Even as she spoke, she could hear how unlikely it all was. But was it any more ridiculous than imagining Lady Agnes as a murderer, or the lad Oscar Brodie, or Lady Katharine?
“What were you and Felicia discussing so earnestly as I left after dinner?” Theodore asked as they blew out the candles that night.
“She is to be At Home tomorrow. Officially At Home. I persuaded her to arrange it when I first arrived. Do you know, she’s not sent out cards for her to be known At Home for years? Not since she moved here, as far as I can tell. And she doesn’t reply to anyone else’s invitations. She burns them and mutters about malign influences. She’s made herself into a recluse just as much as Lady Katharine has.”
“There must be something in the air.”
“Don’t joke,” Adelia said into the darkness. “There really is. Anyway, she was wanting to cancel but as the At Home is to be tomorrow, it is far too late for that. I am sure we shall be perfectly inundated with curious and brazen visitors who will not have cards, but who will be expressing their deepest concern. She is merely having last minute nerves, the silly girl.” And night terrors, and moments of staring blankly into space, her lips moving wordlessly. Adelia felt her mouth go dry.
“She was always more content with books and close friends. She’s not a social butterfly like Lottie.” Theodore’s voice was growing muffled as he sank into sleep.
Adelia frowned into the darkness. Charlotte – Lottie – was the sixth of their seven daughters. She was always the life of the party, and a constant worry to Adelia. She lived in London and ran with the wild set, the young rich aristocrats who seemed to exist on champagne and gossip. Adelia had not seen Lottie for a long time; there was always some reason why they could not meet up or visit. Always a gathering that she “simply had to attend – rude not to – cannot upset the hosts, you know”. Always an arrangement that could not be rearranged.
Theodore began to snore. Adelia sighed and stared into the velvety blackness, and decided instead to worry about Felicia.
And she also worried about Lady Agnes. With Mrs Carstairs’ help, Lady Agnes was to meet Captain Everard the next day at the At Home here at the castle. Half a dozen carefully-worded notes had flown between Tavy Castle and Plymouth, and it was all arranged, whether Lady Agnes was a suspect in the murder, or not.
FELICIA FRETTED DREADFULLY about the state of the great hall and the ground floor public rooms the next morning. Adelia had to restrain herself otherwise she would have screamed with frustration as Felicia dithered, had weeping fits, hid in closets, strode around the kitchen complaining about the bread rolls, and generally made everything ten times harder than it should have been.
“This is why I do not bother with such things!” Felicia said more than once, wringing her hands as if she had been asked to organise a polar expedition with two days’ notice and no money.
“You hardly need bother with anything. The servants know what they are doing, and Mrs Rush is rising to the challenge marvellously. They have known about this for days and they have everything prepared. You will make it worse if you worry and get in the way.”
By the time that three o’clock had rolled around, Felicia was white with anxiety. They had decorated the large drawing room on the ground floor, putting huge bouquets of flowers on tables that were covered with looping swags of silk and satin fabric. The double doors that led onto a terrace outside were thrown open, and a screen that was painted in a Chinese style was angled across part of it to deflect any injurious draughts. And, as predicted, there were plenty of callers eager to see inside Tavy Castle. Not all of them were superficial busybodies. Adelia felt sure that many people were simply keen to see Felicia and check on her wellbeing. She was a likeable woman, when she wasn’t fretting, and people were genuinely concerned about her since she had seemed to withdraw from local society. Adelia had sent out a selective number of cards, but of course, plenty of people turned up on the chance that social politeness meant they would not be turned away.
Mrs Carstairs arrived early, enveloped Felicia in a warm embrace, gave her gifts of fine chocolates wrapped in tissue paper, and departed quickly. She brought a smile to everyone’s face. Others came and went and Adelia was pleased that people were obviously willing to stick to the convention of not outstaying one’s welcome. Fifteen minutes was quite sufficient. Only one person dared to make a sniffy comment, muttering some underhand remark about the “overdone decoration, like the way my grandmother has her parlour.”
Lady Agnes came to join Adelia around a quarter to four as she sat in the shade of a tree on the lawn. “What time is this gentleman expected?” she asked. “And I warn you, I am not of a mind to pay him any attention at all.”
“I rather fancy he feels the same way about the whole thing,” Adelia said, and her words got exactly the reaction that she had intended them to.
Lady Agnes huffed and said, “Oh, indeed? I shall make him pay attention to me if that is what I choose to do. Now, wait. I fancy that you are playing me off against him. Lady Calaway, you are a manipulative woman.”
“Yes, I am. And I take pride in it. No, now if I may speak more seriously, please just converse with him and see if
