Chapter 61: Fortune's Fools

They had not been back in London a week, settling into their life-after-Mamma, when they had an unexpected visitor. Tavington remembered Sir Edward Claypoole from his visit to Windsor, and more recently from the Prince of Wales' appearance at the ball. Amidst all the callers come to express sympathy, it was surprising to hear from someone so unconnected to them. They received a note, asking for the honor of calling on the family, saying it was a matter of business involving the late Lady Cecily, and requesting that all her children be present. John saw the note first, talked it over with Tavington, and then wrote back, suggesting a day and time. He immediately contacted Protheroe, asking that he and Lucy join them. It was certainly a mystery.

Sir Edward was shown into the drawing room, a graceful, discreet man, sleek as a weasel, his clothes exquisite, his wig immaculate; and it was clear from the first few minutes that he was here, not on his own behalf, but as an emissary from the Court.

"Your lady mother's service to the late Princess of Wales was recalled with such respect and fondness. Her Royal Highness deeply regretted Lady Cecily's departure from her service, and as a mark of her esteem, directed that a pension be paid her."

Caroline whispered her surprise to Penelope. The two brothers looked at each other in puzzlement.

"We know of no such pension," Tavington told Claypoole.

"Ah, yes. The matter was looked into on her death, for as you know, the pension would have ceased from that time. To our dismay, we discovered that it had never been paid. A shocking, regrettable lapse. There was a meeting on the matter, and it was decided to pay the arrearages in a lump sum to her children. I hope," Claypoole said, with a suave smile to Tavington, "that does not seem inequitable to you? We are aware that you were bequeathed your mother's monies, but in this special situation—are you prepared to accept a fifth, rather than the whole?"

Tavington looked at Jane, who remained tactfully silent. He said, "Of course I accept His Majesty's decision, and am happy to share what is, after all, a windfall with my brother and sisters. How much is the total?"

"Well," replied Sir Edward, his smile becoming positively brilliant, "as twenty years have passed since your mother left the post, and as the Princess intended her to have a thousand a year, it is a pleasant sum: twenty thousand pounds in all. That would be four thousand to each of Lady Cecily's children. I must ask again, Colonel Tavington, would you contest the division?"

Rather staggered, Tavington turned again to Jane. She blurted out, "I think it should be shared."

Jane was too dazed to think clearly. Such a huge sum! What a fortune for the children! For a moment she imagined doubling their investments, much increasing their income—the possibility of buying a property of their own—her boys never having to seek out professions. It was a dazzling prospect. She bit her lip. Her first remark should stand. Snatching at the entire amount would be greedy and divisive. The family might assent, but equally would resent it. Yes. This was best. After all, they would have four thousand pounds they had not expected. Moderation was the best course.

"Yes, "she repeated. "All of her children should share in this."

At once, Caroline and Penelope burst forth, dismissing any need for the money. "You and Lucy have children, Will. We really cannot claim that we need this money—"

"Need has nothing to do with it," John broke in briskly. "Whether you want to found a scholarship or fritter it away, we must all share equally, if we're to do anything but give it all to Will. Not that that would be wrong, mind you," he forced himself to say. He really wanted the four thousand pounds. He would put it in trust for Fanny at once. No matter what happened, she would be provided for. "Are you sure, Will? It's such a lot of money. Are you sure you won't regret this tomorrow?"

Tavington was not at all sure he was sure. If only Claypoole had approached him privately, and given him time to put his thoughts in order! Still, Jane was willing to share. Good relations with John and the girls were worth it.

"Yes," he declared, "I'm quite sure. It's something from Mamma for all of us."

He gave Lucy a quick, tender glance. Ha! Foiled your spite, Mamma! Lucy gets four thousand pounds, the amber brooch, and whatever else she likes from the jewels and gew-gaws. It should be a help to her. His gaze traveled to Protheroe, who was sitting and listening with a very grave expression. A little more conversation followed: wonder that they had never heard of this; Sir Edward's commiseration on the incompetence of clerks; vain wishes from Caroline and Penelope that Mamma had been alive to receive such a signal mark of royal favor.

Sir Edward nodded affably to them all, and casually remarked, "His Majesty is always happy to see that his loyal subjects receive their just due. To the Privy Purse, a trifle: to his honor, everything. He has complete faith that you will continue to serve the Crown as you have always done."

"Yes, of course," replied John, rather nonplussed. "What else? It's a matter of principle, you see. Tavingtons have always been King's men."

"Just so," was the delighted answer. "The Court can always trust such individuals to be generous in their service; discreet about state secrets; forthcoming if they were to have access to anything that would harm the realm."

The Tavington siblings looked at one another. "Naturally," Tavington remarked, not quite understanding what Sir Edward was getting at. "That goes without saying." He laughed, somewhat self-consciously. "I hardly bore years of campaigning and near-mortal wounds in order to become a turncoat now."

"I am so glad to hear that," Sir Edward said, his smile becoming a little fixed. "I pray you will continue so. If something untoward were to come to your attention, I trust you would send me a note—discreetly, of course—there is no reason for family secrets to be spread abroad. You shall be receiving the sum—well—today, I believe. Gentlemen, ladies, adieu. Do not hesitate to call on me to serve you."

He was shown out, amid polite farewells and considerable confusion.

"You're very solemn, Protheroe," Tavington said to his brother-in-law. "You are not happy to receive four thousand pounds?"

"Four thousand pounds is a considerable sum," the attorney replied, forcing a smile. "I am certain we can all put ours to good use." He lowered his voice and murmured for Tavington's ears only. "We must speak more of this."

"You think there is something amiss here, don't you?"

Protheroe whispered urgently, "Do you really believe that if your mother thought she was due a pension, she would not have assailed the ear of everyone she knew to obtain it? Something is wrong here. Lucy, my love," he called, seeing eyes turned their way, "I do need to go over some matters of business with your brothers. Would it be too rude to drag them away?"

"Rude and cruel!" laughed his wife.

"But Lucy, what a good time to go through Mamma's jewels!" cried Penelope.

"Yes, indeed," agreed Caroline. "We ought to see to it."

There was some faint embarrassment, and Jane said, "Don't mind me. I should enjoy the show, but I don't want anyone feeling awkward because I'm not included. You must remember that I inherited my own mother's jewels, and was never called upon to share them!"

The men fled, expressing horror at the prospect of being trapped in a room with women cooing over trinkets.

Lucy asked, "Is that poor Fabienne still here?"

"Yes," Caroline answered. "Will told her she could stay until the tenth of next month. That will give her time to dispose of Mamma's clothes as she sees fit, and find a new situation—or new lodgings. I gather that she is hoping with a few hundred pounds capital to go into business as a modiste, or to find a small house where she can let rooms. With that and her pension, she should be well provided for."

Fabienne was called, and the jewelry boxes were brought down, along with an inventory. The maid was pale, and dressed in deepest mourning. She gave them the boxes with a sniffle and a muttered,"Hélas! Ma pauvre Madame!" She was dismissed with a few kind words.

Jane saw no box matching the description of the one mentioned in the will. As they were opened in turn, she foresaw a long afternoon, for every piece had its anecdote, and some nostalgic tears were shed, remembering when their mother had worn this necklace or that lavaliere to such-and-such an assembly. Caroline showed them her mother's diamonds, now her own, and Penelope the pearls and sapphires. The volume of jewelry was considerable, and some pieces were completely unknown to them. The Tavington family diamonds were admired---mildly, for the settings were very old-fashioned--and put aside for John.

"We must select something nice for Sarah," Lucy told them. "She was so kind about the amber brooch."

Different items were examined and proposed: an emerald pendant, a diamond corsage-style brooch, a pair of pearl earrings with beautiful enamel work. An amazing cameo depicting St. George and the Dragon was Penelope's favorite.

"Sarah would like this. It has a horse on it."

They laughed. Jane supported the choice. "It's quite gorgeous, actually. Penelope's right—unless you choose the pendant. That's also quite unusual and lovely."

In the end, the cameo was chosen. Among the many jewel boxes there was a flat case of bronze, with Cupid and Psyche in relief

"What a beautiful box," Caroline cried. "What can be in it?"

Inside were a necklace and earrings of aquamarines and pearls, strung together on a triple gold chain. At each pale blue aquamarine the three chains were scalloped up, and a pearl drop suspended; and in the center, the largest stone was set in an elaborate gold mount inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and a triple pendant of pearls dangled from it. There was a matching ring: a big irregular pearl surrounded by aquamarines, which enclosed a roll of yellowed parchment.

"How lovely!" Lucy breathed. "Why did Mamma not wear these? I don't believe I have ever seen these jewels. Do you recognize them, Pen?"

"Not I. A pity. They would have matched Mamma's eyes perfectly."

"Here is a note," said Caroline, drawing the parchment from the ring. She read it, colored briefly, and then handed the box to Lucy. "I really think you should have these, Lucy dearest."

"How kind—but—"

"I really think you should." Caroline looked significantly at Penelope who looked back questioningly, and then blushed herself. Lucy looked briefly at the note, and sighed.

"Yes. I shall take these. They are lovely and obviously a treasured souvenir. Here, Jane, you might as well see this. There should be no secrets amongst the four of us."

"Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part--"

Madam, ever your most devoted—

R

"Very beautiful," said Jane, determined to be unembarrassed and prosaic. "And I think jewelry ought to be worn, don't you?"

-----

"What's on your mind, Protheroe?" Sir John asked, when the three men were downstairs in the library with the door shut between them and the rest of the house.

"Didn't all of that sound—odd to you?" Protheroe asked in his turn. "Since when is a sizable pension forgotten, and then paid in a lump sum without dickering and petitions and delays?"

"You have a suspicious mind!" Sir John laughed.

"Well for me that I do!" Protheroe exclaimed earnestly.

"All right, then. You think Claypoole wanted something?" Tavington wondered.

Protheroe nodded slowly. "It's clear that this was a fishing expedition, and that the money is being given as a sort of quid pro quo. I doubt that there was such a pension, for it there were, it would have been in Her Royal Highness' will from 1771. At any rate—such a large sum of money, so convenient to divide amongst five! Something is wanted, but those who want it were not certain who amongst us has it. Perhaps there will be additional rewards for the one who delivers that which is desired. Do neither of you have any idea what it is the man was after?"

Tavington and John looked at each other and shook their heads. "No, not the least idea," answered Tavington.

"Are you certain?" Protheroe persisted. "It must be important, for such sums to be tossed about. Twenty thousand pounds is not a trifle, even for a king. And to do it through an intermediary—it even makes me wonder if the King himself is involved. He referred to state secrets, to things that would 'harm the realm.' Does anyone in your family possess anything that could be used against the Crown? Any love letters? State papers? Perhaps something pertaining to the Royal Family? He did use the term 'family secrets.'"

"The Duke of Cumberland, perhaps?" John wondered. "He's a dodgy fellow, but we're hardly on intimate terms. The only one of us who's ever had much dealing with the royals was Mamma, when she was Lady of the Bedchamber."

"That must be it," Protheroe muttered. "It must have involved Lady Cecily, somehow. Did your mother keep any letters or documents pertaining to the Royal Family?"

"We went through her papers pretty thoroughly—" Tavington began. Then he stopped, saying, "Good God."

"What?"

"She kept going on about a box. She said there was something important in it."

"The box mentioned in the will?"

"I suppose so. We haven't seen such a box. No one has. Who would even have heard of such a thing?"

Sir John snorted. "Really, Will. All London probably knows about the box. Mamma went on about it to the nurse, and perhaps she mentioned it to the other servants and her friends, and from there—"

"From there—" Tavington thought and became rather uncomfortable. "—from there it could have gone anywhere--Lady Cecily bragging about possessing state secrets. Surely they must know that she didn't have the box—or that it is lost—or mislaid."

Protheroe frowned. "Interested parties may know that Lady Cecily did not have the box, but it was well known that her children had assumed care of her business affairs. Someone thinks one of you has it, and Sir Edward came to give you all an offering of good faith."

"I'd like to have a talk with Nurse Watkins." Tavington growled. "The girls wanted to pay her her last wages, but no one's seen her since the morning of the ball. Then that wretched Mrs. Venable came, just as we were all distracted—"

Sir John repressed a shudder. "I don't want to think what I'm thinking."

"—that the Venable woman was someone's agent, searching the house while we were all at the ball—" finished Tavington.

"Would not her maid, Mademoiselle Boulanger, have prevented her?"

Tavington remembered the smell in Mamma's room that dawn—the heavy stink of laudanum—the drowsy, stupefied Fabienne— ("Je me sens si malade! Je suis si fatiguée!") "Not if she were drugged," he said, heavily. "I believe she was. That vile woman drugged the maid and then no doubt searched Mamma's rooms and questioned Mamma herself. It's possible the search of Jane's room was at her instigation. I shall ask Jane if she saw anything—Stay. The woman was breathing heavily when I burst into the room." He slammed his hand onto the chair arm. "The bloody bitch was watching in the hall. She must have run back to the room a step ahead of us, and was shamming sleep! And I was taken in by her!"

"I have friends among the magistrates," John said, indignant. "I can call them in and we can hunt down the woman!"

"I'm not sure that's at all a good idea," Protheroe cautioned them. "We do not know who the woman's principal was. It is clear she was not acting for herself. If we were discover that she had been employed by the highest in the land—"

Tavington felt rather sick at the idea. It was one thing give one's life for King and Country. It was quite another for King and Country to come and search his house, spy on his family, and harass his dying mother.

"—of course, " said Protheroe, continuing his thought, "we do not know it was the King or his friends. They are many others who would be interested in documents that would embarrass the royal family—not only political opponents at home, but agents of foreign powers."

The three men were silent a moment, thinking how very unpleasant this situation could become.

"We must find the box," said Sir John. "We must speak to Nurse Watkins and then to all the servants."

"I must talk to Jane, too," Tavington muttered, thinking aloud. "She may have heard something we did not."

Protheroe considered the matter. "You should indeed search this house," he said, "but if the box and its contents are not here, you must consider where you else your mother might have secreted them. Could they be at Wargrave?"

"Unlikely," replied Tavington. "Mother did not like the place, and there would be too many opportunities for someone else to come upon them. She might have given him to that Grimsby fellow, her new lawyer."

"An excellent idea," agreed Protheroe. "Let us call upon him and see what he knows."

"And then, let's speak to Jane," Tavington said. "And then to Mamma's maid and that girl who cleaned her rooms."

"How much will you tell your wife?" asked John. "I don't want the women to be frightened."

"Jane has a stout heart," Tavington replied briefly. "She won't thank us for keeping her ignorant."

-----

Traylor Grimsby could not help them. He did not want to see them at all, since his chambers were in disarray.

"Thieves broke in last night," his clerk told them, trying to set the place to rights. "He's absolutely furious."

"Was anything taken?" Protheroe asked.

"We hardly know. Whoever did this went through the rooms like a whirlwind."

"Nonetheless," Tavington put in, "We really must see Mr. Grimsby. It relates to Lady Cecily's will, and cannot be delayed."

Grimsby was reluctant to take them into his inner sanctum, for there was scarcely a place to sit or move, with all the papers scattered. The intruders had been destructive, too: some cabinets were smashed, the doors hanging off the hinges.

"Sorry to trouble you Grimsby, when you're in such a bother," Sir John began, striking a friendly tone. "It's just that we're concerned about something our mother mentioned in her will. That box that she said had valuable papers. Ivory and ebony, from the description. Did she give you such a box to keep for her? We've none like it at the house."

Grimsby shook his head. "Lady Cecily entrusted nothing to me but her will. I know nothing of a box. What about you, Protheroe?" he asked, rather nastily. "You and your father were her lawyers for years. I would have thought you'd know about something like that."

Protheroe ignored the rudeness, considering that the man's affairs were in complete disorder. It would have put him out of temper, too. "I do not. We were hoping you could shed some light on the matter, since Lady Cecily was quite concerned about it in her last days."

"It might have been her mind wandering, if you'll forgive me for speaking of it."

"It could," agreed Tavington smoothly, "but we do have reason to believe that such a box exists—or at least, did exist at one time. If you know nothing of it, then we shall see ourselves out."

"Very sorry to trouble you with all this going on," Sir John apologized.

Grimsby looked at them a little longer, and said, "She left no box and no papers with me, other than the will itself. I shall certainly tell you if I hear anything of them." He looked about him, clearly considering the idea that their lost papers had something to do with the destruction of his chambers. There were grave farewells, and the three men left.

"That can't have been a coincidence," John muttered, once they were in the privacy of the carriage.

"Hardly," agreed Tavington, with weary sarcasm. "Protheroe, why don't you ask your father about this?"

"I shall, but remember that we had no professional dealings with your mother for over three years. Besides, I cannot imagine her giving something she valued so highly into someone else's keeping. If she had it, I truly believe it must be somewhere in the townhouse, since you think she would not have left anything at Wargrave. I shall ask my father, of course, if she might have left something with us. Surely, however, it would have been returned to her when we severed relations."

----

Jane was able to give them a few more puzzle pieces. Without sharing all their worst fears, the men told her that it was possible that the box their mother raved about might have had some basis in reality, and that they were trying to find out what had become of it.

"The night of the ball, Jane--" Tavington urged her. "—do you remember anything particular that was said when she broke in upon us?"

His wife frowned, thinking. "I told her I didn't have it. I asked if Fabienne had looked, and then I told her that it was too important to keep here in the house. That seemed reasonable to her. Oh!" she cried suddenly, "What about the box we gave Deborah Porter? Do you think that could be the one that is wanted?"

For a moment Tavington's heart leaped, hoping it could be true. John turned to him in excitement, but Tavington remembered the box and shook his head, "It cannot be the same. It was too small, and made only of wood." Glumly, he added, "And it was empty. A house so full of women is always going to have a clutter of trinket boxes."

Disappointed, John agreed. "And it must be bigger than an ordinary trinket box if it contains papers, I suppose."

Jane sighed. "It was just a guess."

Tavington rubbed his jaw in frustration. "Did you see anything—odd—as we were taking my mother back to her room?"

Jane suspected that there was more than met the eye here. "I saw a fluttering out of the corner of my eye. I was calling Caroline, and there was a shape—it was someone in the hall, wasn't it? Do you know who is was?"

"We think it must have been Mrs. Venable," Sir John told her, "but she was probably sent by someone else."

"This has something to do with the visit of Sir Edward Claypoole, doesn't it? He all but demanded that you turn over anything you possessed pertaining to the Royal Family."

The men sighed, and nodded.

"But," said Jane, "just because there was a box in times gone by, that does not mean that such an object exists today. The fact that your mother only spoke of it when her illness was much advanced argues that it might have disappeared long ago."

"All things considered," Protheroe told her gravely, "it might be best if we found it. Others are apparently searching for it."

"Mrs. Venable!" Jane said, bewildered. "But she brought a reference from Nurse Watkins—"

"Who has not been seen in over a week," Tavington observed, "despite the fact that we owe her money."

"Penelope may have her address," Jane suggested. "I believe she has a sister in Cheapside. Perhaps if we sent her a note—"

Protheroe shook his head. "It would be best if we went there and saw her for ourselves."

"And we should finish talking to the servants here," Tavington pointed out. "Let's talk to Mamma's maid and that little girl who cleaned the room."

Fabienne, who hated Mrs. Venable, could not tell them much, but when she was asked what she had eaten or drunk on the night of the ball, she leaped to her feet, screaming.

"Poison! I knew it! The wicked woman wished to rob Madame and put that poison in mon souper. Ah, la mauvaise!"

"We have reason to believe she was looking for that box Mamma went on about—it would have been made of ivory and ebony—we are not sure of the size. Did you ever see such an item?"

Fabienne had not, and was certain it had never been in Madame's room. It was difficult to calm her enough to hear the whole story, for she was terrified and disgusted at the idea of being drugged and lying helpless while Mrs. Venable pried into everything. Nothing appeared to have taken, she admitted, but it was horrible nonetheless.

Jenny, the little maid, was terrified to face three tall gentlemen, and whispered to the floor that she had already told the Colonel everything.

"Yes, child," agreed Tavington, "but that was the day before the funeral and I was distracted. I remember that you very kindly expressed your sympathy and then told me that my mother seemed peaceful, save for the bloody nose, and that there was no other blood."

"Yes, sir," said the girl, "that's right, just the bloody nose and that other."

"What other?" asked John.

"The pillow, Sir John," Jenny replied. "The underside of the pillow was bloody. No telling how it got there."

A gaping hole of silence followed. A few seconds was the only variation among her listeners. In the end, each head shot up in reaction to her words, as the hideous meaning became clear. No one said anything. No one wanted to say anything. Tavington roused himself to thank the little girl and dismiss her.

Finally, John choked out, "It may have been innocent. Perhaps the blood dripped from her nose to the pillow, and the nurse might have turned the pillow over to save our sisters distress. It would look cleaner."

"No," said Protheroe. "The Frenchwoman said nothing about blood on the pillow. We must ask her again to be certain, but she claimed to have found our mother first and there was nothing said about a bloody pillow."

"The upshot is," Tavington snarled, "we have reason to believe that our mother was murdered. If the King and his friends are behind this, justice may be impossible, and revenge beyond our reach."

"I refuse to believe that the King would order the murder of a woman." John shook his head decisively. "We have no evidence that the Venable creature was an agent of the Crown. And such a person—if Mamma had seen her sniffing about and had tried to raise a fuss, the woman might have just been trying to silence her—and went too far. Caro said she was quick to get out of the house the next day."

"—And I would deduce that she did not find what she was looking for, since there has been no scandal breathed abroad," Protheroe said.

"—And Grimsby's chambers were rifled afterwards," Tavington added. "Whatever the prize may be, someone is still on the hunt for it."

Note: Thanks to my reviewers! I appreciate your generous response to the last chapter. Special thanks to snarkypants, who brought up the box Tavington found in the attic for Deborah, so I could deal with it in this chapter. It was a good guess, and I admit one I had not considered. It would create a whole alternate plot, and one that could be fun.

Next: The Stepdaughter