Josephine gazed out of the guest bedchamber window at Ebcott’s pretty gardens sprinkled with golden buttercups, swathes of cow parsley, delicate apple blossom and wild rambling roses. It was just the kind of scene that prompted Sophie to reach for her sketch pad, Phoebe and Matilda their riding boots, and herself a quill. Yet her thoughts were far from quiet enough today.
She’d spent the last few days trailing around the most fashionable London modistes and parks with Sophie, who’d proceeded to talk of little else but the outfits she might need for her betrothal ball weekend which was bound to include at least two suppers, three luncheons and, perhaps, if Matilda got her way, a steeplechase too. And then there were her endless design suggestions for the wedding dress itself, which already filled an entire sketchpad. Josephine closed her eyes as she recalled the number of times Sophie had referred toRomantic gigot sleeves, full pointed flounces, superb ornamentationandyards of silk, before moving on to such mysterious items aspelerine capes, mancheronsandBavarian straps. It had all proven to be most exhausting, especially since she was sure there wasn’t even a betrothal anymore.
… and he has sent no word.
Josephine swallowed as she stared at the words she’d scrawled on her page. She was certain the General had related Huntingly’s story the night of the Hampton Ball, but struggled to know how she could corroborate any of it, until old Williams came to mind. Viscount Damerel’s elderly gardener knew both Huntingly and Pellham before everything happened– their duel, their time in the army, Italy… If anyone could say if there was any truth to the General’s understanding, it would be Williams, and the realisation had prompted her to take her leave of London and return to Ebcott Place.
Sketchily, she recalled Williams’s story:
‘Young Huntingly wasn’t exactly the rich landowner lord type,he was a bit of a hothead, happiest with his dogs and horses… Old man Huntingly was a fine sportsman and the coroner ruled he fell from a bolting horse… I believe his son may have issued the challenge because of his grief following his father’s death…’
Huntingly was certainly a bit of a hothead, as Williams described, but could Pellham have been responsible for the bolting horse? And the backfiring pistol? But then why would Huntingly not have had his revenge in Italy, tragic news or not?
Josephine closed her eyes as her questions ricocheted through her mind. The heroines in her novels met arrogant gentlemen, seafaring gentlemen and secretly betrothed gentlemen; they rarely had to work out if they were betrothedto murderous ones. And if the General’s instincts were wrong, and Huntinglyhadmurdered Pellham…? Josephine recalled the moment in the orangery when his eyes had darkened in a visceral way that still sent shivers through her core. She was certain even Thomas might withdraw from the engagement if the bridegroom turned out to be an actual murderer, and yet why did the thought of such an outcome trouble her so?
She exhaled as Phoebe and the viscount came into view along Ebcott’s carriageway, pushing a black perambulator, and was conscious of a faint pang of envy. The picture was a stark reminder of how she once dreamed her own life might unfold, and yet she couldn’t be further from her sister’s present happiness. She hadn’t heard from Huntingly in weeks, and there was less than a month until Thomas’s Grand Betrothal Ball. She’d vowed she’d protect Matilda, but if Huntingly really was a murderer she also had to consider herself– especially since she’d never been less certain that any gentleman was quite who they seemed at all.
* * *
It was a full day before she was finally able to visit Williams. Phoebe, while weak, was overjoyed at her return and had demanded a full and immediate update on all their siblings, and Josephine was more than happy to comply– though she omitted her disagreement with Matilda. Phoebe had been through so much lately, the last thing she needed was to worry about a sibling quarrel. Instead, Josephine gave her a highly animated account of the Davenport Derby, followed by a summary of every childhood ailment that Harriet and Louisa had ever contracted, courtesy of Sophie.
‘Though I warrant you enjoyed every second of it all,’Phoebe had chuckled.
And while Josephine had given all her attention to the newest Rotherby who, with a head full of wild curls and lungs to rival Matilda, appeared to be in rude health, it didn’t prevent her perceptive, older sister noticing something was awry.
‘Well, not quite every second perhaps?’
Josephine pondered her sister’s gentle enquiry as she walked down through the grassy meadow. She’d reassured her, but Josephine knew she was far from convinced and, not for the first time, she wondered at a world that had given her so many intuitive sisters, yet not one straightforward hero.
Briefly, she paused to admire the hopeful field poppies dancing in a sea of golden grass. She’d been thinking of this moment ever since the General suggested Pellham’s death might be linked to family news, but now it had come, she felt her feet slowing. In truth, she was afraid to find out if Williams knew any more– and whether it would make things final. She turned her gaze in the direction of Huntingly’s estate, imagining he and Pellham riding out to meet each other before any thoughts of duels and death. Whatever had occurred between the two young gentlemen must have been very serious to result in such tragedy.
‘Mornin’, Miss Josephine. I weren’t expecting you back here so soon?’ Williams called, shuffling out from his poultry shack. ‘You come to see old Jemima, or the chicks? Most of them have grown like weeds since you been ’ere!’
‘I’ve come to see you, Williams,’ Josephine chuckled. ‘But it would be lovely to see your brood too, of course. I told Matilda and the boys about them, and they were all envious!’
‘Well, they’re welcome any time, Miss Josephine.’ He smiled kindly. ‘But I know life can be very busy at your ages… Now then, would you like to help with their feed and water?’
Josephine nodded gratefully as she took a pail from his outstretched hand, knowing he sensed she’d returned for a reason and that she needed to work up to it too.
‘That’s it, Miss,’ he encouraged as Josephine tipped some of the poultry feed into the old trough. ‘Go light on the feed now and let the greedy ones eat before topping up for the weaker ones… You still got the knack. Look, here comes old Jemima now!’
Josephine was content to let all her questions subside for a while, as Williams’s oldest, matriarchal duck waddled forward and marshalled some order.
‘There’s not much that worries Jemima except a fresh straw bed and where her next meal’s coming from.’ Williams chuckled. ‘Think we can learn a lot from her.’
Josephine nodded wholeheartedly. ‘Are they loyal to one another?’
‘To a point, though it don’t mean they don’t bicker among themselves, of course. Families are much the same the world over, aren’t they, Jemima?’
‘Williams…?’ Josephine hesitated before forcing herself on. ‘Did Pellham have any family that you know about? Family he was in regular communication with?’
‘Young Pellham, Huntingly’s friend?’ William frowned. ‘He had no living father. It’s why old man Huntingly adopted him, but there was a grandmother and a sister, if I recollect rightly,’ he mused, scratching his head. ‘Used to live on the outskirts of the village, though they’re both gone now.’
Josephine looked up sharply. ‘Why so?’
‘Typhoid,’ he pronounced emphatically. ‘There was a nasty outbreak a while back. It affected a good number of local families… old Ma Pellham caught it first, and then Pellham’s sister nursed her and contracted it herself, or so they said. Either way, they both ended up in their graves, God rest their souls.’
A rustle that sounded like the softest whisper stole through the surrounding trees. Josephine suppressed a shiver. She wasn’t superstitious, but Williams’s mention of deceased family had suddenly made the General’s story far more credible.
