“So where in all this very sad tale do you accuse yourself of not caring for your children, Ellen?” Val drew his hand down the thick length of her braid in slow, soothing sweeps. “You were young, and God’s will prevailed.”
“Not God’s will, Val,” Ellen said tiredly. “Freddy’s. That lovely, comforting tea he brought me, the only one that quieted my digestion? It was mostly pennyroyal, though he told me it was a blend of spearmint, and I did not know any better.”
“Pennyroyal?” Val’s memory stirred, but nothing clear came to mind. “Ah, the little plant you tossed aside. You were not happy to see it.”
“Pennyroyal will bring on menses. Ask any midwife or physician. It is an ancient remedy for the unwanted pregnancy, but in a tea or tisane, particularly if it’s mixed with other ingredients, it tastes like spearmint. I eagerly swilled the poison that killed all three of my babies, Val, and it’s my fault they died.”
“But you didn’t know. Freddy should be brought to account for this, and it is not your fault.”
“It is my fault,” Ellen rejoined. “Early in my marriage, Freddy approached me and suggested he and I might be allies of a sort. He was just a boy then, a gangly, spotty, lonely boy, and I found his overture endearing. It soon became clear he wasn’t a nice boy. We had trouble keeping maids when he was visiting in the summers, and then when he was sixteen, he came to live with us.”
“He’s a bully and a sneak and a thoroughgoing scoundrel.”
“He suggested I might want to share my pin money with him,” Ellen went on, “but I’d overheard the footmen discussing Freddy’s gambling losses, and since he was still only a boy, I did not think it wise to indulge him.”
“And you were right.”
“And I was a fool,” Ellen retorted bitterly. “Freddy exploded when I refused him; that’s the only word I can use. His reason came undone, and he said awful things. I had not said anything to Francis about Freddy trying to borrow from me, because I didn’t want Freddy to suffer in his cousin’s esteem. But when Freddy lost his temper like that, I had the first inkling I should have been afraid of him.”
“He would have been only a youth. Francis would have dealt with him sternly.”
“Francis wanted to see only the best in Freddy. That cranky, sullen, lazy, manipulative boy was Francis’s heir and the only other member of Francis’s family. I did not want to destroy Francis’s respect for him altogether.”
“So you made an enemy,” Val concluded. “One willing to stoop to sneaking and poison to get what he wanted.”
“Exactly, and Freddy could be so charming, so convincing in his apologies. When he came bearing tea and sympathy to my sick room, offering to play a hand of cards or read to me, I was touched and tried to forget his terrible tantrum. I should have known better.”
“When did you learn the truth?” Val asked, now drawing his fingers through Ellen’s unbound hair, even as he vowed to kill Freddy by poison and make sure the whelp of Satan knew exactly how he was dying and why.
“After Francis’s funeral,” Ellen said, her voice taking on a detached quality, as if the words themselves hurt her, “the solicitors read the will, and Freddy maintained his composure beautifully, until he and I were left alone in the formal parlor at Roxbury Hall. Then he had another tantrum, quite as impressive as the first.”
“Let me see if I can figure this,” Val said, wanting to spare her the rest of the recitation. “Francis had cut him out of the will, more or less, or at least until he was thirty, but you were well provided for. Freddy told you he would be collecting all your income, lest he reveal you had terminated your pregnancies on purpose, and ruin you socially.”
“He did better than that.” Ellen paused and lifted her arms from Val’s waist to his neck. “He told me my willful behavior—for he would confess I had begged him to procure me that tea, and he just a lad who didn’t know any better—amounted to a serious crime, and if I couldn’t be convicted for that, he’d demonstrate that a woman who would kill three babies might also kill their father.”
“God above. I should have killed the little shite when I had the chance.”
“You are not a murderer,” Ellen said firmly. “Freddy is, and a murderer of innocents, Val.”
“You are not a murderer, either,” Val said, tightening his embrace.
“Nonetheless, I can be very convincingly accused of murder… of my unborn children’s murder, of my husband’s.”
Through the haze of rage and protectiveness clouding his brain, Val tried to remember what he’d read of law. “Firstly, your children weren’t born, so they could not be murdered, not under civil law as I recall it. Secondly, you’ve been investigated regarding your husband’s death and found innocent.”
Ellen dropped her forehead to his throat. “I disobeyed my husband when I terminated those pregnancies, and therein lies a crime. Then too, by virtue of the use of pennyroyal, I am demonstrated to be familiar with poisons, and Freddy will harp on that to have the investigation reopened. He will ruin me
“He cannot ruin you if you are my wife, Ellen. I won’t allow it, and I flatter myself my family has the influence to send Freddy packing.”
“I will not allow you to put it to the test. He has killed babies, Val, and I have every suspicion he killed Francis, as well.”
“Was he not investigated?” Val asked, mental wheels turning in all manner of directions.
“He had not yet reached his majority and did a very convincing job of being the bewildered youth bereft of his mentor and his only real relation on this earth. He wailed at great length he wasn’t ready to be the baron and did not want to be the baron, and if only one of my children had lived, he would be spared the awful task of filling Francis’s shoes.”
“Then he turned around and promptly drained the income from all three of your estates.”
Ellen’s head came up. “You know about the other two?”
“Francis loved you very much,” Val said gently, “and you told me he’d had two weeks to set his affairs in order. This estate was hardly habitable, so I concluded there were others. Maybe Francis had some inkling Freddy would not deal well with you, or maybe he just wanted you to have all you were due.”
“But you knew.” Ellen cocked her head. “And you said nothing?”
“I just found out recently.” Val tucked her against him again. “I wouldn’t have, except the Markham solicitors were told to keep an eye on you even if you insisted they leave you in peace.”
“Told by whom?”
“Your late husband.” Val kissed her cheek. “They continue to hold him in great respect. As long as you insisted they keep their noses out of your affairs, they could only watch the income come into Freddy’s pockets through the back door. Someday, I’d like to see these estates of yours, Ellen Markham.”
“But you cannot, Valentine. If Freddy knew I’d told you all this, he would feel excused in killing you outright.”
“Why hasn’t he killed you?”
“The life estate here,” Ellen explained. “I get the rents here only as long as I am alive, and these rents are substantial enough I am worth more to Freddy alive than dead. Francis set it up so if I die without issue, the other two estates go his distant relative, Mr. Grey, while this one reverts to a trust Freddy can’t touch for years.”
“Mr. Grey is the theoretical cousin?”
“Unless I remarry and produce children, in which case the properties will pass to them or can be sold by them on my death for equal division—hence Freddy’s reluctance to see me married to anyone before my dotage.”
“This is a lot to consider, Ellen,” Val said, feeling the effects of sitting too long on one hard, little piano bench—which was odd. A year ago, he would never have considered any piano bench too hard. “Shall we discuss it further while we make our way home?”
“Yes.” She let Val draw her to her feet. He settled her shawl around her and drew her unbound hair over her shoulders, then took her hand and led her down the stairs.
The moon had risen, illuminating the deserted green, while laughter and the sound of a harmonica came from the Rooster.
Val and Ellen passed along the lane through the soft summer night, the air fragrant with the scents of honeysuckle growing along the hedgerows. It wasn’t a long walk, not nearly long enough in some regards. When they got to Ellen’s cottage, Val unlocked the door and lifted Ellen into his arms, carrying her across the threshold.
She smiled, probably at the gallantry and symbolism of it, but it was a sad smile. When Val laid her down on the bed and moved off to shed his clothes, she made no protest, though. He undressed her, as well, and tugged her
