Page 50 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
I laughed.
“Not that I get into Morcombe very often these days.” She glanced at her niece, Mrs. Browning, sitting in silence between Lord Kershaw and Floyd. “It would have been nice for Janet’s wedding dress to be made by the local seamstress, but Cicely insisted the London seamstresses are better. I suppose she doesn’t have the connection to the village that she once had.”
“She married young and moved away.”
Lady Elizabeth gave no indication of her thoughts on Mrs. Browning’s age at the time of her marriage, or indeed what she thought of her niece’s choice of husband. She smiled at the waiter who took away her empty soup bowl and bestowed another smile on the next one who deposited a poached salmon dish in front of her.
After a few mouthfuls, she said, “I must commend your cook, Miss Fox.”
“I’ll pass on your compliments to Mrs. Poole.”
“Please do. Now. All this talk of weddings has me wondering.” She picked up her wineglass and regarded me with a mischievous smile. “What about you? I overheard Miss Bainbridge tell Janet that you have no intention of marrying anyone. I imagine you can’t be short of suitors, so I assume you’re avoiding matrimony through choice. Will you indulge a curious old spinster and tell me why?”
“I like my freedom.” A lively, clever and kind woman such as Lady Elizabeth, coming from a wealthy and titled family, would have had her fair share of gentlemen suitors, yet she’d remained unwed. It must have been her choice, so I felt comfortable adding, “I’m sure you understand that.”
Her next words had me doubting myself, however. “Forgive me, Miss Fox, but I feel compelled to ask. Are youquitesure you wish to remain a spinster forever? It can be very lonely, even when you’re surrounded by people.” Her gaze wandered to the members of her family. All of them had a partner in their husband or wife, and soon Janet would, too. Did she feel like the odd one out?
Before I could answer, she continued. “Perhaps you haven’t met the right man yet, the one who makes it worthwhile to give up some of your freedoms.” She put down her knife and rested her hand on my forearm. “Will you accept some advice from an old woman who has observed a thing or two? Don’t wait for the perfect man to simply show up. You may wait a long time and then find it’s too late.”
“Is that what happened to you, Lady Elizabeth?” I asked gently.
She didn’t seem to hear me. Her voice turned dreamy again. “That’s the thing about time. When you’re young, there seems to be an endless amount of it. There’s no reason to hurry, so you put off doing things because there are a thousand other demands on your time. Then one day you wake up and realize you’re no longer young. You’re not even surewhenyou became old. By then, it’s too late. Your dreams for the future are out of reach. All the men who showed any interest moved on years ago, your body is too frail to go exploring new places, and your mind can’t quite grasp how to do new tasks.”
Lady Elizabeth gave her attention to her food, and seemed disinclined to talk further, but I couldn’t end the conversation on such a melancholy note. “No one is too old to form new friends or adopt a pet for company. And as long as one has an imagination, there are new adventures to dream up.”
Whether she heard me or not, she gave no sign. I fell into silence, too, my own thoughts occupying my mind to the exclusion of all else.
Chapter11
After dinner the gentlemen went to the billiard and smoking rooms, while the ladies retreated to the hotel’s private sitting room. It felt like an age before the men joined us. Although I’d hoped it would be the perfect opportunity to learn more from my female suspects, I found it difficult to weave my questions into conversation. The only thing I managed to discover was that Lady Kershaw didn’t know why her husband had closed the bridleway path to the public. When I mentioned admiring the pair of silver candlesticks on her dining room mantelpiece, she pretended Lady Elizabeth had summoned her and went to join her.
I sat with Flossy and Janet. We discussed the wedding, the house where Janet would live with her new husband, and eligible gentlemen for Flossy, before there was a suitable lull in which I could ask Janet a question relevant to my investigation.
“And how are you and your family holding up after the dreadful event at Hambledon Hall last week?” At her blank look, I clarified. “The death of the gamekeeper.”
“Oh. That.” Janet sighed. “It did put a dampener on the end of our visit to Hambledon, but then I quite forgot about it. I simply have so much on my mind of late.” She frowned. “Although, now that I think about it, it may have affected my mother somewhat. It’s understandable, really. She’d known the gamekeeper since she was a girl.”
Mrs. Browning had seemed untouched by Shepherd’s death when she spoke to me, but I’d wondered at the time if that had been an act. “How has it affected her?” I asked Janet.
“She seems sad. More than usual, I mean. She’s taking laudanum to help her sleep, which she only started to do after we left Hambledon.” She suddenly clutched my hand. “I probably shouldn’t have said all that. She wouldn’t want others to know.”
Mrs. Browning was attempting to converse with Aunt Lilian, but my aunt appeared to be sinking into a low mood after the effects of her tonic wore off. She would be suffering through a raging headache by now, and perhaps feeling ill. Flossy and I exchanged glances, both of us knowing she needed rescuing, yet neither of us wanting to be the one to suggest she retire. She was so unpredictable that she could very well snap at us in full view of our guests.
The arrival of the gentlemen was a blessing. Uncle Ronald went to my aunt’s side and asked if she required anything. She took the opportunity to say she was tired, and Lady Elizabeth followed suit. Both bade us goodnight and allowed Uncle Ronald to escort them from the sitting room.
“Tea?” I asked our guests.
Floyd made a scoffing sound. “Or something stronger?”
My offer was declined, but Lord Kershaw and Mr. Browning wanted port, and Mrs. Browning agreed to a sherry. Mr. Browning plucked his watch out of his waistcoat pocket, but instead of opening the case, he simply raised his brows in question at Floyd.
“It’s too early,” Floyd told him.
I joined Floyd at the drinks trolley one of the footmen had wheeled in when the men arrived so we could serve ourselves. I assembled five glasses. “What was that about?” I whispered.
“I mentioned I was going out later to my club, and now Browning wants to come with me.”
“You don’t sound pleased about it.”
