Moonstone Obsession Read online

  Most humbly, sincerely and most devoted,

  G

  Selina chuckled at James’ bilious expression. Canalissy’s florid and hypocritical words could have that effect.

  “I have to confess to the same reaction as yours,” she said.

  “Did you respond?”

  “I had to. I sent a reply that he need not trouble himself with a personal call, that the flowers and the note were apology enough and I had already forgiven him as an act of Christian charity.”

  James gave her hand a comforting squeeze before releasing it. “Selina, I need to explain about myself and Abigail.”

  Unconsciously, Selina licked her lips.

  “Canalissy is not wrong when he suggests that there has been understanding between Abigail and me.”

  Selina fixed her eyes on a spot in the lawn. If she looked at him she’d burst into tears and she wouldn’t allow him the satisfaction. She waited without comment for him to continue.

  “Six years ago I met Abigail at a ball here in London. At nineteen she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

  “We became lovers over that summer and I had decided to ask her to marry me.”

  Selina’s eyes watered and she closed them. She wondered miserably if this could get any worse.

  “There was a ball hosted by the Canalissys to mark the end of the Season and at supper I intended to ask her father for permission to officially court her and for us to be wed at Michaelmas.

  “First I thought I would surprise Abigail with a betrothal ring before I spoke to her father, so I went looking for her. She wasn’t in the ballroom, and she wasn’t in the ladies drawing room.”

  James’ voice hardened.

  “I found her in the garden with another man between her legs.”

  Selina gasped in shock and turned sharply, eyes wide. James was looking straight ahead, his face in part shadow, his posture slightly bent and his arms resting on his knees.

  “Far from being in a distressed state, she was encouraging the man’s attentions in language I’ve only since heard in a brothel.”

  “What did you do?” she whispered.

  “I walked away and got drunk. I have no memory of the three days afterwards.

  “When I sobered up I told my father that I intended to leave England and planned never to return. I expected him to be furious but he patted me on the back, told me that I was making the wisest decision a man could ever make, and gave me a letter of credit for five thousand pounds.”

  A short bitter laugh ended the telling.

  “It was the last time I saw him,” James added as an afterthought.

  Selina forced a swallow past the lump in her throat. “But you returned.”

  “My father’s death and some business brought me back.

  “Then, at Christmas, Abigail learned I had returned, most likely from my mother, and begged an audience with me. She told me that she bitterly regretted her actions that night and that she’d remained unmarried in the hope that I’d return.

  “And, yes. I have been her escort at a number of events this season and she’s made plain her renewed interest in me. And about three months ago I started to entertain once more the thought of offering for her.”

  “Oh...” murmured Selina. To her horror, she couldn’t think of anything else to say, nor make her body get up and walk away as her mind screamed at her to do.

  “But I won’t, not now,” said James.

  “Why? Who’s there to stop you?” asked Selina in a voice no more than a whisper.

  James turned to look at her and drank in Selina’s features like a thirsty man. “You are.”

  Selina’s eyes widened, allowing a tear to roll down each cheek. Pulling a linen from his waistcoat, James reached forward to wipe them away.

  “I found myself pulled into the merry-go-round of lying, cheating, and debauchery that passes as entertainment in these circles,” he confessed. “I allowed myself to entertain my mother’s notion that a politically advantageous but hollow marriage with Abigail could be acceptable and profitable. Despite my best intentions, I was about to make the same mistake as my father.

  “Frankly, I didn’t like what that said about the man I had become.”

  James looked down to find that her hands had somehow become intertwined with his own.

  “I don’t understand what that has to do with me,” she whispered.

  James smiled softly.

  “At the ball I realised that I couldn’t go through with the charade. And then I met you…”

  Selina frowned. James touched a finger to her lips, begging for silence.

  “You were a genuine rose amongst gilded lilies that night. So bright, so fresh, so honest. I knew you felt out of place, I could see it, and I was suddenly reminded what it was like to be beholden to no one but one’s own conscience.

  “I still recall the love and admiration in your eyes for your brother when he told me he’d have no part in the slave trade and I remember thinking what it would be like to have someone—you—look at me that way.”

  * * *

  The carriage jounced suddenly and Selina blinked away the tears she felt in reliving the memory of that night. Her focus returned to the present and she found she was the subject of Lady Margaret’s considering gaze.

  The carriage crossed the small stone bridge on Melingey Turn at Little Petherick, over the brook that fed into the River Camel, just four miles from their destination.

  Finding comfort in habits of the past week on the road, Selina glanced around the carriage to identify property that might belong to Lady Margaret or herself.

  Before they’d reached another milestone, all loose items had been packed away and hand luggage placed by the door and she had re-read the instructions for meeting the Penventen carriage that would take them to the Hall.

  Satisfied with her preparations, Selina took advantage of her window seat to take in the view of Padstow for the first time.

  Bathed in sunshine, the village hugged the hill that led down to the River Camel.

  From the top of the High Street, Selina could see the sunlight play on the water, tipping small waves in liquid gold against the azure blue of the deeper water, driven by the light breeze across to the verdant green of the opposite banks before the carriage dropped down along the narrow street, past little whitewashed three storey terrace rows.

  Her initial misgivings about the trip, and her trepidation about meeting the redoubtable Lady Margaret, were now giving way to anticipation.

  One way or another, this place would mark the beginning of a new future.

  Chapter Nine

  Padstow was a bustling fishing town, the main trade of which was now being supplemented by arrival of timber from Canada’s rugged east coast.

  Despite the fact that the weekly Wednesday markets were still two days away, the sounds of fish sellers and grocers hawking their wares in Market Square competed with the squawks of seagulls. The sharp tang of the salt water air emanating from the harbour, which fed directly into the Celtic Sea, also carried with it the warmth of summer.

  With an efficient confidence borne out of running her father’s household, Selina had arranged for refreshment for herself and Lady Margaret at the tea house, and for a messenger from the post office to be sent up the mile long road to Penventen Hall to call for the carriage.

  Selina couldn’t help but feel her every action over the past three days was being evaluated by her elderly employer. Over tea, while the lady continued a letter she had started that morning, Selina took up her own scrutiny of James’ grandmother once more.

  The only concession to Lady Margaret’s seventy-five years was her use of an exotic bamboo walking cane with a delicately carved ivory handle. Her hair, the colour of steel, matched her personality, and she was the type of woman who always wore black, not because she was still in mourning, but because the colour looked magnificent on her.

  Her sharp brown eyes missed nothing. Her age and status afforded
her deference from others that she wasn’t above exploiting, as Selina had discovered when accommodations and food at Exeter was not to her Ladyship’s standard.

  Those who experienced her displeasure were left in no doubt of their error and Selina considered herself fortunate not to have been one of them.

  Along the way, Lady Margaret insisted on hearing everything about Selina and her family background. There wasn’t much to tell, so that line of conversation lasted just half of the first day.

  The second full day was spent discussing the merits of the works of Hester Chapone and, to Selina’s surprise, new writer Mary Wollstonecraft on the subject of female equality and education.

  Lady Margaret offered a quote from Wollstonecraft. “Taught from infancy that beauty is woman's sceptre, the mind shapes itself to the body, and roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison.” She then wryly suggested it described Lady Christina rather aptly.

  “I’ve shocked you dear,” she had grinned, seeing Selina’s expression.

  “Don’t be. It’s quite admirable to have such a close bond with your brother and his family. Not everyone is as fortunate.

  “I can understand why you’re quite drawn to Wollstonecraft’s writings though. To be able to be mistress of one’s own destiny is very appealing.

  “Our age appears to be one of revolution, perhaps there will be one between the sexes too.”

  “I believe that to be so, Lady Margaret,” Selina had answered, “but while revolutions may begin with high minded ideals, they can also end in animosity, acrimony, and violence.

  “Ideology, when not tempered with a proper fear of the rights of the Creator, can only lead to the worst elements of human nature being allowed to prosper unchecked—‘all human laws are, properly speaking, only declaratory; they have no power over the substance of original justice’”.

  Lady Margaret looked at Selina. “I see you more side with Edmund Burke, than Thomas Paine,” she observed.

  “I do.”

  “Then, to quote Wollstonecraft again, ‘Strengthen the female mind by enlarging it, and there will be an end to blind obedience’. I believe I shall take great delight in scandalising our travelling companions tomorrow by discussing politics from Launceston to Padstow.”

  Despite Lady Margaret’s apparently ferocious nature, Selina found herself growing rather fond of James’ grandmother.

  * * *

  Penventen Hall sat in an elevated position over Padstow, but was protected from the worst of the weather that beats against the steep and rugged coastline by a gentle elevation. Woodlands surrounded the property on three sides and, beyond them, farm and sheep lands spread in a multicoloured patchwork over the countryside.

  First built during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, Penventen Hall could best be described as a castle in miniature. Every wall of the two storey manor was topped with battlements.

  Eschewing the Georgian trend for Greek and Roman Revivalism, and the slavish need for symmetry in building design, the Mitchell family continued the gothic revival style made popular by Horace Walpole’s Strawberry Hill House forty years earlier.

  At Penventen Hall’s eastern corner, stone stairs led up to enormous arched windows, a feature that would not have been out of place in a cathedral, above the entrance.

  Further along, a round tower thrust outward with its arched double height doors facing onto the wide lawn. From the top of the entrance stairs, the sparkling waters of the River Camel were clearly in view beyond the spacious, manicured grounds.

  As footmen took their luggage, Lady Margaret and Selina were greeted by Mrs White, the housekeeper, who preceded them through the vaulted foyer and into the light and airy drawing room located on the ground floor of what turned out to be the round tower.

  Primrose yellow jacquard wall paper and mint green curtains with matching ornamental swags added to the spring-like freshness, aided by the exquisitely detailed carved Queen Anne furniture in upholstered pastel hues. The sweet scent of fresh Lily of the Valley in voluminous round glass bowls added to the feminine charm of the room.

  The housekeeper departed to supervise the finalising of their accommodation. The two women were left to themselves with Selina quietly surprised that Lady Christina wasn’t present to greet her mother-in-law.

  She waited for Lady Margaret to sit on an apricot velvet settee before she took a place for herself on a balloon-back chair opposite.

  Minutes went by with only the occasional muffled sound of servants at work in other areas of the house, and the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of Lady Margaret’s bamboo walking stick keeping time with the clock on the mantelpiece.

  The rapping of her cane was a sure sign of the older woman’s displeasure. Catching Selina’s eye, she observed, “The manners of lady of the house haven’t improved since my last visit.”

  Selina was about to reply, at first thinking to suggest some innocent reason for their hostess's tardiness, but the look on Lady Margaret’s face told her she was in no mood for excuses.

  More minutes passed before the housekeeper, a brisk, efficient woman who wore her grey hair in a tight bun at the top of her head, returned to show them to their rooms located on the second floor.

  Whatever propriety Lady Christina lacked so far was in part made up for by the quality of Lady Margaret’s room.

  It was a large, well appointed chamber with two sizeable casement windows letting in an abundance of light.

  A superbly embroidered Chinese bed spread and matching bed curtain were the centrepieces of the room. On the textiles, exotic birds in iridescent colours of sapphire, ruby, emerald and amethyst swooped, perched and warbled on a jade green background.

  It was the most beautiful piece of fabric Selina had ever seen. She stood at the threshold of the room waiting for Lady Margaret’s reaction.

  “It is satisfactory,” the old lady pronounced.

  The housekeeper continued along the hall, turning left, and Selina followed. From the doors that were ajar, she could see that while the other guest rooms were freshly and cleanly presented, none were as exquisitely appointed as the one afforded to Lady Margaret.

  Another slight turn and Selina noted that they had entered an older part of the house. The walls were not oak panel and wallpaper lined; instead they were creamy grey daubed; still immaculately clean, but clearly part of the house that had not yet been renovated.

  Mrs White stopped at the end of the hall and stepped aside from the last door to allow a housemaid to bustle past with an armful of linen. En route, the girl stopped, hurriedly curtsied to the two women, and continued on her way.

  The housekeeper turned to Selina. “Forgive me miss, it’s been some years since we’ve prepared the house for so many guests,” she explained. “This part is usually closed off. I'm afraid there was insufficient time to finish preparing all the bedrooms.”

  Selina entered the room. It was narrow, just wide enough for a passage between a single bed and the armoire. Her luggage, one medium size trunk, a smaller trunk, two portmanteaux and a leather hold-all containing art paper, brushes and paints, was piled under the single window.

  Selina smiled graciously and assured Mrs White that the room was just fine. The housekeeper thanked her and left.

  The room was small, certainly, but it wasn’t that much smaller than the one she had in London, and it was certainly preferable to sharing with another guest.

  The bed was in good order and the mattress new; the sheets were crisply clean and the woollen blankets atop in a basic red and green plaid pattern were soft—actually much better than some of the coaching inns she had stayed in.

  The dressing table was not only an adequate size for toiletries, but also could double as a writing surface.

  Beside the window, with her luggage stacked alongside, stood the final piece of furniture the room could comfortably contain, a corner washstand holding a blue and white Delft bowl and jug.

  Knowing she had a few hours to spare before she needed to wash a
nd dress for dinner, Selina set about unpacking, only to be interrupted after thirty or so minutes by the young housemaid who she’d earlier seen with Mrs White.

  The girl, who introduced herself as Mary, handed Selina a large package and told her that it had arrived for her a few days earlier.

  It was surprisingly heavy, so Selina set it on the dressing table to unwrap it. Beneath the paper and string was a plain burl walnut box, the colour of honey and featuring no other especial adornment to detract from the beauty of the wood.

  On top of the box, which stood twelve inches wide and six inches tall, was a plain white envelope which held the small brass key.

  It was an extravagant gift with as yet no clue to its giver. Certainly her brother wouldn’t spend such a large sum of money on an extravagance except for a major birthday.

  She opened the lid, revealing a peacock blue watered silk lining with a scooped envelope pocket.

  Selina withdrew a second envelope from the pocket and set it aside, momentarily distracted by the etched silver-topped glass bottles in their fitted slots. In each back corner, two shallow cut-glass bottles were filled with vivid blue ink. Two of the bottles beside these were empty, but a third was filled with a pale yellow liquid. When the lid was opened, the vessel bloomed with the scent of her favourite perfume—a blend of lavender and bergamot.

  Filling a further space were two oblong glass boxes, designed to hold pins and combs but currently empty.

  At the front was a wooden pen recess that tipped up to reveal a storage place for pens and a cardboard box of nibs; another cardboard box announced that it held drawing charcoal.