Death of a Dowager (21 page)

Chapter 43

“A lunatic, you say?” Edward looked as confused as I felt.

“A Lunartick. I am a member of a scientific community called the Lunar Society that meets once a month during a full moon, hence our name from the Latin word ‘luna.’ The timing of our meetings became important because early members gathered in Birmingham, and on the road to the meetings they found themselves set upon by highwaymen who stole their purses. When traveling by the light of a full moon, such misadventures were less likely to happen.”

“A sensible precaution, but still . . .” mused Mr. Waverly.

“And you keep this a secret because your members fear being robbed?” Edward rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he tried to make sense of this.

“No, Mr. Rochester. It’s more complicated than that,” said Mr. Lerner with a sigh.

“The Lunar Society began in 1765 when a group of like-minded individuals gathered to discuss ideas. Over the years, the membership has grown. On occasion, it has also shrunk when arguments occurred and men disagreed about funda-
mental principles or methods. But the meetings have long offered a time and place for men of science to put forth, discuss, and defend their ideas.”

“Why would the members want to hide that?” I wondered.

A surprised Mr. Carter turned and stared at me.

“There are those in the Church of England who think science is blasphemous,” explained Mr. Lerner. “They see it as a wrongheaded attempt to question what should be accepted on faith. In the past, members of the clergy have threatened to have Lunarticks rounded up and burned as heretics. As a matter of prudence, it was decided that we should continue our discussions in secrecy. Regrettably, to some, any attempt to understand the secrets of the Universe is an affront to our Creator. Rather than rely on scientific advancement, they counsel that all of men’s woes can be solved with prayer.”

“Considering the level of risk you are describing, you must value this group very highly. Otherwise, it might be more expedient not to belong,” said my husband.

“I do value it,” said Lerner. “That is why I agreed to serve as the recording secretary. I have learned a great deal, most importantly, how to think critically so I can make good decisions. As members, we seek to further our knowledge by sharing what we learn in our areas of specialty. For example, one of our number is working on a way to capture light on paper to make a permanent image. Two members are working together to make steam-powered engines even more efficient.”

“But why do these engineering advances interest a man of medicine, such as yourself?” Edward mused. I could see that this captured my husband’s imagination, but as he is a very practical man, he also wondered what benefits were accrued.

“Oh, there are many applications! Others are also involved in the field of health, and one of our colleagues has since catalogued many helpful plants with curative powers. Another is working on an instrument that can increase magnification hundreds of times. He theorizes that tiny organisms invade open wounds and cause sickness.” Mr. Lerner talked faster and faster as he became more excited about these ideas. His energy was contagious.

“Did you learn about the efficacy of rose hips from your friends in this society?” I asked.

“No, that I learned from Miss Goldstein. Her father was also a doctor, and he shared much of his hard-won knowledge with her. She is exceptional. She speaks seven languages: English, of course, but also Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Italian, French, and German. Her knowledge of botany, mathematics, and healing would be put to good use with your tenants.”

“But you did not tell me all of this,” said Mr. Waverly. His voice quivered with indignation. “As a result, I could not defend you properly. Miss Mary pleaded with the magistrate for us to lock you up. She suggested your religion drove you to want to harm good Christians.”

“Rubbish,” said Mr. Carter. “She knows better.”

“Is that why you are here, Mr. Waverly? To arrest Mr. Lerner?” I was happy for Mr. Carter’s loyalty, but still worried about the reason for Mr. Waverly’s visit.

“If I were going to arrest Mr. Lerner, I would not have wasted time explaining myself,” said Mr. Waverly. “No, I came to satisfy myself that I had not been hoodwinked. I do not like to play the part of the fool!”

I found myself marveling at Mary Ingram’s tenacity—and her boldness. Earlier this morning, I had felt sorry for her, thinking how forlorn she looked. I would never have guessed that she could have gathered herself up and visited the Bow Street Runners.

She must have hailed a hackney, as she had threatened to do when in Hyde Park with Mr. Lerner, and traveled to Bow Street all alone. Undeterred by her grief, she had found the strength to complain about her errant suitor. And to what end? Did she truly think she could change his mind?

No, she had wanted to punish him.

It struck me as terribly sad that this young woman could be so vengeful that she would want to strike back and harm the man she professed to love, simply because he did not love her in return. How on earth had both of Lady Ingram’s daughters come to believe that self-interest should trump all other concerns?

Mr. Carter shook his head slowly. “I believe I can prevent Miss Mary from taking her concerns to the bishop.”

We all stared at him expectantly. Finally, Mr. Douglas said, “You have a suggestion for countering Miss Ingram’s charges?”

“Not a suggestion. A revelation. I, too, am a member of the Lunar Society. If Mary Ingram insists on persecuting us, the entire county will be without a doctor.”

Both Mr. Douglas and my husband raised their eyebrows at this admission. Waverly shook his head and huffed softly, as if to say, “More lives ruined.”

However, I realized the courage it had taken for Mr. Carter to admit this, and the resilience that Mr. Lerner had shown in not betraying his friend. But before I could congratulate either of them, my husband said, “And you believe this will dissuade her? Because so far neither Mary nor her sister has proven herself amenable to reason.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Carter. “I know my admission will. You see, Lord Ingram stays at home for many reasons, not the least of which is that he has a hemorrhagic disposition, meaning that he bleeds easily, at the slightest blow or injury. It is a condition both extremely painful and dangerous. I am called to Ingram Park frequently to care for him. Have done for years. I shall leave here directly and point out to Miss Mary that if she continues with this folly, there will be no one available to help her beloved brother when he is suffering,” he said. “Now, since I have another visit to make yet tonight, shall we discuss the particulars of Mr. Lerner’s employment?”

Chapter 44

The next day was Sunday, and all of us, except the servants, slept late. After checking on the children, I went downstairs for breakfast where I found my hostess staring at a note.

“Lucy?” I went to her side.

She sighed and began to rip the letter into shreds. “A street urchin brought this. From Blanche Ingram.”

“What did the letter say?”

“She suggested that I speak to Lady Grainger and convince my friend to address this grievous error in her will.” Lucy went to the hearth and fed the paper to the coals.

“Is that all?” I measured loose tea into the pot.

“Not entirely.” My friend took her seat at the head of the table. “Care for butter? My! Those crumpets smell wonderful! Oh, and the candied ginger scones are still warm.”

“While I share your desire for a pleasant morning, it will do you no good to keep this a secret. I believe I’m in too deep to ignore the repercussions of any threats lobbed by Miss Ingram.”

Lucy set down the tea caddy. She did not look at me when she said, “You are too intelligent for me to trick, and strong enough that I need not struggle to protect you. Blanche Ingram was not specific. She concluded with a vague ‘you’ll be sorry.’”

“How unoriginal.”

“It was her postscript that causes me to feel . . . cautious.” Lucy’s thumb traced the gold rim of her saucer. “Her addendum states that if I am unwilling or unable to convince Lady Grainger to make a change in her will, I shall bring disaster raining down on all those who know and love me.” She lifted her damask serviette and dabbed away a tear. “Oh, Jane. This should be a happy time in my life. I am so looking forward to Evans’s arrival. Why does this have to happen now?”

“Because a calamity has struck the Ingrams,” I said reasonably. “They have lost their past and their future all at once. Neither can run to her mother for solace. Neither woman can attend the coronation parties. Neither can count on an enticing dowry. Consequently, they must have someone to strike back at. It has not—and will never—occur to them to make the best of things. They have had no guidance in the art of resilience. So they will continue to strike out blindly until . . .”

“Until what?” asked Lucy. Her pretty blue eyes were now a misty shade of gray blue.

“Until they either achieve satisfaction or destroy themselves in the process.”

Edward’s appearance caused a change of subject. By unspoken accord, neither Lucy nor I mentioned the latest volley in our ongoing feud with the Ingram sisters.

“Mr. Douglas and I ventured out to collect the day’s newspapers,” said Edward, as he and Lucy’s brother joined us. “What a glorious day this looks to be! The spring breezes are delightful.”

His enthusiasm was infectious.

“Let’s go for a carriage ride in Hyde Park,” said Lucy. “All of us—the children, too. I’ll instruct Cook to make up a picnic basket. All the ton will be out today, since it’s sure to be one of the last fine days before hot weather sets in.” Lucy told me in an aside how once the weather warmed, we would be forced to stay inside to avoid the smell of horse urine, horse droppings, human refuse, and garbage. Imagining all that, I found myself longing for Ferndean again, with its clean, fresh smell of wild honeysuckle on the vine.

Upon hearing our plans, Adèle hopped up and down, exclaiming, “
Moi aussi? S’il vous plait? J’aime bien un pique-nique!
”

Lucy laughed. “You, too, little poppet.”

A short time later, Polly selected for me a brightly patterned green muslin dress with a matching green spencer jacket. From Lucy’s vast selection of bonnets, the lady’s maid had discovered one of cream and green that matched my clothes splendidly. Adèle was determined not to be outdone, and she’d cajoled Amelia into letting her wear her finest party frock. Ned realized something wonderful was about to happen, but he couldn’t tell what, so his dark eyes followed our every move until at last he, too, was in the carriage.

I thought an outing would do all of us good. I couldn’t imagine how we could avert the catastrophe promised by Blanche Ingram. I wondered if Lucy considered asking Lady Grainger to amend her will, but my question would have to wait for later.

Lucy had been correct: Hyde Park was a veritable beehive of activity. Carriages of all shapes, colors, and sizes paraded around up and down Rotten Row, showing off for one another. There were phaetons, broughams, tilburies, and britzkas. Because the weather was mild, many paraded with their tops neatly folded down, and eventually Lucy acceded to Adèle’s request to lower our roof as well.

There had been a shower overnight, and for the most part, the air was clear. Of course, other park-goers stared at us, and we stared at them, but that was the sport of it. Adèle kept up a running commentary, judging the apparel of all the ladies we passed. Her fashion sense was undeveloped, so Lucy happily offered guidance.

Along the way, we encountered several persons whom Lucy knew and one gentleman who was a member of the same club as Mr. Douglas. We climbed out, found a quiet spot under a tree near the Serpentine, and waited as Williams spread a blanket for us to sit on. Lucy and I handed out ham and Stilton cheese sandwiches on sliced bread slathered with butter. Cook had wrapped these in oil paper and thoughtfully included pickled cucumbers and eggs. Mr. Douglas uncorked a bottle of wine for us.

“I shall miss all this.” Lucy spoke in a dreamy voice.

“Whatever do you mean?” I asked.

“If Blanche succeeds in blackening my reputation, I shall be driven out of London. No decent person will speak to me.” With a brave smile, she added, “Here I’d thought I’d be able to offer so much to Evans, but instead he and I will have to run away. Isn’t that ironic? Worse luck, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Lucy,” said her brother sharply. “You don’t know that. You are borrowing trouble. Perhaps Blanche will think better of it. Or she’ll launch her war of accusations and no one will believe her. Besides, so what if the ton no longer invites you to tea? You’re worth ten thousand of them.”

Lucy laughed. “That’s easy for you to say. Bad behavior may be overlooked in men, but it is deadly for women.”

“So come back with us to Ferndean. Edward will build a wing for you onto Thornfield Hall,” I said. “Won’t you?”

“Of course I shall,” he said. “Lucy, you are giving in too easily.”

She sighed. “No, I am not. I am merely planning ahead. I had also thought that we might go live with Augie in India. That way Evans could grow up with his father.”

That idea, of course, did have merit. But before I could give it more thought, a woman came running over the hill. “Hallo! Lucy Brayton? Is that you?”

The newcomer was nearly as tall as Edward, and her build was as robust as a man’s, but as she came closer, I saw one of the sweetest countenances I’d ever encountered, framed in tight curls.

“Maria? Is that you?” Lucy stood to greet her friend. The two embraced.

Over the same hill came a second woman, a younger version of the first. As her skirts flew up, it was impossible to ignore her finely shaped calves.

“Minney? How you’ve grown!” Lucy let go of the older woman and embraced the younger one. “Come! I have to introduce you to my friends.”

Turning to us, my friend said, “Allow me to present you Maria Fitzherbert and her daughter, Mary Georgiana Emma Seymour.”

“Call me Minney,” said the young woman.

So this was the King’s true wife and his much-loved daughter
, I thought.

Introductions were made all around, and for some time there was nothing but the most banal of conversations about the weather, the park, and, of course, Adèle’s talents, since she insisted on singing a hymn—“Onward, Christian Soldiers”—that Edward had recently taught her. Both women admired Ned and asked for turns holding him. Maria asked Lucy about Evans, and Minney claimed that her mother had crocheted an adorable blanket for the child.

By the time we said our good-byes, I was thoroughly charmed. Both Maria and Minney proved themselves to be wholly original women, without artifice, and delightful companions. I could see why George IV had fallen in love with Mrs. Fitzherbert, and why he would care enough about both women to want to protect them.

Moreover, I could also better understand why Lucy refused my offer to give the letter to Lady Conyngham. These two charming women would bear the brunt of any repercussion that followed—and they deserved better. As I watched Mrs. Fitzherbert smile at her daughter, I made a vow that neither would come to harm by my actions.

It was a vow that would prove hard to keep.