blue coat with silver buttons?”
“Aye, I do, but as I told the magistrate at the time, I don’t know much about him. He called himself Cartwright and said he was a banker from London.”
“Did he say what his business was or if he was meeting someone?”
“No, madam, nothing like that. He just said he was here for business. I didn’t ask for details, it not being my place and all.”
“I understand, but can you think of anything he did or said that was unusual? Even the smallest detail may be helpful.”
“And begging your pardon, but why do you want to know?”
“It was the cousin of the lady I am traveling with. His death was so sudden and so shocking that she wants to know anything that may give her a fuller understanding. But the subject is too painful, you understand, for her to ask these questions herself. I am merely trying to assist her as her friend.”
Meg nodded with understanding. “I can see how that might be. He was a kind gentleman, I can tell you that. Nothing high and mighty about him. One thing, though, he didn’t seem comfortable like a gentleman usually is. Nervous, I’d say. Like he was looking over his shoulder while he was talking to you. But I suppose a stranger in a new place would be nervous.”
“Did he say it was his first time in Torquay?”
Meg thought for a moment and then replied, “No, now that I come to think of it, he said that he was in Torquay last summer because he asked me about some repairs they did to the pier in the autumn.”
Althea heard the sound of Jane’s footsteps. She pressed a coin into Meg’s hand. “Thank you most kindly. Now, not a word to my friend, or we’ll have her in tears again.”
Meg nodded solemnly and quickly withdrew.
The ride back to Ranleigh seemed longer than the ride to Torquay. Perhaps it was the accumulated fatigue of the journey or the fact that the sun was now full on them, but neither lady was sad to see the turn onto the long drive into the Ranleigh grounds. They urged the horses forward, and the horses, sensing respite and food, trotted along at a sprightly clip. They were met by the sight of a dashing carriage just pulling up to the house.
“I wonder who that can belong to?” Jane said.
“Someone with good taste in carriages.”
“And money.”
A blond gentleman with a high hat and a dark coat alighted from the equipage. “Why, I believe it is the new baron,” said Althea.
“It can’t be. Surely his duties to his late uncle preclude him from returning here so quickly?”
“I don’t think he cares much for duty. Come, Jane, let’s get these horses stabled as quickly as possible so that we may discover the truth of the matter.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Once changed, they made their way down to the rose salon, where Lady Pickney was ensconced in a high back chair ostensibly engaged in some needlework but really partaking of some delicious gossip with Mrs. Gregson. When the ladies entered, she dropped her work to her lap and said, “Ah, just the very ladies I wished to speak to. Have you heard the news? Lord Tunwell has returned to us.”
Althea nodded. “We saw him come up the drive as we returned from our ride. I had thought that he meant to stay at Tunwell Court.”
“So did we all,” said Mrs. Gregson, “but apparently he prefers our society to the society of Tunwell Court.”
“But surely the mourning rigors have not lessened yet?” said Jane.
Lady Pickney clicked her tongue. “He wears a black band on his hat. I suppose that that is all that is required in this day and age.”
“He is a wicked, ungrateful young man,” said Mrs. Gregson.
“One can only hope that his sudden elevation will have caused him to think more highly of his position in society. He has the obligations of the title now,” Althea said.
“If you think money will turn him respectable, I will think you very naïve, Lady Trent,” Mrs. Gregson said.
“Not naive, I assure you. I merely mean that he now has a great deal to lose, which he didn’t before.”
Mrs. Gregson seemed about to argue, and so Lady Pickney said, “And you and Miss Trent went for a ride this morning – was it pleasant?”
“Very much so. Jane and I are becoming quite accustomed to the countryside here about, which is a very good thing for the future Lady Tabard.”
This remark led inevitably to a discussion of the wedding, which occupied the next full hour, and soon thereafter all of the ladies retired to their rooms to prepare for a simple dinner. Dinner was completed without much ceremony and the party took the opportunity to rest, or, in Althea’s case, to read a book from Sir Neville’s library before the evening’s festivities.
Sir Neville had invited a well-known singer on tour throughout England to come and perform a musical concert for his guests and select neighbors. Extra care was taken by all in the manner of dress so as not to shame their host. Althea chose the yellow dress Norwich had commented upon and did her hair with some golden roses cut from Ranleigh’s gardens.
She was the first to arrive to the large drawing room at the back of the house. The room had been set up with a collection of chairs towards the door and five chairs facing the audience to accommodate a quintet hired to accompany Signora Campobello. They sat tuning their instruments. Althea settled into a chair and slowly fanned herself with a silk and ivory fan decorated with a classical scene that Lady Bertlesmon, Norwich’s sister, had given her during their brief sojourn at Norwich House. She had to admit that her spirits sunk whenever she thought of anything having to do with the Norwich family, and she would have been glad to have had a word from him.
“Lady Trent, how delightful to see you again.”
Althea turned around and beheld Cruikshank in all of his angelic glory. He was dressed with exquisite care in a new evening ensemble, a black armband the only sign of his mourning state. He executed a low bow, with a hint of mockery playing about his mouth. Althea had to admit to herself yet again that he was the most handsome man she had ever beheld.
She stood and extended her hand. “Lord Tunwell. Let me say again how sorry I am about your loss.”
He took her hand and kissed it, lingering longer than was seemly. “Come now. We know each other better than that. Tunwell Court was as dull as I had remembered, so I thought I could do nothing better than come back to all my friends at Ranleigh.”
Althea smiled. “I think you take great delight in poking fun at us, but for my part, I am glad you have come. You will enliven our little party.”
“I had heard that the duke and his brother have abandoned the house. You must be bereft.”
“You mistake the matter, sir. I merely meant that any enlargement of our group will be agreeable. Ah, and here we have Sir Neville to begin the festivities.”
Sir Neville was resplendent in satin knee breeches and a tight fitting frock coat. He had laced himself up more tightly than usual and his corset gave him the look of a proud bird. He clapped his hands together and the fobs on his watch chain jangled happily. “It is a rare treat we have in store for us. The Signora is just now warming up her voice. She is an artist among artists.”
“Thank you again for securing her for us. I had heard tell of her marvelous voice but had not thought I would have such an opportunity. What is to be her program this evening?”
“Italian love songs. I thought it a fitting tribute to my dear Miss Trent.”
Althea smiled. “I am sure it will be most fitting. If only other men were as romantic as you, we women would have nothing to complain of.”
Some neighbors of Sir Neville were then announced, and so he left Althea to greet them. Jane arrived next and then the Gregsons. When the party was complete, the guests were invited to sit and Althea ended up next to Jane and Sir Neville. Unfortunately, Cruikshank quickly took the seat to her other side before she could object.
“You will have to help me with the Italian translation,” he said, “for I have no head for languages.”
“And what makes you think I do?” she replied.
“Oh, I have it on good authority that you are a veritable Tower of Babel.”
“Well, I have a little Italian,” she admitted.
He laughed. “You see, I have the right of it.”
Althea hushed him at that moment because Signora Campobello arrived. She was a small lady with a head of thick dark hair and a regal bearing. Althea could not help but admire the way she immediately took control of the room, all eyes focused on her every move. She approached the musicians and Sir Neville stood. He gave a short speech expressing his delight with her presence and announcing, as if the assembled guests didn’t already know it, that he was to be the happiest of men with his dear Miss Trent. La Signora nodded as if approving his words, and then turned back to the musicians with some whispered instructions.
Finally, they began with the first notes of Lasciatemi morire from II lamento d’Arianna. Althea, who had seen a production of the lament during her brief sojourn in London, was transfixed by the Signora’s powerful and yet delicate treatment of the first lines, “Let me die, let me die.”
Signora Campobello became the sad Ariadne, betrayed by Theseus and unwilling to let Bacchus comfort her in her despair. Althea felt a searing pain in her chest, as if a knife had been struck through her heart. The pain felt so intense that she leaned forward in her chair. What had come over her? She looked down, half expecting to see blood pouring from her chest, but there was nothing to explain the pain. Then she experienced a moment of blinding clarity. It was the song! Althea was the lost Ariadne, abandoned by the man she loved. There. She had admitted the truth to herself and could not take it back. She loved the Duke of Norwich and she had let him go. No, worse than that, she had thrust him away from her.
She waved her fan in front of her face rapidly, fearing the tears that now stood on the ends of her lashes would roll conspicuously down her cheeks. She had been so foolish to think she could treat love like just another experiment. So foolish to think that any man would willingly wait upon her caprice. He had left without so much as a word between them. She felt Ariadne’s crushing despair at having been so betrayed. It was too much.
The song ended and the room erupted in applause. Althea stood up and hurried to the door. She reached the hall and paused for a moment, searching for a handkerchief in her reticule. She would be herself again if she could just have a moment. She found the handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.
“Here, have mine,” a voice said behind her.
She turned around. “Lord Tunwell. I got a little overheated. The song was so lovely —”
“So he left you, did he?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you mean.” Althea declined the proffered handkerchief.
“Norwich. I may not be the most proficient Italian scholar, but I have some recollection of mythology.”
“I am better now, thank you.” She thrust her handkerchief back in the reticule.
“He is a fool, you know.”
“I hardly think —”
Cruikshank gave her a long look. “I may be a rake, but I am not a fool, Lady Trent.”
Althea heard Jane’s voice calling her. “Let us return to the music,” Althea replied.
When they returned, Althea repeated the line about becoming overheated and, as the room was rather warm, this seemed to pass for an explanation of her strange behavior. Signora Campobello continued on with her set, including a haunting rendition of O Del Mio Dolce Ardor by Gluck and Caro Mio Ben by Giordani. Althea sat fixed in rapt attention, in part because the music was exquisite and in part because she could feel Cruikshank’s gaze upon her and did not want to encourage conversation.
When the concert was over, Sir Neville invited all of the guests, including the Signora, into supper. This was on a lavish scale and included a cream soup, fish, beef, pheasant and innumerable side dishes. The addition of the neighborhood worthies varied the seating considerably and Althea was happy to note that the baron was not to be seated next to her.
Some very good wine and a delicious soup helped to dispel some of Althea’s melancholy, and so she was in an altogether more sanguine frame of mind when the party finally broke up and she climbed the stairs to her bed chamber. After Miss Dorkins had helped her out of her gown and into a nightdress, Althea fell into bed. Her body felt so fatigued that she could barely move to pull the covers up, but as soon as her head hit the pillow, her mind switched on. A thousand thoughts raced through her brain. She replayed Norwich’s every look, every word, every touch, and the feel of his arms around her as he rescued her from certain death at the hands of her cousin.
The pain in her chest had turned into a heavy dull ache that pressed downward until she felt as if it would press the breath out of her lungs. She twitched back the covers and pulled the bed curtains aside to get up, but as she did so, she heard a faint creak, like the hinges of the door grinding together. She froze in place and listened. Yes, someone was definitely opening her door. But why?
A surge of misguided hope made her think of Norwich. But surely he would not seek to enter her chamber without at least announcing his presence? The soft flicker of candlelight could be seen around the edges of the door and then the door moved again and a dark figure entered the room. It was covered with a long cloak that had a hood thrown over the head and so Althea could not tell if it was a man or woman. Althea lay back down. The figure turned in her direction and Althea shut her eyes; the better to feign sleep. She heard the figure move across the floor and opened her eyes again. It stood in front of the armoire for a moment and raised the candle high, opening the doors with the other hand. And then the hand was darting in and out of the wardrobe, obviously looking for something. But what could it be?
Althea heard the sound of drawers being pulled out and fabric being shifted from side to side. This lasted for several minutes. Then the figure reached down and picked something up, a small bundle, tucking the object into the folds of the cloak. Althea gave a sharp intake of breath and the candle swung in her direction. Althea quickly closed her eyes and sighed as if in the midst of a pleasant dream. She heard the figure approach and saw the increase in the light behind her closed eyelids as the figure held the candle above her. She willed her mind to relax to give her sleep a greater verisimilitude.
The light receded. The man or woman obviously believed her slumber to be genuine. Althea continued still as if in slumber for the next several minutes, while the hinge of her door opened and then shut softly. When she felt as if the intruder must have gone, she arose from her bed and, lighting a candle, made her way to the armoire. What did the thief take?
