Page 5 of A Lady’s Guide to Murder

CHAPTER 4

War

In the days following, Henrietta was outwardly subservient to Perceval, solemnly fulfilling her official duties so Edmund could be laid to rest with the dignity he deserved. But the moment the coffin was interred at Westminster Abbey, she grew impatient for the will reading.

All she wanted was a comfortable provision so she could retain her independence, but if Edmund had failed to provide it – perhaps assuming his death was a distant event or that she would have borne his promised heir before his passing – she faced the prospect of retiring to her family’s country estate, to live dependently and in quiet seclusion, so as not to incite Perceval’s retribution. Nor was a remarriage likely. With no fortune and a reputation for both infertility and infidelity, she faced a bleak and loveless future.

Exactly two weeks to the day after Edmund’s death, a small company assembled in the library for the will reading. Henrietta’s anxiety overpowered her grief as she perched on a sofa in her widow’s weeds, nervously clasping her hands. The vomit stain on the carpet, she noted with a strange sorrow, had been removed. Traces of Edmund were being erased all over the house – for example, the wine set from his desk was also absent – and she deeply felt their loss.

Henrietta’s mother sat beside her. Her steel-haired father spread himself in a nearby armchair, and her eldest brother, George, sat upright in another, studying the ivory handle of his walking stick. Only the salting of George’s thick, cinnamon-coloured locks revealed that he was well past his fortieth birthday. Otherwise, like all of Henrietta’s handsome brothers, he was as trim-figured and well dressed as a young dandy.

Perceval sat adjacent to Henrietta, bouncing his knee as he played with the signet ring he must’ve taken from Edmund’s body. Beside him was his prospective father-in-law, Bishop Babcock, who possessed ponderous jowls and a shiny forehead, and beside him sat Mrs Babcock, a handsome lady around George’s age, from whom Perceval’s fiancée derived the good looks that had made her the Season’s Incomparable, despite her bookish ways. Jane Babcock was not present.

Perching on another sofa was Edmund’s solicitor, Mr Quigley, a thin man wearing spectacles that enlarged his eyes to owl-like proportions. Beside him, an assistant withdrew a folded document from a leather case.

Quigley nodded to each of the company in turn. ‘Your Grace and Your Grace, my Lord Lockington, my Lady Lockington, my Lord Deancombe, my Lord Bishop, and Mrs Babcock, this afternoon I shall read the last will and testament of Edmund Meredith Percy, His Grace the seventh Duke of Severn.’

‘Get on with it, man,’ Perceval said, scowling. ‘I haven’t got all afternoon to listen to a list of who gets which of Edmund’s pocket handkerchiefs, when we all know Percy family property goes to the heir.’

If Quigley was quelled to be so admonished by a duke, he didn’t show it. As his enormous eyes fixed on Perceval unblinkingly, the room fell silent but for the tick of a longcase clock. At last, Perceval cleared his throat and took up a glass of brandy resting on a table beside his chair.

Only then did Quigley answer. ‘As it happens, Your Grace, I find myself perplexed by the matter of His Grace’s recent passing, in light of the recent rumours, and—’

‘The rumours are nonsense.’ Henrietta’s father spoke in a resonant voice.

This was the first Henrietta had heard of any rumours; since the dreadful day of Edmund’s death, she had interacted only with her family and servants. Nor had she brought herself to read the papers, for the mere thought of seeing the fact of Edmund’s death in cold black and white caused her eyes to sting and her vision to blur. It was impossible to consider reading; she would burst into tears. Best to avoid anything that would render her inconsolable until she had completed her public duties as a widow and could retreat to a place of privacy. Which she could hopefully do after this will reading if Edmund had provided her an independent income and a home for her own use.

But naturally, she was curious. ‘What rumours, Papa?’

Lord Lockington glared first at Quigley and then at Perceval. ‘I believe everyone in this room can agree that anything printed in the Mayfair Examiner isn’t worth discussing.’

Ah, so Theodore Hawke was at the root of this, which was no surprise. Henrietta peeked at Perceval. He was studiously avoiding meeting his prospective parents-in-law’s eyes, but he nodded a curt acknowledgement of her father’s words, likely remembering that a report of his indiscretion with his mistress was printed the day of Edmund’s death.

‘A good horsewhipping,’ George said enthusiastically. ‘That’s what that Theodore Hawke wants. Man is a scoundrel.’

Hawke was a scoundrel, but that was nothing to the point at hand. ‘What are the rumours?’ Henrietta asked again, not wishing to be put off.

Perceval swallowed a mouthful of brandy. ‘Your father is correct, Henrietta. Hawke writes nonsense. You especially ought to leave it at that.’

‘Now see here, Severn.’ George sprang to his feet. ‘Careful what you imply about my sister, sir!’

‘Sit down, George,’ Mama said, quietly but firmly.

George promptly complied and the masculine tension in the room eased somewhat.

Henrietta was destined to remain dissatisfied, for the time. Naturally, she could read Hawke’s column later and discover for herself what the journalist had written, but she wished the men in her life would simply answer her damn questions. She’d grown accustomed to this treatment from her father, husband, and eldest brother, but that didn’t mean she liked it.

‘Get on with the reading, Quigley,’ Perceval growled. ‘And let’s have no more mention of gossip.’

‘As I was saying,’ the solicitor said, ‘I find myself perplexed by His Grace’s passing, not only because of the aforementioned reason, but because His Grace rewrote his will the afternoon before his death, with the assistance of myself and Mr Pidgeon here.’

Perceval stiffened. ‘I say, what?’

Henrietta was equally shocked. ‘The afternoon before, Mr Quigley? That seems an extraordinary coincidence.’

Quigley turned his magnified eyes upon her. ‘Perhaps it is, as Your Grace says, a most extraordinary coincidence. Or perhaps His Grace had a premonition of his passing? I have heard tale of such sentiments. At any rate, Your Grace’ – he was still addressing Henrietta – ‘may have cause to … consider yourself fortunate, if such a word might be employed on such an occasion.’

Henrietta drew her brows together, disliking the man’s tone.

Meanwhile, Perceval’s boyish features twisted with rage. ‘I call this extremely suspicious, Quigley! Where is the old will?’

‘Destroyed by His late Grace in my presence, Your Grace,’ the solicitor replied. ‘He wished for his wife to be honoured properly upon his death. “Honoured properly for her unimpeachable loyalty” – those were his exact words and Pidgeon can attest to the truth of my story.’

Pidgeon nodded eagerly and for the first time in two weeks, Henrietta’s hopes lifted.

‘But what about my birthright ?’ Spittle projected from Perceval’s mouth.

‘Anything bound to the title is protected by law, naturally.’ Quigley studied Perceval with a keen glimmer in his eyes. ‘Does Your Grace object to provision for a helpless widow? Extraordinary, if so.’

Papa spoke. ‘Enough of this. Mr Quigley, I advise you to read my son-in-law’s will at once and refrain from any speculation regarding the sentiments of his widow or his heir.’ He nodded munificently at Perceval, as if wishing to show he was on his side as well, but Perceval rose and paced to the mantelpiece, a furious scowl knotting his brow.

Quigley bowed his head. ‘As your lordship wishes.’

Slowly, the solicitor broke Edmund’s seal and unfolded the document. When the paper rested on his thin thighs and pointed knees, he removed his spectacles, held them towards the window, and squinted through them. Then he blew heavily on each lens and extracted a handkerchief to clean them.

Perceval stopped in his tracks. ‘For the love of God, man, get on with it . Did I not already tell you that I have other business to which I must attend?’

Henrietta glanced at Bishop and Mrs Babcock. If they disliked their future son-in-law’s impatient irritability, their impassive expressions didn’t show it. Had Henrietta misjudged the family’s rationality? Were Jane and her parents willing to accept all sorts of boorishness in exchange for a duchess’s coronet? In fact, had Perceval actually given up his mistress as he’d told Edmund? Was everything she’d hoped about Perceval and Jane a fantastical construction? Wishful thinking, so she needn’t bring herself to do the thing she hadn’t wanted to do?

Quigley returned his spectacles to the tip of his nose and read in a monotone:

‘ I, Edmund Meredith Percy, the seventh Duke of Severn, being of sound body and mind, imprimis do bequeath to the next male heir of the first Duke of Severn all properties held through entailment to the Dukedom of Severn, and all books, art, jewels, furnishings, linens, and plate not purchased by me during my lifetime, an inventory of which can be found …’

Perceval leant against the marble mantel, smiling with relief as the lengthy list of bequests to the heir continued. He even received the best hunters in Edmund’s stables, which Henrietta thought would have gone to Edmund’s friend, James Beaucastle. As Quigley then detailed the monetary distributions to the servants, Henrietta began to wonder what the solicitor had meant by saying she had cause to feel fortunate. Apart from Edmund granting her ownership of the horses and carriages he’d purchased for her use, the will hadn’t mentioned her name. Without an income, she wouldn’t even be able to keep a stable.

But then it came:

‘ To my steadfastly loyal wife, Henrietta Percy, in addition to the restitution of her dowry of five thousand pounds, I charge my heir to bestow upon her annually, for the duration of her natural life, and regardless of any subsequent marriages she may enter into, the dower’s portion of the Dukedom’s estates, encompassing one-third of the revenue derived from every property held within the dominion of said Dukedom. ’

‘I say!’ Perceval straightened like an arrow, his body shaking. ‘The entirety of her life, even if she weds again? Why! Then it will be the rest of my life! She’s barely older than I am.’

‘That is the traditional arrangement for the Dowager Duchess of Severn, Your Grace.’ Quigley’s massive eyes lifted to Perceval. ‘That the widow is so young is simply a consequence of your cousin having married later in life, and then dying before his time, some might say.’ The solicitor’s gaze returned to the document. ‘ This is the part of the will in which His late Grace shows his marked favour for Her Grace.

‘ Additionally, I bestow upon her the remainder of my own personal fortune after all prior bequests, which will amount to two hundred thousand pounds, held in investments managed by Mr John Tyrold. Furthermore, I hereby grant her complete and irrevocable ownership of all unentailed properties in my possession, by which act she will discern that I always held her opinion in regard, even in those instances where our sentiments diverged …’

Henrietta gasped, clasping her hands to her mouth. She fought back astonished tears. Edmund had listened to her. He hadn’t discounted her feelings about women owning property, even if he hadn’t championed the cause in Parliament.

He had been the dearest, kindest and best of men, and it grieved her he’d never know the extent of her gratitude.

Quigley continued reading without pause – though his eyes flickered to Henrietta for a moment – and her astonishment only grew. Edmund’s will granted her immense wealth and freedom. Two hundred thousand pounds, plus the return of her dowry, in addition to thirty per cent of the dukedom’s income, and the list went on. The house in Bath. A shooting box in Wales. And the darling estate of Grenham Park in Berkshire, worth two or three thousand a year. Calculating rapidly in her head, she estimated her annual income would exceed twenty thousand, making her one of the richest women in the land.

At the mantel, Perceval ground his teeth. No doubt he considered himself entitled to Edmund’s personal fortune and unentailed estates.

Quigley’s next words proved to be the most astonishing yet.

‘ In reference to my wife and to the heir to the Dukedom of Severn, so steadfast is my faith in Henrietta’s virtue and fidelity, I do hereby declare that any child born to her within twelve months of my demise will be the child of my own body, as I was myself more than eleven months in the womb, according to my late mother; therefore if said child is a firstborn son, he will succeed as the next male line heir to the first Duke of Severn. In the event that my wife has not yet borne my son by the time of my death, until one year elapses without the birth of a son by Henrietta, or until she declares herself not with child, my title and entailed estates shall be held in abeyance, to be administered by the office of my solicitor. This I declare as my last will and testament …’

A palpable tension filled the room. Henrietta’s nerves now failed her; she could not bring herself to meet the gazes of Bishop and Mrs Babcock, although she sensed their eyes fixed on her.

Perceval advanced upon the solicitor. ‘ What? ’

Quigley blinked. ‘Does Your Grace – or rather, Your Grace as may be determined in a year’s time or as Her Grace sees fit – wish for me to read the will again?’

Perceval didn’t answer. He was livid, his jaw clenched, his hands forming fists. ‘What is this absurdity?’ He gazed at everyone in turn. ‘My cousin and his widow seek to steal what is rightfully mine! He grants her twelve months to produce an heir, yet he never touched her.’

Papa and George straightened in their chairs, on alert, but Henrietta didn’t want or need their assistance. She was now a wealthy woman, entirely independent from Perceval, so the time for submission was over, and she wouldn’t allow him to besmirch Edmund’s name. ‘I assure you, Perceval, your cousin touched me every day of our marriage.’

‘But you are not with child.’ Again, Perceval searched the faces of the assembled company and this time Henrietta followed his gaze. Bishop Babcock now stared resolutely at the floor, his forehead glistening more than usual. Her mother and Mrs Babcock both looked genuinely baffled, but her father and brother shot poisonous glares at Perceval, who persisted in his defamation. ‘I am not alone in knowing that she is not with child . Not by my cousin at least. I’d wager he never consummated the marriage.’

Henrietta’s annoyance turned to fury, though she couldn’t immediately think of a defence that wouldn’t be a lie.

Lady Lockington’s face drained of colour as she pressed against her daughter’s side. ‘Has he gone utterly mad, dearest?’

But Mama’s scandalised whisper fell on unresponsive ears; it was Henrietta’s turn to ignore a question, for the tension in the room crackled and she was wary of speaking.

Bishop Babcock attempted to restore peace. ‘Er, Perceval, I’m certain you cannot mean to imply your cousin never performed his marital duties.’ He spoke pointedly. Too pointedly. ‘A virile man like the duke, possessed of such a comely young wife? You must admit it is quite impossible .’

Did the bishop know ?

Perceval worked his jaw. ‘Don’t make me say more, Henrietta. Simply admit you aren’t with child by Edmund and we shall never speak of this again.’

Both for the sake of Edmund’s posthumous reputation and so that there could never be doubts about the validity of her status as the Duchess of Severn, Henrietta had to defend her marriage and there was a way to do so without lying. Edmund had frequently slept in her bed, mostly to keep up appearances for the servants – but sometimes because either she or he needed to pass the night beside a comforting presence. Perhaps they hadn’t been lovers, but she and Edmund had been partners, and that made their union valid, in her opinion.

She met Perceval’s gaze steadily. ‘Your cousin lay with me at least once a week throughout our marriage and he lay with me last on the night before he died.’

She paused. Everything she’d said so far was true, but now she faced a choice. She knew she wasn’t with child. And therefore, of course, she couldn’t possibly, ever, give birth to Edmund’s baby. Yet Edmund had clearly wanted her to try to fulfil her old promise, even in the event of his death. He had provided her one last chance to protect the dukedom from Perceval, whom he’d never trusted as an heir – and now that Edmund was dead … well, perhaps now she could do it. She wasn’t married any more. So it wouldn’t feel like disloyalty, would it? It would, in fact, be the greatest act of loyalty she could perform for her husband.

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t impossible to become pregnant with three months of trying. Having never given herself the chance to get with child, Henrietta had no idea how readily it might happen for her, but, if her mother’s fecundity was anything to go by, the odds weren’t terrible. George had been born exactly nine months to the day after her parents’ wedding, and Mama had produced four more sons and a daughter at regular intervals after that.

Henrietta realised what she must do. For Edmund’s sake, she must try to get with child, but to carry such a plan through to fruition, she would have to lie. Not just now, but every day for the rest of her life, for if she managed to get pregnant, she could never tell the truth of her child’s parentage.

She might as well start now. ‘And’ – she focused boldly on Perceval and lied to his face – ‘I have not had my monthly courses since Edmund’s death.’

Her mother gasped, no doubt because she knew Henrietta had just finished bleeding, but of course she didn’t betray her daughter. ‘Are you quite satisfied now, sir?’ Mama asked Perceval. ‘Do you consider it gentlemanly behaviour to treat your cousin’s widow in such a way? To make a duchess speak before her father and brother and men of business about matters so very private? You should be ashamed of yourself.’

Perceval didn’t look ashamed in the least. He was staring at Henrietta with unconcealed hatred.

‘Perceval,’ Bishop Babcock said solemnly. ‘You would do well to accept this with good humour. After all, it is quite essential to ensure a young widow is not carrying the heir before estates and titles are transitioned, and I am certain we can rely on the duchess to inform us when or if she has the, er … necessary confirmation, so this matter can be resolved as soon as may be. Likely less than a fortnight hence.’

The anger peeled away from Perceval’s face. ‘Why, yes!’ His eyes brightened. ‘Yes, indeed. You are perfectly correct, Bishop. My dear Henrietta,’ he said, extending his hand, although his smile was cold. ‘Let there be no hard feelings between us. I have not been myself with shock and with grief.’

Henrietta shook the offered hand, but she served tit for tat, matching his icy smile with a flinty glare. ‘I have no doubt you experienced unprecedented shock and grief this afternoon , Perceval. As for how much you’ve felt in the past fortnight, I shall refrain from speculating.’ She rose and the men in the room did likewise. ‘If you will all excuse me, I intend to rest for the remainder of the afternoon.’

She declined her mother’s offer to accompany her upstairs. She needed solitude, to decide how to go about fulfilling Edmund’s last request. Resting wasn’t her preferred accompaniment to contemplation; she longed to go for a ride instead, to let vigorous exercise organise her thoughts and soothe her emotions, but it wouldn’t be seemly for the recently widowed Duchess of Severn to gallop through Hyde Park (especially not if she was supposed to be with child) and there was nowhere else in London where she could enjoy a truly good run.

As she mounted the stairs, she determined to leave town in the morning. She’d think better in the country – and she’d have more privacy there. For riding her horses … and, well, for riding something else, since there was but one way to get with child. Certainly there were more men to choose from in London, but there were always eyes upon Henrietta in town, especially Theodore Hawke’s – and now Perceval’s, as well.

She’d journey to Grenham in Berkshire, the estate Edmund had so generously bestowed upon her. The rose-covered brick manor house and picturesque parkland were less than a three-hour carriage ride from London, mostly along the Bath Road. It had been a favoured retreat for Edmund during breaks in the Parliamentary season.

The fact that James Beaucastle lived only fifteen miles from Grenham had never diminished Henrietta’s love for the estate. She’d known about their friendship before she’d married Edmund, she’d never been resentful, and the beauty of Grenham had been sufficient to take her mind off her loneliness, even when Edmund and James had ignored her for days on end.

In truth, Henrietta was surprised Edmund had willed Grenham to her, as he’d seemed to associate it more with James. Certainly, she’d always assumed he’d purchased it in his youth because of its proximity to James’s estate, so the knowledge that he’d given it to her instead warmed Henrietta’s heart. He’d remembered how much she enjoyed Grenham, which meant she had mattered to him. He had loved her.

But it also served as a poignant reminder that Edmund was gone. She would never retreat to Grenham with him, ever again. She would never share another moment with her beloved husband, and she could never express her gratitude for the financial security and independence he’d given her.

Except by fulfilling his final request.

Which was somehow an intimidating prospect. So much so that by the time she entered her bedchamber, her head ached. She lay down on her bed, intending to rest briefly before beginning preparations for her departure on the morrow.

Possibly an hour later, she was roused from a deep sleep by the familiar sound of the door between her room and Edmund’s sweeping open over the carpet, and her spirits soared. It had all been a dream. Edmund was walking through his door right now. He was there, alive, and she could tell him about her dreadful nightmare, and they could laugh and cry over it together …

She sat up in bed, heart pounding.

Bright afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, but it was Perceval, not Edmund, who was now closing the door from the duke’s suite, and it was suddenly all Henrietta could do to contain a wretched sob.

She chose disdain instead. ‘It would be decent of you not to occupy Edmund’s rooms until you’ve kicked me out of mine,’ she said, hoping Perceval didn’t perceive the sorrow in her tone. Not wanting to be reclining on a bed while he was present, she rose and crossed her room to sit at her dressing table. ‘Which, I might add, you have no authority to do while the title is in abeyance.’

Keeping her eye on Perceval in the looking glass, she began to remove the countless pins holding up her thick blonde locks, hoping to ease her throbbing headache.

He didn’t speak as he closed the distance between them, but his gaze never left hers in the mirror. And although Henrietta didn’t lack for courage, his eyes were so hateful, and his stance so menacing, that a chill ran down her back.

She picked up her brush. ‘I’m not frightened of you, Perceval. And even if I were, I have a bell pull here, beside me. One tug and a footman will arrive instantly, so you can cease this villainous act.’

‘Is that your plan, then?’ Perceval’s voice was cold as he neared her dressing table. ‘Do you intend to call upon your footman’s services nightly now?’

She narrowed her eyes at his reflection. ‘I won’t honour such a vile accusation with a response.’ She tugged her brush through her hair. As she’d hoped, the release of her coiffure and the rhythmic movements soothed her head.

Perceval stopped at her shoulder. Leaning forward, he placed a fist on her dressing table, his eyes following the movements of her left hand, where a three-hundred-year-old sapphire ring sparkled. ‘That is a Percy jewel. It belongs to me .’

‘This is my wedding ring,’ she replied. ‘What my husband gave me, you cannot take away.’

He leant so close his breath crawled against her skin. ‘You and I both know Edmund never consummated your marriage. I would have a doctor examine you to prove my claim, but I know other men – perhaps many other men – have done what he would not. You are not intact, but you are also not with child, because you’ve had five years to get a bastard to usurp me, which is the only reason Edmund married you, and you haven’t yet succeeded.’

Henrietta disguised her inner fury. ‘If all that is true,’ she said calmly, ‘you must be confident your inheritance is secure.’

‘Nonsense. You might attempt to pass a foundling off as your own.’

She smiled broadly as she placed down her brush. ‘Why! That hadn’t occurred to me. Rather clever idea, Perceval.’

His eyes flashed. ‘I shan’t give you the chance. Soon, you will have your monthly courses and I shall know when you do because starting tonight, you will reside with Bishop Babcock and his family. You will sleep every night in the same bed as Jane, and either she or Mrs Babcock will never leave your side until you bleed.’

Henrietta scoffed. ‘You cannot imprison me.’

‘Oh, but I can, and I shall, if you drive me to it. Your family has left, returned to Lockington House. Bishop and Mrs Babcock await you downstairs, ready to take you to their home immediately, where you will remain until your monthly courses come – or, if you do not like that option, you may admit right now, in front of Bishop and Mrs Babcock and Quigley, who is also still here, that you aren’t with child. Admit it, and you are free to do whatever you want. If you cooperate, I won’t detain you, and I won’t contest Edmund’s will, even if I could. You are a wealthy woman now, with the freedom of widowhood and the privilege of a great title. Choose wisely, Henrietta. Don’t make an enemy of me.’

If she was angry earlier, it paled in comparison to her fury now. The indignity with which Perceval treated her was far too much to be borne. It spoke to the vileness of his character and reinforced why she must attempt to grant Edmund’s last request.

She stood, edging close to Perceval until they were toe to toe. She was a hair taller than the weasel, which gave her such great satisfaction that she lifted her chin to further the impression she looked down her nose at him.

‘No, Perceval. It’s you who oughtn’t make an enemy of me. Your threats don’t frighten me, and I shall not, I will not, be treated like a prisoner by a man who has neither the authority of blood nor the authority of station over me, for you are not yet the Duke of Severn, and I shall do everything in my power to ensure you never are.’

She shouldered past, heading swiftly for the door, intending to depart immediately for her estate. She wouldn’t pass another moment under the same roof as Perceval Percy.

Of course, the weasel lunged for her, but she had been expecting that. The attack didn’t frighten her. A girl didn’t grow up with five older brothers and not learn how to defend herself.

She seized the arm that attempted to restrain her, twisted it sharply, and forced it backwards over its elbow until he yelped and crumpled to his knees.

After releasing him, Henrietta delivered a solid kick to his groin.

‘There,’ she said, as he writhed on the carpet. ‘That might even keep you faithful to poor Jane, at least for tonight. I suggest you call for some ice and have a nice lie down.’

He squeaked, both hands clutched between his legs. ‘I shall destroy you, Henrietta.’

‘Not if I destroy you first, Perceval.’

She marched out of her room. As she swept down the stairs, she called out to the servants to notify her personal driver to prepare her travelling carriage for immediate departure to Grenham. She wouldn’t even take a change of clothes. Everything she needed could be found at her estate and she would arrive there in a few hours.

Once at Grenham, she’d begin her war against Perceval.

She just needed to find a man.