In a voice rife with disingenuous, convivial surprise, Dougald said, “I have an idea, Aunt Spring. Why don’t you invite them to visit in, say, a month? By then Miss Setterington will have settled into her position and we’ll know more about her and her relationship with the Burroughses.”
Aunt Spring clapped her hands. “A capital idea, Dougald! I shall write them at once.”
“Keep her presence a surprise,” he instructed. “We don’t want to announce her too soon.”
“It would be wonderful to see their faces,” Aunt Spring agreed. “Will that be acceptable to you, too, Miss Setterington?”
Hannah stared at Aunt Spring’s face, alight with anticipation. She saw the aunts, cheerful and awaiting her decision. She observed Sir Onslow observing her. She beheld Charles and Mrs. Trenchard, watching the scene as all dedicated servants do, trying to predict the course of their own future by the words of their masters.
And she glared at Dougald, smug, satisfied, bruised but unbeatable and as always, victorious.
Bowing to the inevitable, she said, “I would like that, Aunt Spring. I would like that very much.”
12
Did she really think he would let her escape? Dougald watched as Hannah exited the dining room surrounded by the old ladies he had taken under his wing, and he chuckled softly. Bitterly.
Not long after Hannah had left him, he had set about discovering the identity of her grandparents. He had imagined presenting her with the knowledge like a gift, one that would prove to her that she had been right in returning to him. Only she’d never returned, and now, like a miser, he held the information tight in his fist. She’d pay him for these facts. Pay him any way he chose.
Vaguely he was aware of Seaton moving to sit at his right hand, but he gave him no attention. Let Seaton speak first. Let Dougald hear what he had to say.
After all, Dougald reasoned, Seaton had killed at least two earls of Raeburn, and he was trying to kill another.
Dougald had her trapped. Again. Completely. In every way possible.
As Hannah stood by the window of the aunts’ large, sunny west wing tower workroom, she looked across at the tower that rose above the east wing. There, another Raeburn wife had been trapped, and she had freed herself with a suicidal leap.
Not that Dougald would ever actually lock her in, or that Hannah would ever jump to her death, but Dougald had her trapped just as neatly as if he’d turned a key. Her stomach churned. She’d never felt like this, not even when he’d threatened to murder her. That had been a vague menace, words meant to shock. And she had rallied because she didn’t believe him capable of murder. He had been, after all, her lover. Their bodies had entwined, their passions had been as one, they had been as close in thought and breath as any two people could be.
At least…she had thought so. Perhaps their closeness, too, had been nothing but a chimera, brought on by a youthful imagination and her need to have someone, just one person, to love her. Because Dougald was now standing among the ribbons of her desires, using them to tie her up and tie her down.
Aunt Ethel’s voice penetrated Hannah’s gloom. “Go on, Aunt Spring, ask her.”
Hannah cringed as she wondered what circumstance they wanted clarified.
High above the rest of the castle, the tower room caught the morning and evening sun and all the light in between. The aunts huddled over a long table strewn with proof of all their interests. One of Aunt Ethel’s prize roses sat in a pot before Miss Minnie’s sketch pad. A variety of polished stones, silver settings and jeweler’s tools were placed neatly before Aunt Spring’s chair. Aunt Isabel’s telescope was pointed out the window toward the sky. Bits of needlework and pieces of tapestry were scattered about on every surface. The room appeared to be awash with brightly colored threads of royal blue and purple, crimson and pale peach. Facing each other by the largest window were four large looms.
Looms. What were the elderly ladies doing with looms?
“Ask her, Aunt Spring. You know we must know if she’s the one.”
Hannah looked out over the green, rolling hills of the estate, but she could distinctly hear Aunt Isabel’s clarion tones. Indeed, she could hear them all, for they raised their voices to compensate for Aunt Isabel’s loss of hearing. Clearly, there were no secrets residing in this chamber.
Hannah braced herself as Aunt Spring trotted over and asked, “Dear Miss Setterington, is it true?”
“That depends on what you’re asking,” Hannah said cautiously.
“We could only be interested in one thing.” Aunt Spring blinked myopically at Hannah. “Is it true you know our dear Queen Victoria?”
Hannah stared into Aunt Spring’s guileless eyes. That was not at all the question she expected. After that scene at breakfast, no doubt the whole castle buzzed with curiosity about Hannah’s connection to Dougald. A plethora of rumors must be circulating about Hannah’s relationship to Dougald. About her family background. About her legitimacy.
“You’re asking me if I have made the acquaintance of Queen Victoria?” Hannah repeated in bewilderment.
“Yes! Yes, that’s exactly it.”
Why did Aunt Spring want to know? How should Hannah reply?
For Hannah did know Queen Victoria. She didn’t wonder how Aunt Spring had obtained this information. That was obvious; Dougald had investigated Hannah. No depth of her life had been left unfathomed, no corner unexplored, and he had chosen to pass this particular bit of information along to his aunts. “I have met Her Majesty,” Hannah admitted. “She has been a supporter of my academy.”
Aunt Spring darted an excited glance toward the other ladies, and in a joyous tone, she cried, “It’s true, girls!”
In an excited rush of bobbing curls and flapping skirts, Aunt Ethel rushed forward while Aunt Isabel followed, asking, “Did she say it was true?”
“Yes, Isabel, it’s true.” Miss Minnie spoke clearly and directly to Aunt Isabel, then hurried along with every evidence of excitation, her faded eyes sparkling.
“Now you must tell us all.” Aunt Ethel wore gardening gloves and held clippers; before the aunts’ conference she had been tending a variety of potted plants throughout the room. “Is Her Majesty as young and pretty as her portrait?”
“She is very pretty, and very young to have such an awesome responsibility.” Actually, Hannah had often thanked her stars that she hadn’t been born to the task of ruling England. Pomp and ceremony surrounded Her Majesty’s every moment; the only time she seemed to have to herself were those times when she, her consort and children fled to Scotland for a respite.
“We have this picture of her.” Aunt Isabel showed Hannah a small canvas, a replica of the official coronation portrait. “Is this what she looks like?”
“That is very like her,” Hannah said.
The aunts exchanged glances.
Why did they care so much?
“Have you seen her dear consort?” Aunt Spring asked.
“Prince Albert?” Most people were interested when they discovered Hannah had met the royal couple, but she seemed to be fulfilling these ladies’ dreams. “Yes, I’ve been presented to them both.”
“We have this portrait of him.” Miss Minnie pulled a yellowed newspaper clipping from within her capacious apron pocket. “It’s not one of those vulgar lampoons, but a real portrait. Is that what he looks like?”
“Indeed it is.” Hannah looked around at their eager expressions. “Now you must tell me why you want to know.”
Aunt Ethel stripped off her gloves and placed them beside her clippers.
Aunt Spring caught Hannah’s hand. “Come and sit down.”
Hannah followed her to the sitting area. A cluster of chairs and settees surrounded an iron stove, and even though the windows were cracked enough to let in the fresh air of a brisk March day, the stove glowed with heat. The aunts crowded close; Hannah had noticed that when ladies reached old age, their skin thinned, their bones grew birdlike, and they sought heat like a drug
. Indeed, the curtains on the windows were thickly lined to keep out the breezes that so battered Hannah’s bedchamber, and one whole wall was draped in magnificent purple velvet to cut down on the drafts.
So Hannah took the chair farthest from the stove, pushed her sleeves up, and asked, “Why are you so interested in Queen Victoria?”
Aunt Spring glanced around at her companions.
“Go on, Aunt Spring.” Miss Minnie nodded. “You should tell Miss Setterington what we have done.”
“Yes.” Aunt Spring sat down, then bounced up like a child wroth with excitement. “For years my brother was the earl here.”
“Yes, so I understand.” Although Hannah didn’t know what this had to do with Queen Victoria.
“Rupert was always a cranky man. Very aware of his position. Always going on about the duties he faced. And tight as a tick with a tuppence.” Aunt Spring shook her head. “I was born here, and I always lived here, but the way he acted you would have thought I stole the bread from his lips.”
It was a sad story Aunt Spring told, often repeated among the unmarried ladies of England. “I imagine he made you uncomfortable,” Hannah said gently.
Aunt Spring scrunched up her nose. “No…he wasn’t a very forceful man. More of an impediment than anything, and he was the type of man who would have complained if he’d been hung with a silk rope. Why, even when dear Lawrence asked for my hand, Rupert complained about Lawrence’s poverty. As if I wouldn’t have been happier being a soldier’s wife than Rupert’s dependent!” She nodded until her curls bobbed. “If not for Rupert refusing his permission, I would have had the joy of living with Lawrence. He was killed on the Peninsula, you know, a hero to the last, and at least I would have had so many more memories…” She stared forward, mouth tucked down, eyes sorrowful and vague.
Silence filled the chamber. Hannah saw how Aunt Spring’s friends exchanged glances, then smiled sadly at each other.
Leaning over, Aunt Isabel patted Hannah’s hand and her loud voice contrasted oddly with the delicate moment. “It’s a melancholy thing to know that one of us could have been happily wed, if only for a short time, and so pedestrian a thing as funds impeded that union, and so dread an event as death put an end to love forever.”
“Oh, no! I still love him, and he still loves me. Someday we’ll all be together—he and I and dear little…” Aunt Spring touched her forehead as if she were in pain. Then in a rush of enthusiasm, she clapped her hands. “In the meantime, I have my friends to keep me happy. Lawrence was my true love, and a true lover wants happiness for the loved one, no matter how long the wait.”
“What a lovely thought,” Hannah said—while Hannah thought, Another proof that Dougald had never loved her—as if she needed such proof. He wanted her miserable, and he was doing a fine job of it. She sometimes felt the epithet “bastard” was branded on her forehead. That was why she had come to Lancashire. To discover whence she had come.
Dougald realized. Of course he did. Years ago she had explained how much she wished to know her background, and at that time he had decreed her longing to be nonsense. The manly donkeybrain had actually told her she should live for him. Any sensible person would have known she would rebel at this, but not Dougald. He had been oblivious…until now. Until he could use his knowledge as an ambush.
Her gaze rested on Aunt Spring. She was the key to Hannah’s release. Aunt Spring knew Hannah’s family—probably knew where they lived. What was to keep her from going to her grandparents by herself, introducing herself as their granddaughter, and having a nice visit?
She put her hand to her neck and felt her own rapid heart rate.
What, besides a fear of a brutal rebuff?
“Spring, dear,” Aunt Ethel said, “You were going to tell Miss Setterington why we want Queen Victoria to come visit us.”
Without knowing quite how, Hannah found herself on her feet. “You want to have Queen Victoria visit? Here?”
“Dear Miss Setterington, a lady does not shout.” As she reproved Hannah, Miss Minnie leveled a black frown at Aunt Ethel.
“So sorry.” Aunt Ethel looked apologetic and embarrassed. “I meant to let Aunt Spring tell the tale.”
“Miss Setterington wasn’t shouting. She simply spoke clearly for a change.” Aunt Isabel tugged at Hannah’s skirt. “Dear, you have a tendency to mumble.”
“I’ll do better,” Hannah said numbly.
“Now, dear, sit down and let Aunt Spring explain everything.”
Aghast, Hannah subsided into the chair. No matter what Aunt Spring said, it could never explain what Dougald had thought when he told the aunts that Hannah knew Her Majesty. Was she supposed to write the Queen and invite her to Raeburn Castle? Why? Did he think he would gain power from the Queen’s visit? If so, he had quite underestimated her powers.
“When Rupert’s wife died, I helped with his sons, and when his sons were almost grown and I was just wondering what I should do with my life”—she smiled at Miss Minnie—“when my dear friend of many years lost her brother and her home, and I realized we would be well suited as companions.”
Miss Minnie watched Aunt Spring steadily, and Hannah thought the grim old woman’s expression held affection as well as impatience with the rambling narrative.
Aunt Ethel piped up, “Then my husband’s wandering eye got caught by that little hussy of a maid, and when I was at my lowest ebb, dear Minnie told dear Spring about me, and she offered me a refuge.”
They all looked at Aunt Isabel, waiting for her story.
“My husband died, may the old goat rest in peace or at least rest. He didn’t make a provision for me at all, but Spring said any friend of Ethel’s and Minnie’s is a friend of mine, and I…I really had no choice.” Aunt Isabel added hastily, “Not that I’m not happy and grateful to be here, I just want to assure you I had a great need. I didn’t come here only because of the good times the ladies enjoy.”
Hannah said, “His Lordship the earl must have been…”
“Oh, yes, quite perturbed that I would share his largesse with my dear friends. He groaned and griped like a man with a worm in his bowels.” Aunt Spring placed her fingers on her lips and stared out the window. “Hm. I never thought of that. Maybe he did have a worm.”
“It’s a moot point now,” Miss Minnie pointed out.
Aunt Spring looked at her vaguely.
“He has passed on to his reward,” Miss Minnie explained. “Or punishment.”
“So he has.” Aunt Spring nodded. “And as a Christian woman, I should mourn his death, but after the boys died—they were my nephews, you know, and his sons—he went from disagreeable to morose.”
Aunt Ethel stood and clasped her hands, then un-clasped them and clasped them again. “They were his children, dear. There’s nothing quite as dreadful as having your children predecease you.”
Another sad story, Hannah realized, one so sad Aunt Isabel drew her friend onto the settee beside her and patted her veined hand.
Aunt Spring’s voice broke and her eyes filled with tears. “I know, Ethel. I do know.”
“Perhaps we should not dwell on such a sad subject.” Miss Minnie nodded significantly at Aunt Ethel. “Instead you should tell Miss Setterington why we want to see Queen Victoria.”
“Yes, dear,” Aunt Spring said. “I did.”
“Perhaps you could clarify the reason for me,” Hannah suggested.
Aunt Spring gestured toward the worktable. “We have something for her.”
“For the Queen?”
“Yes, and we want you to write her and tell her she should come.”
“But, with all due respect, the Queen will not come on my summons.”
“But she must.” Aunt Spring’s voice rose in distress, and she touched her fingertips to her cheek. “You must write her and tell her to come so we can give her…give her…the thing.”
At Aunt Spring’s forgetfulness, a tension permeated the companions.
“The thing?” Hannah encouraged. r />
“That we’ve made her,” Aunt Spring insisted. “Oh, I can’t remember the word.”
From the doorway, Mrs. Trenchard said, “The word doesn’t matter, Miss Spring. You can show Miss Setterington what ye have done right after ye’ve had a spot of tea.”
“Oh, yes!” Aunt Spring clapped her hands. “Dear Judy, did you bring cream cakes?”
“I did indeed, Miss Spring. I know how much you like them.” Mrs. Trenchard wheeled in a white-tablecloth-covered cart filled with cakes of every kind, tiny crustless sandwiches, and two steaming china pots. As she set out the cups and saucers, she asked, “So how do ye like yer new companion, ladies?”
Aunt Isabel turned to Aunt Ethel. “What did she say?”
“She wants to know if we like Miss Setterington,” Aunt Ethel said loudly.
“Of course we like her.” Aunt Isabel grinned at Hannah with a spark of wicked humor. “She knows the Queen.”
Hannah grinned back at her.
“She’s a lovely girl,” Aunt Ethel said.
“She is so kind.”
Aunt Spring’s praise was predictable—Hannah suspected Aunt Spring seldom spoke ill of anyone—but it warmed Hannah’s heart.
“She will do very well,” Miss Minnie pronounced.
Miss Minnie’s approval gave Hannah pride.
Mrs. Trenchard set out little plates. “Miss Setterington, it seems you have won them over, and so quickly, too.”
Mrs. Trenchard’s commendation seemed less than sincere; probably she desired to be relieved of the arduous duties of caring for Aunt Spring, yet at the same didn’t wish to be so easily replaced. Hannah could understand. Since she had sold the Distinguished Academy of Governesses, she had occasionally—and shamefacedly—hoped that Adorna’s handling the transition of authority did not proceed too smoothly.
So Hannah said, “I was hoping to speak to you at your convenience, Mrs. Trenchard, to ask how I might better serve Miss Spring and her ladies.”