Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy

CHAPTER 24

As September curled more deeply into autumn’s bosom, the pounding of hammers and rasp of saws rang through Havenwood Manor in a near-constant symphony, beginning shortly after sunrise and carrying on until sunset each day. Malcolm kept watch at the entry to the south wing, supervising the workers as they went about their repairs. Eliza’s plans of sneaking into the south wing unnoticed had been thwarted by his vigilance.

He hadn’t visited her chambers in almost a week. Her isolation was by choice, the sting of his rejection still fresh as a whip’s lash. After the second night, he’d stopped knocking on her door.

Shirley brought breakfast, tea, and dinner to her room, perching on the edge of Eliza’s bed while she picked at her food. In the evening, Eliza turned to her laudanum, dosing herself into a delirium that made the walls heave like the bellows of a blacksmith’s forge. In her dreams, she heard arguing men, voices raised in an unknown language. At other times, an unseen hand stroked her hair as tenderly as a mother would. Eliza liked to think this was the kindly spirit, come to comfort her in her loneliness. Was the spirit Ada or one of the other tragic Havenwood wives? Or perhaps Beatrice? If it was Bea, who had murdered her? And why?

Eliza had taken to strolling the perimeter of the property during the day to banish her omnipresent tiredness, puzzling over her thoughts and observing the improvements to the house from the outside. She enjoyed watching the workers. Their easy banter and lack of airs reminded her of her father. They were most grateful for her deliveries of apples, smoked herring, and Shirley’s shortbread, which she placed in tin pails to haul up to them. It was good to feel useful and appreciated.

The new beams coaxed the voluptuous curve of the mansard roof back to life, the brightness of the fresh yellow wood replacing the dark, scorched rafters she’d first seen from her room at Sherbourne House. Little by little, her home was being made ever finer, at least to the outside eye.

She was taking her daily deliveries to the workers when a young man with clever, sun-creased blue eyes smiled down at her, dangling from the scaffolding. “How’re ya, maum?” he said, doffing his cap. His dark hair waved in sweaty tendrils around his forehead. “You’re the famous missus, right?”

“I am,” she said, shielding her eyes with her hands. “I bring you men your cookies each day.” She lifted the tin bucket.

“What are cookies, maum?” he asked, scratching his head as he climbed down and took the bucket from her hand.

“You call them biscuits.”

“I’ll call them whatever you like, so long as you smile at me the way you’re doing right now. I’m Freddie.”

“Well, Freddie, you’re a flirt. I’m Eliza. But around my husband, it’ll have to be Lady Havenwood, or my lady, or your ladyship, or any of that other proper nonsense.”

He grinned. “Hey, do you know you’ve a spook?”

“What?” she asked, squinting at him.

“A ghost.”

“Really?”

Freddie nodded and took a bite of his shortbread, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t figure it much likes us working on your house. Keeps stealing our tools.”

“I’m sorry. My husband will certainly replace anything that’s gone missing.”

“That’s just it, maum—they ain’t exactly missing. Only moved around, like. Shepherd’s plaster trowel was stuck in the side of the house the other day, and my hammer was left hanging from the rafters. It nearly fell on the foreman’s head.”

Eliza shivered, despite the warmth of the mid-September sun. “I see. Perhaps you could try locking everything up once you’ve finished for the day?”

Freddie laughed nervously, brushing his hands clean on his trousers. “Right. That’s the funniest thing of all. We put everything into a trunk with a padlock last night, just to test it. And this morning, all the tools were pulled out and lined up in rows, neat as chessmen. Now ain’t that queer?”

Someone was watching her. She sensed it. A shadowy form, looming over her. Her heartbeat ratcheted and her limbs went rubbery soft . . . until her eyes adjusted, and she came fully out of her slumber. It was only Turner, his face shadowed by the noonday sun. She blinked up at him from the hammock. She’d been spending most of her days in the gardens of late, resting in the shade of the chestnut trees. It was an effective way to avoid Malcolm.

“Mum, so sorry to wake you. You’ve a visitor. Miss Whitby. Shall I tell her you’re indisposed?”

“Polly’s here? How unexpected.” Eliza sat up and patted her hair. “Bring her around back. We’ll visit in the gardens.”

Turner gave a crisp nod. “I’ll have Mrs. Duncan bring refreshments.”

Eliza stood and shook the fallen leaves from her skirts. She wondered why Polly was coming to call now. After their acrimonious words over Eastleigh at Sarah’s party, Eliza had dismissed their chances of ever becoming friends. But they were still neighbors, after all. And, as Polly was the local gossip, it would be pleasant if they could come to some sort of accord to temper the scandalous talk about town. It would be nice to be welcomed at the market with smiles instead of spiteful whispers about her loose American morals.

Polly rounded the corner, trailing Turner. She was wearing another one of her fluffy concoctions, this time in yellow, her eyes flitting nervously over the topiary until they finally landed on Eliza.

“Hello, Miss Whitby,” called Eliza with a friendly wave. She closed the gap between them and offered her hand. Polly took it, bobbing an awkward curtsy.

“He . . . hello, Lady Havenwood,” Polly stammered. “Lovely day to be out-of-doors.”

“Yes. I’m ever so glad you decided to call,” Eliza said with an ingratiating smile. “Please sit. And please call me Eliza.” She motioned to the table and chairs beneath the pergola. “I find the gardens a peaceful respite from the noise these days, what with all the construction going on.”

Polly took her seat, sighing with what Eliza took to be relief. What had she been expecting? A shunning? Polly turned her attention to the rear elevation of the house, where the workers were taking their lunch break on the scaffolding. “It’s impressive what you’ve been able to accomplish in so little time.”

They’d made notable headway that morning on the fascia and soffits, which gleamed with new copper gutters. “We’ve a good crew. And Malcolm has been overseeing it all.”

Freddie caught Eliza’s eye and waved, then nudged his friend. Doubtless Polly’s arrival had created a stir among the young men.

“My lady . . . I mean, Eliza,” Polly began nervously, “more than anything, I’ve come to apologize.”

“Polly . . .”

“No. I behaved atrociously at Sarah’s party. There are no excuses for it.” Polly pressed her lips together. “I made myself look a fool over Charles. It was terribly embarrassing.”

Eliza reached for Polly’s hand. “Darling, you’ve no reason to apologize to me. I’ve been young and in love. I know what it means to lose your head over a man.”

“Well. You’ve heard the news, I suppose.” Polly’s voice grew tight as a lute string—her smile even tighter. “About Charles and Una.”

“Oh, yes. They had us to dinner recently so they could gloat about their match. It was awful. I’m afraid I don’t know how to be pleasant to either one of them.”

“I was gutted to hear of it.” Polly absently fiddled with the ruffled cuff of her dress. “I suppose I always made things too easy for him, though. Men like Charles fancy a challenge.”

Where was Shirley with their tea? The last thing Eliza wanted to do was spend the afternoon sawing on about Eastleigh. “I think you’re better off not having married the likes of him. You’re a lovely girl. He wouldn’t have treated you well at all,” she said, thinking of the obscene proposal he’d offered Malcolm. “You would’ve been quite unhappy with him, in fact. Una and Charles belong together. They’re equally loathsome.”

“It’s just that my papa always wanted me to marry well, to elevate our place in society. He’s only the second son of a baronet—which is nothing really special, you see, but it was enough for him to become an officer. He received several commendations, which put him on the path to promotion at a younger age than most. He’s worked very hard and is quite proud of being an admiral. His daughter marrying an earl would have secured his estate and livelihood into old age. A man without sons becomes desperate.”

“Your father sounds a great deal like my own,” Eliza said. “A self-made man.”

“Yes, well. He’s not very happy with me at the moment.” Tears sprung to Polly’s eyes. “I’m nearly twenty-four, Eliza! My hopes of finding a good match are dwindling.”

“Nonsense! Haven’t you ever thought it ridiculous that a woman must marry before twenty-five to escape the stigma of spinsterhood, yet a man can marry at whatever age he likes? It’s preposterous.”

Polly wiped at her eyes. “You sound like Sarah.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“Oh,” Polly said, glancing over Eliza’s shoulder. “There’s a young man coming, and he’s bringing tea.”

Eliza swiveled in her chair. Freddie approached, a bashful grin on his face. “Pardon me, maum. Your housekeeper was flustered about a pudding she thought was burning, so I offered to bring this out to you.”

“You’re a jewel and a gentleman, Freddie. I may convince my husband to let me keep you. You’d make a fine footman.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, maum.” He set the tray down, with its lopsided Victoria sponge and hastily assembled tea service, then took his cap from his head to greet Polly. “Good day, miss . . .”

“This is Miss Whitby, Freddie. Polly, this is Mr. . . . oh, I’m sorry . . .”

“O’Riordan, maum.”

Polly glanced at Freddie’s proffered hand, with its dirty fingernails and calloused palm, and made a simpering sound at the back of her throat. “Charmed,” she said disdainfully, and pulled her hands into her lap.

Eliza’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of her head. Seeing the lay of things, Freddie turned with a nod and trundled off, hat in hands. “Polly!” she scolded after he was out of earshot. “That utterly charming boy brought our tea so that he could be introduced to you. If anything will prevent you from marrying, your own snobbishness may well do the trick! Not every good man you meet comes with a pedigree.”

Polly sniffed. “An admiral’s daughter could never entertain a carpenter’s attentions. And an Irish one at that! Imagine the gossip!”

Eliza sighed and sat back in her chair. “Yes. Imagine the gossip.”

“Speaking of, there’s loads more gossip about town,” Polly said, eagerly slicing a wedge from the sponge. “Do you want to hear it?”

“Oh, why not?”

“The Tates have sold half their estate. Can you believe it? They’ve lost three tenants, just this year. It seems many of our lot are doing the same. Parceling acreage and selling. Some of the lower gentry have even started working in the city. Hard times for many, I suppose. Desperation will drive you to that sort of thing, but it’s better than thievery. Do you remember that highwayman that was terrorizing the countryside when you arrived? He seems to have gone with the summer. Lady Gregory claims she saw him east of Alton in late August, but that was the end of it. At least we can travel at night again without worry, thank goodness.” Polly took in a breath. “Her palsy is worsening. Lady Gregory’s, that is. Sarah doesn’t think she’ll live to see in the new century.”

“Terrible news,” Eliza said, doing her best to muster a sympathetic look, remembering the disdain Lady Gregory had shown to her and Lydia at the ball.

“And there’s talk about you and Malcolm, of course. They say you were with child before the wedding.” A pause. “Are you?”

Eliza snorted. “No. I am most certainly not.”

“I didn’t think so, of course.” Polly shook her head. “And then one of the local farmers said he saw you and Malcolm engaging in a vulgar, pagan ritual amongst the standing stones.”

Eliza bit her lip to stifle a laugh. There might have been some truth to that one. They’d been rather flagrant that night, after all. She longed for more of the sort—her winsome, spirited husband, so bold as to take her breathless beneath the stars. Lately, he’d become a prudish shadow of himself. “They’ll be calling me a witch soon enough, won’t they?”

“Oh! They already are. But if you’d like news of your wicked ways to spread even further, I’m sure I can manage to help.”

Eliza laughed, and Polly joined in. “I’m so glad you came, Polly. Aren’t we friends now? In full?”

Polly reached across the table to squeeze Eliza’s fingertips. “Yes. Friends indeed.”