Murder Most Welcome Page 15

  ‘Hmm!’ Barnard set her gently into a chair. ‘That’s a capital notion. Here, sit down and rest a while. I’ll call for a cup of tea – I know you’d like one. And a brandy for myself, I think. Or would you prefer spirits yourself?’

  She shook her head with a weary smile.

  ‘A cup of tea would be perfect, thank you. And Barnard, I think you should go and reassure Mrs Richmond and find Lily – she will be missing you. I can manage Frampton quite well now. I think the fever will probably return but just for the moment he is sleeping.’ She shooed him towards the bedroom door. ‘Go along. If I need help I’ll send for you, don’t fret, but Lily needs you more, especially at this delicate stage of her condition. And don’t forget my cup of tea!’

  He left the room in haste to do her bidding. Charlotte sighed with relief. What bliss to be alone for a few minutes. She stared down at her husband, tossing and turning on the bed before her. Why am I doing this? she queried. Barnard is quite right, she reflected, if Frampton were to die of this fever it would solve all our problems. She sighed and turned to the open window again. Foolish even to embark upon such thoughts, she shrugged, and as to why I’m nursing him – why not? Somebody has to and nobody else seems capable of doing so.

  The night wore on endlessly. Frampton slept intermittently and awoke to bouts of fever and delirium while Charlotte and Old Nurse took turns with Barnard to sponge him down and administer the quinine Dr Perry had left with them.

  ‘To be frank with you,’ the doctor had confessed, ‘I have no idea if this is malaria or not but I suppose the quinine will do no harm and may do some good. I’ll grant it looks like malaria but you cannot always tell.’ He looked kindly at Charlotte. ‘Managing all right, are you, lass? Why can’t that secretary-companion creature of Frampton’s do this for him? I’d have thought the last thing you wanted to do was to nurse the man.’

  ‘That’s just what Barnard said,’ she told him with a tired laugh. ‘What a hotbed of gossip this village is, to be sure. Does everyone know how matters stand between Frampton and me?’

  He took her pulse while looking at her in thoughtful silence then, restoring her hand to her with a reassuring pat, he nodded.

  ‘Well, that’s village life for you, I’m afraid. In any case, Barnard’s not so stupid as he looks and he can be a good friend once he makes up his mind to do so. A pity he had to go and ally himself to that monstrous little female though perhaps if she succeeds in whelping she may become a little less self-centred.’

  He clearly saw that she was still concerned and raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Well, what is it? You’re too sensible to worry about a fever.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She leaned out of the window to take a deep breath of fresh air then turned back to him. ‘It’s just … Lady Walbury’s daughter, the one who drowned herself. Was she really with child by Frampton?’ At the doctor’s look of slight bewilderment, she made a hasty gesture of apology. ‘It’s not idle curiosity, I’m trying to understand him.’

  ‘I see.’ He took her hand and patted it again with fatherly kindness, warming her chilled heart. ‘Put your mind at rest, my dear. Emily Walbury was never pregnant. The poor lass was dying from a dropsical complaint, which is what gave rise to the rumour. Pain and fear led her to do away with herself, nothing to do with your husband.’ He shook his head in pity. ‘As for her mother, poor soul, well – grief takes us all in many different ways.’

  ‘You would tell me if there were any risk of infection, wouldn’t you, Dr Perry?’ She smiled her thanks and changed the subject.

  He reassured her again, this time with a kindly arm round her shoulders.

  ‘I would say there should be no risk of infection either to yourself or Barnard. Yes, I realize you are thinking of Lily but I would tell you if I thought her in any danger. Mind you, I have no objection to telling that young Dawkins that I fear for Frampton’s life!’

  At two in the morning Old Nurse bustled her off to bed, scolding in her soft country accents.

  ‘As if I couldn’t look after Master Frampton that I nursed that time the dog bite on his backside went poisonous and serve him right for tormenting the poor creature. Oh dear, he does look bad, whatever the doctor says. Still, off you go, my dearie, there’s a good girl, you need your rest, as do we all, to bear this life of sorrows.’

  Sent packing by these heartening words, Charlotte lay wakeful for a time, going over the last few hours. That Frampton was really ill was irrefutable, even if his collapse had occurred at a remarkably convenient moment for him.

  Why had he been arguing in the street with Lady Walbury? Lily was not the only witness to the encounter, Frampton’s grandmother had also been on the spot, emerging from the draper’s side entrance (opened illicitly on the Sabbath just to oblige an excellent customer), whither she had taken herself in search of distraction and a length of red flannel for her rheumatism. Lady Walbury had, it appeared (Charlotte had learned from Old Nurse), made repeated efforts to speak to Frampton in the short time since his return. All of these attempts had been foiled by Lancelot Dawkins or by Frampton himself.

  And what was all that to-do about Colonel Fitzgibbon? Charlotte pondered Frampton’s almost hysterical response to the news of the colonel’s proposed visit. His agitation might indeed have been sparked by the onset of the fever but it had seemed rather different. Rather like an outburst of terror, but why should Frampton, a grown man and a major in Her Majesty’s army to boot, be afraid to meet his commanding officer?

  At half past nine the next morning Charlotte opened reluctant eyes and looked at the clock on her mantelpiece. ‘Oh, heavens!’ she exclaimed aloud as she leapt out of bed and splashed cold water on her face. Oh well, she thought as she pulled on her clothes, I suppose Frampton is no worse or Old Nurse would have called me. And there is one blessing, at least I shan’t have to endure family breakfast this morning.

  A timid knock at the door heralded Agnes accompanied by the upstairs maid carrying a tray.

  ‘Dearest Charlotte! You are awake, after all. Here is some breakfast for you. We have all had ours already.’

  ‘Frampton?’ Charlotte nodded her thanks for the breakfast and looked anxiously at her sister-in-law.

  ‘Up and down, is what Nurse says.’ Agnes thumped her shoulder affectionately, not noticing how Charlotte recoiled under the blow. ‘The fever comes and goes and Nurse thinks it will go on for a day or so.’

  ‘That’s just what I thought would happen.’ Charlotte was drinking her tea with thirsty enjoyment. ‘Fevers like that always look very distressing to relatives but are usually over and done with quite quickly and with little harm done. I imagine Frampton picked it up somewhere in India or on his mysterious travels home.’

  She ate some of the toast Agnes had brought and drank another cup of tea.

  ‘Tell me, Agnes, will Percy go to see the bishop?’

  Agnes purpled in embarrassment and nodded mutely.

  ‘Well done.’ Charlotte congratulated her heartily and Agnes was encouraged to speak.

  ‘Indeed, Percy felt you must have been divinely inspired when I told him what you said,’ she gushed. ‘He managed to slip word to me a short time ago that he was even now on his way to the bishop’s palace and would do as you advised – refuse to leave until he has spoken to His Lordship!’

  ‘Well done, Percy,’ Charlotte said again, rejoicing at the improvement in Agnes’s spirits. ‘You must hold firm to that and remember that Frampton cannot force a grown woman into a marriage she does not want.’ She recalled another of her husband’s victims. ‘How is Lady Frampton this morning? I must try to have a word with her.’

  ‘Oh, Grandmama is in fine fettle.’ Agnes smiled. ‘She was muttering something about Judgement Day but she was looking very pleased.’

  Charlotte sighed with relief. Lady Frampton’s problem, like her own, could be postponed while the heir to Finchbourne lay ill. Another thought struck her. ‘What about Dawkins?’

  Agnes gurgled wi
th sudden delight.

  ‘Dr Perry has been so naughty! He told Mama that Mr Dawkins must have infected poor Frampton with this illness and that he must be kept in strict isolation, then he told Mr Dawkins that he was in grave danger and must keep to his bed. I do not know everything that has happened but Old Nurse has been muttering something about castor oil so I thought it best to pretend ignorance.’

  ‘Oh, excellent Dr Perry!’ Charlotte laughed aloud. ‘I gather that Mrs Richmond has withdrawn all favour from the dreadful Dawkins as a consequence?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, he is quite out of favour and Mama is scheming how she can rid Frampton of him, which would be wonderful, would it not?’

  ‘Indeed it would.’ Charlotte’s agreement was heartfelt. ‘Now, off you go about your duties and to await Percy, while I relieve Old Nurse. She is elderly, after all, and must be quite exhausted.’

  The morning passed in peaceful tedium. Frampton tossed and turned and muttered, then slept for short periods. Nurse had fussed around the invalid for a good forty minutes before relinquishing command of the sick room to Charlotte.

  ‘I don’t like to leave you to do it, my dear,’ she repeated over and over. ‘It’s not fitting for such a young lady but somehow my old bones don’t seem to stand up so well these days. Besides, I must look in on my poor Miss Fanny and give her some words of cheer about her boy. She’ll be that anxious about him, he was always her favourite, in spite of him being such a little heller, her and her nonsense about them old knights and all. Still, there’s no sense going over what she gets in her head, but then Master Barnard was always worth ten of him.’

  At that juncture Barnard himself put his head around the door and laughed aloud.

  ‘What’s that?’ Then as he was roundly hushed, ‘Oh, very well, but he’s asleep, ain’t he? So I’m worth ten of Frampton, am I? Well, I wish you would tell Mama and Lily so, they’ve done nothing but scold me all morning.’

  With great good nature he took the old nurse by the shoulders and gently marched her out of the room. ‘Off you go, Nurse. Mama is champing at the bit awaiting your report on my brother, then make sure you take some rest yourself.

  ‘How is he today?’

  He came into the room and quietly closed the door, his manner suddenly sober.

  Charlotte shrugged.

  ‘It is as Nurse and I and Dr Perry all said,’ she answered him. ‘It’s some kind of intermittent fever and it will almost certainly go on for a day or two more. I don’t think he is in any danger, as I said yesterday.’

  ‘When do you estimate he will be well enough for me to have a serious discussion with him, Charlotte?’

  ‘A serious discussion? I don’t know. How can I say? A day or two, at least, even if the fever breaks tonight. It is this business of halting your reforms, I take it?’

  ‘Aye!’ His short bark of laughter held no mirth and was closer to despair. ‘Has he not propounded his views on farming to you, Charlotte? No? Well, he has done so to me and in no uncertain fashion.’

  He threw himself down on a chair near the door and Charlotte, after checking on the sleeping Frampton, took another chair close by.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Simply that I am to be relieved of my “duties” as steward and manager of Finchbourne and the farm and all my reforms are to be put back as they were.’ He looked up from contemplating his hands, his face ravaged. ‘All the repairs for the tenants’ cottages cancelled, all the new system of crop rotation I had planned, everything to revert to the way it was. You heard him yourself. What was good enough for our grandfather’s day is good enough for Frampton. Even young Ned is to be cast out from his position as under-bailiff and put back to work as a labourer. Frampton considers him to be dangerously above himself, assuming airs above his station as a result of my foolish promotion of him.’

  He pounded his right fist into the palm of his other hand.

  ‘I tell you, Charlotte, I could happily see him dead of this fever. I mean that and it’s something I never thought to say. He has no thought for the tenants or the villagers, no thought for Lily and me, no thought even for you.’

  He looked across the room with guilty haste, but Frampton was sleeping soundly, his mouth open and dribbling slightly.

  Charlotte shook her head at Barnard’s last remark with a faint, wry smile, then a thought struck her.

  ‘But Barnard, surely he cannot put any of this into practice? Finchbourne is your mother’s property still. Frampton will not be able to do any of these things while she is yet living.’

  ‘He believes otherwise,’ Barnard replied, still with that note of flat despair in his voice. ‘He has always been able to twist Mama round his fingers and he sees no reason why he should not continue to do so. And neither do I. She will be persuaded by him, she always is.’

  ‘Even when it touches upon the welfare of the tenants? I think you must be mistaken on this, Barnard.’ She spoke with quiet conviction. ‘Mrs Richmond is much influenced by Frampton, it is true, but I believe that even greater is her love for Finchbourne and the good name of the family. If Frampton tries to bring disrepute on either of those I think he will find her much more resistant than he expects.’

  He refused to be comforted and stood for a while glowering at his sleeping brother before trailing dejectedly out of the room.

  While Frampton snored, Charlotte carried on with her sewing, refusing to consider her own precarious situation, rather preferring to wonder about the rest of the family. Poor Barnard, she thought, matters will come to a head between them when Frampton is better and then what will happen? I suppose the answer would be for him and Lily to move away. Perhaps Lily’s Dear Papa might buy them a place or they could even move back to the sacred Martindale, though I doubt Lily’s stepmother would approve that course. But Barnard loves Finchbourne passionately, he feels himself part of the place in a way that Frampton can never have done. What will become of Barnard if he has to leave? For he may be right, in spite of what I told him. Mrs Richmond may very well allow Frampton to take charge of the place and make a mockery of all Barnard’s well-intentioned schemes. Or, she grimaced, he may have another steward and manager in mind.

  Later, she made out the almost-silent whirring of wheels along the landing and Mrs Richmond propelled herself into the doorway, where she halted, unable to manoeuvre the chair through the narrow old entrance.

  ‘Ah, my poor boy, my Lazarus saved from the grave only to be reft from me once more. How can my poor heart bear such pain?’

  ‘Pray do not distress yourself so, Mrs Richmond. Frampton is a little better today,’ whispered Charlotte, interrupting the heartfelt moans of the grieving mother.

  ‘A little better?’ Mrs Richmond was taken aback but made a rapid recovery. ‘Ah, the optimism of youth, dear Charlotte. You, of course, have not had to perform the many sad offices that I have been forced to undertake; my poor dear late father and mother, my dear departed husband, three of my precious little ones – who came between Barnard and Agnes – taken from me so soon after birth. You would not speak so, had you suffered as I have done.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Charlotte interrupted the throbbing plaint. ‘But,’ she continued drily, ‘within the last year, I have watched my mother and stepfather die, knowing there could be no hope. I cannot feel that Frampton is in such a bad case, and Dr Perry and Nurse agree with me.’

  ‘Nurse? What can Nurse know of these new fevers, pray? And as for Dr Perry, he is a worthy enough man, no doubt, but he is not skilled in eastern diseases. I am seriously disappointed in that Dawkins creature. Dr Perry tells me that the infection undoubtedly emanated from him. How he had the temerity to foist himself upon my dear deluded boy is beyond me. He has not a particle of proper feeling that I can detect, nor has he offered a hand’s turn to relieve you of the nursing, I hear. I begin to have grave doubts as to the truth of these so-called relations of his in high society. I believe he may be nothing but an imposter!’

  Charlotte encouraged he
r mother-in-law’s thoughts to continue in this direction and saw her depart with considerable relief, even though she was then obliged to endure an onslaught from Lily, an experience she had previously been spared because Lily was forbidden entrance to the invalid’s room, on account of her delicate condition.

  It had become Charlotte’s custom to take a brief respite from attendance in the sickroom by walking briskly up and down the twisting landings of the old house. As she emerged from Frampton’s room Lily, who had obviously been lurking outside, accosted her.

  ‘How is he?’

  Charlotte smothered an involuntary grin as she observed Lily’s nose wrinkled in distaste at the sickroom atmosphere as the door opened, while she arched her neck to stare inside.

  ‘As well as can be expected,’ she replied soberly and was startled to see the piggy features contort with sudden rage.

  ‘I wish he would die of his fever!’ hissed Lily, baring her gums with great ferocity. ‘Have you heard what he has told my poor Barnard?’

  ‘Yes.’ Charlotte spoke with hurried sympathy, while attempting to hush the furious young woman. ‘And I sympathize most heartily with you and Barnard. It is a horribly ungrateful notion, after all Barnard has done, and it’s monstrously unfair on the tenants. But you must not allow yourself to be distressed, Lily, it’s so bad for you in your condition. We must hope that Mrs Richmond will not allow it.’

  ‘I still hope he dies.’ Lily was too angry to listen to forlorn hopes. ‘It would solve all our problems if he died.’

  It was with relief that Charlotte saw Lily take herself off as the maid looked in with a light luncheon for herself and a bowl of sustaining broth for the invalid. As the maid left the room, Charlotte realized that Frampton was shaking his head in a daze.

  ‘Awake, Frampton? That’s better. Here, let me help you to some soup – you must get your strength back.’

  ‘Where – where is it?’ came the muttered reply as Frampton first searched under his pillows then struggled to climb out of bed. ‘What have you done with it?’