Death of a Dowager (7 page)

Chapter 10

No one spoke. No one moved.

I considered my options, and in the end, despite Lady Ingram’s rudeness, I decided not to respond in kind. Letting her dictate my behavior would be tantamount to giving her the power to control me. Instead, I began the expected curtsy toward her. But even as I shifted my weight Edward grabbed my arm and hissed, “Don’t you dare!” in a tone so low that none heard him but me. To my amazement, he followed this with a sound something like a low growl. I glanced up at him to see the anger that had contorted his features.

The fullness of his rage startled me. Reflexively, I turned toward Lucy for an explanation, but she stood unnaturally still, her face drained of all expression. I heard Mr. Douglas’s quick intake of breath, and the Dowager Lady Grainger gasped loudly, sparing no effort to hide her shock. Meanwhile, Blanche’s eyes narrowed and her lips curved into a smirk. Her sister Mary simply seemed to withdraw.

Such a meeting had been bound to happen eventually. I had imagined it many times over, and now I could put my fears to rest, as the reality was no worse than I had conjured it. Up to that point, our evening had been enchanting, so I decided I would carry on. I would not give the Ingrams the satisfaction of taking away my happiness.

Only . . . Edward, Lucy, Mr. Douglas, and Lady Grainger seemed more affected than I. They stood still as garden statues.

At long last, Lady Ingram angled herself away from us and began speaking to Lady Grainger in low, urgent notes. The Ingram daughters circled their mother and aunt, listening in.

“That was a cut sublime. I have heard of such treatment but never have I seen such a public rebuke, such a mortal blow.” Lucy’s voice trembled as she whispered in my ear.

“A mortal blow? I do not bleed. I am still standing.” I laughed, thinking back to punishments I’d endured growing up. “I feel no pain. Actually, I prefer not to be recognized by the Dowager Lady Ingram. She and her daughters impress me not one whit!”

“You don’t understand, Jane. You’re too innocent to realize.” My husband’s voice was so gruff, so annoyed, that I lost my grip on my fan and it fell from my hand.

Mr. Douglas bent to retrieve it. As he handed the fan back to me, he spoke very quietly. “Trust me. You have no idea what you just endured. The Dowager Lady has not only damaged you, but she has also dealt Lucy a horrible blow. In brief, because my sister sponsored you, this is a stinging rebuke to her as well. You have both been insulted.”

This sobered me. While I could laugh off the slight and return to our country home, Lucy could not. She would live and die here in London, unless she chose to follow her husband Augie again to India.

“Oh, Lucy, I would never have knowingly caused you pain.” I reached out to her.

She took my hand and squeezed it but said nothing. I could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes.

Her misery caused me to feel quite undone. Usually Lucy was magnificent in a crisis, which provided yet another reason that her response surprised me. How could it be that the Dowager Lady had caused her such distress?

“Lucy, darling, have a care. It will blow over . . . soon,” said her brother gently.

“No it won’t. We’re in for a long, ugly siege,” she said as she brushed a tear off her cheek.

“Ah! Good evening!” A familiar voice interrupted the tense atmosphere and set us all in motion, as though we were clocks that had been badly in need of winding.

Phineas Waverly bowed first to me and then to the rest of our party, his battered face showing little emotion. As usual, he carried a black baton under his arm. I knew from having seen it before that at one end it bore a royal emblem in gold, a symbol of the Bow Street Runners’ responsibility to the Crown. Mr. Waverly spoke loudly, almost as if making an announcement. “It is a particularly pleasant surprise to see you here, Mrs. Rochester. Quite timely, too. His Majesty heard you are in town and expressed an interest in meeting you.”

“Meeting her? Whatever for?” His greeting had caught Lady Ingram’s attention, and she moved closer to inspect the newcomer. “Why would the King take notice of a common governess?”

The spark of that insult set the dry timber blazing.

“How dare you!” Edward snarled, but Mr. Douglas grabbed him by the arm and bent to his ear to say, “Stop! Collect your wits! Can’t you see? This is exactly what she wants. All eyes are on you!”

He was quite correct, as a small clutch of onlookers had gathered to watch the drama unfold.

Mr. Waverly turned toward the Dowager, studying her from behind wire-framed glasses. A certain set of his shoulders, an intensity about his mouth told me that he had caught Lady Ingram’s aspersion toward me—and he was not pleased. Not at all.

“Allow me to introduce Mr. Phineas Waverly,” Mr. Douglas said, with some gravity. “He is the senior officer at Bow Street, currently assigned to guard His Majesty.”

“Which is why my visit must be brief.” Mr. Waverly abruptly turned his back on the Ingrams. He wore a cutaway coat and a gray waistcoat that had seen much use, but his boots were shined to a glasslike finish. Although he was not as tall as Edward or Mr. Douglas, he carried himself in a manner that precluded any dismissal of his authority. He pointedly did not bow to the Ingrams or to Lady Grainger, and I noticed the Dowager’s lips curling downward in distaste. However, he did turn back toward her as he said, “Ma’am, I must dispute your conjecture. I have reason enough to know that there is nothing common about Mrs. Rochester. Nothing! In every way, she is exceptional, and His Majesty wishes to applaud her meritorious conduct as should every citizen. Thanks to her singular bravery, a killer was brought to justice.”

“Is that so?” Lady Grainger lifted her quizzing glass to study Waverly.

“Edward Rochester’s wife involved with a murderer? How unseemly! Of course, what can one expect? She not only reaches above her station to marry a squire, but also dips below it to mingle with low criminals,” Lady Ingram cackled.

“Silvana!” Lady Grainger hissed at her sister-in-law. “I had warned you!”

“How dare you? If you were a man, I would call you out!” Edward snarled.

But before my husband could continue, Mr. Waverly avenged me. The Bow Street Runner turned on the Dowager Lady and said, in the manner of a general announcement, “Mrs. Rochester did the Crown a great service. She posed as a teacher to catch a killer, a fiend who suffocated a child to death.”

There was a collective gasp from the gathered patrons of the upper circle who’d all been openly eavesdropping.

“Mrs. Rochester’s bravery is unquestionable, as is her character. The King wishes to thank her personally.” Waverly turned to me. “Mrs. Rochester,” he said, “would you be so kind as to wait right here? I shall divert the King on his way back to the royal box. When I told him that I had seen you in the crowd, he expressly asked that I present you to him so that he might show you his gratitude.”

“This is an unheard of honor!” Lucy whispered in my ear.

“What do we do?” I asked, having never had the occasion to study royal protocol.

“Curtsy, wait for him to lead the way in conversation and in actions, do not attempt to touch him, and never turn your back on him. If you must leave his presence, after securing permission, you continue to face him and back away. The usual procedure would have been for Mr. Waverly to lead us to the sovereign, where you would stand in line to see His Majesty, and might eventually be presented. Or he might send around a note inviting you to be presented at court. But for the King to come to you? This is a high honor, indeed.”

One glance at Edward and Mr. Douglas told me she was not exaggerating. Both men looked stunned, but that quickly dissipated as they stood a little straighter and adjusted their waistcoats.

Suddenly, the sting of Lady Ingram’s insult mattered not at all. A new emotion roiled within me: pride. I swallowed hard, as my mind raced. All eyes were on me, and I was not sure how to react. Should I allow myself to look pleased? Should I wear an expression of calm? Should I simply remind myself that I was deserving, because I had, indeed, helped solve a crime of passion? Each of these emotions fought for dominance.

A heat rose in my face. I reminded myself that Mr. Waverly was a man skilled in serving his own purposes, and the glint in his eye when he spoke had suggested that through his actions he planned to vanquish the Dowager Lady Ingram. As the son of a cobbler, he knew all too well the disparity between those with titles and the working class. On that point, he and I were firm allies.

Perhaps this was little more than a game to him. Perhaps the King wasn’t really behind this introduction at all.

Meanwhile, the Ingrams stood dumbfounded, their mouths hanging open with shock.

Chapter 11

Following Lucy’s lead, I spread my fan wide enough to obscure the smile on my face as Mr. Waverly left to collect the King. Mr. Douglas was seized with a fit of coughing, a thin disguise for his own amusement but a genteel response regardless, but Edward’s coiled tension did not subside. I could tell he was still angry. Seething, actually. Lady Grainger filled the time by asking Lucy about Evans and his expected arrival. The Dowager Ingram and her daughters talked among themselves in low tones, but they did not dare leave. I believe they still held hope that I would be mightily embarrassed.

We stood, waiting, and watching as the bobbing postures of those around us signaled the King’s approach. Although Mr. Waverly usually moved at a fast pace, he slowed his natural stride in order to escort the King to our location. As George IV and his consort arrived, all of us displayed our obeisance, the men with low bows and the women with deep, slow curtsies—although the Dowager had difficulty getting up and down. Lady Conyngham and the Dowager Lady Grainger seemed to have at least a nodding acquaintance with each other, but Mr. Waverly now took charge of the encounter.

“Your Majesty, and Marchioness Conyngham, may I present to you these dear friends of the Crown? This is Mr. and Mrs. Edward Rochester, Esquire, along with Lance Corporal Bruce Douglas, whom I’m sure you will remember for serving you bravely in Calcutta.”

One by one, we kissed the hand of our sovereign. Again, I was struck by the way that corpulence had distorted those features of his once acclaimed for their rare beauty. His eyes were rheumy, his complexion marred by blotches, and his false teeth sat poorly in his mouth. As I had observed earlier, the Marchioness was every bit as corpulent as her companion. Peering out from the pillows of flesh on her face, her eyes glittered with an acquisitional nature that caused me to shrink back involuntarily in self-protection. The hairs rose up on the back of my neck.

One glance past Lady Conyngham told me that the Ingrams were still shocked by this unexpected turn of events. The Dowager’s body trembled with suppressed emotion, and her ostrich feathers danced as a result of her quaking. However, her sister-in-law, Lady Grainger, harbored a secret smile, as though she thought this occurrence quite fitting.

“What a pleasure to meet one of my own kind,” sighed the King, directing his greeting to Mr. Douglas. “Oh, how I miss my days of soldiering! Such glorious times we had on the battlefield.”

None of us dared look one another in the eye.

It was common knowledge that our King had never been in combat. His father had expressly forbade it, but that didn’t stop George IV from claiming that he had served as a warrior. Prinny’s so-called military service was one of his grand illusions, a manufactured résumé he persisted in buffing to a high shine. His fantasies were played out in his affection for designing uniforms and in wearing that curious assortment of medals and awards on his chest. They clanked and clanged, but signified nothing.

“You also remember Lance Corporal Douglas’s sister, Mrs. Captain Augustus Brayton, of course. Her husband serves you at a posting in Bombay.”

“Too right. One of my best men! Quite the horseman, isn’t he? Many times we’ve ridden side by side into the fray, swords drawn, steeds charging. Have you heard from the Captain lately?”

Lucy responded in a manner wholly inconsistent with her usual self, a voice very flat and colorless. “Yes, Your Royal Highness. Thank you for asking. My husband has recovered from yet another attack of the sleeping sickness. His sixth, and each is a little worse than the one before. I shall be sure to write him and say you inquired about his health. It will mean so much to him to know that he’s been remembered by you.”

“Of course I remember him. How could I forget? Those days in Brighton . . .”

With a wild expression in her eyes, Lucy stiffened but said nothing. The King’s eyes moved past her and searched the crowd that gathered around us. His fleshy lips puckered as he mulled over his response. “Indeed, please tell him I send my regards. Remind him that I care deeply for all who serve in the colonies.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. He will be happy to know that he pleases you.”

“Pray excuse me, ma’am.” The King paused, pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket, mopped his eyes, and said, “But I find myself quite overcome with emotion when I think of the sacrifices we fighting men make so that our country can live in peace!” With this, he dabbed as if catching tears, although I could detect no moisture. Yet he certainly sounded sincere as he took Lucy’s hand in his. “Tell Captain Brayton that . . . I have not forgotten him. Promise me you will do that.”

This was a message. What it really meant, I could not tell.

“So I will, Sire. Might I add to that a note of comfort? Could I give him hope that he might come home soon?”

“Oh, would that I could! But I am so terribly busy, and the weight of the nation demands so much from me, that I have decided such decisions are best left to my generals.” The King fanned himself with his handkerchief. The Marchioness set a hand on his forearm, possessively.

“Sire, really, you care too much for all of us,” Lady Conyngham said. “It preys on your health.”

Lucy did not move.

“Of course, you miss your husband,” said the Marchioness with a dismissive nod. “What we women are forced to endure! So often the men we love are overburdened by the cares of their posts. I am quite undone when I think of how our dear sovereign handles so many, many intrusions on his time.”

“Always thinking of me, my dearest Lady Elizabeth, aren’t you?” The King lifted the Marchioness’s hand to his lips and kissed it wetly. “No one could please me more.”

Mr. Waverly cleared his throat and gestured toward me. “Your Highness, Mrs. Rochester is the brave woman I was telling you about.”

“You are the one who bested the murderer?” The King looked me over carefully. “You are not much bigger than a wren! And yet, you acquitted yourself admirably. Waverly has told me all about your mission. You have avenged someone very dear to me. A girl who reminded me of my own Princess Charlotte.”

Now, his eyes really did fill with tears. “Ah, Princess Charlotte! How I grieve for her! They told me she was doing well, she and her son both, so I went to sleep happy in the knowledge that the kingdom had an heir, a healthy boy—and that I was a grandfather! What a loss!” He broke into a sob. His handkerchief could scarcely keep up with his weeping.

Whatever qualms I might have about the King’s morals, whatever distaste I felt at his gluttony, I could not ignore these raw emotions on display. Here stood a man still devastated by the loss of his daughter and grandchild four years earlier. But somehow the Regent had weathered the storm and righted himself.

“I want you to join me in my box, Mrs. Rochester. Your friends are welcome to join us, too,” said the King.

This was not an invitation. It was a command.

The tension fled Lucy’s face and relief took its place. Edward’s posture slowly uncoiled, and the tight muscle along Mr. Douglas’s jaw slackened. The King’s issuance had a deleterious effect on the Ingrams, one that they could not hide, despite their valiant attempts to do so. A quick intake of breath by the Dowager Ingram signaled she was taken aback, while Blanche’s eyes narrowed and her lips pinched together tightly. Only Mary seemed unmoved, while Lady Grainger again fought a tiny smile that she immediately snuffed out.

The King offered me his arm, and I took it, recognizing that he would be dependent upon me to support a portion of his great weight. As I struggled, he stumped along on his jeweled cane, and in this awkward manner, we hobbled our way to his box. By turns I felt giddy with excitement, worried with the responsibility for his person, and struck with wonder at the many ups and downs this evening had provided. Whereas I had been sure that the opera would be the most magnificent portion of the event, I now revised my opinion. Someday, I would tell Ned, and Ned’s children, about how I had been invited by the King himself to his box. That I had touched him, something so rare as to be unheard of.

Mr. Waverly asked a footman to bring over a couple of chairs from Lucy’s box. The Marchioness decided how she wanted these arranged. Of course, we could do nothing until His Majesty sank down onto his oversized armchair. While waiting, Lucy, Mr. Douglas, Edward, and I stood at attention like a row of toy soldiers.

“Come sit by me,” the King said to me, patting the chair to his left. After I took my seat, he leaned in toward me, his false teeth gleaming in the candlelight. Speaking so softly that only I could hear, he said, “I believe you have something of mine. Something very, very valuable.”