Page 3 of The Wilful Widow
“Beatrice is a crybaby,” declared George, resting his chin on his pudgy knees from his position on the steps that Fanny had been using to reach the top of the tall bookshelves.
“She didn’t want to come,” said Katherine with a dismissive shrug, as she rearranged a silver star amidst the greenery beside her aunt. “The mistletoe swathe looks very pretty with all its decorations, don’t you think?” She clasped her hands in front of her and surveyed the scene with satisfaction, looking more like an angel than the hellion Fanny knew her daughter to be. “But to answer your questions, Mama, we’re putting on a play. I’m writing it.”
“And I’m the director. Like Mr. Kemble,” said George importantly, hugging his knees and chewing noisily. “You grown-ups will have to practice it tomorrow as the performance will be the following evening. Anyway, why should we be nice to Beatrice when her mama is such a wicked lady?” Clearly, he took great pleasure in the fact that his words caused his mother and aunt to exchange scandalized glances while checking over their shoulder that none of the guests had arrived early.
“You mustn’t say such a thing, George,” Fanny whispered with a scowl.
“I didn’t say it. Uncle Fenton did.” George popped another sugar mouse into his mouth and narrowed his eyes, clearly interested in Fanny’s reaction as he went on, “Uncle Fenton called her the Brazen Baroness and said she’d had four husbands and he wondered how long it would take her to lose the fifth.”
“Good lord… Hesaidthat?” Fanny was more scandalized that her husband had said this in George’s hearing than she was by anything else. “To you?”
“Not to us,” George said, chewing placidly. “To Uncle Quamby who agreed with him. They didn’t know we could hear. But only a verywickedlady would lose four husbands.”
“Or a very careless one,” Antoinette added brightly, popping another silver bow onto the wreath hanging from the fireplace.
“It’s not careless to die, though. No one can help dying, can they?” asked Katherine looking up from her penmanship. She’d resumed her position by the fire and was now lying on her stomach with a large sheet of paper in front of her that was fast being covered in her careful handwriting.
“Oh, not all of them died,” said Antoinette, hovering over by the sideboard and toying with the brandy decanter, earning herself a warning look from Fanny. “Only Reverend Honeychurch died, poor fellow. He was such a nice fellow, too, though barely able to speak intelligibly due to the most dreadful stutter, poor chap.”
“What about the others?” asked George. “If they didn’t die, what happened to them?”
Antoinette removed the brandy stopper with a challenging look, for it was not yet two in the afternoon, and poured herself a drink. “Well, one died, one was killed, one was murdered, and...we don’t talk about the other one.” She took a contemplative sip. “The first husband, that is.”
“Antoinette!” Fanny cried out, causing Antoinette to hurriedly knock back her drink and say, defensively, “It’s only one very small little brandy to prepare me for a very big and sociable evening, Fanny, when we both know I’m doingallthe work!”
“I’m talking about your loose tongue in front of the children!”
“What’s the difference between being killed and being murdered?” asked Katherine with clinical curiosity before Fanny could respond to her sister who now answered her niece’s question.
“Well, the last husband, Baron Highcliff, was killed and that was because it was his own fault; so he didn’t die like poor Reverend Honeychurch who breathed his last…” she poured herself another drink, adding in shocked tones… “on his wedding night would you believe it! Apparently it was his heart.”
“That’s boring,” said George. “Baron Highcliff sounds much more interesting than the silly reverend.”
“Oh, he was!” his mother returned. “My, but he was a dashing, dangerous, handsome fellow!” Her eyes shone in such a manner as to give Fanny the decided suspicion that Antoinette knew this through personal association.
“So, if he didn’t die, but was killed instead, how was he killed?” George asked, and before Fanny could stop her sister, Antoinette made a dramatic slicing motion through the air, informing him with gruesome delight, “Killed in a duel, he was! And only hours after he’d wed his poor baroness. Still, he did leave her a lot of money.”
“He did not,” Fanny corrected her. “That’s what everyone thought. But the new will was found, and he’d left her penniless.” Realizing that her desire to correct Antoinette came at the expense of what should not really be for the children’s ears, Fanny lowered her voice and said for her sister’s elucidation, “That’s why I expect she’s made this match. Lord Ashbrook is hardly the husband I’d have chosen.”
She wondered if she should send the children out of the room, but they’d already heard too much. And Fanny didn’t believe in shielding them overmuch though it was true that George’s loose tongue could sometimes cause difficulties.
But George was always going to cause difficulties.
“That’s only two husbands,” said Katherine, pushing George aside so she could climb to the top of the ladder to oversee the room from above. “What about the other two?”
“There was a banker called Mr. Brooks,” said Antoinette. “I think that was his name. Anyway, he was pickpocketed on the way back from his club one night and when he fell, he hit his head on the cobblestones. No one knew very much about him, but I think the nature of his death would put it in the murder category.”
Fanny gave an exasperated sigh as she tinkered with the floral arrangement in the grand silver epergne that sat on a plinth near the window embrasure. “Antoinette, I don’t think—”
“Not murder, eh? No, I don’t suppose they meant to murder him, but it was terribly unfortunate in one way, though perhaps a blessing in another since it was discovered that he’d embezzled literally thousands of pounds, so the fact he and Lady Highcliff—as she is now—were married such a short time, and the fact there were no children from the marriage, did minimize the scandal. It was the first marriage that was the greatest scandal, of course.”
“Please, Antoinette, that’s not appropriate—”
“So, Reverend Honeychurch died, Baron Highcliff was killed, Mr. Brooks was murdered...” Katherine listed them on her fingers. “What other ways are there to die?”
“Oh, the first husband didn’t die, more’s the pity, for that was thegreatestscandal of all!” Antoinette sighed gustily as she toyed with her glass, ignoring Fanny to say reflectively, “Lady Highcliff’s first husband, Lord Busselton, divorced her.Sucha scandal! No wonder she married her quiet clergyman almost straight away. Well, as soon as it was possible, for the divorce had left her destitute and her reputation in tatters, of course.”
“Antoinette, I think that is quite enough! No more of this in front of the children!” Fanny turned to George and Katherine to say firmly, “This is adults’ talk and must on no account be repeated.”
