Page 32 of The Rum and The Fox

Chapter 14

Blue devilled - to be in low spirits

- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.

Keziah lay on her bed and thought that perhaps the doctor had a point. If she’d just listened to him, she’d have kept out of trouble and might possibly feel a lot better into the bargain.

Raising one hand, she pressed at her temples, a headache was pounding behind her eyes, low and stubborn, and everything hurt. Whichever side she lay on pressed against some bruise or other, and the back of her head was so tender it hurt to lie against the pillow.

She was relieved that Formby’s attention seemed to have moved away from Ash, but could not take the swing in her own direction with as much satisfaction. Surely, though, there must have been people who’d seen her and Molly running through the streets, and still others who had heard the shot sometime later. There were plenty of witnesses in the house to say what time she’d arrived and that she’d been in no state to go out again. The doctor could verify that, as could several maids.

Yet no matter how she went over this unassailable evidence, a prickle of terror ran down her spine at regular intervals as she remembered the shrewd look in the inspector’s eyes. He knew damn well he was being lied to; what was truth and what was fiction might elude him for now, but Keziah couldn’t help but believe him the persistent sort.

She was contemplating this and sunk into a melancholy when there came a sharp knock at her door. Sitting up, she put a hand to her hair and was about to call enter when Lady Margaret Ashwicke swept in of her own accord.

Though Keziah had never seen the lady in person, it could be no other. She moved with the surety of a duchess and was too old to be Ash’s mother. No, from all she had heard about the dowager duchess and her iron will, this was her.

Keziah scowled, but got to her feet and dipped a curtsey.

The dowager was silent as she looked Keziah over, an assessing look in eyes that bore a startling resemblance to her grandson’s, but without his inherent kindness and good nature.

“Come,” she said, turning away again. “We shall take a walk in the gardens.”

For a moment, Keziah was horrified that her courage failed her. She felt bruised and unwell and not up to the challenge of facing the dowager and any likely inquisition that would undoubtedly follow.

“But the doctor said …” she began.

“Nonsense.” Lady Margaret’s voice cut through her protest as the woman turned back to her. For the first time, Keziah felt a surge of sympathy for Ash. The woman exuded authority and a fair amount of charisma. It was the kind of mixture of aggression and charm that her father had been so adept at. It would take a very strong will indeed to resist such a force as the dowager. “A walk in the fresh air will do you the power of good. I won’t keep you long.”

There was obviously no polite way of denying her as she held out a warm-looking shawl to Keziah, apparently not having had the slightest doubt of getting her own way.

With a nod of acquiescence, Keziah took the shawl and followed Lady Margaret outside.

“Oh, what a beautiful garden,” Keziah exclaimed as they walked outside.

The dowager looked around and bestowed a smile on her that was almost warm.

“You could have said nothing greater to put me into a good mood, my dear,” she said, looking around with an air of satisfaction.

It was a traditional English rose garden, divided by neat paths into four distinct quarters and thickly under-planted with a mass of perennials and shrubs. Though most of the plants were not in bloom yet, the bulbs were, and daffodils and tulips in riotous colours studded the fresh, vibrant green of spring and made even Keziah’s heavy heart fill with joy at the sight of them.

They walked the path in silence for a little while until the dowager caught Keziah’s eye.

“You were quite right, of course,” Keziah said. “It has done me good. I should have moped to death all by myself, but …” She took a deep breath and just smiled at the sight of the lovely garden. “But this is marvellous.”

The dowager nodded and took her arm. “I can’t take much of the credit,” she admitted, as they turned to retrace their steps. Keziah saw a figure bent over one of the beds and Lady Margaret called out to him. “Tobias!”

The fellow looked up and then straightened, walking over to them as they waited.

“This is Tobias Mortimer,” Lady Margaret said, and Keziah felt the old woman’s eyes on her as he was introduced. “He’s head gardener here and quite indispensable. Aren’t you, Tobias?” the old woman said.

Tobias just grinned and touched his fingers to his cap. “Aye, your grace. Reckon so.”

Keziah did her best to keep her face neutral throughout this conversation, but it wasn’t easy. If ever there had been a physical embodiment of everything she had dreamed of in a man, this was he.

Tall, broad shouldered, handsome and with an indefinable air of confidence, he was the kind to make women swoon. Perhaps in his mid-thirties and with blonde hair and angelic blue eyes, if it weren’t for his lowly station, he’d be the kind of man who’d cut a swathe through the women of the ton.

“And how are my roses coming along?” Lady Margaret demanded.