Secrets of the Prairie

Secrets of the Prairie

Joyce Carroll

Copyright 2015 by Joyce Carroll - All rights reserved.

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Prologue

Which is better, to kill a man or to bury him alive with a chance of survival? You’d imagine me a mad woman to know that I’d have chosen the latter, but really that is so far from my true character.

In fact, life has done me a great disservice with the turn of events in my marriage, given that I was always a good woman. I stayed a virgin until marriage. Yet here I was, hardly widowed and hardly divorced. A spiteful thing. If I could be bitter, I would be, however my days were like a silent wind: numb and calm.

If I’d known that was how my life would have turned out, I would have never married that hot blooded young handsome businessman with a fortune to his name. Duke McKenzie, cousin to the twelfth in line to the throne of Queen Victoria. His wealth amounted to more than that of all the men in Oxford put together. Duke, my husband. What a fool I had been.

Had I known, I might have considered accepting the fat baker’s marriage proposal. Silly. Now I could hear the steps of his fat bosomed wife making their way up the steps to my big lonely mansion. I sucked in the cool morning chill before that woman would come in and consume all the air in the room with her lack of grace. At least she was happily married, I assumed she was.

Tom, my young handmaid, appeared in her night robes to confirm what I already knew.

“My Lady, Mrs. Dumbdilock is at the door,” she said.

I smiled imperceptibly. The fat wife to the even fatter baker was actually named Kate Leads. Tom and I secretly called her Dumbdilock’s because Kate’s golden curly hair framed her chubby face in such a way that it made her owlish dark eyes appear dumb. Of course, Mrs. Kate Leads was not dumb. It was just an inside joke.

Tom yawned. “She says the price of yeast is at a high so the price of bread will be higher.”

I shifted my stance slightly but did not look up from the window side flower I was pruning. Tom’s sleepy eyes were on me, waiting. Sweet Tom, her parents named her Thomas Walsh because they had craved one more boy to add to their seven. Pity. Tom did look like a boy, acted like one most of the time too, and yet was the fairest maiden in all of Oxford. I admired her. She was so young and simple.

“Madam Lauren?”

“Yes, of course.”

I turned slowly and smiled genially at Tom. In her plain night clothes, she had the appearance of a prepubescent teen with a freckled face and short curly red hair. Her brown eyes were heavy with sleep. She was not an early riser like me but I always had her awaken early on days when Dumbdilock’s would be delivering her bread. I preferred my mornings to myself.

“She is waiting,” Tom said, quite eager to get it over with and return to bed.

“Let her stand out for a while, spare us a moment for quiet.”

“Quiet, you say?” Mrs. Kate Leads was not one to wait. She stomped her heavy feet into my antique and finely decorated living room. Her face was flushed and she was breathing heavily, as though ready for a fight.

“I shall give you no quiet if it means that I would starve to death. The price of yeast is off the roof and how would I, my darling Jeremy, my daughter Alice, and my sons Robert, Ken, and Jason….oh, and my poor mother-in-law too. How would we live if we gave our bread away for free?”

“Last I checked, man shall not live on bread alone,” I said.

“What do you know?
Last I checked
, no man has lived in this house for the past five years,” she had the nerve to say.

Tom held her breath at the insult. I tried to inhale but suddenly the air was dry. A tight smile etched on my face. I could not show that I was hurt. No. I could not show anything lest it be the gossip of the town for the next fortnight. The fat baker’s wife regretted none of her words.

Instead I said, “Yeast is not a pricey commodity. However, if you wish to rip off a poor woman whose husband is yet away, then may your conscience deal you accordingly.”

Kate puffed. “Remember, you rich woman. Your refusal to pay your due in full is causing us the common people to starve.”

“Ha. A thinner waist would do you good Mrs. Leads. With that big belly of yours, I’d think you were pregnant.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to know the difference.” She shot her tiny beaded eyes at my flat stomach.

Subconsciously, I touched my belly. Duke, my husband, had not been very considerate. He had left me for his lover before he’d had a chance to plant his seed. What hard luck to be neglected in the first year of marriage. It was unheard of.

Since the moment I had become of age, I had been looking forward to my marriage night. The flowers, the dress, and the man. Duke had been quite charming throughout our courtship. I’d fallen in love with his blue eyes, his excellent skill on the dance floor and his chivalrous acts.

Of all the dreams I had had, the fulfillment of my marriage night had been the most disappointing. He’d been drunk like a pig, had taken me to bed and then undressed me. I blanked the rest out.

A soft touch against my shoulder startled me. It was Tom.

“If you have to daydream at this hour, I’d suggest you stay in bed until sunrise,” Kate was saying.

I stood straight and dignified. I said, “You, your husband, and children are closer to obesity than starvation. Now, in future, do give me due notice about the scarcity of yeast before you make your bread more expensive than my horses.”

That was my final verdict.

Kate blinked stupidly. An impression befitting of the nickname I’d bestowed upon her. After taking a moment to concede, she took a step back. Then in a childish gesture, she turned on her heel and just as she was nearly out the door, she kicked the expensive imported rug at my doorstep. In the inane action, Kate toppled over her own feet and with a heavy thud fell to the floor. Tom ran to help her. I held my breath.

Kate thrashed her feet in the air as she refused to take the much needed help to get up. It was not her I was worried about. My worry was validated when suddenly there was a heavy crush. I screamed.

The wooden trapdoor that I had concealed beneath the rug could not hold Mrs. Leads weight. Pieces of the steadfast trapdoor fell in and if Kate had been any thinner, she would have slipped right through and into the cellar. Tom couldn’t lift Kate by herself. In a panic, I abandoned my air of grace and ran to them.

By the time I got to them, Mrs. Dumbdilock’s had already freed herself and was storming out of the house, though not before throwing me an accusing look as if I had set a booby trap for her.

Just as the door banged shut to mark Kate’s exit, a rush of mournful piano music erupted in the air. Tom stared at me. She was taut with fright.

“Leave me!” I screamed, desperately trying to fix the trapdoor.

Tom ran out of the living room and then returned only a moment later with a bowl full of cool water and a wash cloth. She always cooled my head when I was stressed but this time was different.

The poignant music coming from nowhere and everywhere had possessed me. It was truly beautiful yet it was a curse. I felt a panic attack coming on. Tom, as sweet and helpful as she is, pressed the cool cloth against my forehead. Her mistake. In blind rage, I smacked the bowl out of her hand causing the water to splash all over.

“I SAID LEAVE ME!” I screamed at her, but mostly to an invisible presence.

Tom left me. The music did not stop. As soon as I was alone, I burst in tears and cried aloud. It was hopeless. I threw a splinter of wood and then screamed in rage. I sat over the broken trap door and remembered how every time I walked over it, I wished I had had the strength to kill. Believe me, I am not a mad woman although sometimes I wish that I was.

Chapter One

Friday was always my favorite day. It meant riding my horses, shopping for fresh food, and preparing for the dinner party which I hosted some Saturday evenings. My parties were the best in the entire Oxford area and I was reputed for my hospitality.

Previously, I had never been one for parties. After my husband neglected me, I had sunk into a depression for over a full year. I would have never stepped out again if Tom hadn’t encouraged me in those dark days.

So, after a full year without sunlight, I had finally decided one day to step out. And on the very next day, I had thrown a party to celebrate my accomplishment and reconnect with my entourage. The rumors were still there but the shame was gone. With time, people forgot about my terrible attempt at a marriage and simply cherished my business, my company and the dinner parties that I hosted monthly if only to rid my empty home of its loneliness.

There were suitors, of course. My radiant long fine black hair, my pale skin, slender waist, and beautiful garments aroused much male interest. I had a fling with one or two but any flirtation that promised real love was killed at once. Madam Lauren Smith has no time for love. She is too busy planning parties, they joked about me. And so, on yet another Friday morning, I was going out to get the necessities.

“Tom?” I peeked into the grand kitchen.

Tom looked up from the pot she was concocting stew in. There were a few other maids helping around the kitchen. I always hired extra help when it came to the parties. This one was especially special as a Lord and his wife would be attending.

“Yes, my Lady?”

“How do I look?”

I twirled around, showing off the black silk corset of my Victorian flowered dress. It matched perfectly with my pale skin, blood red lips, and smoky eyes. Tom shook her head in disapproval.

“Pants and boots would do fine if you choose to go out at all. A storm is coming.”

“Ha,” I said defiantly. “The storm will have to wait for my return then.”

“I am warning you madam,” her voice trailed after me.

I was determined to go out despite the brewing storm. It was as though fate was coaxing me and nature was its ally. Certainly, most married women and mothers would be preparing a fire by the chimney and warming milk for their husbands and children. I was not most married women. And I wasn’t a mother.

When I stepped out of my mansion, a fierce wind drew me into its embrace. A big rain was certainly coming. What a shame it would be if my party lacked a quality key ingredient only because I had been scared of a little rain. Yes, everything else was prepped but I had to get that one little thing of utmost importance.

Fighting against the wind, I made my way to the stable. The horses hadn’t been let out because of the incoming bad weather and were restless. The beasts neighed when they saw me. They wanted to run free, just like me. They couldn’t run free though, just like me. I reached out to my favorite stallion, Spark, and rubbed his mane. It neighed, happy to see me.

“My Lady. My Lady!” a male voice boomed. It was my gardener, hurrying to me, closely followed by his lively dog called Pap. Though the dog was enjoying the wind, the young gardener was struggling against it.

“What is it, Dennis?” I asked as I climbed onto Spark.

Tom was right, my dress was not fit for horse-riding or the weather but I was adamant to look my best. I had come to realize that people respected appearances more than intentions of the heart.

The gardener arrived at my feet. He was young, dirty, and always panting, just like his dog. On the other hand, his gardening was impeccable. If he had been cleaner and more organized, I might have put in a word for him to Tom. Not a chance now with his blunt dirty face.

“You should reconsider going out. The storm is going to be bad,” he said.

Fearsome dark clouds were rolling in and terrifying flashes of lighting could be seen in the distance. I bit my lip, knowing very well what I was about to do was foolish.

“What do you so badly need?” Dennis asked me. “I can get it for you once the storm passes.”

“What do you know about cheese?”

“Cheese?”

“I need the best cheese in all of Oxford,” I said.

“You are braving a storm for cheese?”

I scoffed, as if the accusation was ridiculous. “Lord Ballam’s wife is quite fond of cheese. I want to wow them with the best cheese soup they’ve ever tasted tomorrow.”

“What madness!”

“It’s only across town. Besides, the store will not be open in the morning!”

“You are Lady Lauren Smith. You can be served at command,” he said.

My stallion reared up. I commanded the reins and it jumped past Dennis. He cowered. His dog barked. I was as excellent at horses as any horseman. I also knew though, I was riding the best of my dozen stallions and there was no time to waste if I had to beat the storm. Trying to reason with Dennis always proved futile. He always had an argument up his sleeve. I urged on the dark horse with a kick.

The stallion flew against the wind. My hair was swept into frenzy as I whipped my head back to allow the furious wind to sweep through my soul.

“I hadn’t checked the horses’ shoes!” He called after me.

I didn’t hear him. The wind had already filled my ears. Yes, a little faster and I would be at the store. A little faster and I could beat the storm. The light showers had already broken the skies. How stupid of me, now I was going to ruin my dress. I should have listened to Tom. The garment had cost quite a fortune.

Mercifully, the heavy downpour held off as I hurriedly purchased cheese for my guests. After riding my stallion at a furious speed, I had arrived in time to choose the better of the first batch. The store was swept clean of all its best; I had paid in full and left sympathies for any who would be seeking the same later in the day.