Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave - Stephanie Barron [30]
With the Earl departed this life, however and Isobel free—but all such thoughts must await Sir William's better understanding. A blackmailer is still at large, and the faintest air of scandal can blight a thousand tender hopes.
“Ah, a pot of tea,” Sir William said, as the footman, Fetters, appeared, bearing a tray before him; “exactly what an old man requires to throw off the chill.” He bent himself to his saucer, and all conversation ceased.
“Lord—Scargrave,” Fetters said to Fitzroy Payne, “I am asked by Mr. Cobblestone to tell you as the solicitors are come.”
“Again? And on the very day of my uncle's service? It is not to be borne.”
“I have put them in the libr'y, milord. “
“Very well, Fetters. I shall attend them presently.” Fitzroy Payne looked to Isobel for comfort, but my friend's eyes were on the fire, and if she had registered aught of the previous conversation, I should judge it a miracle.
The new Earl bowed to Sir William and silently withdrew; and at the closing of the door, Isobel started and looked about her.
“I fear I have presumed upon your attention, my lady,” Sir William said, and rose from his chair. “It is unjust to tax the patience of so much sorrow. Please accept my apologies and my adieux”
“Indeed, Sir William, you do not presume. It is I who must be faulted for calling you here so precipitately, and then lacking the courage to speak.”
“Is there some trouble in train, my lady?”
Isobel's beautiful eyes fixed upon the magistrate's shrewd ones, and she studied his countenance thoughtfully. Then she turned to me without a word in reply. “Jane,” she said, “I would speak with you.”
I followed her into the hall, where lately her husband's body had lain; the scent of dying flowers and beeswax hung heavy in the air.
“Since you are so well acquainted with the magistrate,” Isobel began, in a nervous accent, “could not you impart to him some sense of what has occurred? I should feel easier in my mind if one who knew his character were to speak with him; for I confess he is a stranger to me, Jane.”
“But of course, Isobel,” I said, reaching for her hand. I was shocked to find it remarkably chill. “I shall make a show of returning with him to Scargrave Close in his carriage, the better to pay my respects to Lady Reynolds.”
“Oh, Jane!” Isobel cried, her eyes filling with tears, “and in such weather!” She cast her gaze upon the window's bleak prospect of snow. “You are very good to me.”
“How is it possible to be otherwise?” I replied, and squeezed her cold fingers affectionately. “Do not trouble about a little wind and wet, Isobel. You may consider the matter as settled.”
EVENTS FELL OUT AS I HAD DESIGNED, AND WE WERE NOT three minutes under way in Sir William's comfortable chariot, the snow still falling softly about the lanterns that had been lit against the gathering dark, when he cleared his throat and embarked upon a subject of pressing concern to us both.
“Now, my Jane, perhaps you may tell me why the Countess summoned an old man out in such weather, and then escaped to her room with barely a word? I should almost believe her note of yesterday a subterfuge of your own, for renewing old acquaintance!”
“Indeed, sir, there was a darker purpose, and though I intend no dishonour to Lady Reynolds in avowing it, I should not be calling at your home this evening were I not charged with revealing it.”
“Ah! The matter gains in interest,” the magistrate said, his satisfaction in his voice. “Speak!”
I handed him the maid Marguerite's piece of foolscap, and let the ill-written words speak in my stead.
Sir William rummaged among the pockets of his greatcoat for some spectacles, and took a