Moving On (A Polvellan Cornish Mystery Book 6) Page 9

  ‘’Night, Viv.’ Jess closed the door and locked it.

  The phone rang. Jess lifted the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s me.’

  Jess pressed her forehead with her fingertips. ‘Hi, Tom. Did you have a good evening?’

  ‘We did. Everyone made some fuss of Ben in the pub. He wasn’t allowed to put his hand in his pocket all evening. You should’ve seen his face when he unwrapped his camera.’

  ‘Mor was the same with her bracelet. Her glow could have lit up the village.’

  ‘I’ve just dropped him home. Come round shall I? Seems like for ever since I seen you.’

  ‘I know, but could we give it a miss tonight? I’m shattered. It’s been a hell of a week, what with Helen in hospital –’

  ‘Ben told me. All right again is she?’

  ‘She’s fine. But I feel like I’ve been through Nan’s old mangle. If you had seen her covered in a rash and surrounded by machines –’

  ‘I wish I’d been there, Jess. I know I couldn’t have made her better. But I’d have kept you company so you wouldn’t be left alone to worry.’

  Jess closed her eyes. His kindness made everything so much harder. ‘I know, Tom. And I appreciate the thought. It’s just – right now I’ve got a lot of work on. It’s not just this job for Captain Carveth, Sean Stevens hurt his hand so I’m helping Keith with entries for the Rally, and Stan Hooper needs fliers and a business card. Can you give me a few days?’

  There was a brief silence. ‘Tell you what; you call me when you’re not so busy.’ He put the phone down.

  Her immediate reaction was guilt. But that was quickly followed by irritation. She hadn’t done anything to feel guilty about. Tom was kind and generous and loving. But she had a life separate from her relationship with him. One she didn’t want to give up. Not seeing him tonight was the right decision. But she had to make up her mind soon. Putting it off wasn’t fair to either of them.

  Next morning she walked up the road past Mor’s cottage to Stan’s, carrying copies of the leaflet and business card she had designed for him.

  Like her he had a long front garden. A broad strip next to a path running across the front of the cottage was bright with flowers. Roses and honeysuckle tumbled over a rustic arch. A vegetable plot covered most of the rest, with a fruit cage near the Cornish hedge at the bottom. Stan was hoeing a row of lettuce and looked up as Jess opened the gate.

  ‘Hello, my lover.’

  ‘’Morning, Stan.’

  ‘Your little maid all right again is she?’

  Jess hid a smile. Though it might be possible to keep a secret in Polvellan, it certainly wouldn’t be easy. ‘She’s fine, thanks. Gave us a scare though. How’s Denise’s hand?’

  ‘Coming on fine.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She held up the envelope. ‘I’ll leave these with you. If there’s anything you’d like changed –’

  ‘Can’t I look at ’em now?’ He laid down the hoe and came towards her.

  ‘Of course you can. I didn’t want to interrupt.’

  ‘I’m glad to stop for a minute.’ Taking the envelope in big, gnarled hands, he withdrew the two sheets.

  ‘Here, let me hold the envelope.’ Jess took it from him.

  ‘Well I never.’ His gaze moved from one to the other. A beaming smile creased his long, weathered face. ‘Look at that.’ He glanced up. ‘You done some proper job with they, bird.’

  ‘You’re sure? I can easily alter –’

  ‘I don’t want nothing changed. Right on they are.’

  Jess took the two pages and slid them back into the envelope. ‘As soon as I get home I’ll confirm the order.’

  ‘Want some money, do you?’

  ‘No. I’ll pay for them. As soon as they arrive I’ll bring them round with my invoice. You can settle up at the end of the month.’

  ‘I’ll do no such thing.’ His smile faded. ‘You done the job. Soon as they come I’ll pay you. I’m going down the post office lunchtime. I’ll draw some money out and put it on the mantel.’

  ‘Thanks, Stan. Much appreciated.’

  ‘Here, like a few runner beans would you? While I pick they, you go in the cage and help yourself to some raspberries. We’ll never eat ’em all and be a shame if they go off. There’s a pile of marge tubs just inside.’

  When she got home Jess put the raspberries in the fridge then washed and sliced half the beans. While they were steaming she confirmed her order for Stan’s leaflets and business cards and paid.

  She made a cheese sauce to pour over the beans and topped them with a poached egg. While she ate she checked her emails. One was from the LDS site in Salt Lake City. She opened the attachment and found what she had been waiting for: a copy of the church record of Roxanne and Carveth’s marriage.

  On the certificate she was Roxanne-Zelie Montclare. They had been married in June 1814 by license. The certificate was inscribed with their full names, their status: femme non mariee for her, and veuf, or widower, for him, the officiating vicar’s name and those of the witnesses. She printed it off and put it into the folder with the copy of the entry from British Army Service Records.

  She had wondered if Sir Charles Stewart might stand as a witness for his aide. But perhaps his drinking and riotous behaviour had persuaded Carveth to opt instead for a small, private ceremony.

  Returning to Baron Hager’s reports, she entered Roxanne’s name in the index search box. The entry for September 1814 announced their arrival in Vienna where they moved into a small suite of rooms at the rear of the Stahremberg Palace which Stewart, now Lord Stewart, had chosen for his Embassy.

  The next entry was dated October. One of the housemaids reported that Frau Carveth was expecting a child and was having her portrait painted.

  Jess had to peer hard at the screen to read the scribbled note in the report’s margin saying that renowned French portraitist, Jean-Baptiste Isabey, was in Vienna painting all the titled ladies, the most recent being Princess Katarina Bagration. But his insistence on swathing them in tulle and framing them with roses made everyone look the same.

  She minimised the screen and opened another window, typing in the princess’s name. A biography appeared and with it, Isabey’s portrait of the princess. Exactly as claimed in the report she was surrounded by tulle and roses. Known as the naked angel thanks to her sheer gowns and alabaster complexion, the princess was reputed to be vain, selfish, sexually voracious and politically shrewd. There was no suggestion of these qualities in the simpering idealised image.

  Had Carveth chosen an unknown because he wanted a true-to-life image of his wife? Perhaps he couldn’t afford Isabey who was probably too busy anyway. Even as she wondered why the artist hadn’t signed his work, it occurred to her that if he was still apprenticed to a master he might not have been allowed to accept private commissions.

  That reminded Jess of her attempt to discover details of the child’s birth. She logged on to the FamilySearch International Index. Roxanne would have been torn between loyalty to her husband whom she loved, and to her stepfather, her only family after her mother’s death. It was he who had cared for her during her pregnancy and the birth of her child, then introduced her into society.

  Two hours later, after a complicated journey through several sub-sites, she found the birth registration for Gabrielle Zelie Lucille, born 30th May 1812. Mother: Roxanne-Zelie Montclare. Father: Bruno August von Dannenberg. Shock zinged along her nerves.

  She looked across at the portrait propped against the sofa. Roxanne’s stepfather had sired her child? Horror tightened Jess’s stomach as she remembered Lucille’s death from poisoning. Roxanne had been only fifteen when her mother died. If their relationship had been difficult, she would hardly have included her mother’s name among those chosen for her child. Giving her baby daughter her mother’s name was a token of love and respect.

  Jess got up, drawn to the portrait. An artist astute enough to have depicted the warmth in her smile and
sadness in her gaze would also have noted the steely self-regard of a seductress. Yet there was no sign of it.

  Had von Dannenberg married Lucille in order to get close to Roxanne? Had he – even then – been planning to use Roxanne to further his own ambitions and those of Prussia? Had Lucille’s poisoning been a deliberate act of murder to ensure Roxanne would turn to him for comfort?

  For a wealthy, powerful man skilled in charm and manipulation it would have been only a short step from comforting to seduction. Such a man would be a skilled lover. Roxanne would have been powerless; clay in the hands of a master sculptor.

  Jess knew she was making some big leaps. Yet she could imagine him telling Roxanne after he’d had his way how ashamed he was. She was so beautiful, so sweet and fresh, he had found her impossible to resist. In other words he would blame her for his actions.

  No matter how grown-up Roxanne had thought herself, she wouldn’t have stood a chance or known she was being played. Realising she was pregnant would have shocked and scared her. But there he was, calming her fears, promising to take care of her and the child.

  Had she wanted marriage? There was no way of knowing, nor were her wishes relevant. As he had been her late mother’s husband, marriage between them was impossible. If everything he had done had been for a purpose, to use her as bait with their child as leverage, he would have known this.

  Had he pretended sorrow that they could not be together? Perhaps he had presented himself as a martyr: he had to let her go, it wasn’t to be. His dearest wish was to see her happy. Their daughter would be safe and cared for with his relatives.

  Meanwhile she must have a new wardrobe. Why? She was young, and had been through so much. Now she deserved some fun, some excitement. The war was finally over. He would escort her to victory and celebration balls where she would mix with the titled and crowned heads of Europe. He knew – who better – how men love to impress a beautiful woman. All he asked was that she shared with him all she learned.

  Jess sat back. It was pure speculation. But it fitted.

  Chapter Nine

  The next week flew by. On Monday and Tuesday Jess read more about the Congress. When Vienna was chosen as the venue, her citizens were proud and delighted, not least because of potential to make money. All those attending would need accommodation. Property-owners cleared out spare rooms. Some even moved in with relatives so they could rent their apartments or houses at exorbitant rates.

  Britain’s Lord Castlereagh was the first to arrive, on 13th September. Others quickly followed, and over the next few weeks the city’s population increased by a third.

  Viennese who didn’t own property took jobs as lady’s maids, housemaids, servants, coachmen, grooms and any other position that might prove lucrative or offered a chance to pick up information and gossip they could pass on to Baron Hager in exchange for payment.

  But within a month, police were reporting that local people, horrified by the scandalous behaviour of the visitors, were wishing the Congress over.

  Kings and princes were expected to be remote, set apart from their subjects. So to see the Russian tsar, several kings and a number of princes at a ball or walking among ordinary people was shocking.

  Seen in the flesh for the first time, the royals were a terrible disappointment. The King of Wurttemberg was so grossly fat he waddled, Tsar Alexander favoured tight military uniforms that did not flatter his plump figure and had a habit of standing bent forward from the waist. Others were ill-tempered and bad-mannered. One titled lady described her meeting with the arrogant and empty-headed Russian Grand Duchess Catherine as the greatest misfortune of her life.

  Freed from the constraints of their own courts, the royals quickly found willing partners among Viennese ladies, actresses from Paris and the wives of shopkeepers, all hoping to win financial or other favours.

  At the Over-Sixties lunch on Wednesday conversation in the kitchen and the hall was about Mor’s wedding and who was bringing what for the reception buffet.

  Back at home Jess logged on to Baron Hager’s reports about Roxanne. The maid reported that Frau Carveth, now heavily pregnant, was concerned for her husband’s health due to the strain of Lord Stewart’s heavy drinking and wild behaviour.

  A nurse hired to attend Roxanne during her confinement reported overhearing Roxanne tell her husband that she had been giving her stepfather information about the British position on negotiations. When he asked why she would do such a thing, she said her stepfather had persuaded her it was a small thing, of no more importance than sharing gossip, but would smooth the way to a just settlement. He had made it sound so reasonable. And she was greatly in his debt.

  But it had been preying on her mind. Carveth was her family now, him and their coming baby. She begged his forgiveness, pleaded with him to try and understand the pressure she had been under and the guilt she had felt.

  Carveth had replied that as her mother’s husband it was his duty after her death to protect and care for Roxanne. Why should she feel guilt over that?

  Jess knew that passing information to her stepfather was only a small part of Roxanne’s guilt. Would she tell her husband about her first-born child? She continued reading, hoping to find out. A few pages later the nurse reported that Major Carveth had told her and the maid that with his wife so near her confinement, she would no longer be receiving visitors. This ban was to include her stepfather.

  Carveth would have known Vienna was full of spies. Aware that his own position might be jeopardised and with it his only source of income, he wouldn’t have wanted to risk open confrontation, or embarrassment to Stewart, by warning von Dannenberg off. Perhaps he had made a courtesy call on him and told him what he had told the maid and nurse.

  But the Prussian came anyway, timing his arrival to coincide with Carveth’s absence. The maid tried to deny him entry but he was charming and insistent, promising he would not stay long. He merely wished to assure himself of his stepdaughter’s wellbeing.

  After the maid admitted him, she and the nurse remained by the closed door in case Frau Carveth needed them. The maid reported hearing him ask why Carveth had tried to stop him seeing her. Frau Carveth had said she must end their arrangement. She loved her husband and he deserved her loyalty.

  The Prussian replied she should remember he was her daughter’s father and legal guardian. She had a choice: obey him, or never see her daughter again.

  Frau Carveth told him she would never forgive him, but accepted the loss of her daughter as her punishment and the price of her freedom. Then she had rung the bell. According to the maid he left with his mouth as tight as a trap and murder in his eyes.

  The same night Frau Carveth went into labour and gave birth to a son at seven the next morning.

  Jess didn’t want to stop reading now she was so close to finding out what had happened. But with Mor’s wedding in two days’ time, she had baking to do.

  On Friday morning Jess joined Viv, Annie and Claire in the hall. Working in pairs, they set up tables with four chairs to each. A long trestle table was placed a short distance from the stage to allow Mor and Ben comfortable space to move behind it for photographs.

  ‘Anyone know what time Gill is bringing the cake down tomorrow?’ Jess asked.

  ‘About ten,’ Viv shouted from the far side of the hall. ‘She want the top table all finished and ready before she go home to get changed for church. Jackie’s bringing the flowers for the tables at half-past nine. She said she’ll drop off all the buttonholes at Ben’s. Tom will be there, and Jimmy can pick his up when he take Percy and his wheelchair down to the church. Fred will meet him there. Then Jimmy’ll come back for me.’

  ‘I know Tom is best man,’ Claire said, ‘but does he really need to be at Ben’s so early?’ Jess and Viv exchanged a grin.

  ‘Listen, bird,’ Viv said. ‘Ben love Mor to bits. He been waiting years for them to get married. And because tomorrow mean so much to him, he’ll be all abroad. If it was left to him he’d be down the c
hurch at sun-up, just to make sure he wasn’t late. Tom will look after him. He’ll prob’ly have to shave ’n so Ben don’t end up cutting his own throat.’

  Annie and Claire set up three more tables by the door and covered two with a blue paper square topped with a white one. Boxes of glasses supplied by the pub were unpacked, polished and placed in neat rows, wine glasses on one; beer glasses on the other.

  ‘What about this one?’ Claire gestured to the third table.

  Annie rolled her eyes. ‘That’s for the beer barrels. Joe will bring them over in the morning. They can’t shut the pub, so I expect him and Tim Knuckey, that’s his girl Michelle’s fiancé, will split bar duty between them.’

  As Jess moved around the hall, spreading each table with a starched white cloth, Viv followed adding a scatter of rose-petal confetti. Once they had finished they went into the kitchen and set out cups and saucers behind the closed serving hatch. They checked the tea plates were spotlessly clean, interleaved them with paper napkins folded into triangles and carried them into the hall, placing four on each table. The rest remained stacked to one side of the cups and saucers within easy reach.

  As she worked, only half of Jess’s mind was on what she was doing. The other half recalled her own wedding, her hopes for her future with Alex. Her devastating discoveries in the aftermath of his sudden death had soured her memories. But time – while not erasing the shock – had blunted the hurt.

  The past could not be changed. And good had come out of the bad. She had come back to the village, rediscovered old friendships and made new ones. She and Tom had found each other again. But … but … She was not the girl he had left. They had both lived, loved others, grown and changed. She did love him. But did she love him enough to give up her home and her independence?

  They would make a good team. He had promised her a free hand with his house, and if she took over the admin he would be free to focus on expanding the yard and workforce to offer a wider range of services.