[Lord and Lady Calaway 03] - A Murderous Inheritance Read online

  “I’ll eat it, I will; it doesn’t matter, does it?” Felicia said, turning her eyes to Adelia, pleading like a small child trying to avoid a beating. Her voice was rising.

  “You cannot possibly eat it now,” The Countess snapped, looking up from her plate briefly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  The spoiled food was whisked away by a maid, and the steward followed her from the room, muttering under his breath. Felicia sat awkwardly with nothing in front of her, her head bowed. She was not being treated as if she were the mistress of the house.

  Adelia’s mouth had gone dry. She pushed a few morsels around her plate before giving up. Her clothing was too tight, and the air in the room was growing more stale by the minute. “Will there be ices?” she asked, knowing that it was rude to second-guess a hostess but no longer caring. She pointedly addressed the question to Felicia.

  “Ices?” Felicia said, still looking down at the table, her hands knotted in her lap. “Oh, no. No. There are never any ices.”

  “But your ice house...”

  “There is no ice in the ice house. We never go down there. It’s all shut up.”

  Lady Agnes jumped into the conversation before Felicia had finished speaking, with another flash of uncharacteristic chattiness, clearly forced. “So, Lady Calaway, do tell me about your role in the last investigation. I heard about a mad chase to Lancaster, is that right...? Did you really...?”

  Felicia looked miserable and The Countess’s eyes were flashing with danger. Theodore seemed confused.

  Adelia smiled thinly and answered as politely as she could. She could not wait for this strange meal to end.

  Two

  The gathering had been too small and intimate to allow Adelia any chance to speak privately with Felicia the previous evening. Nothing remarkable happened for the remainder of the meal but still Adelia slept badly that night. When she pressed Theodore about the meal, he told her that he had seen nothing out of the ordinary in anyone’s conduct and Adelia gave up in frustration. Something was off kilter here in the castle, and she was determined to find out what it was. Felicia had been writing to her for some time, alluding to problems within the household. Why could she not speak out openly? Was she scared? If so, of whom?

  Adelia’s suspicions could not help but settle upon The Countess with her snobbish nastiness and, by extension, her companion and daughter Lady Agnes, who Adelia thought ought to step in to defend Felicia against her mother’s barbs. In spite of that, a part of Adelia liked the spinster Lady Agnes. Her flashes of wit, her uncomplaining service to her elderly mother, her evident intelligence – all were things that endeared her to Adelia. Lady Agnes was well-read, curious about the world, and perfectly able to hold a conversation about anything from trade deals to politics to the importance of not wearing exotic feathers in one’s hat. In fact, she was at her most alive when talking of serious subjects. In essence, Lady Agnes was not one for frivolous chatter. And Adelia liked her for it.

  But she could not shake how Lady Agnes had treated Felicia the previous night, and her warm feelings dissipated. Lady Agnes’s silence made her complicit in The Countess’s treatment of Felicia, and Adelia could see it as nothing but bullying, plain and simple. Before breakfast, she headed out of the suite of rooms and went in search of her daughter.

  As expected for the early hour, Felicia was in her own bedroom. But, in a more unexpected discovery, she was kneeling on the floor at the far end, frantically pushing thin strips of fabric between the bottom of the long window and its wooden frame.

  “Felicia, what on earth are you doing?” Adelia cried, rushing over to her side and pulling at her daughter’s shoulders. Felicia was wearing a comfortable cotton day-dress, the floral blue fabric perfectly complementing her dark hair and pale skin. But her nose was red, as if it had been running or itching. And her eyes were wild.

  “Help me, mama; I need to stop it getting in.”

  “What is getting in? Stop this, Felicia, get up!” Adelia tugged at her shoulders but Felicia shook her off.

  “The swamp air, it’s getting in everywhere. Can’t you smell it?”

  “In truth, I can, but that bit of cloth won’t stop it.”

  Felicia rocked back on her heels and looked up at her mother with big, scared eyes. “Then what will? What can I do? Will papa know what to do? Let’s ask him!” She jumped up, but stopped suddenly, catching her breath with her hand pressed to her side.

  Adelia steered her to the bed and they sat down together. “Are you all right?”

  “I stood up too quickly.”

  “I mean, in general. I am worried about you. Are you sick?”

  “Yes!” Felicia’s voice rose. “Yes, of course I am sick! The swamps are suffocating me, mama, I cannot breathe here!”

  There was a tap at the door which was already ajar and the worried face of the housekeeper peered in. Hester Rush was a strong, capable woman with a generous jaw and deep-set orange-brown eyes. She cast a glance over the scene and did not seem at all surprised. “My lady, shall I bring you a draught? The usual, to settle you?”

  “No, no, no!” Felicia said, twisting away, flapping her hands uselessly. “Just stop the swamps from coming in.”

  Mrs Rush made eye contact with Adelia, who nodded her silent assent. Mrs Rush nodded back slightly and slipped into the room, coming up to the other side of Felicia though she did not, of course, sit down. She spoke in a soothing voice and her patter was long-practised. “My lady, remember that Jack went around and sealed all the gaps for you last month? And we have wiped all the surfaces with ammonia every week, without fail, just as you directed. Carbolic acid has been sprayed liberally around. You are as safe and healthy as you can possibly be.”

  Adelia wrinkled her nose at the mere thought of all of that lingering in the air.

  Felicia bowed her head. “Oh. Oh! Yes. Yes of course. How utterly silly of me. Oh, mama, do ignore me. You know how I like to make little fusses over nothing! I shall be down to breakfast directly. Please, let me have a moment to myself so that I might gather my thoughts.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, quite sure! Don’t bother yourself about foolish Felicia. Ignore me.”

  Adelia grabbed her hand. It was warm, hot even. “I am your mother and I shall bother about you until the day that I die.”

  “Or until I die, whichever is sooner.”

  Adelia crushed Felicia’s fingers and found she could not reply. Felicia squeezed back and then pulled her hand free. Adelia had no choice but to let her alone. She wanted to ask about The Countess, but now was not the time. She left the room with Mrs Rush and button-holed the housekeeper as soon as they were out in the corridor.

  “Is Lady Buckshaw often like this?”

  “Yes, ever since – the event.”

  “Which event?”

  “Her trouble, my lady. Oh, forgive me, but it is not for me to speak of.”

  “You must, if she won’t.”

  “I cannot betray her confidence.”

  “Has she a lady’s maid?” Adelia asked, thinking that would be another person who might be pressed into speaking out. But Mrs Rush shook her head.

  “My lady said that she saw no need for one, that she wasn’t worth one, and Mr Knight ... well, he does all the hiring. I am not even allowed to appoint the women in the house.” Her face twisted in a sneer and Adelia could see why. The appointment of female servants was a task that ought to have fallen to the housekeeper and the lady of the house herself, not the house steward.

  “This Mr Knight...” Adelia began, intending to say “...thinks rather too highly of himself.” But she stopped and had to change it to, “...is coming down the corridor. Good morning, Knight.”

  “My lady. Mrs Rush. If you could excuse us, my lady, but I need to speak to Mrs Rush about a household matter.”

  “Of course.” Adelia moved past them, still struck by the arrogant confidence of the servant who carried himself as if he were a gentleman. Perhaps he had be
en? Curious, she turned around as she got to the end of the corridor, and found herself witnessing a whispered argument between the pair. Knight was towering over Mrs Rush who was, nonetheless, resolutely uncowed, her firm jaw jutting upwards. She had been backed against the wall but she was jabbing her finger into his chest and he bent his head close to hers, snarling something into her face.

  Adelia shuddered and wondered if she ought to intervene. She looked around the corner to see if anyone else was around to help her, and when she glanced back to the scene of the argument, both of them had gone.

  She was deeply unsettled. She went to breakfast, and then went to find Theodore, who had not appeared at the morning meal at all.

  SHE DIDN’T FIND THEODORE until late in the afternoon. He was finally hunted down in the middle rooms of the Norman tower. The whole central tower was given over to Percy’s study, library and his various collections of global artefacts. If anyone ever needed a walrus tusk or catalogue of the ferns of Central America, these were the rooms to search in. She burst into the room that was both library and study, and demanded, “Theodore! Have you been in here all day?”

  “Oh, no,” he replied, looking up. He had a book in one hand and a stuffed mole in the other, as if he were reading stories to it. “I’ve just returned from Plymouth.”

  “Whatever were you doing in Plymouth?”

  “Making contact with a few old friends. I left you a note for you to meet me at the front door if you wished to come with me. I thought you might enjoy a trip into town.”

  “Where did you leave this note?”

  “On your dressing table.”

  “Before or after I had dressed?”

  “...ah. After you had dressed. I see. Somewhat foolish of me. Well, I am sorry, but the town is not so very far away, and we can go together tomorrow. You will love Mrs Carstairs!”

  “Who? What? Why will I? Theodore, you are simply the most infuriating man. You are far further on in this conversation than I am – please remember that I do not live in your head.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” he said with a smile, putting the mole down. “Neither of us should enjoy that very much, and anyway, there is very little room left over in my head.”

  “Yes, because you insist on filling it with nonsense. Who is Mrs Carstairs?”

  “The wife of Archie Carstairs, a friendly sort of chap I met in Plymouth, amongst others. I heard my old school friend Rhodes is kicking about the place too, though I haven’t tracked him down yet. He’s commissioner of the police now, apparently, which I find rather alarming. Never struck me as one keen on justice. Far more keen on big dinners and afternoon naps, but perhaps that’s the job when one rises high enough in the ranks. Constantly evading justice at school, was Rhodes. Ironic, really. Anyway, there’s a ball to be held on board a ship...”

  “I know about that. I told you all about it yesterday. It was actually a major topic of conversation at dinner. Were you not listening?”

  “Of course I was; I thought that we mostly spoke about lapis lazuli, didn’t we?”

  “Theodore – can we return to the matter of Mrs Carstairs?” She was about to burst with exasperation.

  “Yes, yes, right.” He sat down on a wooden chair but kept hold of the book. “She is helping on the committee for the ball aboard the Erebus II. And when I say helping, what I really mean is, she’s the force behind it all, and organising everything.”

  Adelia spotted where it was going. “You’ve volunteered me to help out, haven’t you?”

  “Yes! You love helping to organise things.”

  “I would rather be relaxing and spending time here with my family. And speaking of that, we simply must talk about Felicia. You thought that there was nothing wrong with her last night, but I saw an awfully disturbing sight this morning. Listen...”

  He listened and he believed her. She was grateful for that, as she was every time she unburdened herself and he accepted it without question. He said, as she finished, “Why are you smiling? It sounds quite awful.”

  “Sorry. Because you listened to me.”

  “I have no choice,” he replied archly. Then he sighed heavily. “Poor sweet Felicia. I wonder if Percy listens to her?”

  “How can he? He’s hundreds of miles away, a thousand, maybe more. When he comes back I shall wring his neck.”

  “Then he won’t be able to listen to her at all.”

  “I shan’t kill him. Lightly maim, perhaps, just enough to teach him a lesson.”

  “Oh, Adelia, you cannot blame him for travelling. It is what he does; you’ve always known that.”

  “Yes, but he ought to be here at the moment. I don’t know what event Mrs Rush was alluding to but I can certainly guess – can’t you? Ah, no, I see that you can’t. Well, I do hope that I am wrong.”

  “Now it is you, my love, who is holding half the conversation privately in your head. Tell me what is on your mind.”

  Adelia shook her head. “Not until I know for sure. Oh, Felicia is too sensitive for this world, poor lamb.”

  “She will learn to navigate its rougher waters, I am sure.”

  “Yes but she needs the guidance of a husband for that. Oh, that damn fool Percy!”

  “He’s not too much of a fool,” Theodore said. “In fact, his collections are remarkable.”

  “Dead moles?” She allowed her attention to be turned from the problem of Felicia and her secret sadness. Perhaps, Adelia thought, a simple holiday was all that was needed. A break away from the foul air of the castle in the swamp would surely work magical healing for Felicia. Perhaps Percy could even be persuaded to take her with him on his next trip. She filed that idea away for definite perusal later.

  “Not just moles,” Theodore was saying. “Look here at this – here’s another great jewel of lapis but this one is shot through with calcite and pyrite. See?”

  “It’s beautiful!”

  “It’s flawed. For some, that’s the beauty but it fetches a far lower price. The Countess would be horrified if she knew this was here.”

  “She surely knows everything that happens in this household. Anyway, she would be wrong. To be it looks like stars glittering in a midnight sky!” Adelia took the polished gem in her hands and held it up. Deep within, gold and silver veins sparkled. The stone itself was more of a greenish-blue than the violet hue that made The Countess’s earrings so vibrant. Yet to Adelia’s eyes, this gem was even more beautiful. “Why is it less valuable?”

  “Those sparkles are considered imperfections,” he told her.

  “What do you think about the curse that got mentioned? Are these stones cursed?”

  He laughed. “I doubt it. I would imagine it’s to do with the collapse of the market for lapis lazuli back in the twenties.”

  “Oh, yes, that was mentioned. What happened? Why would a trade in such wonderful jewels simply collapse? The jewels are as beautiful as they ever were. Was a large mine found, and the market flooded?”

  “Not exactly but you are close. Now, you like a fine painting as much as anyone; what colour are the Virgin’s robes?”

  “Blue, always. Don’t they say that rosemary has blue flowers because the bush sheltered the Virgin Mary on her flight to safety?”

  “They may say it but I can’t imagine it’s remotely true. Now, throughout the ages, artists have used the most costly pure blue pigment for her robes. Ounce by ounce, ground lapis lazuli was once more expensive than gold.”

  “Goodness me!”

  “Indeed. Though it is a pale sort of thing when first applied, the artist builds up wash upon wash, and the result is a depth of blue unparalleled by any other means. Until two chemists, working independently, rivals if you will, discovered a way to make a synthetic version. Ultramarine, it is called. And the market quite collapsed, at least for the ground pigments.”

  “Oh, I see! But they must still be worth something, as jewellery and gemstones.”

  “Of course, but not nearly what they once were.” Theo
dore took the large stone from her hands and looked at it with a smile. “Even so, it is strange, is it not, how we assign value to things, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so.” It was a philosophical query too far for a Saturday and she didn’t pursue it. “I wonder if The Countess will be attending the ball? Her earrings, if she wore those, would look like the sea and sky around the ship.”

  “So you do agree to help Mrs Carstairs?”

  “I did not say that!”

  Theodore’s face fell. “Have I got things wrong? I have not promised you to her, not exactly, I think – you might easily wriggle out of it, I am sure.”

  “Perhaps I can make it work.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think about Lady Agnes?” she asked him, knowing already that his answer would be non-committal.

  “I don’t know. She is dutiful and talks intelligently when given the chance, and she does not gossip.”

  “All good things. Yet she is condemned to a life of spinsterhood and I think it is such a waste...”

  “Oh, oh no, no, Adelia, you cannot match-make for her!”

  “Why not?”

  “She is ...”

  “She is not too old.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that, but now you mention it...”

  “Plenty of people find suitable companionship in later life. And she deserves some happiness.”

  “How do you know she isn’t already happy? She has her duty to her mother. Surely that must fulfil her.”

  “A duty to one’s mother is hardly the ideal recipe for contentment, let me tell you! Women are not fulfilled by some endless drudgery of domestic servitude, you know. I will confess, she arouses some conflicting feelings in me. I like her and I also dislike her. So she interests me. And I don’t like to see a clever woman wasting away. The Countess can be nursed by a professional rather than her own daughter. Indeed, you will surely see the logic of this. The woman is ninety-three; she will need a special nurse before long. Lady Agnes’s daughterly devotion is admirable but surely will become impractical very soon.”