Chapter 22

“She is in God’s hands. My condolences,” Waverly said, as his fingertips closed the Dowager Lady Ingram’s blank eyes. We all stared at the prostrate form on the floor. Whatever her faults, Lady Silvana Ingram had doted on her children—well, on her daughter Blanche and her son, Lord Ingram, at least. Poor Mary was rather an afterthought, but even so, I remember the Lady’s pride three years ago when they appeared at Thornfield Hall for a weekend party. No mother could have thought more of her children than she had.

And now she was dead. How curious it seemed that a woman so lively and opinionated could be rendered so still and silent so quickly. Death had crept among us like a thief and had stolen her spark of life.

My own mother died when I was so young, I scarcely remembered her. She was more of an impression than a person. However, as a mother myself now, I could feel the wrench of pain caused when I contemplated leaving Ned. My heart crowded my throat, and I pinched the spot between my eyes to hold back the tears.

In her last breath, did Lady Ingram realize she’d been denied the chance to say good-bye?

I shook my head to clear it. This was not the time or the place to give in to grief. There was too much to be done. The practicalities of death would keep us all busy, moving forward, until the reality of the loss could be admitted.

“I have sent a footman for Mr. Lerner,” Stanton said, as he appeared in the doorway. The butler ran a shaking hand across his jacket. Habit, really, because his jacket rested perfectly on his broad shoulders. He stared at the woman on the floor but reserved his real attention for his mistress.

“On behalf of the staff, I share my deepest sympathies with you, Lady Grainger, and of course, the young ladies. I shall prepare the house for mourning.”

“Thank you, Stanton.” Lady Grainger’s voice was raspy with emotion. She touched her handkerchief to her eyes. “But for right now, please wait here. We might need you.”

“As you wish, ma’am.” He lingered by the door, standing at attention, his eyes trained on the hallway to give us privacy.

“Could you bring us a sheet?” asked Waverly.

Stanton seemed startled. Obviously, he had not thought of that, and I could tell by the red spreading across his face that he was chagrined by his oversight. “Certainly. Immediately, sir.”

The Ingram girls were crying softly now. Each had sunk deeply into a chair, turning away from each other. Lady Grainger glanced at Waverly, then at Stanton as he left, and looked puzzled, as if asking herself, How could this have happened?

“Waverly? I want to go home,” said the Marchioness suddenly. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “I offer all of you my condolences. I shall leave now.”

Waverly bowed deeply and his finger traced the tip of his black baton where the crest of the sovereign was embossed in gold. “Would that I could escort you, ma’am, but I can’t. My duty is to the Crown. I cannot go until . . . until certain things are seen to. There will have to be a report filed and submitted to the magistrate. Since I’m here, it might be easier . . .” He glanced at the sobbing Ingrams “. . . if I get this done myself. A courtesy to the family.”

The Marchioness sent him a sour look. “If you must. Are you sure? Well, then, carry on. At least until someone else can take over for you.”

“As usual, ma’am, you have the King’s best interests at heart,” said Waverly without the slightest trace of irony. Pulling a crumpled notebook from a back pocket, he continued, “Can we start with the lady’s full name?”

“Lady Silvana Ingram, wife of the late Baron Ingram of Ingram Park,” said Lady Grainger. The words were written on a sigh.

Suddenly I felt very, very sorry for Lucy’s friend. Here she’d arranged this visit as a courtesy to Lucy, an attempt to make peace, and look what had happened! The unexpected visit from Lady Conyngham should have been a triumph for her as well—certainly Lady Grainger had no reason to suspect the Marchioness’s more sinister motives.

But now, this lovely place, this welcoming room, would forever bear the imprint of this tragic event.

In fits and starts, Lady Grainger answered Waverly’s questions. She explained to the Bow Street Runner that her sister-in-law had long suffered from a bad heart. “Mr. Carter and then Mr. Lerner both treated her at home, back in Ingram Park. Of late, however, it was her neuralgia that had been bothering her. For that Mr. Lerner had prescribed rose hips and left a bag of them for her use. Mary had been dispatched to bring them back so that Silvana could steep them in with her tea.”

“I did my best!” Mary said. “I tried to find them! But they had been moved!”

“Your staff,” said Blanche in a petulant tone. “Incompetent. Every one of them.”

“Blanche, please, not now.” Lady Grainger sounded bone weary. “Girls, I share your sorrow. I, too, am heartbroken! But trying times expose one’s character. So we must carry on, as your mother would have wanted, and be kind to one another.”

Blanche pulled back slightly, as if she’d been slapped, but a sullen look came over her face.

“Mary, everyone knows you did your best. It’s not your fault that your mother’s heart was weak. She looked perfectly fine, except for the pain of course, before . . .” Lady Grainger stopped.

“A hackney has just arrived. I believe Mr. Lerner is here.” Stanton held a white bundle. Together he and Mr. Waverly solemnly opened the sheet, unfurled it, and gently settled it over the remains of Lady Ingram.

Mary and Blanche began to sob even more loudly. Lady Grainger touched her eyes repeatedly with her linen handkerchief, but she missed a few tears, and they streamed down her face, dripping off her chin.

“What has happened? Who is hurt?” A young man carrying a tattered and overflowing satchel appeared in the doorway. He was stopped in his progress because Stanton and Mr. Waverly had retreated to the threshold, and they blocked his way. Once I had a good look at the newcomer, my hand flew to my mouth in surprise.

Mr. Lerner, the young doctor recommended to Edward by Mr. Carter, was the same man whom I’d witnessed arguing with Mary Ingram in Hyde Park just this morning.

I could also tell by his change of expression that he recognized me, although the confusion that came next suggested that he could not recall exactly why I looked familiar.

Despite the slap she’d dealt him earlier, Mary’s eyes couldn’t hide her adoration for the doctor. Now I put together how it happened. Mr. Lerner had called on Lady Ingram, leaving the rose hips for her pain, and Mary had followed him into Hyde Park. He must’ve been on his way to Boodle’s to meet with Edward and Mr. Douglas when Miss Mary had waylaid him.

“Mr. Lerner, I take it? I’m Phineas Waverly from Bow Street.” The constable offered his hand for a shake. “I happened to be here in my capacity as escort for the Marchioness Conyng-ham, a dear friend of His Royal Highness. I’m afraid it’s one of your patients, Lady Ingram. I believe this woman’s weak heart got the best of her.” And with that Mr. Waverly led the young man over to the body but continued with, “You know, of course, Lady Grainger? And the Ingram daughters? As I understand you have been here before?”

Mr. Lerner gave a brief nod.

I averted my eyes as Mr. Lerner knelt beside the still form on the carpet, but I still heard the sheet rustle as he folded it back. Out of the edge of my vision, I noticed that he moved swiftly, pressing his fingertips here and there. The whole procedure lent the Dowager a vulnerability she had not owned in life. Death robs us of our individuality. No modesty is accorded the spent carcass that was once a vibrant member of the human populace. With impersonal haste, the doctor checked for her heartbeat at her neck, held a mirror under her nose, and listened at her chest. Sinking back on his heels, he admitted defeat. “My deepest condolences,” the doctor said to everyone and no one in particular. “Her heart was always irregular. I fear it finally beat its last.”

Blanche continued her soft sobbing, but Mary wailed loudly. Mr. Lerner cast a glance at the younger sister but carefully kept his distance.

“I’ll stay here until the undertaker arrives, but I suggest that all of you adjourn to another room.” His manner was matter-of-fact but firm.

“Lady Grainger, would you kindly lead the way?” asked Mr. Waverly.

“Yes, yes, of course.” After mopping her face, she slowly stood up, gripping her chair for balance. The recent events had robbed her of her color, and she seemed a bit lost, as though she’d suddenly awakened in someone else’s house. It took her a minute to gather her wits. Lucy and I rose to our feet. Lady Conyngham planted her cane and hoisted herself up. The Ingram girls uncurled from their spots and stood wearily but kept crying. We were all ready to leave when Lady Grainger looked around her feet. “The dog. My dog. Where is Mags?”

“She must be hiding under your chair. Probably frightened, poor dear,” said Lucy. “Too much commotion.”

“I’ll fetch him, Lady Grainger.” Stanton crossed the floor and knelt under Lady Grainger’s chair. “Come on. Here, Mags.” When she did not answer, he rummaged in his pocket for a treat. “Biscuit?”

But the dog did not obey.

“I can see her, but she’s being stubborn. Ignoring me.” Stanton reached under the chair skirt. He tugged at the dog and then stopped abruptly. “Oh my.”

“What is it?” Lady Grainger gripped the chair arm and leaned over to watch the procedure. “Oh, Stanton, just grab her.”

He sat back and shook his head. “Lady, I . . .” Very slowly the butler thrust both arms under Lady Grainger’s chair. As he crawled backward, a mass of silky white fur followed in the same direction. But something was amiss. Something was not right.

The dog did not move.