An Unnatural Daughter: A Dark Regency Mystery (20 page)

CHAPTER 26

For Richer, For Poorer

I considered suicide. I considered a lot of things, but that part of me that killed Gabriel and a spark of self-righteous indignation that none of this was of my doing meant that, abomination though I was, I could not die by my own hand. Oblivious, Tristan remained solicitous of my every need although I did little to encourage him.

Once or twice I allowed myself the luxury of imaging myself as Tristan’s wife. It was a foolish daydream, nothing but fluff without any substance. He was beautiful, it could not be denied. Yet beyond that, while I certainly liked him, I had no deeper feelings. No desires beyond the aesthetic. If I never saw him again I would miss him, sure enough. It wouldn’t break my heart.

Damien had not returned. Mrs Hudson visited once or twice and remarked that she had seen him, but that he had decided to travel around the country for an unspecified length of time. I found myself staring at the hanging in the sitting room, starting when a draft blew in and set it gently swaying. I missed him.

That small, indignant part of me felt let down and abandoned. The rest knew that I deserved it. He must regret those moments in my company so bitterly. That he had almost kissed me, an incestuous mess. He had seen his escape and counted himself lucky. I could not blame him.

If Edwina knew anything about the feelings of or undercurrents between the young people in her care, she didn’t show it. We carried on as normal as days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months, monotonous and repetitive, but also safe and familiar. The letter from the solicitor lay in my drawer, untouched but not forgotten. The only time I considered touching it was to pay Edwina something towards my keep, but any time I remotely raised the issue Tristan went very red and started blustering about being able to support his family.

I should have made more of an issue of it, if only for the sake of my pride, but at that moment I was happy to breeze along without making a fuss or causing a ruckus. I craved simplicity in my life, and the Lovetts provided it. My routine was uninterrupted to the point where the days and weeks seemed to merge into one. Then one Wednesday afternoon, while I was cutting back dead branches from the trees, Mrs Raynor came to visit.

Edwina reacted to our unexpected guest with the sort of complete control I had come to expect from her. With the grace of a queen, she led me into the sitting room and introduced my – I didn’t know what to call her. Neither did Edwina, I don’t think, so after a pause she just said,

‘Mrs Raynor, Fleur dear,’ then guided me to sit down beside her, opposite Mrs Raynor’s quivering feathers.

‘How kind of you to call,’ Edwina said, when neither Mrs Raynor nor myself took the initiative to carry the conversation. ‘Shall I ring for tea?’

‘That won’t be necessary, thank you.’ Mrs Raynor shifted in her seat, and I heard her corsets creak. She had not removed her hat, nor pulled back the black veil she wore, so her expression was obscured. ‘Mrs Lovett, I wonder, could I trouble you for a few moments alone with – with Fleur?’

Edwina turned to face me, clearly bristling with the urge to protect me.

‘I will leave you alone if Fleur wishes it,’ she said, her back as straight as a board. ‘Fleur?’

‘Would – could you remove your veil, Mrs Raynor?’ I asked.

With hands that shook slightly, Mrs Raynor complied. Her face revealed nothing; she was as implacable and haughty as ever, but as she had complied with my request, I felt bound to comply with hers.

‘I will see you. Edwina, thank you, but-’

‘As you wish it.’ Edwina gave a stern nod and rose with all the dignity she could muster. ‘I shall be in the kitchen.’

With a swish of her skirts, she left, leaving the door open.

‘How can I help you, Mrs Raynor?’

Her lips twitched slightly before she spoke.

‘I understand my son’s solicitor wrote to you some months ago, detailing your inheritance. Did you receive such a letter?’

‘Yes.’ I quashed the impulse to add “Ma’am”, although my wariness ensured that I remained polite.

‘Today I myself received a letter from the solicitor, advising me that you have yet to respond to them. They say that you haven’t shown any interest in claiming the money. Is that true?’

‘It is,’ I said.

‘And might I ask why?’ She paused for me to answer, but when I did not, she continued. ‘Many a young lady would jump at the chance for such a fortune. Many a young lady would kill for such a fortune.’

I was stung.

‘I do not want it.’

‘No?’

‘I want nothing from Gabriel. I never have. His dying changes nothing.’

Mrs Raynor looked impressed, in spite of herself.

‘You have steel in you, I will give you that. You never showed it before.’ She spoke idly, as though recalling something from a long, long time ago, and of little importance. I felt anger flush through me and sat up a little straighter.

‘Things have changed, Mrs Raynor, since I was brought into your house, as your son’s unnatural wife.’

Her face fell slightly.

‘I had wondered if you were familiar – if your father had told you-’

‘Told me that he wasn’t my father?’ I interrupted, but she carried on.

‘Or if you had spoken to Gabriel before he died.’

She peered at me closely, and I met her eyes without flinching.

‘He did speak to me, yes.’

Mrs Raynor’s eyes lit with curiosity, and she rolled her lips between her teeth, clearly weighing up whether or not to ask me how much I knew.

‘He told me what he did to my mother,’ I supplied without waiting for her to come to a decision.

‘So it was true?’ Her words were a breathless whisper. ‘And he admitted it?’

‘He certainly didn’t deny it.’ I straightened my spine, drawing myself up and looking down my nose at her. ‘But you knew, didn’t you. When he brought me into his house, and I was just a child, you knew what he had done.’

‘My son – he didn’t see things as other people did.’ She dropped her gaze and pulled at the fingertips of her gloves. ‘And he was always in control of everyone around him. I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, when I saw how he was with Rosie. A mother doesn’t want to see those things from her own son. I couldn’t bear it.’

‘Nor could she,’ I said.

‘I did what I could to make it better for her.’ She tugged a tiny lace handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at the tear tracks on her cheeks. ‘I gave her money and sent her away. I gave her up. You’ll understand if you ever have a son. I just tried to make it so it wasn’t so bad. Partick Mason was supposed to hide you from him. I paid him handsomely enough. Gabriel should never have found you.’

‘But he did, Mrs Raynor. And I am your daughter in law and your granddaughter.’

She flinched at that, and I continued.

‘You showed me no kindness when I arrived at your house, and treated me worse than you treat your servants which, I might add, struck me as abominable. I may not have any experience of these things, as you were at great pains to tell me when I arrived, but I know that I would not return to that house for all the money in the world. Your son raped his sister and he raped his child. You stood by and let that happen.’

As I spoke the words, so awful, confirming out loud just what had happened, it was as though I was realising them for the first time. I surged with anger, and at that moment I would have killed Gabriel again if I had the chance.

‘Oh Fleur,’ Mrs Raynor leaned forward and reached out to me, but I ignored the hand she proffered. ‘That’s why I’m here. I want you to take the money. It seems only right that you should have some sort of… compensation from all of this.’

I rose at that, and strode towards the window. I saw the chair where Gabriel’s body had fallen, the hanging that had rippled as Damien waited. Mrs Raynor watched me, alert and nervous.

‘You can’t buy off your guilt. You can’t pay to undo the lives your son ruined. Are you offering Mrs Hudson money, for what he did to Cassandra?’

‘I just – the family name-’

‘So you’re buying my silence, too?’ I swung round to face her. ‘You think I want to broadcast this? That I’m a freak of nature, an abomination? This is nothing to do with protecting your family name.’

‘It’s your family too,’ Mrs Raynor said weakly.

‘I have no family,’ I said through gritted teeth, ‘and if anybody even comes close then it’s the Lovetts.’

‘Please will you let me help you,’ she reached out again and I looked down at her proffered hand with scorn.

‘Understand this, Mrs Raynor. You are nothing to me. I care as little for your feelings as you once did for mine. If I decide to accept the money – and I’m certainly not saying I will, then it will be because it is my right as Gabriel’s widow, and nothing whatsoever to do with saving your good name or absolving you of the guilt you quite rightly feel.’

‘I did not want to hurt you. I pushed you away because-’

‘You pushed me away so you did not hurt yourself. You pretended it wasn’t happening just like you pretended with my mother and with Cassandra. Gabriel did kill Cassandra, didn’t he?’

If at all possible, Mrs Raynor seemed to turn a shade paler and swallowed several times.

‘I think the very least you could do it tell me the truth,’ I snapped.

She nodded.

‘That will do then.’ I strode to the door and opened it fully. ‘Edwina!’

There was the clattering of pots in the kitchen and the sound of footsteps. I turned back to Mrs Raynor.

‘You’ll be wanting to leave, of course. Please don’t call on me again.’

‘Going so soon?’ Edwina appeared at the door, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a dab of flour on her cheek. She still exuded confidence and authority, despite her slightly dishevelled appearance. ‘Such a shame, but never mind.’

Mrs Raynor rose shakily and reached out for me again.

‘Please, if you could reconsider…’ Her hand wrapped limply around my arm and I shook her off impatiently.

‘I’ve said all I am prepared to say,’ I said quietly. ‘You’re wasting your time.’

Edwina guided her to the door and she left, wandering unsteadily down the path, directionless and old.

‘She didn’t upset you, did she?’ Edwina said as she closed the door.

‘No,’ I said. ‘In fact, I feel better than I have in days.’

CHAPTER 27

Nature, Unnaturally

The room heaved and buzzed. I hadn’t wanted to be there, but hadn’t had the heart to refuse Tristan. He’d been like an excited child, and his enthusiasm had been catching. Now it came to it, as I stood in the corner and tried to blend in with the wallpaper while curious faces peered at me over programs, I was feeling decidedly less enthusiastic.

The painting, at least six feet wide and almost twice as tall, dominated one of the large walls, even though it was still shrouded in moss green curtains. The salon could have been redecorated to suit the painting – might have, if the volume of rich people in the room was anything to go by. The walls were hung with a two-tone, striped forest green silk, and the occasional tables were dark, stained wood with oak leaf and acorn detailing. Tristan had opined that his painting couldn’t be shown in a more natural setting – perhaps a garden or, still more aptly, in a woodland glade.

I hadn’t realised how successful Tristan was. His work, I was told, graced the walls of several of the highest drawing rooms in the land. This though, his patron assured him, was his best work to date. He was certainly in demand, surrounded by a tight knot of admirers that moved as one with him as he made his way around the room, meeting and greeting prospective buyers. Anticipation fizzed and sizzled as the – not great and good, but rather the wealthy and prosperous hummed and gossiped over wine and sandwiches.

As word spread that I was, in Tristan’s words, not mine, the muse, heads kept turning in my direction, and more than once I was approached by older gentlemen with wandering eyes and younger men with unpleasant leers. They didn’t concern me though. I was watching the door, for word had it that Damien would be making an appearance.

I saw him as soon as he entered, pausing briefly in the doorway to cast an eye over the crowd. He looked older than I had remembered him, but it had been over a year. He was still lean, and the dark, fitted jacket he wore suited his broad, muscular figure a lot better than a billowing shirt. My mouth went a little dry at the sight of him and my stomach crawled with nerves, but I held my head up high and met his gaze, when he spotted me, with what I felt was a confident and friendly look.

He made his way in my direction, nodding to an acquaintance here and there, and raising a hand in salute to Tristan when he spotted him.

‘Good afternoon,’ I said when he stopped beside me, surprising me by taking my hand and kissing it with a bow. He was an anomaly in such a formal setting, and it startled me.

‘Good afternoon.’ He smiled, and he looked healthier than he had at the house, where darkness had drained the colour from his skin. ‘You look very well. I like your hair.’

I felt myself flush at the compliment. My hair was still short, but had grown long enough to begin to curl. At Edwina’s suggestion I had woven it with ribbons and artificial flowers, and was quite pleased with the result.

‘The same to you,’ I said, mirroring his smile. ‘Daylight and space clearly agree with you.’

Damien laughed.

‘Where have you been, anyway?’ I tried to keep my tone light and not sound accusatory, but he watched me thoughtfully as he answered.

‘I thought I should stay away.’

‘Away? From me?’

‘From everyone. But mostly you. Was I right to?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Damien turned from me slightly and looked out into the room.

‘Tristan’s in love with you, I think.’

I chose not to respond to that.

‘He keeps glaring at me, which is strange behaviour for a close childhood friend, wouldn’t you say?’

‘He’s probably just nervous about the painting being unveiled. I’m sure he’s very glad to see you.’

‘Whatever you say.’ He didn’t sound convinced, but he dropped the topic. I was feeling decidedly out of humour with him, which I hadn’t expected. ‘How have you been then? Tell me – if you like.’

I felt myself soften at his solicitude.

‘A lot better, thank you. You were right – of course you were right. I accepted the money in the end, you know.’

‘Mother wrote and told me. What made you change your mind? You seemed set against it before.’

‘Mrs Raynor visited. She shook me out of the rut I was in.’

Damien looked shocked.

‘Do you see her? Have you forgiven her?’

I laughed.

‘Certainly not. I told her never to contact me again. She writes now and then, but I ignore her. Perhaps one day I’ll reply.’

‘And what are you doing with your new wealth. Living the high life?’

‘No, although I have moved to Lincoln. I couldn’t stay in the house.’

Damien raised a brow as he lifted two glasses of wine from a waiter passing with a tray. He handed one to me, and I noticed that he wasn’t wearing gloves.

‘I can see why you’d want to leave. I imagine it’s done you good to start plotting the course of your own life for once.’

‘Well, yes. I suppose. Although I still feel like I’m drifting about somewhat. There are the charities – but my input is minimal at best.’

‘Ah yes, your charities – Mother mentioned them. For women who are fallen upon hard times?’

‘In the vaguest possible way, yes. We also have a refuge – for women who want to escape from their families and so on. It doubles as a school, so they can look after themselves in the end.’

‘And how’s it going?’

I shrugged, feeling a flush spread over my cheeks from the embarrassment of talking about myself, and my concern over his opinion of my schemes. I ached for his approval. How foolish I was!

‘It’s a little early to tell yet. It’s a lot more work than I imagined, setting something like that in motion. We’ve only been up and running for two months.’

‘It sounds wonderful,’ he said, and I felt myself glow. ‘I’m glad you picked yourself up. I wondered what you were really like, under all that.’

‘Because my life was a lie?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, the girl who wasn’t Alice. I liked her, though.’

‘Hmm, yes. Anyway, I wondered about that too,’ I said. ‘What I was really like. But it’s strange – I felt most myself once I’d arrived at Edwina’s house. Before… before Gabriel died. Once I’d found you, too.’

‘And we were better strangers?’

‘I hoped you’d forgotten that.’ I sipped my drink as a screen to avoid looking at him. ‘Although,’ I added with spirit, ‘you can’t say we’ve ever been better strangers than this past year!’

He looked at me as though I was mad, and I knocked back the rest of the glass in my hand before choking on it slightly.

‘Well, that was the idea,’ he drawled, raising a supercilious brow and looking down at me with an expression of supreme arrogance. I looked at him with surprise and he laughed.  ‘I like irritating you,’ he said. ‘I think it’s one of my new favourite things.’

I snorted with derision.

‘Where have you been then? And what have you been doing that’s made you so puffed up with your own importance?’

He smiled at that as well, and all at once we were comfortable.

‘Travelling. All in this country. I strapped a knapsack on my back and made my way to Scotland and back. Very pleasant it was too. As you say, air and space agree with me. I think I needed as much air and space as possible after all that had gone on.

‘Once I’d done that I dropped in to see Mother, heard about you moving and the money, and Tristan’s painting, of course, and thought I’d bob down to take a look.’

‘That sounds lovely,’ I said wistfully, imagining tramping across fields and over rivers beneath an endless sky.

Damien smiled, I mean really smiled at me, with his eyes as well, and I had to look away. I couldn’t meet his eyes with the same enthusiasm – I dared not.

‘You’re living in Lincoln, did you say?’

‘Yes, just outside of the city. It’s quiet, and I’ve quite a garden. We do well there, I think.’

‘We?’

‘Oh yes,’ I tossed my hair slightly and stared out into the room. ‘I can hardly live on my own, can I?’

I was still pointedly avoiding looking at Damien but out of the corner of my eye I could see him slouching against the wall and looking sullen.

‘You could if you wanted to.’

‘Perhaps I don’t want to.’ I replied archly, and he gave a gusty sigh.

‘I hear you’re the subject of this painting.’

‘You heard correctly.’

‘Hmm.’ Damien cracked his neck and I winced at the sound. ‘That must have taken a lot of posing. Tristan does like to spend time with his models.’

He sounded so bitter I could hardly suppress a laugh.

‘It took a little while, yes.’

Now Damien was avoiding looking at me and I knew, somehow, that he was dying to ask if I’d posed nude. I decided to bait him a little.

‘But when you’re close with someone, it’s not a hardship.’

‘Will you just tell me what’s happening with you and Tristan?’ he snapped. ‘I know he’s in love with you. Are you getting married?’

‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please!’

A voice rose over the hum in the room as Tristan’s benefactor, a large walrus of a man with a hefty moustache and a wandering eye tapped a tiny spoon against his wineglass. I shot a coy smile in Damien’s direction, perversely enjoying his discomfort.

‘Please – we need to talk.’ He whispered in my ear, and I started, slopping wine over my glove.

‘I can’t miss this,’ I hissed back.

‘Meet me then,’ he sounded desperate so I looked at him, finally.

‘That’s terribly improper.’

‘I don’t give a damn,’ he said, almost too loudly. ‘Fine, I’ll call on you. Tomorrow. Will you receive me?’

I glared at him.

‘Please,’ he added.

I heard the scrape of metal, a hushed gasp, then the patter of clapping hands. I whipped my head round to face the front and saw the painting, revealed for the first time in all its glory.

I thought I heard Damien gasp beside me, but it could have been me. It was marvellous, which sounds awful considering it was a picture of me, but I don’t think it really was me – not really. Nature, draped in forest green Grecian style robes stepped over forked tree boughs and almost out of the painting. She gently parted branches and gazed, serenely, questioningly, directly at the viewer. I could see my features in those of the painting, but it wasn’t me. I struggled to stifle a giggle. It was almost ridiculous to see myself as nature. I who was so unnatural myself.

I was swept away then, by a sea of people who pulled me away from Damien and towards Tristan, to the front of the room to stand below the picture and receive congratulations for standing still. Tristan was beaming though, and I was so pleased for him. He had worked on this painting for more than a year, and now was his moment to be applauded. He linked his arm through mine, and I craned my neck to see over the people who surrounded us to where Damien remained, leaning by the wall, unreadable.

I kept my eye on him all the while as I did the pretty for Tristan. He watched me around the room, chatting to the odd person now and then, but always only a moment away from a glance in my direction. Then he was gone, and I wondered if I would see him again.