Adelia wondered what The Countess’s secret was. Perhaps the squalid air around the castle had hidden health benefits, like the smelly springs at Bath. She sucked in a deep breath. It was a mistake.
“It’s the swamps,” Lady Agnes said as Adelia tried not to cough. “Behind those trees there it’s all marshland; just peaty, boggy, nasty land of no value at all. This place is built on an outcrop of rock but the rest, all around us, is just swamp which gives off foul and foetid air all year round.”
Adelia revised her opinion of the health benefits of the surroundings. As she looked at the trees which masked this particular unpleasantness, she spotted another light which flickered and wavered like a candle would. Night was coming on fast now. She said, “There’s a fire in the woods. Oh! Could it be a Jack a’lantern or some will-o-the-wisp?”
“Such things are fairy tales.” This was delivered in Lady Agnes’s more usual style of dry denial.
“According to Theodore, it’s a natural phenomenon due to the ignition of certain marsh gases and since you mentioned the swamp, I thought it more a likely explanation.”
“Oh. Well, that is actually interesting and far more plausible. But no, I suspect it’s only Oscar Brodie. That’s the sort of thing he does.”
“He lights fires?”
“He ... lurks.”
Adelia peered into the thickening darkness. She had met the young man a scant few times and always in company, never to speak with on a more intimate basis. He was Percy’s nephew and he lived in the gatehouse alone with his mother, Katharine, the older sister of Percy. Adelia said, “And will Lady Katharine and Mr Brodie be joining us at dinner?”
Lady Agnes snorted in pure derision. “Katharine and Oscar will not be joining us tonight. Or on any night.”
Adelia noted the lack of respectful honorifics and filed that away for future enquiry. Lady Katharine had married a commoner who was now dead, but she retained her title as Lady Agnes had done, though no title would pass on to her son Oscar. It was a courtesy title only, marking her as the daughter of an Earl.
Lady Agnes had already ended the conversation by turning and heading for the door. “Speaking of dinner, it is time to dress.”
“Will The Countess be dining with us tonight?” The elderly woman often ate with Lady Agnes privately, choosing her own times to suit her aging digestion.
“She will, tonight. Be gentle with her.”
Adelia felt affronted. Why would she be anything other than gentle with The Countess? What would make Lady Agnes think such a thing? The Countess could be brusque and difficult but Adelia knew how to honour her elders. She started after Lady Agnes, saying, “And what about Felicia, is she well enough to...”
But Lady Agnes, though she had clearly heard Adelia speak, picked up her pace and disappeared through the door into the tower. By the time that Adelia reached it, the room she had passed through was empty.
How rude.
Lady Agnes had always puzzled Adelia. She could be bright, appealing company and then close up sharp like a tin box, quite unexpectedly.
Adelia wondered what it was like to know one’s whole life was to be devoted entirely to one’s mother, and she felt a pang of sympathy for Lady Agnes.
Surely there was something Adelia could do for her.
Especially considering that The Countess herself was such a ... Adelia stopped her unworthy train of thought.
One must forgive the elderly, mustn’t one?
THEODORE HAD SPENT most of the day resting in their suite of rooms, citing the ardour of the recent journey and the oppressive air around the castle. Adelia knew that he was actually sulking because they had travelled most of the way by train and he resented that fact. However he did perk up as they sat down to dine that night. They were joined by Lady Agnes, The Countess, and Felicia herself who looked a little pale but no doubt she was taking pains to avoid the burning sun, as a good lady should.
No one knew when Percy was going to return. “September” had been the vague promise, contingent however on storms, baggage, and all the general vagaries of international travel. Adelia thought it was a great shame that the long dinner table in the large dining room was so empty; Percy ought to have been there, and Lady Katharine too, and her son Oscar. It seemed silly to exclude them. One glance at Lady Agnes’s face, however, warned Adelia that now was not the time to ask any probing questions.
A light soup, made of cool pale cucumber, was served and its strange tastelessness was oddly refreshing. Felicia was asking Theodore about his recent adventures as a gentleman-detective and he was happy to relate all the details of his investigations. While he talked and everyone listened, Adelia took a closer look at Felicia.
She was the fourth of their seven daughters. Mary was the eldest and the frailest and sickliest; Dido came next and had always assumed the mantle of “eldest”, becoming sensible and matronly almost immediately, taking the place that Mary should have done. Then there was a gap of a few years followed by Margaret who – well, what was Margaret like? Adelia had never quite understood how she thought or what she did and Margaret was not one to open herself up. She seemed to always want to be someone else, somewhere else, as if she had wanted to be born into a different family altogether. A year later and Felicia had appeared, and been as silly and sweet as a girl should be. She had made up for all of Margaret’s odd coldness.
Adelia smiled at the memories. While Dido had been playing at housekeeper and learning how to do the household accounts, and Margaret had been reading unsuitable books and disappearing for hours at a time, poorly Mary and air-headed Felicia had
