Antonia Hodgson - A Death at Fountains Abbey

‘You cannot be so naive! It was corruption at the highest level! The enquiry provedthat Mr Aislabie was bribed with free shares-’

‘-which he denied-’

‘-because he is a liar !’ She dropped back in her chair. ‘Well,’ she relented, ‘I suppose he has convinced himself of his innocence. No man can bear to cast himself as the villain. D’you know, I followed the scandal from the beginning. I read all the pamphlets, and his ridiculous defence in the Lords. I came to Studley Hall expecting to loathe him, but I find that I can’t. He has been very kind to me.’ She picked up her grey gloves. ‘Why are you here, sir? Truly?’

‘You know why, madam. Mr Aislabie asked the queen for help.’

Her brow crinkled. There were faint, permanent lines forming upon her forehead, I saw – and deeper ones about her mouth. She frowned a lot, furrowed her brow a lot. She would mar her good looks with her ill-temper. ‘Strange,’ she observed, ‘that he should still have such influence at court.’

It wasn’t influence; it was blackmail. A slim green ledger, filled with dangerous secrets.

‘Would the queen mind so very much if you failed in your task?’

‘She would – most certainly.’

‘You should leave, even so. Return to London. There is something evil about this place: I felt it the moment I arrived. Something in the atmosphere, an invisible mist that taints the air. One cannot help but breathe it in, like a poison. Can you not sense it?’ She lifted her hand, bending her wrist to show her veins, dark lines vivid against her pale skin. ‘If I cut myself now, I think my blood would run black with it.’

I could think of nothing to say.

And then she whispered, so quietly I could scarce hear the words. ‘It is not safe here. And I am so afraid, sir. So afraid of him.’

I stared at her in alarm. ‘You’re afraid of Mr Aislabie?’

‘No. No.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I do not feel well. The wine.’

She had barely touched her glass. ‘Mrs Fairwood-’

‘Please. I’m not myself. I must retire.’ She rose suddenly, and hurried to the door.

‘Perhaps you should leave, madam,’ I called after her. ‘Why not go home to Lincoln?’

She paused at the door, a gleam of longing in her eyes. She blinked, and it was gone. ‘I can’t leave. Not until I know for certain who I am.’

‘You doubt it?’

‘My head tells me that I am Elizabeth Aislabie. But my heart, Mr Hawkins… my heart still dares to hope that I am not.’

It was past two o’clock when we sat down for dinner. Mrs Fairwood did not join us. Nor did the mysterious Metcalfe. I discovered this much about him – that he was Mr Aislabie’s nephew, that he was heir to a baronetcy, and that he kept the most peculiar hours. He had scarce left his room for the last three days.

‘Is he unwell?’

‘Yes,’ Lady Judith replied, at the exact moment her husband said, ‘No.’

‘I think the weather will hold,’ Lady Judith said, after an awkward pause. ‘We shall have our ride this afternoon, Mr Hawkins.’

Mr Aislabie frowned, and helped himself to some boiled goose.

There was no servant to attend us, which I preferred. I find the hovering uncomfortable, having not grown up with it. The dining room was in the west wing, behind Mr Aislabie’s study. It was long and narrow, and there was a cold draught about my ankles, but the food was very welcome. I was used to frequenting unpredictable chophouses, and had just spent six long weeks in a freezing Newgate cell. Luxury remained a pleasing novelty.

Sneaton was dining with us: another sign of his trusted position within the family. He was drinking soup from a silver porringer, his claw-like right hand struggling with the dainty handle. I had never seen so much silver tableware. I was quite tempted to steal a fork.

‘Your boy has been causing trouble,’ he said.

‘You’ve brought a servant with you?’ Lady Judith called down the table. A strong wind had chased off the clouds and the sun was pouring through the windows to her right. A beam of burning white light caught the lid of the soup tureen.

I blinked, dazzled. ‘Master Fleet is a gentleman’s son.’ Now there was a lie of extraordinary depth. I could almost hear James Fleet pissing himself with laughter from here. ‘I’m his guardian.’

‘He’s moved you to the east wing,’ Sneaton said, slurping his soup. ‘Insisted.’

‘The east wing?’ Lady Judith looked irritated. ‘It’s half-abandoned! Metcalfe has taken the only decent apartments on that side of the house.’

Sneaton shrugged, acknowledging the truth of it.

I took a piece of gammon and a spoonful of pickles. I should probably add a scattering of salad. Kitty was convinced it was an aid to the stomach. She was full of such questionable fancies. She served up so many leaves at our table it was a wonder I hadn’t transmogrified into a rabbit. Which reminded me of the fricasseed rabbit by Mr Sneaton’s elbow. He pushed it over, at my request.

‘I’ve spoken with Mrs Fairwood,’ I said to Aislabie, tucking my napkin into my cravat. ‘An extraordinary story.’

Aislabie sawed at his goose. ‘It is no story.’

‘A figure of speech. Is it true that she has refused any gifts or settlement?’

‘Hardly a suitable topic for the table,’ he admonished. ‘But yes – Mrs Fairwood asked Mr Sneaton to draw up a contract. She sought to prove that she has no designs upon that score. She will not take a single farthing from me, no matter how I press her.’

‘Your son will inherit Studley, I presume?’

‘Of course he will. Why, do you think because you are disinherited, that this is the common way of things? Yes, Mr Hawkins – I know your history! And were you not the queen’s man, I should not allow you through the door.’ He jabbed his knife at me. ‘I must say that it is vexing to me that you were left alone in my daughter’s company for so long. Pray do not impose upon her again in such an unseemly fashion.’

‘ John ,’ Lady Judith admonished. ‘I’m sure Mrs Fairwood was quite safe.’

‘Damn it, Judith – why must you call her that?’ Aislabie snapped. ‘Why not call her Elizabeth? Why not call her Lizzie?’ He looked at his secretary, and then his wife. ‘Why do you not believe me? Do you think I am such a fool that I cannot recognise my own daughter ?’

Lady Judith sighed. Sneaton lowered his soup.

‘Can you not see?’ Aislabie pressed them. ‘This is God’s work! She is my gift, for all those years of suffering. All the injustice and cruelty I have faced. My daughter has come home ! This house should be filled with joy . Why would you deny me this? Do I not deserve to be happy?’

‘Were we not happy before, John?’ Lady Judith asked, softly.

Aislabie did not hear her. He leaned across the table, pointing his knife at Sneaton. ‘Jack, you examined Elizabeth’s accounts – at her request. Fairwood left her three thousand pounds a year. There are no debts attached to the house in Lincoln. She has no need of my wealth, and no interest in it. You know she has offered many times to leave, rather than cause further discord.’

‘Yet here she remains,’ Lady Judith muttered into her glass.

‘My wife, and my most trusted friend,’ Aislabie marvelled, flinging his hands into the air. ‘What faith. What loyalty. And you, Hawkins – you have heard her story, you have gazed upon her countenance. Can you not see that she is an Aislabie?’

It was true that Mrs Fairwood’s eyes were dark brown, and her complexion a pale cream. But this would describe a goodly portion of the country. ‘She is a handsome woman,’ I said.