Scandal at the Dower House (6 page)

It was clear within the first few minutes that Jeremy was finding riding difficult and, after they had ridden as far as the village and seen the new houses, Nicholas insisted on turning back.

As they passed the Dower House Nicholas saw Staines in the garden and hailed him.

‘When do the ladies plan to return?’

‘Not for some months, my lord. I understand they are visiting several relatives.’

Nicholas thanked him, and was silent all the way back to the house. Jeremy, clearly in pain, did not wish to talk. He winced as he dismounted, and instead of following his normal practice of making sure his horse was properly looked after, he handed the mare to a groom, grimaced at Nicholas and said he would go into the house.

Before he went inside himself, Nicholas made sure there
was a suitable gig and a pony to pull it. Jeremy might object and say he felt like a child or a female driving such a conveyance, but if he wanted to be able to tour his land he would have to endure the embarrassment.

After the first few outings Jeremy was reconciled. He met the tenant farmers, listened to their praises of the late earl, and tentatively began to discuss his own plans for
improvements
. One or two of the farmers approved, but he met considerable resistance from others.

‘I’ll have to go slowly,’ he told Nicholas, as they sat over their port one evening. ‘Do you think, if the dowager were here, she might persuade them? Several of them talked about her, and they seemed to respect her views. She has been good to many of them, sending help when they were in trouble. If she approved of my plans they would accept them more readily.’

For a few moments Nicholas wondered who Jeremy meant by the dowager, then with a shock realized he was talking of Catarina.

‘She’s still a girl!’ he exclaimed. ‘How can you call her a dowager?’

Jeremy grinned at him. ‘I know, it sounds ridiculous, she’s the same age as I am, but as soon as you marry she’ll have to get used to it. We can’t have two countesses.’

‘I’m not planning to marry,’ Nicholas protested.

‘Oh, come. You wouldn’t want me to inherit the title, would you? Besides, you’ll live to a ripe old age and I would be too ancient to make the most of it. I’ll be content with the
connection
, the reflected glory. Seriously, Nick, you need to set up your own nursery soon. There will be even more debutantes on the catch for you now you have the title. Why don’t you go up to London for the Little Season and survey the field?’

Nicholas grimaced. ‘The whole business is like a horse fair. Dance with some chit at two consecutive balls, or drive her in the Park, and the dowagers are taking bets. Dowagers!’ he added.

Jeremy chuckled. ‘I’ll hazard you don’t meet many like our own dowager at Almack’s!’

Catarina rented an apartment a week after they arrived in Lisbon. She hired a cook and a Portuguese maid, and they announced that Joanna, a grieving widow, would not be entering Society or receiving calls.

‘That will explain how we don’t know anyone here.’

‘If we’d gone to a smaller town we could at least have driven out,’ Joanna complained.

‘And been more conspicuous. Here we are anonymous, and no one will notice us, or begin to speculate about us.’

Joanna nodded reluctant agreement. ‘I am so bored!’ she complained. ‘I’ve read this book of poems so many times I could recite every one.’

‘There are clothes to make for the child,’ Catarina reminded her.

‘I hate sewing. I have enough reminders of Matthew; I don’t want to spend my time sewing for his wretched brat!’

Catarina sighed. Joanna insisted she did not wish to keep the child. In any event it would have been impossible, unless they moved from Somerset and all their acquaintances and settled in another part of the country where they could have maintained the fiction of Joanna’s widowhood.

‘I’ve been making enquiries. There is a convent nearby which takes in orphan babies. They either find someone to adopt the children, or they keep them until they are old enough to be apprenticed to a trade. If I give them a large sum of money they will ensure the child goes to a good home.’

‘I don’t care.’

Catarina lost her temper. ‘This baby is yours too! You are as responsible for creating it as Matthew. You can’t be so
heartless
as not to care what becomes of the poor mite!’

‘It was Matthew’s fault!’ Joanna muttered. ‘I thought we were married, and he might have been going to his death at Waterloo.’

‘You should have had the sense to know it was not all correct when it was done in a clandestine manner.’

‘He said he didn’t want Uncle Ivor to know, as he wanted Matthew to marry some girl with a title, not just a small fortune like mine.’

‘He survived.’ Catarina was horrified at her wickedness when she caught herself thinking it might have been better if he had not. ‘His mother wrote to tell me, and also to announce his betrothal to a girl from Leicestershire. Will you tell him when the baby is born?’

Joanna shook her head. ‘He doesn’t care. He wanted me to get rid of it and, as soon as I can, I want to forget I ever had it. I mean it, Cat. This baby is not going to ruin my life.’

Nicholas and Jeremy were still at breakfast when their new butler came to say that Staines was in the kitchen, rather upset, and wanted to speak to them.

‘We’ll see him in the estate office in five minutes,’ Nicholas said.

‘I suspect some problem has arisen at the Dower House which he cannot deal with,’ Jeremy said.

‘There may be a message from Lady Brooke,’ Nicholas said, but knew it was unlikely Staines would be coming to them so early in the day just to relay a message that the ladies were coming home. He wondered at his preoccupation with Catarina. Why did she occupy his thoughts so much? He admitted frankly that he desired her, wanted to make love to her, but he had desired many women, and then banished all thoughts of them either until the desire faded, which it often did, or an appropriate moment came to satisfy it. Perhaps, perversely, it was because he knew Catarina was not like his other conquests, bored married women who could love and leave their lovers as readily as he did himself.

Staines was standing by the window of the estate office when the brothers entered. He swung round and took a few steps towards them, holding out his hands in supplication.

He had dressed hurriedly and not shaved. His hair looked as though he had spent the time of waiting thrusting his hands through it.

‘What is it, man?’ Nicholas demanded. ‘Here, sit down, you’re as pale as a ghost.’

‘My lord, I don’t know what to do,’ Staines muttered, almost collapsing into the chair Nicholas thrust towards him. ‘It’s Cook. Ellen. She’s dead.’

‘Your cook at the Dower House? But she isn’t an old woman. Has she been ailing?’

Staines shook his head and wrung his hands together. ‘Wicked, it is!’ He took a deep breath. ‘It was her custom to go out into the garden last thing at night; she said a breath of fresh air helped her to sleep.’

Nicholas nodded. He knew many people who said the same.

‘Who normally locked up after her? Did you see her? Was she looking ill then?’

Staines shook his head and groaned. ‘She did herself. I saw to all the other doors and windows, but she’d lock the back door and go up to her room. I’d usually hear her, but not always. I was tired yesterday. I’d been helping Mr Lewis repair the roof of his barn, and must have gone to sleep the moment I put my head on the pillow. Oh, why didn’t I wait for her!’

‘Are you saying she didn’t come back into the house?’

He nodded. ‘This morning she wasn’t in the kitchen when I went for my breakfast, so I thought she’d overslept. I sent up young Liza, and she said the bed hadn’t been slept in. Then—’

He stopped and dragged his sleeve across his eyes.

‘Well?’

‘The kitchen door wasn’t locked. We went out, thinking she might have had a fall. But’ – he gulped – ‘she was down by the raspberry canes at the end of the garden and – and she was stone cold.’

‘Dead? Had she fallen, could you tell?’

‘She was covered in blood. Bludgeoned to death, poor lass.’

‘Have you called a doctor? Or the constable?’

Staines shook his head. ‘Dr Holt could do no good. I didn’t know what to do, with my lady not here, so I came to tell you.’

Nicholas turned to Jeremy who had been standing by the door, listening. He looked horrified.

‘Send a groom for Dr Holt and the constable. And saddle my horse. I’ll go straight down. You bring Staines in the gig. Did you move her?’ he asked, turning back to Staines as Jeremy, looking pale himself, nodded and left the room.

‘I thought it best not to. There was nothing we could do for her, poor wench.’

‘Good man.’

‘I have to tell my lady, but I don’t have her direction! She said she didn’t know where they’d be after they’d visited her aunt. What shall I do?’

Chapter Five

J
OANNA, HAVING SUDDENLY
grown large and ungainly, so that even wearing a loose cloak did not hide her condition, refused to go out of the house apart from taking some gentle exercise in the small garden attached to it. Catarina, thankful to be away from her constant complaints, spent as long as she could over the daily marketing. She explored Lisbon on foot, admiring the many new buildings. Since convention demanded she take a maid with her she was thankful that Luisa had lived in Lisbon all her life and was proud of her city, so that she knew all the best places to see. At the same time Catarina was improving her grasp of the language, which she had rarely spoken since her mother died.

Sixty years earlier, on All Saint’s Day, just as people were going to church, the city had been destroyed by a large
earthquake
, followed by a huge wave which had capsized many boats, and a fire that had raged for three days and destroyed most of what was left. Lisbon had then been one of the largest and most prosperous cities in Europe. Catarina had been old enough to remember her mother telling her how one of her uncles had been in Lisbon, one of the few survivors, and he had described how the house he was in had shaken. There had been a tremendous underground rumbling noise, and three terrific shocks, followed by the terrifying wall of
water. Being on the outskirts, her uncle had been able to ride away.

‘There was great destruction all over Portugal, Spain and Morocco too, and the high waves reached the coast of England,’ Mama had said.

One day early in November she had escaped for a couple of hours, and was standing outside the Basilica de Estrela, admiring the white dome, when she heard her name.

‘Surely it’s Catarina Brooke? Catarina, how astounding to see you here! Are you visiting your mother’s family?’

Catarina turned, slowly. ‘Delphine. What are you doing here?’

Of all the people she might have met, her old schoolfriend Delphine was the worst. She had been a noted gossip in the seminary, seemed to spend all her time writing letters, and had never been able to keep any secret. She was fashionably dressed in an olive-green walking dress and slightly darker green pelisse; a chip straw hat was perched on her bright golden curls. An elderly woman, presumably her maid, stood slightly behind her, carrying a couple of parcels.

‘Oh, my husband, Captain Pearce, is here, doing something about the roads. He is in the army. There is so little
organization
here since the French occupation, we are helping. But you must come to dine with us. We have a sweet little apartment near the castle. Are you staying with relatives? And don’t you have a sister? Is she with you?’

Catarina thought rapidly. She dared not admit Joanna’s presence, or Delphine would insist on calling to see her, and that would be fatal.

‘I am staying with – with an elderly great aunt,’ she said slowly, praying that Luisa, who was standing just behind her, could not understand. ‘She has been very ill and I am keeping her company. Jo – Joanna is with friends in London.’

‘Then I expect your aunt is not receiving—’

‘No, not at all. She was rather reclusive before she became ill.’

Really, Joanna would be proud of her powers of invention, she thought wryly. She must be sure not to give Delphine their direction for, despite the mythical invalid, she suspected Delphine would contrive to visit.

‘Can you come to dine tomorrow? We keep country hours here, unlike the Portuguese, so I will expect you at four. I heard about your husband’s death, and I wrote my
condolences
, but I want to hear all about what you have been doing since. You are not a very good correspondent, Catarina!’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘It must be tomorrow, we are going back to England two days later. Oh, how wonderful to have run into you!’

What appalling timing, Catarina thought. Only three more days and this need not have happened. She considered her options. If she refused, Delphine would try to make a different arrangement, and would certainly insist on having her
direction
in order to contact her about it. She gave in to the inevitable and hoped she could maintain the fiction.

‘I would love to dine. Thank you.’

‘I will send a carriage.’

‘No, no, that won’t be necessary. I’ve no doubt my aunt will have some commissions for me that I will need to do beforehand. She usually does, so I will use her carriage. Where is your apartment?’

She escaped soon afterwards, when Delphine recalled all the various tasks she had to perform before they left for home and, after watching her friend and the maid walk away, Catarina turned back towards their own apartment, walking slowly so that she could think what to do.

Nicholas was relieved to see that the Dower House cook had not been so viciously attacked as Staines had suggested. There was a deal of blood, but it appeared to come from just one wound, a heavy blow to the side of her head. Doctor Holt arrived and pronounced her dead, which they all knew. Then the constable came and shook his head gloomily.

‘Poor woman, but she was asking for it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, sir, Ellen was always a flighty piece. The despair of her parents, though they tried to keep it quiet. Lady Brooke couldn’t have known what her reputation was when she took her on. After all, she came from ten miles away. But I’ve heard rumours lately she was meeting one of Farmer Lewis’s men on the sly. Married, Dan is.’

‘Mr Lewis’s man? Mr Lewis who rents the home farm?’ Nicholas asked. ‘So that could account for her breaths of fresh air late at night. You think this might be a lover’s quarrel?’

‘Aye, that, or a jealous wife. Dan’s missus Annie has a vicious temper and has given him a black eye or two since they’ve been wed.’

Jeremy was horrified. ‘This isn’t a woman’s crime!’

‘This was done with a heavy club, or more likely something like a heavy branch, not a fist,’ the doctor said. He was still examining the body. ‘Look, there are scraps of leaves and bark in her hair, which I swear didn’t get there except from the weapon. The blood has stuck to them.’

‘I’d best go and talk to Dan and his missus,’ the constable said. ‘And send a lad with a note for Ellen’s parents. Poor souls, they’ll be wretched. She was their only daughter. They may want her buried over their way.’

‘Doctor, if you have finished, can we put her in an empty stable?’ Nicholas asked, and the cook’s body was soon neatly stowed.

Staines had remained at a distance, but now he came forward.

‘My lord, how can I let her ladyship know? I don’t have her direction, I don’t know where her foreign relatives live.’

‘It’s near Oporto. I’ve no doubt her father’s partner will know. I’ll ride to Bristol and ask him. Jeremy, if I go
immediately
I may be able to return tonight. Can you deal with matters here?’

‘Of course. Staines, should we employ another cook for now?’

‘I couldn’t say, my lord. One of the girls can do all we need while the mistress is away. I wouldn’t like to take the
responsibility
of engaging someone else until she comes back.’

‘If you need help, ask at the Grange. I have more servants than I need,’ Jeremy offered.

Nicholas reached Bristol several hours later. The roads had been dusty and busy, and he decided he would have to remain the night as his horse was too tired for the return journey. He stabled the beast and booked a room at one of the main inns, then set out on foot for the wine importer’s premises.

To his frustration, Mr Sinclair was not there and was not expected back until the following day. Nor was he at his home. His wife could not help, as she did not know precisely where Catarina’s family lived.

‘I once heard her mention the Quinta das Fontes,’ he tried prompting her. ‘Could that be it?’

‘That sounds like it, but my husband will know.’

The next morning Nicholas was able to obtain the full
direction
and, as there was a ship leaving for Oporto the following day, he left his letter to be taken by it. It would probably be faster than by the ordinary mails. Then he rode back to Marshington Grange to hear from Jeremy that the jealous wife, loudly protesting her innocence, had been placed in the village lock-up.

‘One of Catarina’s maids had hysterics, said she would not under any circumstances stay here, so she has gone home,’ Jeremy reported. ‘I sent one of the grooms down to the Dower House to provide protection for the rest of them. Even Staines is badly shaken.’

‘But if this woman Annie has been apprehended, they are in no danger.’

Jeremy grinned. ‘Tell them that! They expect the husband to come wreaking vengeance on them. I must say village life is almost as exciting as Belgium!’

Catarina had spent a sleepless night concocting fiction in readiness for the dinner party, but she had little need for it. There were several other English people there. It was, she realized, a farewell party for Delphine and her husband, and most of the conversation was to do with the political situation in Portugal and speculation about whether the royal family would return soon from Brazil. The other guests were polite to Catarina, sympathized with her recent widowhood, and did not press her with questions.

‘You must write to me when you return to England and tell me how you get on at the Dower House,’ Delphine told her as she was leaving, but just then another guest captured Delphine’s attention and Catarina made her escape without having to give away her own address.

On the way back to her apartment she wondered whether Lisbon was too full of English people, and whether they ought to move to some other town once the baby was born. Joanna was too far into her pregnancy for them to travel now, and all the arrangements had been made for her lying-in, but once she was able to go out Catarina knew her sister would be
determined
to make up for the months she had spent hidden away.

She did not want to return to England in the depths of winter. The sea journey would be rough, and while she was here she would like to see more of her mother’s country. Perhaps they could go to the south, or even visit some of their cousins. Without the child they would be free. Joanna was adamant she did not under any circumstances wish to keep it, or even see it once it was born.

Catarina felt as though she had never really known her sister. She’d always been aware Joanna was light-minded and reckless in her behaviour, caring little for the opinions of others, but she had not previously realized how callous she could be. She began to worry about what would happen once
they returned to England. Joanna would not be able to go back to live with their uncle, nor would she want to. When Catarina had written to tell him she and Joanna were planning to go to Portugal, his response had been curt and uncompromising. He never wished to set eyes on the ungrateful wretch again. The sooner she was one and twenty and he could hand over her fortune and all responsibility for her the better. Meanwhile, he would arrange for Joanna’s allowance, which she did not deserve but which, as an honest guardian and trustee, he felt bound to continue giving her, to be sent each quarter into Catarina’s charge.

With a sigh she supposed Joanna would have to come and live with her at the Dower House. It was not that she didn’t love her sister, but rather dreaded the task of controlling her. What the girl needed was a stern husband, and perhaps in a year or so they could go to London for the Season where she might find one. Meanwhile they could spend some time in Bath so that Joanna might learn how to conduct herself
properly
in Society. Then she recalled Joanna’s disgrace at the seminary. Maybe they ought to go to some other spa town such as Cheltenham, or even Tunbridge Wells. It would be better to be where there was less chance of meeting people who might know of Joanna’s previous exploits.

Joanna was uninterested in anything but the discomforts of the last months of pregnancy. Their best estimate for the birth was the middle of December. Catarina had engaged a midwife who promised she could find a suitable wet nurse for the baby when the time came. Joanna had reacted in horror at the mere thought she might have to suckle the child herself. She insisted to Catarina she would be happy not even to see the child. Then, in the middle of November, she went into labour late one evening.

Luisa was sent for the midwife, while Catarina tried to recall all she knew about childbirth. She’d thought they would have
more time for preparation, but at least she knew enough to set water to boil and collect as many clean rags and sheets as she could.

For several hours Joanna wept and railed against fate, then swore she would soon die of agony. The midwife came and looked at her, told her she would be several hours yet, and she had to attend first to another lady who was much closer to giving birth. She would return in the morning.

Joanna screamed abuse at her, demanded that Catarina find another midwife, or send for a doctor.

‘There are doctors who act as midwives,’ she wept.