Chapter 34

Smooth and compose them;

And her eyes, close them,

Staring so blindly!

 

Ainsley would never admit it to Margaret but he was more than a little fearful heading to the manor house for a social call. He hardly knew what to expect from a hostess that could be killing her children one by one. Whether from jealousy, shame or revenge, the Lloyd family was now paying the price for one man's misdeeds and disloyalty.

“Do not eat anything,” he cautioned Margaret. “Pretend you are, for their sake, but do not allow the tea to touch your lips.”

“I wish you had told me that before we left the inn. I would have requested a petit dejeuner.”

“You heard what Mary said, she bid her to give Bennett the funeral cake. It is either Mrs. Lloyd or Elizabeth.” He saw Margaret nod in agreement. “I wish Walter hadn't interrupted us then.”

“Who do you think it is?” Margaret asked, keeping her voice low, knowing they were drawing near.

“Elizabeth,” Ainsley said. “She strikes me as the jealous sort but there is something in the way Mrs. Lloyd has been hampering my attempts to find the truth. Neither one of them can be trusted.”

Margaret took in a deep breath while her fingernails dug into the flesh of his arm as they climbed the slight hill to the manor. Ainsley willed himself to remain calm, not allowing himself one ounce of fear to betray his calm exterior. He patted her hand in a feeble attempt to reassure her.

“Suppose that poisoned funeral cake had been meant for you,” Margaret suggested, careful to keep her tone low as the house came into view.

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Ainsley offered.

“What's to say she won't try again?”

“Nothing.” Ainsley pressed his lips together and continued to walk, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

As they drew nearer to the front door, the unmistakable sound of a piano could be heard wafting from the walls. The melody was hypnotic with soothing highs and lows lulling any audience into serenity. The skill was unlike any Ainsley had heard before. The sound was crisp, direct and exact. It was certainly a far cry from the incessant stops and starts that Margaret produced whenever she sat down to play.

The current song was spectacular, the mark of a true genius at the ivory. All apprehension at their arrival soon disappeared as the pair became entranced by the sound. Ainsley thought he saw a smile on Margaret's face as he leaned in to hit the door knocker. How could one not enjoy such a treat?

The butler arrived instantly and showed the pair into the foyer where Ainsley relinquished his overcoat and Margaret allowed him to take her wrap. Margaret and Ainsley were shown into the parlour and were greeted with a scene much different than the one they both expected. The room was now completely set to rights. There were even fresh flowers, none of them funeral lilies, arranged in vases throughout the room, a decorating choice that brought colour to the muted decor.

But the atmosphere shift was due to more than just the flowers. The piano played on as Ainsley took in the room. He was delighted to see it was Lillian who was playing it. She was fully dressed in a tightly fitted fanned bodice and a flowing, layered skirt that billowed around her on the piano bench. She looked far better than when he had left her the day before. Her hair had been curled and pinned half way up with copious blond curls streaming down her neck and shoulders.

She did not notice Ainsley at first, or at least she made no move to stop playing to greet him. Like any real artist she performed her craft with true dedication. She closed her eyes slightly and Ainsley could see her chest rising and falling ever so slightly beneath her low cut bodice, timed perfectly with the movement of her hands.

Mrs. Lloyd had risen to greet them but Ainsley did not notice. He was focusing on Lillian, hardly comprehending she was the same girl he had been worried would die. A smile tickled the edges of his lips. He had never seen a sight so breathtakingly beautiful.

“She plays beautifully, doesn't she?” Mrs. Lloyd asked, seeing the intense focus Ainsley was giving her daughter. “One of our family's greatest joys is to hear her play.”

“Are you sure she is well enough? Just yesterday she was weak as a kitten.” Ainsley wanted to smile but the situation perplexed him. How could she recover so completely, so quickly?

“Her recovery is astounding, is it not?” Mrs. Lloyd beamed. “I owe you a great deal, Dr. Ainsley.”

It was then that he noticed Elizabeth was seated farthest from the family, at the small writing desk near the window with paper and a fountain pen perched in her fingers. She showed little interest in the movements of the room. It was as if she was in a world all her own. When his gaze returned to Mrs. Lloyd he found her looking at Margaret with a smile.

“Mrs. Lloyd, please allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Margaret Mar-- Ainsley.” Ainsley was quick to correct himself but both he and Margaret realized how close he had come to revealing his true name.

Margaret gave a slight curtsey but Mrs. Lloyd simply bowed her head in acknowledgement. “Please forgive the state of our home,” Mrs. Lloyd gestured to the rest of the room. She did not see how absolutely perfect the home appeared to the visiting pair. “We have been in deep mourning for some time. Lillian's recovery gives me hope that our sorrows have ended.”

The song came to an end, and as Lillian struck the last few keys Mrs. Lloyd turned and clapped her gloved hands, a show of appreciation that everyone else in the room soon joined, except Elizabeth who did not even raise her head.

“Wonderful, my darling!” Mrs. Lloyd approached the piano, clapping daintily as she went. “Our dinner guests have arrived,” she said to Lillian, giving a flourished gesture towards Ainsley and Margaret.

Lillian's face lifted and she saw Ainsley, her wide eyes and budding smile betraying her regard. She rose to her feet at the sight of him. “Peter!” and then, as if realizing her mistake her smile faded and she approached him more slowly. “Dr. Ainsley,” she said, offering a slight curtsey. “You must be Miss Margaret. It has been a delight to hear Dr. Ainsley speak of you so warmly. He must truly love you for a sister.”

Margaret returned the curtsey and gave a sly glance to her brother, which Ainsley chose to ignore.

“Dr. Ainsley told me you play,” Lillian said with a smile. “You must come sit with me.” Lillian slipped her hand into Margaret's and pulled her gently toward the shiny dark stained piano that dominated the parlour room.

“No, I can't. Not after such an impressive treat.” Margaret hesitated at the piano bench, stopping short of taking a seat. “Everyone will find my hands to clumsy compared to yours.” She glanced around the room nervously.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Lloyd said, giving a diminishing flick of her wrist. “You are among friends here.” The self-satisfied looked on her face betrayed her true feelings. She was content in her daughter's abilities and assured than none surpassed them. She slipped into the sofa and gestured for Ainsley to take a seat opposite her.

Margaret begrudgingly sat next to Lillian on the bench and Ainsley could see Lillian giving his sister a few pointers on the keys, though the movement of their hands was completely hidden from his view.

“We owe you a great deal, Dr. Ainsley,” Mrs. Lloyd said, eyeing the girls as they flipped through the sheet music trying to decide what song to play. “You see she is quite well.”

“I can see. She looks...” Ainsley searched for an appropriate word. He wanted to say beautiful but stopped himself. To him, on that day in particular, she was astonishingly beautiful, practically gorgeous behind the piano. “Better,” he said at last.

“Better? Why Dr. Ainsley she is completely recovered. She is the Lillian I know and love. I have never seen her so robust.”

Ainsley smiled. Content and yet perplexed, he wondered what had brought about such a rapid recovery. “I wonder what her new found health stems from?” he asked.

“Your care, I am sure. That is the only reasonable explanation I can fathom. You have done us a great service, Dr. Ainsley. You have given me back my daughter and for that I am truly thankful.” Her expression gave nothing away. She spoke of gratitude but her gaze was intense. Her smile forced.

Margaret's song started then, a perfect excuse for Ainsley to hide his discomfort at Mrs. Lloyd's contradictions. Ainsley shifted nervously in his seat. Was her pleasure genuine, or did she secretly curse him for spoiling her plot?

Instead of replying Ainsely kept his eyes on the women at the piano. Margaret missed a note, most likely her finger slipping as she played, and both women giggled but kept playing. “See, I told you,” Margaret laughed, without taking her eyes from the sheet music in front of her. “I have not played in months--” She dropped another note, but kept playing.

Ainsley could see the girl's talking at the piano but he could not hear what they said over the music. Margaret looked uncomfortable. Her smile faded as Lillian spoke and she dropped another clumsy note which only made Lillian laugh.

The song came to an end with a choppy flourish and Margaret bore a look of relief. Though she smiled Ainsley knew she was glad it was over. She was even further relieved when Lillian suggested they sit with the others.

“My son tells me you stumbled on our maid today on the laneway,” Mrs. Lloyd said, as her eyes followed Lillian and Margaret making their way to the sitting area.

“Oh you saw Mary?” Lillian asked, slipping into a seat opposite Ainsley which allowed Margaret to take the only seat beside him.

“Weeping and wailing or some such nonsense, apparently.” Mrs. Lloyd raised an eyebrow as she leaned on the armrest of her chair and clasped her hands together delicately. “I am somewhat glad it was you who spotted her and not some others in the village. She does have a way of prattling on so, and can be quite dramatic.” A nervous laugh escaped her.

“She appeared to be very upset,” Margaret offered, glancing from Mrs. Lloyd to Lillian.

“Oh Mother, you did not tell me,” Lillian said, giving her mother a look of dismay.

“There is nothing to be done for it now,” Mrs. Lloyd shrugged. “She is in the kitchen helping Cook prepare our tea” Mrs. Lloyd turned to Ainsley and Margaret then. “I hope she wasn't a bother to either of you. She fancies herself a rather delicate girl.”

“What upset her so much?” Lillian implored, clearly concerned for the maid. They were both a similar age and most likely had found companionship whilst in the manor, Ainsley reasoned. If Mrs. Lloyd or Elizabeth found out what the maid had confessed there was no way of knowing the extent to which the murderess would go to in silencing her. Ainsley decided not to tell them what he and Margaret knew.

“We found her near the churchyard, crying,” Margaret answered before Ainsley had a chance. “Poor girl was—” Beneath her full hoop skit, Ainsley pressed on her toe with his shoe and rather hoped no one would notice. Margaret looked to him sharply, without finishing her sentence.

Ainsley decided to finish it for her. “She was praying for the soul of Josephine and had become overrun with emotions. It appears she had a soft spot for the girl and is finding it hard to come to terms with her passing.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Lloyd answered, “Walter did not indicate that to me.”

“It was a good thing you were there, Pete— Dr. Ainsley,” Lillian offered, “with your experience with grieving families...and you, Margaret,” she added as almost an afterthought.

Ainsley watched Mrs. Lloyd closely through the exchange. If she was worried her help had exposed family secrets, her face did not betray it. Ainsley found his gaze travelling to Elizabeth, who remained as unconcerned about their guests as anyone could be. She must have known he was looking at her but she made no move to stop her activities, whatever they were.

“Please excuse my eldest daughter,” Mrs. Lloyd explained, more for Margaret's benefit than Ainsley's. “She is quite tired of late and Lillian's sudden recovery has done little to perk her up.”

When Ainsley looked back to Lillian her face had become somewhat downtrodden as the conversation switched to her sister. Seeing Ainsley looking at her, she smiled before her eyes darted to her mother and then the floor.

“Perhaps she is feeling similar to Mary,” Margaret said, “still in mourning.”

Mrs. Lloyd nodded, and gestured to her black attire. “As am I,” she said, “I doubt I shall ever recover from the loss.” Her words lacked sincerity. Ainsley imagined her doing away with her widow's robes as soon as the custom allowed, in a year's time. In the meanwhile she would play the role of devoted widow and the loving mother of a dead child, though he and Miss Dawson knew she was neither.

The butler appeared shortly after, Mary at his heel pushing the tea trolley into the room.

“Thank you Charles, Mary,” Mrs. Lloyd said, without bothering to make eye contact. “Please inform Walter that our guests have arrived for tea, should he care to join us.”

Charles and Mary left the room quickly but not before Mary gave a glance over her shoulder.

Ainsley followed her hesitant gaze to Lillian who suddenly looked flush and unwell.

“Are you feeling all right?” Ainsley asked. Without waiting for a reply, he went to her side and placed a hand on her forehead. She stared blankly at the door, her breathing labored. Ainsley reached for her wrist but she collapsed in his arms before he could check her pulse.

“Oh!” Mrs. Lloyd yelled, standing up suddenly. “What is wrong with her, Dr. Ainsley?”

“She's overspent. Too much excitement,” Ainsley offered as an explanation. “She needs to rest.”

Lillian did not move as Ainsley gathered her, hoop skirt and all, into his arms. She was limp as he stood up and started for the door. He walked around Walter, who had just entered the room, and continued steadily up the stairs to Lillian's room. He used his knee to tap open her door and was relieved when she was finally lying in her bed. The weight of her dress added many more pounds than the day when he carried her to the kitchen.

She stirred then, turning to him as he knelt at her side adjusting the pillows around her head. “I feel so tired,” she said softly.

“I believe you pushed yourself too far this day,” Ainsley said, holding her head as he placed a pillow behind it.

Lillian smiled. “I agree.”

He stared at her lovingly, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. “You haven't eaten anything, have you?”

“No, doctor’s orders.”

“Good girl. I will bring you something before long.”

Lillian reached for his hand and squeezed it gently.

“There was something I wanted to ask you,” he started, glancing to the door to make sure no one had followed them. “I want you to come to London with me.”

“What? But how?”

“You are not safe here. I have to go back to the city and I cannot leave you here. I found arsenic in Dr. Bennett and in Josephine.” Her face looked panic stricken as he talked. “You will be okay, just do not eat anything.” He squeezed her hand in a gesture of reassurance.

“In Josephine?”

“I cannot say how but know that I would not say such if I was not sure.”

Lillian struggled, lifting her head from the bed. “But how could I go back to London with you? I haven't a shilling to call my own.”

“I do. I have more than enough for both of us. I will spend every penny I have to know you are safe.”

The door to the room creaked open and they both looked up to see Margaret standing there. “Peter,” she said, inching into the room, “How is Lillian?”

Ainsley smiled. “She just needs some rest.” he squeezed her hand and stood up, releasing her hand gently so it slipped onto her stomach.

Margaret and Ainsley left Lillian's room, closing the door behind them gently.

“She will be all right?” Margaret asked.

“Yes, just over extended,” Ainsley explained. “I knew it was too early for her to be in corsets and hoop skirts.” Ainsley raked his hand through his hair.

Elizabeth appeared at the top of the stairs. When Ainsley and Margaret turned to her, she spoke. “Mother has decided you should stay for dinner. Until we know Lillian has not completely relapsed.”

Margaret was startled at the suggestion but Ainsley nodded in agreement. “We'd be honoured.”

Elizabeth remained muted, barely taking her eyes from Ainsley. “I warned you Dr. Ainsley, not to be fooled,” she said with stinging monotone. “Nothing is what it seems.”

“I agree,” Ainsley answered. He felt Margaret's hand on his arm, reaching for him from behind. She must be scared. “I know about Josephine and Miss Dawson.” Ainsley ventured, unsure how much the older children knew of the parentage of their youngest sibling.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “You think I speak of them and that unfortunate situation?”

“Don't you?” Margaret asked.

“No. I do not.”

Ainsley felt Margaret's hand grow tighter at his arm, though her face did not betray her discomfort. “Help me understand then,” Ainsley implored. “If I do not understand, tell me what it is I need to know.”

“I have told you everything. Everything else is here in front of you, if you wish to see.” Elizabeth turned then and disappeared down the hall