Chapter 19

“I still have questions,” Hyperia said, accepting my handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. “Many questions, but I’m honestly a little consoled too, Jules.”

I escorted her into the family parlor, which sat across the corridor from the library. I left the door open, the better to hear any shouting from the Taits’ direction.

“Consoled,” Hyperia went on, “because Healy was stupid and arrogant and ridiculous, but he’d never undertake the sort of siege Margery and Ardath laid on Evelyn’s happiness.”

“And on her worldly means.” I sank into a wing chair, unaccountably tired, despite the midafternoon hour. “I hope Evelyn and John can come to some sort of reproachment.”

Hyperia took the seat behind the escritoire. “Because you adore a happily ever after?”

I did not trust or believe in happily ever afters. “Because those two have suffered enough, life is short, and all it takes is a horse shying at a rabbit and a loved one has met an untimely end. Merri needs all the loving family she can find. She’ll very likely be an heiress of some sort, and her aunties will prey on her if John and Evelyn should be prematurely gathered to their celestial rewards.”

Hyperia brushed a white quill feather against her chin. “I dislike intensely that you can think like that. At the same time, I admire your shrewdness. Lady Peele should be Merri’s godmother, Sir Tristan her guardian in the event of parental demise.”

We were quiet for a moment, both thinking of siblings, no doubt, and children, and how complicated family matters could become.

“You aren’t gloating,” I observed. “You are entitled to.”

Hyperia twirled the feather between her palms. “Gloat? You’ve apparently solved another puzzle, though I’m not sure how. Why should I gloat?”

“You said Tait was a good man. You were right.”

Hyperia laid the feather in the pen tray. “He was a complete dolt too. Evelyn was a prize ass, and they wasted so much time, Jules. As much as sibling mischief has figured in this tale, I’d still hate to think Merri will be an only child because her parents spent five good, healthy years apart out of sheer foolishness.”

An interesting sentiment coming from a woman who emphatically didn’t want children, ever, on any terms.

“Evelyn is hardly ancient, and both of them are robustly healthy. I wonder how much that locked door had to do with their empty nursery.”

Hyperia rose and came around the escritoire. I had just formed the thought, She’s about to sit in my lap, and how I delight in the very notion, when Tait and Evelyn joined us from the library.

They weren’t holding hands, but they appeared to be in a tentative sort of charity with each other. Progress. Napoleon hadn’t been defeated in a day, or a year, or a decade.

I rose and gestured to the wing chairs. “Please do join us. Miss West was just remarking that we’re still mystified as to a few of the situation’s particulars. If you’re up to the telling, Mrs. Tait, we’d like to hear the story from your perspective.”

“Do call me Evelyn, please, my lord. John says you’ve worked a miracle.” Tait assisted her into a chair while I settled with Hyperia on the sofa.

“Hardly that,” I said. “You simply forgot to change your handwriting. Mrs. Ingersoll wrote her notes to us here at the Hall in precisely the same hand as the woman who filled those three journals on the sideboard. She also writes—I commend you, madam—in the hand of the schoolmaster employed by Lady Peele.”

He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; for they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mischief. Young Francis’s copybook had stayed with me, both for the odd quote and for the penmanship.

“Then too,” I said, “you nearly quoted Francis Bacon when I conversed with you on the village green. Your turn a phrase was something about it being impossible to be in love and sensible, but the precise quote is that ‘It is impossible to love and to be wise.’ Young Francis Peele’s schoolmaster gave him a longer quote from Bacon to copy. You do enjoy your philosophers, don’t you?”

“She was always quoting somebody,” Tait murmured. “She read his Novum Organum. Actually read it in the original Latin.”

“You remained devoted to Bacon,” I went on, “and you forgot to change your walk. Ardath Deloitte striding across her garden reminded me of somebody, and that somebody was you—Mrs. Ingersoll—marching about the back gardens with me here at the Hall. You claimed to be a Londoner born and bred, but London ladies never learn how to hike. Evvie Tait, by contrast, never learned how to stroll, mince, or meander. Even Lady Peele moves with a sense of purpose that echoes your stride.”

Hyperia was smiling slightly, while Tait was staring at his wife and trying not to be too obvious about it.

I kept talking, mostly to fill a vast, complicated silence. “Then too, you told Merri that you’d explain the situation to her when you and she were home, and Tait had told me that Evelyn was clever enough to devise codes. You and Merri had a little code, probably a lot of little codes, and ‘I’ll explain when we’re home’ was only one of them. I was slow to put the pieces together, but your handwriting doesn’t lie.”

The mantel clock ticked softly three times while Evelyn regarded me. “Your lordship is observant.”

Hyperia looked pleased, while Tait was clearly concerned. “You were a schoolmaster, Evelyn?”

“I was,” she said, smiling slightly, “and a good one, and I enjoyed it more than you can imagine. I had to get away from Ardath and Margery. Ardath kept demanding money for this and that, and I soon realized it was hush money. The sister who’d claimed I should have left John years earlier than I did was periodically consumed with guilt for putting asunder those whom God had joined. Ardie should have been a thespian.”

“Or a confidence trickster,” Tait muttered. “You went to Lady Peele?”

“I told Ardath I wanted to get Merri out of the foul London air, and I did. Babs was a true refuge, and when I proposed giving me the schoolmaster’s post, she agreed. I cut off half my hair, borrowed some of Sir Tristan’s old clothes, and carried a battered satchel with me everywhere. The job came with a small stipend and a cottage, and for a few years, we managed.”

“All the while,” Hyperia put in, “you were being bled dry by Margery and Ardath.”

“Ardath’s demands ceased, but Margery dropped hints that my nieces would appreciate a holiday token from me, that had anybody known I was to inherit Hasborough Cottage, ‘all those fabulous jewels’ would never have come to me. They were good pearls, but the best of my jewels were given to me by my husband. Parting with those hurt.”

Tait, to his credit, responded on cue. “I can buy you more, Evelyn. The jewels don’t matter.”

Evelyn shook her head. “I don’t want jewels. I always felt like mutton dressed up as lamb in them. I haven’t missed the curling tongs either. I did miss you.”

To be listed along with curling tongs and cameos was hardly a profession of undying devotion, but Tait looked bashful. “Is that why you came here when you left Berkshire?” he asked. “Because you missed me?”

“I’m curious as well,” I said. “Did you think Tait wouldn’t recognize you? Was it a final test?”

“A test which I failed,” Tait said, looking not too upset with his bad marks.

“I knew I would soon come into possession of Hasborough Cottage and that Ardath and Margery were already planning that I should sell it and dower their daughters with the proceeds. I, who was living by my wits, was to dower young ladies who have perfectly doting papas to see to the matter. That bothered me, I can tell you. What of Merri? Who would dower her, for pity’s sake? She was growing old enough to be puzzled by a mama who played dress-up every time she left the house, and the whole deception was becoming insupportable. I realized that Margery and Ardath would never stop unless I could manage to disappear. I didn’t even tell Babs where I was going.”

“And the one place you would never be expected to go,” Hyperia said, “was your home shire.”

“Two villages over,” Evelyn said, “but yes. Not quite under John’s nose, but close enough that Merri might catch a glimpse of him. I thought someday she might need a memory of his appearance, if anything happened to me. Or that’s what I told myself. The years have been kind to you, John Tait. I nearly hated you for that.”

“The years have been lonely, Evelyn. Never doubt it.” Tait patted her hand, and for the love of all things ridiculous, Evelyn blushed.

She soldiered on with her narrative before the color was receding from her cheeks. “Lord Julian told me—told Mrs. Ingersoll—that you wouldn’t allow anything in my rooms to be changed, that you’d read my diaries. I thought you might, and the notion was a comfort when it should have annoyed me.”

“You left them behind,” Tait said slowly, “because you thought you were coming back, didn’t you?”

Evelyn peeped at him from beneath lowered lashes. “I hoped I would, eventually. At first. The whole situation grew so muddled, and I didn’t carry Merri well, and Margery made certain that I was apprised of your every peccadillo and amour. Miss West is one of your particular favorites. To hear Margery tell it, the two of you cooed audibly throughout the village fete and nearly sat in each other’s laps at the quarterly assemblies.”

“Oh dear.” Hyperia smirked at Tait. “And here I am, all unaware of your tendresse, John, and utterly uninterested in same.”

“I will cope with the rejection,” Tait said, “believe me.”

And I would have a word with Lady Ophelia, who’d apparently heard gossip instigated by none other than Evelyn’s own sisters.

“I had another reason for returning to home territory before I sold the farm,” Evelyn said, gaze on her husband’s countenance. “I wanted to see for myself what I was giving up. I wanted to make the decision to move on based on current evidence, not on Margery’s bile or Ardath’s spite. I wanted to say farewell in my mind to what might have been, not to the tarnished tale my sisters concocted. And then John turned up charming, and I wanted to bash him over the head with my parasol.”

“You used to do that,” Tait said wistfully. “Showed me no mercy, and we always ended up laughing.”

“You have a hard head, and I pulled my punches.”

Tait took her hand. “You also kept your worries to yourself, Evelyn, and I can’t blame you for that.” His expression was as serious as I’d seen it. He focused on Evelyn’s plain gold wedding band. Not all wives, and certainly not all widows, wore such rings, but Evelyn had not only kept hers, she displayed it.

“We should have confided in each other,” Tait said slowly. “I had no one older or wiser to urge that behavior on me. Margery and Ardath were bent on destroying our trust in each other. They were jealous of us. I can see that now. We should have confided as husbands and wives are exhorted to do. Cleaving only to each other…”

Not a sentiment Margery Semple would ever immortalize in a sampler, and that realization gave me a passing sense of pity for her. Her life would be the envy of many, as would Ardath Deloitte’s, and yet, those women seethed with discontent.

“I wanted somebody to confide in,” Tait went on, “and that somebody was my own wife. Her door was locked to me, repeatedly, and I did not know what to do. I am sorry, but I promise you now, before these witnesses, that if you will honor our vows, then when I am next unsure what to do, jealous, or confused, I will entrust my worries to you before taking any other action.”

Hyperia was staring at Evelyn as if she’d will Tait’s wife to rise to the honor she’d just been paid.

“I hated the curling tongs,” Evelyn said. “I couldn’t even tell you that. The fripperies and lace looked ridiculous on me, and I felt ridiculous and so lonely, John. I’d go up to the nursery and cry because I knew you wouldn’t look for me there. I didn’t want to disappoint you, and I have, and I am so, so sorry.”

I eyed the door, which was open, for pity’s sake.

“I was awful,” Tait said. “Flirting like an idiot, ignoring my wife when I should have simply asked you what was amiss.”

Evelyn stroked his knuckles. “You were awful. I was awful-er. I wouldn’t have told you why I wept. I knew marriage to you was too good to be true, and Margery said all honeymoons end. I wanted to strangle her. I wanted to strangle you. I often wanted to strangle myself.”

“Oh, my love.” Tait perched on the arm of her chair, and to the extent a man could in that awkward posture, he took his lady in his arms.

Hyperia and I once again withdrew, before anybody’s weeping became audible. We closed the door behind us and sought refuge in the library.

* * *

Hyperia and I had dawdled among the biographies for a good quarter hour before she looked up from Chesterfield’s Letters to His Son and snapped the book closed.

“John Tait is a good man,” she said. “I was right about that.”

I put down a musty tome by Mr. Gibbon, wherein he’d been maundering on about my imperial pagan namesake, Julian the Philosopher. “Agreed. Tait is a fine fellow.” Let the gloating begin.

“He was also a dolt, and Evelyn was flighty and gullible, but they will muddle on, thanks to you. All that is behind them.”

I maintained a diplomatic silence. In my experience, all of life was a matter of muddling on, and the past never truly left us in peace for long.

“John was right about the trust, Jules. When two people are committed to one another, they should be in each other’s confidence.”

Committed to one another? “The principle of mutual trust between halves of a couple does have a certain appeal.”

Hyperia stepped closer and looked me right in the eye. “I should have confided in you. If my brother’s behavior was scaring me—and it was—I should have told you. Instead, I sent you away and pretended I’d be just fine. I wasn’t just fine. I was considering desperate, foolish measures, and if you hadn’t come…”

“I came. I will always come.” What was my darling lady going on about?

“Not if I keep sending you away. You should have told me that you suspected John and I had been lovers.” She patted my cheek while she fired that Congreve rocket at my pride.

“Your past is your business, Hyperia. I have no right to any recounting, and I never will. Men of my age and station are expected to have a catalog of mistresses and liaisons. Were I to propose to you, you’d be expected to overlook the lot and hope for fidelity going forward. I cannot think it fair to have such latitude on my side of the ledger book, while your side is supposed to be filled with nothing more than chaste pecks on the cheek.”

Hyperia linked her hands at my nape. “Jules, there’s a difference between respecting my privacy and tormenting yourself with lurid imaginings. If there’s a next time, and you want to know what exactly is on my side of the ledger book, please ask. You’ve told me so much about your years in uniform, your terms at Oxford. Don’t let your honor be the reason you put distance between us. If I’d like to keep something private, I will explain that to you, and you will show me the same courtesy. Agreed?”

I wrapped my arms around her and spoke against her temple. “I will make this pact of mutual confidence with you, Hyperia West, provided we seal it with a kiss.”

She consented—enthusiastically, to my relief. I kissed Perry out of a need for closeness rather than at the prompting of exuberant animal spirits, and my pleasure was no less for being based more in emotion than in physical yearning. We hadn’t weathered five years of estrangement, but this investigation had parted us temporarily, and not only because of Healy’s bungling.

I had missed Hyperia profoundly. I might have lost her. We were in accord that we must not allow such a risk to imperil our bond ever again. She and I were still agreeing apace on these conclusions when some idiot cleared his throat over by the door.

“Beg pardon,” Tait said, standing hand in hand with his wife. “Was going to ask for the loan of a carriage. Evelyn and I would like to take Merri home with us, and the lady is not attired for riding.”

“You can’t stay for supper?” I asked, disentangling myself from the most luscious barnacle in all of England—in all the world. “His Grace will preside, and I’m sure Leander would appreciate a supper guest in the nursery.”

“No, thank you,” Evelyn said quite firmly. “John and I have much to catch up on, though we appreciate the invitation.”

Not as much as they’d appreciate a fast team and a well-sprung vehicle apparently.

“The traveling coach,” Hyperia said. “It’s roomier, and Merri will be delighted to ride up on the box. John Coachman is an old hand with the infantry.”

Tait readily agreed to that plan, Evelyn preened, and within a quarter hour, we were wishing our guests a cheerful farewell.

I was enduring Tait’s heartfelt thanks—again—while the ladies stood off to the side, awaiting Merri’s arrival from the nursery.

“You must be patient with his lordship,” Evelyn said quietly, putting a hand on Hyperia’s arm. “When I was a schoolmaster, I was befriended by the other young men in the village. You would be appalled at what a lusty lot they were, but fretful too.”

I was not meant to hear this, but a reconnaissance officer developed the ability to nod agreeably and murmur appropriately while monitoring three different conversations in three different languages. Tait maundered on about the best harvest he’d had in years and some strain of sheep that never got foot rot.

“Men worry, you know,” Evelyn went on. “About pleasing us. About making us happy, about earning our respect. They try to joke about, to make light of their fears, but I was quite surprised by what they will say and not say when private.”

I’m sure you were.I silently prayed for the damned coach, Merri, a plague of locusts, anything to interrupt the tête-à-tête going on to my left.

“They worry about”—Evelyn leaned closer to Hyperia—“satisfying us. Plagues them without mercy, and then I went and locked my door to my own husband. I have amends to make. Indeed, I do, Miss West.”

Tait was a lucky, doomed man. I wished him stamina and lots of chubby, happy babies, in that order.

“Mama!” Merri shot forth from the house, arms extended. “Mama, Leander and I beat Old Boney to flinders. Lee-Lee was Wellington, and I was Blücher. We smashed Old Boney to bits!”

“Did you now?” Evelyn took her daughter’s hand. “I feel much safer knowing that we haven’t Bonaparte to worry about. Do you see that coach, my dear?”

“Yes, Mama. It’s big. I wish we had big horses like that. I want toy soldiers, too, so Lee-Lee can come and play with me.”

“We are going for a ride in that coach to Mr. Tait’s house. You may ride up top with John Coachman if you promise not to fall off.”

Merri’s eyes grew huge. She clapped her hands and spun around. When Tait tossed her up to the bench, she nearly snatched the reins from John Coachman’s hands. As the carriage pulled away, Merri waved to us, to the nursery windows, to the stable, and to the very clouds, and then the vehicle disappeared in a plume of golden dust.

“And they lived happily ever after,” Hyperia murmured. “Or happily much of the time ever after. Well done, Jules.”

I felt another bargain-sealing moment coming on, but my aspirations were interrupted by a rider galloping up the drive. Because the Taits’ dust had yet to settle, he emerged as if from a cloud of fairy sparkles, his horse lathered and laboring.

“Are you expecting an express?” Hyperia asked.

“I am not and neither, to my knowledge, is Arthur.”

A groom jogged up from the stable yard and took the horse’s reins when the rider slid to the ground. “Express from Lyme Regis for Lord Julian Caldicott,” he panted. “I’m to put it into his lordship’s hand and no other’s.”

“I am he.” Though, at that moment, I was fairly certain admitting as much was a mistake. I came down the steps and was put in possession of a single folded missive sealed with my mother’s signature lavender-scented purple wax.

“Your horse will be well cared for,” I said. “Take yourself around to the kitchen and tell Mrs. Gwinnett you’re to be stuffed to the gills and given a bed for the night, or for as long as you need to recover from your exertions.”

“Thankee, milord. Hope it ain’t bad news.” He tugged a dusty cap, nodded to Hyperia, and trudged after the groom who’d taken his horse.

Hyperia came down the steps. “From Her Grace? Will she see Arthur and Banter off?”

I slit the seal and held the epistle so Hyperia and I could read it at the same time—no secrets and all that.

“We are invited to another house party,” I said. “Her Grace has a problem with some missing letters.”

“She’s gallivanting about at house parties rather than bidding Arthur farewell? She’s too busy playing whist to wish her firstborn son a safe journey?”

Said the lady who did not want children. “Her Grace would not ask—would especially not ask—me for help unless she needed it. Might I inveigle you into spending some time with me by the sea, Miss West?”

Hyperia gave me a long, searching look, and then a smile started in her eyes and poured like sunshine over a new and wonderful morning. “We’ve an investigation on our hands?”

“My dear, I believe we do.”

“We’ll take a proper leave of Arthur?”

“We shall.” Possible only because Her Grace’s present venue lay in the direction of Dover.

“Then yes, Jules. I will happily accompany you on this excursion, and we will find Her Grace’s letters, and we will enjoy this investigation together.”

As it happened, Her Grace needed assistance, heaps of luck, and a small miracle or two, though she was forced to make do with my humble self, abetted by Hyperia’s good offices. The problem was larger than a few missing billets-doux, of course, and I became personally entangled in the whole far-from-enjoyable business, but that, as they say, is a tale for another time!