The Baron's Wife by Maggi Andersen (14)

The days without Nathaniel dragged by slowly. Laura kept busy taking on new tasks. She inspected the linens, the china, the glassware and silverware, and familiarized herself with the household accounts. She organized the flowers for the library, even though there was no one there to enjoy them but her.

She roamed as far as she could from the abbey, returning only when her feet grew sore or it began to rain. She spent evenings in the library reading about Wolfram’s fascinating and exciting past.

A local woman came to inquire about the role of housekeeper but proved unsuitable. Laura could not employ anyone without Nathaniel’s agreement. She decided to cast her net further afield. In the meantime, she mentally rolled up her sleeves and went about with Dorcas making notes, keeping her mother’s instructions in mind. Nathaniel, like most men, didn’t understand the importance of a well-run house. Laura laughed to herself. How like her mother she sounded!

When she discussed menus and preserves with Mrs. Madge, the cook mentioned they were shorthanded in the kitchen. Laura took note of it as she went to examine the kitchen gardens. She discussed the plantings with the gardener to ensure the right produce and herbs were grown to supply the table. While it was the man of the house who usually hired staff, she must convince Nathaniel to permit her to take on some of the responsibility. She smiled. She believed women to be more practical and to have a better understanding of human nature, although she would not tell him so. There was also the need to have more uniforms made for the staff; poor Dorcas’ and the other maids’ dresses were quite shabby. Laura’s activities helped to keep her from worrying about the disturbing gossip.

Days before Nathaniel was due to return, Laura sat in the rose garden with the brassbound rosewood writing slope she’d discovered, which might have been Amanda’s, attending to her correspondence. It had rained earlier, and the air was moist and heavy. A faint breeze sluggishly stirred the leaves of the chestnut tree above her and lifted the corner of her letter. Eloise Travers, a friend from Cambridge, had filled several pages with news of her latest literary conquest. She was employed to review for The Bookman, a monthly magazine. Laura paused from adding her heartfelt congratulations, tinged with a little envy, to admire the arbor of pink and white roses intertwined into a fragrant arch. Amanda and Mallory had exhibited some skill in creating it. Had there been more to their relationship? Hadn’t Cilla said Amanda found the gardener’s infatuation amusing?

Dismissing such unpleasant thoughts, Laura penned a dutiful letter to her mother, fearful that her parent would fill in the gaps and guess things weren’t as good as they might be. Laura chewed the end of her pen. She had no heart to embellish her words. Instead, she attempted to distract her mother with a request. Might she or her acquaintances know of a housekeeper with good references prepared to come to Cornwall? Laura elaborated on her refurbishment of some of the rooms. Running a house had proved to be more challenging than she imagined, and she’d developed a grudging respect for her mother’s ability to manage Grisewood Hall. Laura added a footnote of love and encouragement for her beloved father, who she knew was overworked and apprehensive as the Boer War raged on in Africa.

Her last note was to Aunt Dora begging her to come and visit them soon.

The butler brought several letters on a silver salver. “These have just been delivered, my lady.”

Laura gazed up at the man’s stern face from beneath her wide-brimmed hat as she took them. “Thank you, Rudge.”

“Shall you take tea in the library, my lady?”

“I believe I shall have it here. It’s nicer outdoors.”

“Very well.”

As he returned inside, Laura eyed his stiff back, then dropped her gaze to the letters. There was an invitation from the vicar and his wife to dine at the vicarage. She would reply today. It would give her an opportunity to ask him how she might assist the poor and set up her charity. Another invitation to tea had come from two aged spinsters, daughters of a viscount, who lived at Thrompton, a small manor house a few miles outside of Wolfram. Nathaniel had mentioned them to her.

She opened a letter of thanks from the women’s committee; everyone enjoyed her speech, and they asked if she would open the annual flower show this spring. She set about replying. Laura murmured her surprise at the next. Her old university chum, Howard Farmer, had sent his belated best wishes for her marriage. They had often debated together, and he’d once come to play tennis with her at Wimbledon. He now taught classics at the University of London. If she ever wished to see him, she was not to hesitate to contact him there. She smiled, glad for him.

The last was addressed to Nathaniel. Why had Rudge brought this to her? The envelope bore one line, a hasty scrawl: His Lordship, the Baron Lanyon. One word in the corner caught her attention: Urgent! Laura hesitated for a few seconds, then seized her pearl-handled opener and sliced through the envelope, removed the letter and smoothed it out. It was exactly like the envelope. A scrawled, brief message, not dated, nor signed.

Baron, the man you sought has been seen in St Ives. He may plan to return to Wolfram. I pray the Lord protects you and yours.

The signature was impossible to decipher.

Her stomach tightening, she read it again. Protect them from what? Her hand shook as she tried to think what she should do. Should she contact Nathaniel? Would he disapprove of her opening his mail? It appeared too urgent to ignore, even if the writer did enjoy a dramatic turn of phrase. There wasn’t a telephone at Wolfram, but there was one at the post office in the village. Nathaniel had given her a number to call in an emergency. Would he consider this urgent? She gathered up her letters, aware that she couldn’t leave it for his return.

In her bedroom, she took out her riding habit and rang for Agnes. Was it possible to install a telephone at Wolfram? She hated to be so isolated when Nathaniel was in London.

When a knock came at the door, she held her bodice together, expecting her maid. “Come in.”

Rudge stood at the open door. “Your morning tea is served in the rose garden, my lady. As you instructed.”

“I find I have to go out, Rudge. I need to telephone his lordship. Send Agnes to me, will you?”

“Certainly, my lady.” Surprise registered on Rudge’s chiseled features before he returned to his usual impassive expression. Surely he must have known the urgent letter would be dealt with? Why else add it to her correspondence?

In her green habit, Laura hurried to the stables where the groom saddled her horse. Trotting toward the causeway, she saw a man crossing from the village onto Wolfram land. She reined in her mount and waited for him to reach her. He walked with a confident swagger. Dressed in nankeen trousers, with a tan leather jerkin beneath a cloth jacket, he swept off his hat. Blond hair gleamed in the sun. He had a good-looking, rather insolent face.

His eyes swept over her approvingly. “You can only be Lady Lanyon.”

Laura’s horse pinned her ears, disliking the delay. “You know who I am, but I’m at a loss to know who you are, sir.” Annoyed by the familiarity of his tone and the bold look in his brown eyes, Laura steadied her mount, anxious to get to the post office.

“Theo Mallory at your service, my lady.”

“The head gardener at one time, Mr. Mallory, were you not?”

“The very same, my lady.”

“To what do we owe this visit, Mr. Mallory?”

Mallory frowned and replaced his hat. “I have business with Lord Lanyon.”

“His lordship is in London. He’s not expected back until Saturday.”

He walked beside her. “Then I’ll see him then. I’ve taken a room at The Sail and Anchor.”

Curious, she watched his expression. “I believe you lived in a cottage on the grounds at one time.”

Theo’s laugh possessed a scornful ring. “I did, my lady. Thank you for reminding me.”

What was he doing back in Wolfram? Something about him made her uneasy. “I bid you good day, Mr. Mallory.” She urged her horse into a trot. The tide lapped at the granite rocks just below the road. “How long before high tide?” Laura called back.

“An hour or so.”

“Then I must hurry.” Laura nudged her mount.

He followed behind her. Mallory’s manner was too informal, disrespectful, and although she was curious, she had no time to give to him now. She rode into the village, going over the conversation she was soon to have with her husband. It would not be an easy one.

At the crank of the telephone handle, a hollow voice came over the line. Laura asked the exchange for the number Nathaniel had given her. Would he consider this to be important enough for her to call him? Shouting into the mouthpiece, she repeated her request.

Moments later, she heard Nathaniel’s voice come on, sounding as if he was on the other side of the world. She had planned to be brief, but hearing his deep voice, her emotions got the better of her. She relayed the contents of the letter in a breathy voice. “The letter was marked urgent!”

There was a pause, and when he spoke it was impossible to judge his tone. “I’ll be home by Saturday evening. Wait a moment.” His voice grew fainter as he spoke to someone with him. “Laura? There’s a vote in the House. I must go. I’m sorry. Sweetheart…” The line crackled.

“What? I can’t hear you,” Laura yelled.

“…miss you.”

“Oh, Nathaniel, I miss you too,” Laura cried. Had she heard him correctly?

The crackling on the line ended, and suddenly his voice was so clear he might have been standing there with her. “I’ll attend to the matter when I return home. Goodbye, sweetheart.”

She hung up the phone, relieved Nathaniel hadn’t expressed anger at her opening his mail. Outside the post office, Theo Mallory leaned against a lamppost smoking a cheroot.

He threw it down and straightened. “Did you settle the matter which had you in such a hurry, my lady?”

“Please don’t concern yourself with my affairs, Mr. Mallory.” Her lips firmed as she beckoned the lad to bring her horse.

When she took the reins, Mallory came to her side. “Allow me to give you a leg up, Lady Lanyon.”

“Thank you.” It would be a direct snub to refuse him, and with a group of villagers watching she didn’t like to. She placed her booted foot in his clasped hands, and he threw her up. She arranged her skirts over the sidesaddle. “Do you intend to remain in Wolfram long, Mr. Mallory?”

“That depends. I have important business here.” He touched his hand to his hat in what should have been a respectful gesture, but his brown eyes held an overly familiar expression that drew her ire. “Such a picturesque place, Wolfram.”

His smirk made his meaning plain. Her fingers itched to raise her crop to him. She quickly turned her horse’s head and rode toward the causeway. The water was alarmingly close to overflowing onto the road. She rode back to the abbey, relieved that Nathaniel had not seemed concerned about the letter, although it was impossible to be sure. In a few days, he would be home. She tamped down her impatience to see him.

At the bright prospect, she urged her horse into a canter.

At dusk, wrapped in a warm shawl, Laura walked in the gardens before dinner. The cool evening was a favorite time when the scents of flowers and trees intensified, the birds calling as they nestled in the trees. She went down the steps, skirting around the abbey to the gate leading into the graveyard. After a pause, she entered and walked beneath the magnolia. The grass and weeds needed to be scythed. Some of the old gravestones were almost covered. Laura bent down to read the inscriptions on some of them. She located Nathaniel’s father, but strangely, his mother was not there. Farther down the hill, she discovered the one she admitted to herself she’d come to see.

Amanda Elizabeth Lanyon. Born: 1868. Died: 1897.

A posy of dead wildflowers lay beside the grave.

Could Nathaniel have put them there before he went to London? Was it he who chose the beautiful epitaph? The salt-laden breeze strengthened, stirring the branches above her. She shivered and wrapped her shawl more closely around her shoulders. Strange to feel like an intruder, but she did as she closed the gate.

The sound of voices made Laura pause at the steps. Theo Mallory stood some distance away, his foot resting on the stone seawall. His back to her, he was deep in conversation with one of the grooms. The groom raised his hands, his manner apologetic, his mutterings carried away on the wind.

Mallory straightened. “See that it’s done,” he ordered, his voice loud enough for her to hear.

The groom nodded.

Laura hurried through the gate before they caught sight of her. What brought Mallory here? As she climbed the steps to the front door, a thought made her gasp. Mallory had acted as if he was the master of Wolfram.

After dinner, Laura took her usual spot in the library, thinking about what she’d seen. Finally, she rose to search the shelves for a book to make the night seem less long. She discovered a slim volume with a red leather cover. It appeared to be written about a garden, so without opening it, she took it upstairs with her to bed.

Settling against the pillows, she opened the volume and sighed with impatience. It was an old Arabian text translated into English and not at all what she expected. Something made her persevere, and soon the sensual pleasures detailed in the prose made her breath catch in her throat and her face burn. She closed the book as if fire leapt from its pages and gazed again at the title: The Perfumed Garden. She had never known such a book existed; it was so blatant and undeniably arousing. A graphic and beautiful account of sexual love. Intrigued, she opened the silken pages again. She read until the candle guttered, then tossed and turned in the dark for hours as her imagination placed her and Nathaniel into the scenes in the book.

***

After Laura’s phone call, Nathaniel’s fingers remained clenched around the handset for several minutes before he hung up. He should have been there. Laura’s voice had faded in and out, the line atrocious. His blood drummed in his veins while he hoped the bad line had hidden the surprise and horror in his voice. Would Mallory turn up at Wolfram? He had enough gall to do it. It was doubtful he’d arrive before Nathaniel, but if he did, Laura was unlikely to meet him. Still, he would count the hours until he could return. The only calming thought was the knowledge that Hugh would do as Nathaniel requested and keep his eye on Laura.