In which a dowager is defeated
Gossip mixes kernels of truth with exaggeration, speculation, and malice - so it is difficult for a Truth Discernor to navigate.
- from Lady Avely’s Guide to Lies and Charms
Kenneth rapped on the door. Faske must have seen from the window that it was Lord Kenneth Garvey himself arriving, for this time he responded promptly.
The burly butler gave an almost creditable bow to his master, but he slid a nasty look to Judith. She smiled back benignly. He could scarcely refuse her entry now, on the arm of the lord of the manor.
“My lord,” said Faske. “What a surprise to see you.” This was the truth, according to Judith’s perception, but she saw the butler give Kenneth a measuring glance, unlike that of a servant’s respectful gaze into the middle distance.
“Is it?” said Kenneth dryly. “It is my house after all. Tell Mother that I am here to see her, along with Lady Judith Avely. We have something important to discuss.”
Faske backed away, and Kenneth gestured for Judith to enter before him. She did so, feeling as if the dark hall pressed upon her. Casting a glance back, she saw Dacian sidle in after Kenneth. To justify her footman’s presence, she made a show of taking off her cloak and handing it to him. Carefully, Dacian folded it over his forearm, keeping his eyes lowered above his moustache.
Faske returned. “Lady Garvey is in the greenhouse,” he said sullenly. “She will see you there.”
They followed Faske to exit on the southern side of the house, and down a paved path to the glass monument.
The large doors swung open without a creak, into a cave of greenery. The climbing roses that had crept up the walls nine years ago now grew in profusion in every corner, wrapping the whole room up as if it were a leafy nest. The peach trees were larger in their hefty pots, though their branches were now bare and spindly with the season. Showy dahlias bloomed beneath, warm with colour. The scent of damp soil and bark permeated the air, along with the faintly rotting smell of spent roses. And the sickly-sweet smell of the maze flower; the Galenia flower.
Judith looked around sharply, seeking the source, and saw that the group of orange trees no longer stood in their neat formation. One of the citruses was completely covered in the strange flowering vine, suffocating the branches and obscuring its fruit. Moreover, at least a dozen more small pots nursed cuttings of the vine, staked and straining towards the light.
Looking away, Judith tried to disguise her interest, and followed Kenneth obediently through the curving crescent of camellias where Dacian had comforted her nine years ago. Their delicate flowers were in bloom again, though some petals decayed on the floor.
Georgina was standing on a wooden step, pruning one of the chaotic climbing roses. Perhaps her alleged green thumb was entirely innocent, after all. Hearing their approach, she glanced over, and her face lit up with a startle of surprise. Then it shuttered, and she looked nervously at her grandmother.
Lady Garvey was in a cane chair by the brazier fire, her walking stick leaning against the wall. The glowing coals that heated the glasshouse also warmed her ladyship’s frail form, hunched in a thick woollen cloak and furs. The old woman looked more grey and ill than she had two days earlier, and Judith shot a troubled look at the tea that stood on a spindly iron table, wondering how Mrs Froode had prepared the brew.
However, as they progressed into the room, Lady Garvey sat up straighter, sharpening her eyes on Kenneth with a deepening frown. Faske withdrew to the glass door, but did not leave the room entirely, taking up a stance that was vaguely threatening. Judith was glad that Dacian took up a position on the opposing side, still holding her cloak.
Kenneth strode over to Lady Garvey, and gave a perfunctory kiss on her hand.
“Mother, why aren’t you wearing the lorgnette I purchased you?” he said. “I promise you that they are all the fashion in London now.”
His tone was placatory, yet Lady Garvey withdrew her hand and clutched at her quizzing glass. “I don’t need confounded London fashions, boy. Don’t try to worm your way into my good graces with your frippery gifts.”
Kenneth flushed slightly. “I am only trying to be useful, Mother. Considering that you cannot visit London anymore…”
Lady Garvey sniffed and turned her ire upon Judith. “What are you doing here?” she said rudely. “I told you to leave us alone.”
Judith curtsied. “My lady, Lord Kenneth invited me…”
“Ha!”
“I did,” interposed Kenneth. He took a step back and clasped his hands behind him, gathering his courage, as Judith could see, even as he almost backed into a peach tree. “Lady Avely told me of her kind invitation to Georgina, and I think you must accept, Mother. It is past time that Georgina sees more of the world.”
Georgina gasped and stepped down from her wooden perch, aglow. “Oh, Uncle Kenneth! There is nothing I would like more!”
He smiled. “I’m certain you will find a husband quickly, Georgy, if we let you loose upon the town.”
“Nonsense,” snapped Lady Garvey. “Georgina, you don’t want to be married off in some distasteful marriage. Much better to stay a spinster.”
Kenneth frowned. “I thought you wanted Georgina to make a good match. You should not be so selfish as to keep her here, tending to your every need.”
Georgina flushed and put her pruning shears down, looking guiltily at her grandmother.
“How dare you!” The old woman’s gnarled hands clenched on the cane arm rests, and she scowled at her son. “I may do as I see fit, for I am the one caring for Georgina! Much more than you ever have!”
Kenneth cleared his throat and stood his ground. “Well, as her legal guardian and as patriarch of this household, I must insist that Georgina goes to London. It might do something to salvage the family’s reputation if she is seen to attend such a fashionable wedding as the Earl of Beresford’s.”
“Patriarch!” expostulated Lady Garvey. “An undeserving and inadequate one at that. I don’t know why you think you can suddenly order me about, boy. You have no moral right to do so, whatever claims you might air.”
Judith decided it was time to intervene, for she could hear that Lady Garvey was not as certain in her defiance as she pretended to be. “My lady, I know it is only concern for Miss Georgina that stirs you, but I swear to you that she will come to no harm in London. She may stay at Lord Beresford’s town house, and I will personally escort her to the church.”
“Hmph.” Lady Garvey glanced at Georgina’s anxious face, and her gaze softened. “Well, it seems I am overcome at every quarter.” She heaved a sigh, and twitched her furs. “Drat you all. I suppose you may go, Georgy, if you must.”
“Oh, Grandmama!” Georgina stepped forward, excitement radiating from her face. “Truly?”
“Only if you return quickly,” said Lady Garvey reluctantly.
Georgina spun round in a delighted circle, then flew to Kenneth’s side, a thousand questions pouring out of her about how she should travel and what she should pack. Kenneth indulgently answered, while his mother looked on with disapproval.
Judith took the opportunity to inch up to Lady Garvey’s side. Her ladyship’s countenance was rather mournful as she watched Georgina’s raptures. Judith made a show of warming herself near the brazier coals.
“It makes us feel quite redundant, does it not?” she murmured. “Saddening, when we are no longer the centre of their world - and yet only right.”
“Hmph,” said Lady Garvey again. Her eyes slid to Judith with a hint of defensiveness, then back to Georgina. “I suppose you are correct, Lady Avely, in this instance.”
Judith turned her hands above the coals. “It must be hard, when you are ill, to part with her,” she suggested. “Can Mrs Froode care for you in Georgina’s absence?”
“Mrs Froode already does so,” snapped Lady Garvey.
“Indeed,” said Judith, though Mrs Froode had been conspicuously absent today. “Are you undergoing a treatment of the Poleney Elixir? It is rumoured to be most efficacious.”
Lady Garvey turned to look at her again. “What are you blathering on about?”
“The herbal remedy that you take in your tea.” Judith fanned her hands out. “Is it not the new Poleney Elixir, that the Stokesford apothecary produces?” She carefully avoided looking at the flowering vine that strangled the citrus trees, though she could still smell its fragrance.
“No,” said Lady Garvey blankly, and her voice rung true. “I have not heard of this Poleney Elixir. It sounds most intriguing.”
“It is available in Stokesford, and it is said to be a general cure-all - though I have my doubts.”
“Nothing is a cure-all.” Lady Garvey rapped out. “We are each too individual in our complaints.” She paused and added thoughtfully, “Yet perhaps I should try it.”
“Indeed.” Judith turned her back to the briar. “If you do not use the Poleney Elixir, what is your preferred remedy?”
Lady Garvey’s gaze shuttered. “It is merely a little concoction that Mrs Froode prepares for me.”
Judith tilted her head with gentle interest. “Mrs Froode has been with you a long time, has she not?”
“Yes.” Lady Garvey hesitated. “She was Harriet’s lady’s maid previously, but she proved herself most capable, and I appointed her as housekeeper. She has become indispensable.” There was a note of discord in her voice, and Judith wondered if there was some conflict between the two older women, one lady and one servant.
“Are you certain that her herbal concoction is safe?”
“Safe? Of course it is safe.” The response was surly, yet showed no trace of doubt. Lady Garvey did not suspect Mrs Froode of any ill intent.
“Sometimes that which heals can also be lethal in large doses,” pressed Judith. “I would advise caution in your consumption of it.”
Her ladyship smiled faintly. “A large dose would rarely be required. Your concern is unwarranted, Lady Avely, but I thank you for it.” She examined Judith with a softer glance. “I suppose you mean well, for all your meddling. You’d best take care of Georgina in London, like you promised.”
At that moment, there was a commotion by the glass door. Through the camellias, Judith saw Faske step aside for Mrs Froode, as if summoned by her speculation. The housekeeper’s lined face was harried under her white mobcap, for Isobel and Lord Triskett crowded behind her, pressing into the glasshouse.
Judith raised her brows. What were they doing here? She almost had to admire Isobel’s effrontery in barging in without an invitation. And she wasn’t even using a twisted ankle to do it.
“Ah!” Isobel pushed past Mrs Froode and sailed up to the tableau by the brazier. “Lady Avely! You are here too! Hasn’t it been an age since we were last in Garvey House? I had quite forgotten this lovely greenhouse.”
She wore a ravishing gown of green velvet trimmed in fox fur, which quite cast Judith’s pale lavender into shade.
Lady Garvey lifted her quizzing glass. “Good God, is that Isobel Vosse? Am I to have no peace?”
Isobel gave a demure curtsy.
Lady Garvey was unimpressed. “This garden is meant to be my sanctuary. Faske, remove these persons!”
Faske, by the door, almost shrugged. It was clear he had no idea how to eject the well-heeled visitors, especially one as assured as Isobel.
Lord Triskett sidled up, looking about curiously. “Good morning, Lady Garvey, Lord Garvey, Lady Avely. Please excuse this incursion. We were in the county and … and…”
He seemed quite unable to explain himself further and lapsed into silence. Isobel took up the mantle, sweeping over to a climbing rose that still bore a few blooms. Judith cynically thought that she had probably selected it as a suitable backdrop for her own beauty, as Isobel slid an amused glance towards Dacian in his livery by the door.
“We bear some news!” Isobel announced. “Last night, I saw the ghost of Lord Garvey!”
A stunned silence met her. A coal popped in the brazier as they all stared at Isobel.
Kenneth spoke, his voice husky with outrage. “Utter poppycock! Do not talk nonsense!”
“No, I implore you to listen!” Isobel wrung her hands together fetchingly. “I heard rumours in Stokesford and I inveigled Lord Triskett to walk me to the maze last night, at dusk. I did not really expect to see anything, you understand! It was just a little adventure. And then! As we came up the poplar avenue, we saw Lord Garvey himself lurch out of the hedges.”
Georgina gasped. Kenneth wore a deep scowl as he glared at Isobel, but Judith could see his jaw was clenched tight, in either fury or fear. Judith watched with interest, as she knew that Isobel had not conducted such a walk. Quite besides the lie clanging hollowly in her voice, Marigold and Wooten would have seen her in their evening reconnaissance.
“Oh?” said Judith. “How did you know it was Lord Garvey?”
Isobel was not put off her stride. “I recognised him after all these years: his fair hair glinting in the moonlight, his admirable masculine form, even the fine clothes he wore on that fatal night! And he had a bullet wound weeping from his chest, blood darkening his golden waistcoat.”
Her voice broke. Judith leaned forward, fascinated by the performance. The whole story was indeed poppycock, though delivered with convincing fervour. What could be Isobel’s purpose? Her gamine green eyes were darting around the room, as if nervous, but Judith could detect a watchfulness there.
Judith, likewise, turned her head slightly to pass her gaze over those present, to see how they received the tale. Georgina was pale with fright; Mrs Froode was rigid with anger, her watery blue eyes glaring. Lord Triskett seemed utterly mortified, staring fixedly at the carpet. Kenneth continued to grind his jaw. Faske, observing by the door, was the only one who seemed amused. Dacian was frowning.
Lady Garvey was white with fury. “Do not tell such stories, you harlot!”
Isobel reared back as if struck, laying a hand upon a heaving bosom. “It is not a story! And I warrant that I am not the only one who has seen him, I am sure of it! Ask everyone here!”
Judith felt a flash of surprised admiration. Isobel, in her own dramatic fashion, had turned the tables. Everyone glanced at one another then looked away, wiping their expressions blank.
Yet Isobel pointed to the door, triumphant. “See! Your butler! He knows something! He smirked!”
Everyone turned to stare at Faske. At this barrage of attention, he shifted uncomfortably, and winced.
“Well,” said Judith, into the silence, for she agreed with Isobel. Faske had been smirking. “Have you seen the ghost, Faske?”
In the expectant tension, Faske cleared his throat. “Er, well. I have seen a figure lurking around the maze, it is true. Perhaps it was a ghost. It appeared to be a gentleman.”
“What!” cried Isobel. “Did you not recognise your old master? Did you not see his blood?”
Faske coughed awkwardly. “I am late to this establishment, my lady, and would not recognise the late Lord Charles Garvey. And as far as I recall, the figure did not wear a golden waistcoat. Not the one I saw.” His lips twitched again.
Lady Garvey’s voice was hoarse with rage. “My dear man, this is the very reason I hired you: to keep thieves away. If you see a creeping figure, you must dispatch him, not examine his waistcoat.”
“Indeed, my lady,” said Faske, but his smirk threatened to re-emerge. Judith narrowed her eyes. What could be so amusing to Faske about the ghostly prowler? He clearly knew more than he was saying. Mrs Froode’s black figure edged closer to the butler, as if to shoo him out of the room, her brow furrowed.
Lord Kenneth took a hesitant step forward, in an attempt to exert some authority. “Faske, next time you see anything untoward, I expect you to inform me of it. If there are poachers or intruders on the estate, we must deal with them.”
“Certainly, my lord.” Faske straightened his shoulders, his gaze fixing somewhere in the middle distance, finally adopting the proper attitude of a servant. “Of course, my lord. I will tell you at once.”
Judith heard the lie, and wondered if she was the only one.