The Ranleigh Question, page 9
part #2 of Lady Althea Mystery Series
Verlyn paused before speaking, and Althea looked up, regarding him carefully.
“I don’t know that I am a fit person for marriage,” he said with a certain melancholy, “at least, I don’t think I’d be a very good husband in my present position. There have been several ladies I regarded with admiration, but no eligible lady who could tempt me to give up my occupation, which I would be obliged to do.”
“Yes, I can well understand,” Althea said, catching his emphasis on the word eligible, and understanding that a lost love was at the root of his present solitude. “And one should hold out for love, if one has the choice to do so.”
“Exactly my thought. Have you taken the notes you need?”
“One moment more, if you would be so kind.” Althea stepped forward and felt her boot squish into the mud. She disregarded it, and peered deeper into the marsh grass. A small speckled frog stared back at her and then hopped blithely away. When she finally extricated herself, she found her petticoats had a nice ring of filth. “Oh dear,” she said, as she stared at her mud-caked shoes. “Miss Dorkins will have my head!”
Verlyn laughed. “You must tell her it was all in the name of science. I’m sure she will understand.”
Althea shook her head. “That excuse is threadbare. But there is no helping it. I will just have to take my lumps.”
Verlyn offered her his arm and they set off back towards the house. They were just coming up the drive, and Althea was just deciding on the best mechanism to placate Miss Dorkins, when a thought occurred to her. She quickly thanked Verlyn for his good offices and headed to her room.
“Miss Dorkin’s?” she said, as she opened the door.
“Yes, Lady Trent?” Dorkins emerged from her lair between the rooms.
“What happened to those boots you showed me before?”
“I still have them because none of the other servants would claim them. Likely no one wishes to take the blame for misplacing them.”
“May I see the boots? And before you say anything else, I know that my dress and petticoat are a horror of tremendous proportions.”
“To say nothing of your own boots, my lady. Caked in mud they are! Do please sit so that I may help you to remove them.”
“Yes.” Althea sat down. “But do not take them away just yet. I want to do a comparison.”
When she was in her stocking feet, she took the stranger’s boot that had the pieces of banded horsetail and one of her own over to the window. “Bring me my portable writing desk, if you will.”
She set the desk and the boots on the floor and then extracted a piece of paper and the knife used to trim her quill pens. She bent down and ran the blade of the knife between the heel and the sole of the stranger’s boot, dislodging the reed and bits of dark gray soil. She did the same with her own boots on a second piece of paper and then handed her boots to Dorkins. “They are all yours, my dear Miss Dorkins.”
“And what do you mean to do with those dirty pieces of paper?”
“I shall let the dirt from my boots dry out and then I will fold the paper thus,” she folded the other paper over the dirt until it made a little envelope, “and I will mark it so that when I examine the other envelopes, I shall know which is which.”
Dorkins shook her head. “I will never understand your experiments, Lady Trent, but then again I have long resigned myself to your strange ways. Just please have pity on the poor laundress, I beg of you.”
Althea smiled. “I promise, dear Miss Dorkins. I shall have a care to the best of my ability. Here, please help me to remove the dress and these petticoats.”
Later that afternoon, Althea joined Jane, Lady Batterslea and Mrs. Gregson on a sojourn to Berryfield, the small village a mile or two beyond the gates of Ranleigh. Althea would have preferred to walk, but Jane, seconded by Mrs. Gregson, asked for the carriage. The village was typical of many country villages in that it consisted of a large, rather muddy road running through the middle of it, lined with small shops and traversed by carriages and carts of every description. The Ranleigh carriage was certainly one of the more elegant ones, and Lady Batterslea made a face as the coachman pulled the equipage in beside a farmer’s wagon in front of a shop that seemed to be a purveyor of marzipan and other sweet things. The sign over the door read Manton’s Confectioners.
“I feel like we are at the ends of the earth here in Berryfield. It is so rustic!” Lady Batterslea said, with an affected lilt to her voice.
Althea met Jane’s gaze, but refrained from comment.
“I think country villages are delightful,” said Mrs. Gregson. “There is such a purity of spirit to be found, nothing of affectation or dissimulation. And you must admit that we had many a fine afternoon eating marzipan at Mrs. Manton’s here when we all visited Ranleigh last summer.”
“Yes, Manton’s is delightful, but you must admit that country shops are nothing to what can be found almost anywhere else. I was saying as much to the duke last evening, and he quite agreed with me. When one has access to London, one cannot stoop to accept what the provincials deem is fine.”
The coachman opened the carriage door and the ladies stepped onto the packed earth of the street, augmented here and there with planks of wood. Lady Batterslea and Mrs. Gregson declared a desire to taste the marzipan directly, but Althea, spying both a book seller and an apothecary shop across the way said to Jane, “Won’t you come with me to explore a bit? The walk would do us both good.”
Jane agreed, and it was decided that the ladies would meet back at the confectioner’s shop in an hour in order to return to Ranleigh.
Once they were out of earshot, Althea said, “I’m afraid I find Lady Batterslea’s discourse a bit tiresome.” She took Jane’s arm and crossed over to the book seller.
“There is certainly plenty of it. For such a young lady, she has an extensive number of opinions.”
“Please tell me that I was not like her when I married your brother.”
Jane chuckled. “No, my dear. You had many opinions, but they were the product of a sound education. Poor Lady Batterslea is destined to become another one of London’s flighty and ill-informed matrons. Proof yet again that a little beauty thrown in the right direction is all a lady needs for success.”
“A certain kind of success.” Althea continued on lightly as if she had no concerns. “Poor Norwich. How he must suffer her company.”
Jane frowned and opened the door to the shop. Upon closer examination, it was less a purveyor of books than a shop dedicated to any number of useful items, from writing paper to weights for commercial scales. The books on offer consisted of various copies of the Bible and assorted sermons. There were also several popular novels of dubious value, most concerned with stories of the dark and mysterious type or overwrought heroines such as Richardson’s Pamela.
Althea greeted the young man behind the counter and asked if he had any books of a scientific nature. When he could produce nothing but a popular almanac, Althea gave up thoughts of a book and turned instead to a small display of seals and sealing wax. She held up a red wax bar. “What do you think of this, Jane? I have run through my widow’s black wax. Do you think red suits me?”
Jane came over to her. “I think so. Not that red sealing wax marks you as particularly daring.”
“Am I thought daring?”
“Unusual, certainly. Would you take it amiss if I drop a word of warning in your ear?”
“Do you mean, would I do the opposite just because I have been warned?”
Jane smiled ruefully. “Yes, I suppose I mean that.”
“But you will warn me no matter what I respond, so please tell me what I should refrain from.”
Jane lowered her voice so that the clerk wouldn’t overhear them. “It is less to prevent you from action, than to repeat an observation. A man with the best intentions may yet be led astray by the excessive flattery of a young pretty woman. Particularly, one who seems bound and determined to make a conquest.”
Althea looked down, trying valiantly to control her expression. There was no need to let Jane know that Althea shared Jane’s concerns. “I am assuming you mean His Grace and Lady Batterslea?”
“Yes, Althea, I do. I may be a spinster, but credit me with some perspicacity. Although he may not mean for a romance to occur, women of Lady Batterslea’s stamp will stop at nothing to achieve their end. And the conquest of a duke, however short-lived, is still a notable thing.”
Althea looked at Jane defiantly. “And what if she does? It is none of my business if he engages in a dalliance. As a fiancée or even a wife, I am supposed to ignore anything he chooses to do. Isn’t that what society tells us poor women?”
“You know that is not how you feel.”
Althea sighed. “To be frank with you, dear sister, I am not sure how I feel at the moment.”
“I have said too much already. Come, will you purchase the wax or not?”
Althea purchased the wax and then dragged Jane with her into the apothecary shop. Her temper needed the calming influence of conversation with like-minded persons. She was in luck, because the apothecary himself attended the counter. They chatted amicably for several minutes about popular remedies. Then Althea asked about a senna preparation that she had promised to secure for Miss Dorkins, who often suffered from the stomach ache. As Althea went to pull some coins from her reticule to pay for it, she noticed a selection of comfits.
“And what flavors do you have?” she said.
The apothecary was an elderly gentleman with a set of bushy white whiskers. He ran his hand down his chin in a contemplative way and replied, “My wife makes them up. Let me see.” He squinted at the little round balls laid neatly in rows on a long tray. “Anise and mint and those white ones should be almond. They are my good wife’s own recipe and very popular.”
Althea pointed to the almond ones. They were exactly like the one she had found in the pond. “I’d like twenty of those, please. And would you happen to know if a tall gentleman bought some of the almond comfits perhaps a fortnight ago? He was a well-dressed gentleman, staying at Ranleigh.”
“You mean the one that drowned in the pond?”
“Yes, the very same. Someone mentioned that you were called out when the body was discovered.” Althea said.
The apothecary nodded. “I reviewed Lord Tunwell’s body and recognized him immediately from the day before when he visited the shop to purchase the comfits.”
“Such a sad business, him drowning that way. I assume it was accidental?”
“Yes, that was my opinion.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know if he purchased something other than the comfits that day?”
“Just the comfits. He said he preferred the almond ones above anything. And he mentioned that he had his medicine prepared in London, so I didn’t press him, although we are known far and wide for the invigorating tonics we prepare. They will do wonders for any ailment known to God and man.”
Althea smiled. “Then I shall certainly be back if I fall ill.” She paid the apothecary and left the shop with Jane.
They examined some tired-looking bonnets in a storefront on the opposite side of the street. Jane seemed careful not to mention the topic of their previous conversation, but instead focused her sharp tongue on a particularly sad confection made of woven straw. When bonnet criticism began to pall, they walked slowly back to join the other ladies and inspect the marzipan. It was glossy and sweet and formed in such a way that it might almost have been real fruit, the designs were so true to life. Althea and Jane bought several for themselves and then had a package made up special for Miss Dorkins.
When they returned to Ranleigh, Miss Dorkins was in a transport of delight with both the marzipan and the senna tonic, and Althea hoped that they might be mutually beneficial. Before these transports caused Miss Dorkins to indulge in an excess of coddling, however, Althea removed her own boots, turned them over and scraped the dirt from between the sole and the heel onto a clean sheet of paper, folded it and then wrote Streets of Berryfield in large letters across it. She put the paper with the others in her armoire and waited for Miss Dorkins to assist her to change for the afternoon.
Things were now at a pass that Althea felt the need for advice. After Miss Dorkins was finished with her work, Althea retrieved her writing desk and composed a missive outlining all of the facts she had gathered to date related to the death of the baron. She filled fully two pages crossed once over with her neat handwriting and then addressed the whole to Mr. James Read, Magistrate of Bow Street. She sealed the missive with her new red wax and set it aside to have Sir Neville frank it for her. Apart from her beloved father, Althea had not met with another man who had so easily accepted her for her talents alone as Mr. Read. It was a comfort to know that no matter how strange Althea’s letter must seem, Magistrate Read was sure to take the matter seriously. Her mind traveled to the matter of the Duke of Norwich. He had once seemed to admire her for her intellect.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As if to confirm the dispiriting nature of her thoughts, Althea and the duke saw each other frequently for the next week, but each time they met, Althea could sense that a cold distance had settled over the relationship. She fought to ignore it, and sought refuge in light-hearted conversation with Lord George, who was only too happy to oblige her with a full measure of his attention. And although she didn’t want to credit that a man of Norwich’s erudition and intelligence could be led astray by a bubble-headed simpleton, she noticed every arch look and encouraging word Lady Batterslea threw in his direction. Lord Batterslea noticed it as well and often sat with a glum expression as his wife prattled happily along. Lady Pickney, that choice observer of her fellow men, summed it up best when she said that Lady Batterslea was like a horsefly, small but annoyingly effective. “She will sting whoever swats at her, mark my words,” she added.
And so it was with some relief that Althea awoke on the morning of the visit to Torquay. At least a day at the seaside would provide some relief from the tension of the house party. Althea allowed Miss Dorkins to convince her to wear a new muslin day dress she had not had the occasion to put on before. It was block printed with a sprawling flower design in shades of indigo. Althea topped it with a green spencer, buttoned high up the throat, that she knew set off her dark hair and brown eyes. She chose a straw bonnet to accompany the outfit and one of her larger parasols to protect her complexion.
Jane, who was awake and dressed much earlier than she was accustomed, met Althea in the breakfast parlor. “You do look very smart, my dear.”
“As do you, dear Jane. I must admit that I am giddy as a school girl and have every expectation of the day being very fine.”
“I think Sir Neville has arranged the whole thing to perfection. He seems to have a knack for arranging social functions.”
“Much to be admired in a husband.”
Jane merely smiled and asked Althea to pass the butter.
They were soon joined by other guests, and the breakfast parlor became so crowded that Althea slipped away and sought refuge in the library. She had a mind to waste a half an hour in browsing the shelves by herself, but when she opened the door, she surprised Mr. Smithson. He had been standing near a window, reading what looked to be a half sheet of paper when she came in. The paper was stuffed hastily in his waistcoat pocket and he made a move to turn towards the window and then slowly turned back.
“Ah, Lady Trent, I think the day will be quite fine. There are some clouds to the east, but I do not perceive that they are at all a cause for alarm.”
“No indeed. I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Smithson. I have just come from a very noisy breakfast and thought I might catch a few moments repose with a book.”
“Then do not let me detain you. I too have breakfasted. Although I will say that were it not for the sake of my dear friend, Sir Neville, I would not have bestirred myself at this ungodly hour. In any case, I thought to discern the potential weather hazards, but seeing none, suppose that I should ready myself for the rigors of the journey.” He took a step towards the door. “I understand that you are to take Lord and Lady Pickney with you in your carriage. I’m sure that will be quite a lively party.”
Althea wasn’t sure if Smithson meant that remark seriously or not, but she let him pass by her and out of the room.
It was indeed a lively party. Traveling in their coach towards the tail of the carriage caravan, Lady Pickney did her best to entertain them all with bubbly conversation. Lord Pickney smiled at her indulgently and patted her hand every now and again. It was a picture of domestic felicity that made Althea just the least bit nostalgic for times gone by. Perhaps marriage to Norwich would result in just such a level of contentment, but given their strong temperaments, she doubted it. No, if they married, she could foresee a tempestuous union.
Torquay was a beautiful city, laid out in a half moon shape around the deep harbor. The rugged hills that surrounded the city contained a spider web of paths and small thatched cottages hanging from the hillsides. The buildings of Torquay proper were large and seemingly new, constructed of brick and stone. Althea could see several good size inns and more than half a dozen shops along the main thoroughfare. It seemed a comely place to pass a summer’s day.
There was a yellow sand beach down by the water and walking paths that led down to it from the streets above. A long pier jutted out into the harbor, and various dinghies and small fishing boats were moored to it. Farther out in the harbor, two large frigates stood watchful guard.
The sun glinted off the waves. There was a breeze blowing, evidenced by the way the flags on the frigates swung to and fro. It was strong enough to whip the ladies’ skirts about and ruffle their hair. Althea smiled to herself. Lady Batterslea was sure to have plenty to complain about.
The group decided to take a turn along the harbor path beside the beach before adjourning to an inn for a substantial repast. Sir Neville had promised fine food and the best ale this side of London. As the party disembarked, Althea felt a rush of excitement. She had forgotten the briny deliciousness of the smell of the ocean. It made her feel giddy and alive. She inhaled another deep breath and turned her face up to feel the sun on her skin for a brief moment. Nature was wondrous and divine.
