Library

-26-

Eliza

Jane did not settle to her task when they reached the library but took to pacing back and forth instead. While she wore a hole in the hearth rug, Eliza set about finding paper and pen so that when she was ready Jane could compose her thoughts and write to the earl. This necessitated a quick rummage through the desk to secure parchment and ink.

"What am I to do, Eliza? I don't know what to think or feel or anything." Jane's wan features were horridly blotchy, and her lips red from being bitten. The moment of anger she'd summoned following Linfield's demise had faded into a simmering sort of indecisiveness. "It's all so horribly sudden. It doesn't make any sense. We'd finally seen eye to eye and now… now he is no more. I want to be sad about it, but don't feel much of anything. Not even relief. I should feel something, shouldn't I?"

"Perhaps it is still sinking in," Eliza suggested as steadily as she was able. God's blood, she had no love for Lord Linfield, he had struck her as a snake from the start, and he hadn't shown his wife any great care. In fact, she'd wondered multiple times if he was trying to relieve his new bride of her wits. And… and he'd made that display before dinner purely to spite her, she was sure. On the other hand, he had not deserved such an abrupt and violent end. Nor to be deprived of his life in his own home. And for what? That was the part she could not fathom. What did anyone gain from his demise? The reasons and possibilities seemed endless and hopelessly theoretical. Not a single avenue of any substance stood out.

She drew out the chair for Jane to take and handed her the pen.

"What should I say?" her friend asked, settling uneasily on the edge of the seat.

Heavens, could she not manage one dratted thing for herself? Could she not comprehend that Eliza's mind was in as much of a whirl as her own?

"Say that you're not sure of the cause, but that he has passed away. That Doctor Bell is taking care of matters, and you'll await the earl's instructions as to funeral arrangements. They may wish him to be interred on the family estate. I would not mention the baby yet. Perhaps save those tidings for a missive to his mother once this news has had time to settle."

"Yes." She set ink to paper, writing the required words swiftly and sanding them dry. "Eliza, I have no black clothes."

"They can be procured. The servants will see to the mirrors being covered and other household arrangements. Really, there's nothing you can do, Jane, save hold yourself together as best you are able."

"Yes, of course, but shouldn't I attempt to find out what has happened?"

"I should leave that to Doctor Bell."

Jane levelled her with a surprisingly astute glare. "Truly? Where is my friend, Eliza Wakefield? What have you done with her?"

There were times to challenge the patriarchy, and this wasn't one of them.

"You think we should stand back and allow Doctor Bell to investigate?"

"He's the best qualified to determined how Linfield died. If it was a burst ulcer, he will tell us so, and if it was something else… that too." Although she sincerely hoped he'd spare Jane the details. She was far too tender and squeamish for a forensic discourse on the state of her husband's innards.

"Well, that's assuming we can trust him, and he isn't the one responsible."

"Responsible?" Bell was the least likely murderer among them. He was the only one of them she couldn't attribute a motive to.

Jane vacated her seat at the desk and began her pacing once more. It made Eliza weary watching her, so she folded the letter and set about locating some sealing wax. "I honestly trust him more than any other here."

"More than me?" Jane challenged, then bowed her head when Eliza met her gaze, for, yes, she did trust Bell more. There was something about him, something steadfast and reliable. He wasn't one to be easily swayed, and while his manner was frequently atrocious, it was equally atrocious regardless of whom he was speaking to.

"I thought we were friends, Eliza Wakefield. How can you suspect me of that? How could you think that I—"

"Do not challenge me on the grounds of friendship. You're the one who meant to spend the night with another man in your bed. A man you knew I particularly liked."

"Only because Linfield demanded it."

"And you didn't object. You didn't spare a single thought for how it might affect me."

"I had no notion that you were that enamoured of him."

"You knew it. You just chose not to acknowledge it when it mattered. In any case, do you not see how that plays into this? If it weren't for your condition, then you might not have been so ready to do his bidding, and you might have fathomed the truth of what manner of man you'd married."

Jane's mouth rounded into an angry O. She crossed her arms and set to rubbing their uppers. "He did ask that of me, and I did agree for exactly the reason you state. Why would I not? It was to be one occasion. Mr Whistler wasn't going to touch me. And really, Eliza, I know everyone believes me simple, but I thought you knew better. It's obvious that Mr Whistler is of the same inclinations as my husband, so it's not as if anything would come of your affection for him, anyway."

"You don't know that."

Jane sighed wearily. "I realise it's a shock to find out that he's… well, that he's unnatural, but do you really mean to punish me for that?"

"I'm not punishing anyone."

She'd been ready to give everyone involved the benefit of the doubt, right up until the point where she'd witnessed them fornicating outside the dining room. Keeping her head held high had been one of the toughest things she'd ever had to do. Looking at that beloved face, and seeing his guilt painted right across his features; it'd near hollowed her out completely. She'd wanted to shriek at him. To stamp her foot and succumb to the sort of rage her sister Maria would have displayed.

Only, she wasn't Maria. Nor was she Caroline, who would have swooned for definite, and then fallen into the deepest most desperate despair. Or, Joanna—stoic, loyal Joanna, who only ever cried on the inside. She was Eliza Wakefield. The sensible one. The practical one. The backbone of the family. The one everyone turned to. The one who stood firm when others faltered. She'd come here to support Jane in her new life as a member of the nobility, and that was what she would continue to do.

"I had no inkling of Linfield's inclinations until this afternoon," Jane confessed. She was worrying her skirts into knots, making alarming creases in the sheer fabrics. "If I'd had even the smallest notion of it, then I would never have agreed the match."

Of course she would not. Marrying had served a single purpose for Jane. Security for herself and the baby another man had planted in her belly. A man she still refused to name.

"You ought to be relieved, Eliza, that you shan't now be fooled in the same way. Not that you would have been. You're too clever for that."

She had only a sigh to give in response. "It's not important now."

"I'm sorry, Eliza. You're right, I allowed myself to be extremely selfish. I did know you liked him, and I ought to have stood up to Linfield and insisted he do his husbandly duties without assistance."

What did it matter? It wouldn't even happen anymore, and she ought to be pleased that she'd discovered Jem's deceit before their lovemaking had progressed any further. In truth, it was only his restraint that allowed her to say that. She'd been only too willing to play the silly fool and have him thrust himself inside her.

"He's not the man I thought him to be. He's just another scoundrel like all the rest."

Jane sighed and rested her hand on Eliza's cheek. "We're both dunces, and I, silly fool that I am, have let everyone know I'm with child when it would have been wiser not to do so."

"You did rather blurt it out."

"I did, didn't I? As I said, I'm a thorough ninny."

Eliza swallowed the hard lump in her throat. "You're not. Not really. You'd had a shock. We all had. Everyone's humours were up."

Eager for whatever manner of accord they could come to, Jane nodded eagerly. "Do you believe what Doctor Bell said, that some undiagnosed malady took him?"

Eliza swayed her head. "No," she admitted. "I think he said that to make sure the magistrate wasn't summoned. I think his first suspicion was likely the same one the rest of us formed—"

"Poison?"

"Poison."

"So, there's a murderer amongst us?"

"Perhaps," Eliza agreed. "Is it discomforting that I find that notion easier to reconcile than Cedarton having a genuine white lady walking its halls?"

"A little, perhaps. Eliza, do you think we might agree that neither of us did him in? Only, it will make our continued friendship a good deal easier to manage if we do."

"It will, and very well. Do you wish to shake hands on it?"

Jane offered up hers, and they sealed their pact like gentlemen.

"I don't recall anyone tampering with his glass, but I was at the other end of the table, and not inclined to pay him attention."

"I don't understand it," Jane said, worrying her lips. "Weren't we all drinking the same stuff? I swear my glass was filled from the same bottle, and Mr Whistler's too, and perhaps Mr Cluett's. He was drinking a lot. In fact, I think everyone was. Surely if something had been added to one of the bottles, then we would all have been affected."

"Not a lot of the food got eaten," Eliza observed. "So, it seems unlikely to have been something in that." She'd had no appetite, Bell never touched meat, and Jem had spooned a few things onto his plate, but she couldn't say for definite whether he'd eaten them or not. And surely poisoning the food indeterminately was far too risky, also one would have had to have access to it before it reached the table. That meant going down to the kitchens or intercepting it en route, something that would easily be determined with only a quick interview with Cedarton's handful of servants. But they'd all gone in to dine at the same time. She'd sat down last, and she couldn't recall anyone leaving to use the chamber pot.

"The Cluetts both ate heartily, but then if it was one of them, you'd think they'd be more circumspect about what they touched, and I think George had a bit of everything. I do think it was most likely them though. Don't you, Eliza? Didn't you see how quickly George was to defend himself and accuse me? But then that doesn't make sense. They wouldn't risk poisoning themselves, would they?"

"Maybe it wasn't anything on the table."

"You mean someone could have got to him earlier? Oh, yes!" Jane's eyes gleamed with sudden fervour. "Then I bet it was Henrietta. I bet she rouged her lips with it and then when she—"

"That is rather fanciful. It would hurt her as much as him if she put something on her lips."

"But just because it is fanciful does not mean it's not possible."

True enough. Jane seemed very taken with the idea, but perhaps that was down to her still harbouring ill-feelings over catching Henrietta with her mouth around Linfield's prick.

"What if it's all connected?"

"If all what is connected?" Jane asked.

"Everything. The ghosts, the bed fire, the quarrels, Linfield's death." Too many inexplicable things had occurred for them not to be related.

Jane nudged her arm. "I know that expression, you're cogitating again. Share your thoughts with me."

"I have nothing to share. I don't have any answers, Jane, nor even a working theory. I just think it's all related, Old Lady Cedarton appearing to you, your bed inexplicably burning, Linfield's death, even maybe the reason why you came to Cedarton to begin with."

"Are you suggesting this is all to do with…" She spread her fingers across her stomach. "It can't be. Nobody knows, and nobody ever will."

That was not what she had meant, rather Linfield's reason to sojourn in the Yorkshire countryside in a half-ruined castle cut off from its neighbours by frost and mist.

Then again, who was to say those two things weren't also connected? Matters felt so jumbled, it wouldn't surprise her at all to discover they were.

George lurched into the room at that moment, causing Jane to cry out, and Eliza to place herself between Mr Cluett and her friend. "Is there something you wish to say to Lady Linfield, Mr Cluett?" She was forced to put a hand to his chest to keep him from bowling her over. Now far beyond the stage of maudlin drunkenness he'd displayed earlier, George's eyes blazed with tyrannical menace.

"Lady Linfield my arse," he blasphemed, shoving his blotchy red face up close to Eliza in a manner that caused her eyes to water as a result of the alcohol fumes on his breath. "'Tain't a legitimate marriage. You might have sworn it afore the Lord, but that doesn't change matters. Happens his lordship was already bound. I know. I've seen the record. Might be that he tore it from the parish record book, but it still happened. Was still witnessed and officiated."

"That's a hideous thing to say. You're lying," Jane protested. "He's only been gone a moment. I can't believe you're being this horrid."

"Good riddance," George snarled. "I hope the Devil has him dangling on the prongs of his pitchfork."

"What is it you want?" Eliza asked, both curious and determined to temper the level of drama occurring. "Or have you simply come to create mischief?"

"I've come for what's mine, and I'll have it, if you don't want the world to know your marriage is a phoney one." He nodded his head at Jane as he spoke.

"Don't heed him, Jane. Your marriage is valid. He means only to menace you, the same as all drunks."

"Happens I may have had a tipple or two." George rocked on his heels, before making a swipe in Jane's direction that fell far short of his target. "It don't change the facts. She ain't really Lady Linfield. Can't be. He weren't free to have her. Yer can dispute it all you wish; I have the paper what says it plain. Married he was, last spring, to Janie Faintree, not Jane Morley, recorded by Thomas Jenkins, curate, in the presence of two witness all appropriately documented with their marks."

Eliza shoved him back from her person.

"That cannot be so. I don't believe you. Eliza, it can't be," poor Jane sang.

Worryingly, she feared it might be.

"Where is your proof, Mr Cluett?"

George patted his coat front, appraising them of an inside pocket. "Right where it's safe, that's where. If you want it from me, and for me to hold my tongue, then I'll make you the same offer I made him. The deeds to the Berkley Square property that he swindled from me, in exchange for my silence." He made a turning motion before his lips, then cast away the imaginary key. "Otherwise, I'll ruin you as surely as he's ruined me. Everyone who matters will know that you're a fraud, and that he was a bigamist. Your brat will be baseborn. The bastard brat of a dead bigamist. I'm sure he'll grow into a fine and respected citizen." His grin was entirely made of spite.

"What have I done to you?" Jane pleaded. The answer was nothing.

A fact George readily admitted. "You're even quite sweet in the insipid, useless way of proper society ladies. That's why I'm giving you the chance to buy my silence."

"But I don't know anything about a house on Berkley Square, nor have I any notion where Linfield would keep the deeds to it. Would they not be with his man of business, or even the earl?"

"You had better hope they are not."

"Mr Cluett, I believe you said earlier that you and he were to make amends this evening," Eliza hugged Jane to her as she spoke. "Surely then the deed must be here at Cedarton, perhaps even on his person. That is, as you've already rightly pointed out, a very safe location."

"It is at that."

Jane gave an alarmed burp of protest. "You cannot mean for me to rifle through my dead husband's pockets."

That set George off into a cackle. "Frightened his ghost will rise and protest the theft? He probably will. He's just the sort of spiteful soul who'd linger to cause additional pain."

The pallor of Jane's face rather suggested she feared exactly that. Nor was it such a surprise, given the recent visitations she'd experienced. Coupled with the fact that Jane had always been the squeamish sort, it was perfectly obvious why she wouldn't wish to touch Linfield's corpse.

Jane wrung her hands together. "Doctor Bell has taken charge of the body. He's going to think it most peculiar if I rifle through Linfield's pockets." Particularly when she wouldn't wish to describe what she was seeking, for then there would be another person privy to George's claims.

"That's your concern, not mine. You'd better get to him quickly, otherwise the skinny quack will have him cut open and all his organs hanging out."

"Jane!" Eliza held her fast as she felt her friend's leg's sag. "He's saying these things merely to be cruel."

Finding her strength, though she continued to hold fast to Eliza for support, Jane straightened her spine. "Perhaps you ought to worry about what Doctor Bell might find instead of harassing me. After all, Linfield is dead, and you and he had a dreadful fight earlier today."

"I see you're accusing me again."

"Does that worry you, Mr Cluett?" Eliza met his angry gaze and didn't flinch. "It ought to."

"I've not killed him. If he was done in, it wasn't by my hand, and I won't be framed for it. Get me those deeds, unless you want your fraudulent marriage made public, Miss Morley. You have until breakfast."

Jane sank to her knees before the hearth once George had left and put her head in her hands. "It's not true is it, Eliza? It can't be true. 'Tis bad enough that in life, he couldn't give me the one thing I needed from him, but now I shall be damned for that very thing, for my virginity is gone, and the marriage is a lie. They will condemn me, even though I was deceived. It is always the woman's fault, even when she had no hand in it at all."

"You are not condemned yet." Eliza knelt before her and managed to coax Jane to raise her head. They embraced, Jane resting her head on Eliza's shoulder and wetting her skin with the snuffles she made.

"I know I am not blameless. I've been a fool a dozen times over. This is now my punishment for dishonesty."

"Jane, embracing this piteous state will not help anything. We must at least attempt to find the deeds George wants. Even if you decide not to hand them over, it will still put us in a better bargaining position. I doubt he or Henrietta have taken to their beds. They will be tearing the place apart searching for those papers. Moreover, he could be bluffing. Using your perceived greenness against you to swindle you."

"I don't care about a house, Eliza. At least not as much as I care about this child I'm growing. George can have the deeds if we can find them." She dried her eyes and set about searching through the desk drawers where Eliza had already looked. The remainder of the room was quickly examined too. There were a lot of books, but little furniture. If Linfield had hidden the deed in one of those, then it would take hours upon hours to find it. It made more sense to rule out other locations first.

"If you examine his person, I will go to his chamber," Jane proposed. "I cannot look at him again, not if Bell has begun his work."

Eliza squeezed her hand. "I doubt he has done so yet. A proper examination requires decent light."

"You mean he'll wait until morning?"

She shrugged. As a matter of fact, she didn't. Bell didn't strike her as one to put off what could be seen to now, but Linfield had barely been dead an hour; even if Bell believed urgency of the essence, he was unlikely to have begun yet. While she had not attended the theatre hosted by the anatomists after hangings, she had read accounts of such proceedings. The corpses were cleaned with camphor and spirits, and cuts were often made to determine death had actually occurred and the deceased wouldn't suddenly wake up. "I don't like the idea of you wandering about alone, Jane."

"I will be extra cautious, and no one will expect me to go to Linfield's room. They'll look for me in your room, or perhaps the new chamber I was to move to in the Lady's Tower. Do you suppose he could have left something there?"

Anything was possible.

"We'll meet back in my chamber," Eliza said. She waited for Jane to leave, then used the secret passageway that ran between the upper part of the library down to the rear of Bell's surgery. That was where they were most likely to have lain Linfield to rest, and perhaps she could slip in and out without anyone being the wiser to her presence.

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