Chapter 8

For all things must die.

 

Ainsley returned home just in time to hear the dinner gong.

“Impeccable timing, sir,” Billis said as he accepted Ainsley's overcoat, brushing off the tiny ice pellets that had gathered on Ainsley's shoulders as he walked home. “Should I tell his lordship that you will be joining them shortly, once you have had a chance to change?”

Ainsley had it in mind to skip dinner altogether, preferring the comfort of his own room.

“I know Lady Margaret was particularly anxious for your return,” Billis offered.

At the mention of his sister, Ainsley relented. “Of course, Billis.”

“Very good, sir. Shall I send Cutter to assist you?”

Ainsley chuckled at the absurdity. Where his brother and father enjoyed the benefits of wealth, Ainsley deplored them. “Absolutely not. A grown man can dress himself.”

“Very well, sir” Billis bowed at the waist and Ainsley went quickly up the stairs to his room.

When he entered the dining room Ainsley found everyone in a somber mood as they sat around the table. With his head bowed Lord Marshall sat at the head of the table, his arms resting on either side of his place setting and his hands clenched. Margaret, as well, sat quietly though she held a spoon in her hand, poised over her bowl.

“Forgive me, Father,” Ainsley offered as he took his seat opposite Margaret. It was a gesture of formality rather than genuine regret. Ainsley hardly believed in all the pomp and circumstance with which his father gave a simple dinner. There was only the three of them. The large table, with a capacity for twelve, looked rather empty and awkward despite the four elegant candelabras set ablaze with over twenty candles each. At first glance the room looked light and cheerful but the expressions on the faces of the family and staff gave another story.

Ainsley swallowed. “They have found her then?” he asked, fearing the worst.

“No.” Lord Marshall's voice filled the room.

Ainsley glanced to Margaret who was looking at him apologetically.

“The paper—”

“Hush girl!”

Ainsley saw his sister recoil from the conversation, turning her gaze to the food in front of her. When he looked back to his father, a seething anger gathering in his jaw, he saw a look of fury in his father's eyes.

“The paper has reported that your mother has retreated to Edinburgh to play nurse maid to some ill cousin I never knew she had.” Lord Marshall gave his daughter a sideways glance. “It would appear your sister has conspired with Lady Gemma Brant to contrive a story—”

“It was only to help,” Margaret said.

“You should never have gone to that woman, of all people!” Lord Marshall threw a fist to the table, sending a vibration that rattled the dinnerware and shook the candles in their places. Ainsley saw Billis return a candle to its upright place at the far end of the table before retreating back to the perimeter of the room.

“I can't say I see any harm in it,” Ainsley said after a moment's pause. “It would explain her absence from both the city and Tunbridge Wells.” Ainsley ignored the look of annoyance his father gave him and turned to Margaret. “How is Lady Brant?” he asked.

“Quite well,” Margaret answered demurely. “She asked about you and how you found your new position at the hospital.”

“Must I be reminded of all the shameful shenanigans of my family?” their father bellowed.

“And she said she looks forward to seeing you both at the engagement party,” Margaret continued, perhaps wanting to bring the topic of conversation to a more jovial subject.

It was then that Billis and Cutter, the footman, swooped in to retrieve their soup bowls to make way for the fish course.

Ainsley laughed quietly to himself, remembering the exchange he had witnessed between Daniel and Evelyn. Their marriage seemed doomed to failure, it was almost as if he was witnessing the beginning of his own parent’s ill-fated union.

“You have met her then?” Lord Marshall scoffed. “I'll admit she is a timid sort, not the type I had pictured for the likes of your brother, but her family is well suited.”

“Well suited meaning rich?” Ainsley asked, knowing full well he was treading on thin ice.

Lord Marshall was quiet for a long while. Plates of snapper were placed in front of them and they began eating. “You would do well to look to your brother Daniel for guidance more so than the likes of Lady Brant. She is an eccentric, without the slightest capacity to understand the honour and wealth which was bestowed upon her. Her repulsive dabbling in anatomy is enough to turn her late husband over in his grave. She has encouraged your interest in science, as has your mother and against my wishes. Now look what they have done to you.”

“Yes, it is because of them I am an up and coming surgeon with respect and adoration of all in my field,” Ainsley boasted. “Who could want more than that?”

“Men should want power,” Lord Marshall bellowed without hesitation. “Men should want money, lots of it to keep their wife and children well at home and to enjoy the leisurely pursuits of this great age.”

Ainsley wanted to caution his father that he was beginning to sound like an advertisement for the Great Exhibition or some such industry propaganda pamphlet but he stopped himself. He was already pushing the bounds of their strained, tiresome relationship.

“You should think of taking a wife soon, my son.” Lord Marshall did not wait for his son to reply. “Your brother has taken my advice, and I am sure it will do him well.”

“With all due respect,” Ainsley began, a hint of laughter in his voice, “I don't believe I will be taking a wife anytime soon.” If his parents' strained ties and his brother's awkward arrangement were any indication, marriage appeared to be nothing more than a business contract to some and pain to others. If it were all the same, Ainsley could never see himself marrying, especially to please his father.

“I have prepared some funds for you, an inheritance that, if properly cared for, would generate an income five times greater than your allowance now, that is if you take an approved wife.”

Ainsley let out a long breath, and placed his fork down beside his plate. “Then you can keep your money because I have no intention of taking either.” Ainsley surveyed the table, while pressing his thumb into each of his fingers in turn. “Besides, I am but the second son and we all know you have no obligation to give me anything. Save your funds for Margaret.” Ainsley looked to his sister across the table who seemed to do be doing well now that he was present. She no longer looked slight and abashed. She was the confident Margaret he knew and admired. She smiled at him.

“Do you not approve of Miss Evelyn Weatherall?” Lord Marshall asked the table, signalling for Billis to remove their plates before the meat course.

“I can scarcely say,” Margaret admitted. “I met her once. She seems amiable enough. Though I have my doubts as to her suitability for Daniel. Do you suppose he cares for her?”

Ainsley shook his head. “I don't believe he is concerned with suitability as much as he is concerned about dowry.”

After a moment of pause, reflecting on the situation Margaret asked, “Do you suppose she cares for him?”

“If looks are to be believed, then I would say she does,” Ainsley admitted,

“Then she is a fool,” Lord Marshall said, his tone denoting contempt and annoyance. “Care, and love for that matter, are useless states and should not be entered willingly.”

As opposed to unwillingly, Ainsely wondered. It was no secret his father was cantankerous and spiteful, especially against his own marriage, but to be so disapproving against the happiness of another couple seemed bitter. This time Ainsley took care to hide his misgivings.

“Marriage is about power and money, nothing more. Use the state of marriage wisely or you will both find yourselves regretting it as deeply as I.”

Struck by their father's words, Ainsley and Margaret watched dumbfounded as Lord Marshall emptied his near full wine glass and stood up from the table, leaving his lamb untouched. “I have lost my appetite,” he said, before walking from the room.

“Father's temperament seems worse today,” Ainsley said, after sufficient time had passed since Lord Marshall’s departure.

“He is in more pain than he would like us to know,” Margaret said.

Ainsley scoffed but before he could say anything more they heard raised voices in the hallway. Billis, who had been standing nearest the door, slipped from the room with a grave look on his face.

“Peter, what is it?” Margaret asked but Ainsley was already on his feet, throwing his napkin on the table. In a few strides he was out the door and in the hallway in time to see the form of his mother slipping up the stairs though he was not entirely sure he hadn't just been seeing things. Violetta, his mother's maid, walked up the stairs behind her carrying a carpet bag and Lady Marshall's cape.

Lord Marshall stood at the bottom of the stairs with a look of terror that was quickly becoming an expression of anger. “Confound it woman!”

“Was that Mother?” Ainsley asked, his voice cracking.

“She is the devil!” Lord Marshall pronounced with a finger pointed up the stairs. Margaret appeared at Ainsley's side then.

“Mother?” she asked confused.

Lord Marshall turned from the stairs, throwing up his hands in resignation. “She can burn in hell for all the trouble she has caused.”

Not wanting to hear anymore of his father's outburst, Ainsley walked past him and tackled the stairs two at a time. Once at the top, he glanced down to see his father walking towards his study and Margaret wiping tears from her cheeks. He raised his hand, and mouthed the word 'wait' to her when their eyes met. He had decided to be the one to question their mother, given the way her sudden appearance caused such upheaval, he doubted a flurry of questions and accusations would do any good. He intended to behave as he would at work, intent and detached finding the answers he sought without emotional interference. Only one thing stood in his way; the reality that she was his mother and had been missing for nearly four days.

He reached the door to her room but hesitated before knocking. He knew more about her than he had before. No longer was she simply the devoted victim of a loveless marriage. She had a lover, and a possible penchant for opiates. His understanding of her had dramatically changed and he could no longer feel as sorry for her as he once had.

He knocked determinedly and entered when he heard her sing-song voice saying, “Come in.”

Her face lit up when she saw him round the threshold between her sitting room and her bedroom. Ainsley was careful not to show his delight in her return. He was elated, naturally, thankful that he would not go to work one day to find her amongst the corpses.

Violetta stood in a corner of the room and purposely avoided his gaze.

“Hello dear,” Lady Marshall said with a wide smile, “You look so robust, Peter. I believe your new career is agreeing with you.”

She was seated on the edge of her settee, her long skirt flowing out around her legs and only the tips of her high boots could be seen beneath her crinoline and lace. Her hands were above her head pulling out her hat pin.

She laughed at his silence. “Goodness Peter, what is the matter with you?” she asked, her smile wide and unrelenting. It was as if she hadn't the faintest clue of the pain her absence had caused, and if she was aware, she was very good at pushing it from the surface.

Violetta quickly brushed past Ainsley, her arms loaded with clothing. She darted into the hall and out of sight, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on the floor.

“We missed you Mother,” Peter said at last.

Lady Marshall pursed her lips, touched by Ainsley's compliment. “Oh hush now,” she said, teasingly, “It wasn't as bad as all that.” She got up from her seat and walked to her toilette table and began pulling out her hair pins one by one. “I was only at the country house, nothing terribly unusual. You have decided to live in the city with your father. You can't expect to see me all that often from now on.” She smiled at him through the mirror as she let her copious brown curls unravel themselves and fall, bouncing to her shoulders.

She must have thought him stupid. She must have thought them all to be stupid to lie so blatantly. “We know you were not at the country house,” Ainsley said after a long pause.

Lady Marshall's expression did not waiver. “Where else would I be, Peter?”

His mother looked older somehow, not as youthful and vibrant as he remembered. Weathered. She looked like the grieving mothers who came to the hospital to claim their dead. Those women forced themselves to smile, pushing down a catastrophic pain in order to appear strong for the sake of everyone else. Ainsley saw that look in his mother, not in her mouth and cheeks that smiled on command, but in her eyes that did not sparkle as they should.

“Margaret saw you,” he said at last, knowing she knew what he meant.

“Saw me do what dear?” Lady Marshall sat on the edge of her settee again, and struggling against the tightness of her corset, she pulled up the hem of her skirts to unlace her shoes. “Oh where did Violetta go?” Her face fell, no longer able to keep the demanding charade.

“She must be taking some items to the laundry,” Ainsley answered earnestly.

“Of course.” She laughed then, finding her strength for more false smiles. “Be a dear and ring the servant bell,” she commanded. “Unlace these boots for me, please. I haven't the patience to wait.”

Ainsley hesitated but relented quickly enough. He did not want to give her any more leeway to avoid his pointed questions. Slipping into the sitting room for a moment, he pulled the brass lever installed over her mantel, knowing it would ring the bell in the basement letting them know her ladyship needed assistance. Upon his return, he knelt down at his mother's feet and began pulling at her laces.

“You always were such a blessing to me,” she said, reaching out a hand to cup the side of his cheek. Her face looked somber when their eyes met. “Look at you, all grown up and following your heart. Such courage.” Ainsley could feel her thumb on the side of his face as he pulled the boots gingerly from her slight feet. “A courage I never had.”

Ainsley could see her eyes turn red suddenly and he expected to see her cry at any moment but she turned her head away and stood. He watched from his spot on the floor as she pulled her earrings off and then her rings, placing them on a cushion of blue velvet on her vanity.

He heard the door opened and a few moments later Violetta appeared. “Ma'am,” she said bobbing a curtsey. She looked travel-weary and tired.

“I wish to take a bath,” Lady Marshall said without apology.

“Mother, it's past nine o'clock,” Ainsley replied in defence of the maid, who had no doubt been up since before dawn.

Lady Marshall smiled, somewhat wickedly. “What should that matter? Violetta is accustomed to drawing me many late night baths. Isn't that so, Violetta?”

“Yes ma'am.” Violetta curtsied again and turned to leave.

“No,” Ainsley walked to the maid to prevent her from going. “Mother, she is tired as are you. She must be eager to retire for the night.” He looked to Violetta's face but the maid did not betray her true feelings. She waited for final instruction though Ainsley wished she would give him some sort of sign of gratitude.

“Retire? Then who shall draw my bath?” Lady Marshall nodded to the maid. “Water, please.”

Patience wearing thin, Ainsley barred her path with the full extension of his arm. It seemed cruel to punish the staff because Lady Marshall was angered with her husband.

“Mother, be reasonable.”

Lady Marshall stepped forward, her mouth pressed together in anger. “I am being reasonable. I have been travelling for hours and I am dusty and filthy. I would like a bath.” She punctuated her last sentence with marked annoyance.

Ainsley looked down to the maid, who gazed at him imploringly to let her do as her mistress bid. Disappointed, Ainsley pulled his hand from the door frame allowing Violetta to exit.

“Someone has been in my room,” Lady Marshall said before the sitting room door fully closed behind the maid.

“Mother—”

Ainsley watched his mother sifting through papers and envelopes on her desk. She opened the single drawer of the desk, and looked over the contents. Lady Marshall grabbed a fistful of papers, crumpling them in her grasp. “Who had the gall to go through my things?”

“Mother, calm yourself,” Ainsley began. “Margaret was looking—”

“Margaret!” Lady Marshall crossed the room quickly to her bureau and opened the drawers with a thunderous noise that accompanied her panic. “What right has she to go through my belongings?”

Ainsley laughed. “You were missing, for days. We thought you might have been dead.”

Lady Marshall turned to him. “Don't be so stupid!” The level of her anger surprised him. Never had she behaved so erratically. It was the opium, he reasoned. She was worried they would find it, that they had found it and her secret would no longer be hidden.

She turned back to her drawer, and shifted her clothing most likely trying to remember where she had stashed her bottles. “I was at The Briar,” she said, while she frantically searched. “Alone,” she emphasized, and then her voice fell, “as always.” As if giving up her search, Lady Marshall slammed the drawer shut and turned, crossing the room to her toilette table.

A deep, concerted silence fell over them. Ainsley watched as his mother brushed the ends of her curls before flipping them over her shoulder and then pushing some waves of hair from her face. He caught her glancing up at him, her eyes lifting slightly in the mirror, but upon catching his gaze she immediately turned her eyes toward the table in front of her.

“So what have my beautiful children been doing whilst I was in the country?” She looked at him purposely then, eyebrows raised and giddy. She wanted him to drop his line of questioning and behave as if nothing was amiss. Ainsley's shoulders slumped at the realization that her denial had rooted and taken hold. There would be no way of coaxing a confession or even an admission of guilt.

“Perhaps in the morning, Mother,” Ainsley answered, a feeling of weariness sweeping over him. “I suddenly feel very tired.”

“Very well then,” she said with a hint of relief. “At breakfast then.” She winked at him teasingly. He planted a quick kiss on her forehead and gave her a pat on the shoulder before turning to leave. In the hall he encountered Violetta, who had returned with two pails of hot water. She bowed her head as she passed and Ainsley could not help but feel an overwhelming sense of pity for the woman.