Lady Beatrice had disliked Waldron all through the years they were growing up on neighbouring estates, and often said she would pity the poor girl who was unfortunate enough to marry the drunken popinjay. After he introduced his young English bride to the Park, Beatrice determined to befriend Edwina, and when he returned to India she made a special point of keeping a motherly eye on the deserted stranger.
At the time Victoria went missing, Beatrice and her husband Bertie had been in England searching the military hospitals for one of their sons. They had not been officially informed, but rumour had reached them that someone recognised the young man on the boat bringing back the wounded from France and that he was suffering from memory loss. They hadn’t found him. One of their other sons had been killed in action and the third was still on active duty. They had come back to see if they could find any additional information on their side of the water before returning to England to resume their search.
As soon as Beatrice heard about Victoria’s disappearance, she put her own sorrows to the side and went to the Park to spend as much time as she could with Edwina to make up for not being available when she was needed. Their friendship was now consolidated by their shared experience of living in the shadow of their missing children.
Edwina welcomed Beatrice’s restful company, and didn’t want to talk to anyone else. She asked Beatrice to deal with people who called in to enquire after her health, while she went into an adjacent room, sometimes moving away and sometimes listening in.
The day Lady Wentworth called was one of the days she decided to eavesdrop so she left the door between the two rooms slightly ajar.
“She doesn’t intend to leave the house until after the confinement. Won’t drive past the stables or go anywhere near the river.”
Beatrice spoke in what she thought was a whisper, but her imperious tone carried beyond the room. Lady Wentworth’s voice, in contrast, was inaudible beyond three feet, and she was facing away from the door, so the conversation Edwina heard was one-sided.
“Quite understandable,” Beatrice continued, her voice saturated with sympathy. “Yes, under the circumstances . . . Quite low . . . Poor little Victoria, of course . . . Perhaps she’ll have a boy this time . . . Life goes on . . . Yes, yes . . . Exactly. Wonderful rider . . . wonderful . . . Yes, Bertie thinks so, too. Perfect hands, perfect seat . . . Couldn’t agree with you more. We’re privileged to have her in our county. One doesn’t often see excellence like that.”
Edwina flushed with pleasure to hear herself so described by people whose opinion she respected. A wonderful rider. That was the pinnacle of her life’s ambition, to be regarded as such. Did Beatrice and her husband Bertie belong to the school of thought that eschewed praise as detrimental to character building? A pity, as it would have meant so much to hear it from them directly. It gave her goose bumps to think she would have missed hearing it if she hadn’t made the effort to hover near the door.
“I’ll see you on Thursday to give you more details,” Beatrice concluded. “Yes, I’ll pass them on to her. Thank you for calling. I’m sure Edwina will be in contact with you when she’s feeling better . . . Yes, I’ll make sure to tell her. Goodbye, dear.”
Edwina moved to a third room so Beatrice wouldn’t realise she had been listening.
“She sends you her best wishes. Will drop you a note,” Beatrice said when she located her, before gathering her hat and gloves – she hadn’t taken off her coat because of the cold in the room. “Bertie will be wondering what’s keeping me. Now if there’s anything you want . . . ?”
“You’ve done more than enough,” Edwina said with feeling.
Beatrice’s departure left Edwina more deflated than she had been earlier, something she didn’t think possible. After the initial delight in hearing the compliment about her riding excellence, her despondency resurfaced at the thought that it would be a whole year before she would be able to dazzle the county with a demonstration of it, and how on earth was she to fill in the long days between now and then?