Page 16 of The Vanished Sister

Pulling up before the manor, she became aware of another vehicle disgorging its passengers. When she and Lord Ingram alit, she saw an uncommonly good-looking gentleman standing before the entrance, next to a woman who was at best commonly good-looking.

Past a certain age, much was needed to maintain an appearance that conformed to the accepted standards of beauty: a confluence of robust health, comfortable circumstances, and meticulous care. The young could be heedlessly beautiful; the old and unmindful only came across as varying degrees of unkempt.

The gentleman, whom she guessed must be her brother-in-law, was the very opposite of unkempt. His hair was still mostly dark, with a few attractive touches of silver. His posture was ramrod-straight yet graceful. His tweed suit, in a shade of faded olive green, managed to be at once crisp and relaxed-looking.

The woman hanging on to his arm was no match for him in terms of visual appeal. Her belt, a wide sash trimmed with lavish sprigs of purple silk flowers, did not favor anyone who did not possess an eighteen-inch waist. Her travel dress came across as both rumpled and uncomfortable. And the elaborate cutouts on her boots—Mrs. Watson hadn’t worn such coquettish designs since she was twenty-five.

The gentleman greeted Lord Ingram and Mrs. Watson. “Ma’am, you must be my sister-in-law. And Lord Ingram, I presume?”

He turned to the woman. “Allow me to present Mrs. Watson, Mrs. Carstairs’s sister, and Lord Ingram, our neighbor on the other side of Combe Martin. Lord Ingram also happens to be Mrs. Newell’s neighbor in Derbyshire. And Mrs. Newell’s granddaughter—”

“Just became engaged to your younger son. How wonderful,” enthused the woman. “I do love an engagement and I do love friends and family coming together to celebrate such a joyful event.”

Mr. Carstairs introduced the woman as Mrs. Albright, cousin to the first Mrs. Carstairs. As they were ushered into the house, Mrs. Albright chatted happily to Mrs. Watson. She’d married a Canadian and resided with him in remote Alberta. But now that Mr. Albright was no more, she planned to spend more time in dear old England.

Justina descended the stairs just then. Mrs. Watson pressed her lips together, steeling herself. Justina came forward and held Mrs. Watson’s hands. “Joanna, I’m so glad you could be here. Lord Ingram, I’m delighted you decided to join us.”

She turned toward Mrs. Albright. “And how good of you to come, Mrs. Albright.”

“The pleasure is entirely mine, ma’am.” Mrs. Albright looked from Justina to Mrs. Watson and back again and shook her head slightly. “How beautiful the two of you are. And what a lovely house, in such a spectacular part of the country. I am beyond fortunate to be here.”

Justina’s husband smiled fondly at Mrs. Albright. “You must be weary. Let me show you to your room. My lord, Mrs. Watson, I hope to see you at dinner?”

“Of course,” murmured Lord Ingram.

Mrs. Watson didn’t say a word: She was astonished. Granted, it sounded as if Mr. Carstairs knew Mrs. Albright well. But still, shouldn’t he have entrusted the squiring of this cousin-in-law to the hostess, if he didn’t want to relegate the task to a servant? This display of friendliness, while not exactly inappropriate, was enough to raise Mrs. Watson’s brows—and hackles.

Justina did not raise her brows, nor did she betray any other emotions. But her gaze followed her husband and Mrs. Albright, still arm-in-arm, talking animatedly, up the staircase. Only when they’d disappeared did she say, “Lord Ingram, Mr. Gables will show you to your room. Joanna, I’ll take you to yours.”

Mrs. Watson, unable to help herself, peered at Justina several times as they made their silent way upstairs. But Justina remained a picture of serenity—she didn’t even seem to be gritting her teeth.

After they stepped inside Mrs. Watson’s accommodation, a large airy room that looked inland toward sharply undulating downs, Justina showed her the bellpull. “Miss Redmayne did not come?”

Mrs. Watson shook her head—she’d put her foot down.

Justina sighed. “Surely you know I would never harm you or yours. You’re my little sister. I promised Mamma on her deathbed that I would look after you.”

Joanna had been there at their mother’s deathbed, and Justina had indeed made the promise. But what had Justina said after their grandfather’s funeral, mere days before Joanna departed for London?

Do you remember my promise to Mamma to always look after you? Promises are not made in a vacuum, Joanna. Mine was predicated on the assumption that you would remain good. But you have decided to abandon virtue for profit, so today I retract my promise. If you come back, ready to put your pride aside, I will make sure you don’t starve. But until then, you’re on your own.

Frankly, Mrs. Watson had expected a slap to go with those parting words. But Justina had embraced her, a rib-cracking hug, as if she never wanted to let go. Or as if she wanted to destroy all sisterly affections in that moment of crushing impact.

“I don’t think you’d take a knife and stick it in my back,” said Mrs. Watson, suddenly a little overcome. “But you’ve always been the kind to decide for other people what’s best for them. I don’t trust that tendency and I don’t trust that what you believe to be best for others isn’t merely what’s best for you clothed in righteous concern. So forgive me if I don’t wish to bring Penelope under your roof, where I don’t even believe myself to be entirely safe.”

Justina smiled slightly. “You know, when you left for London, I steeled myself for your death. You were such an innocent fool, headed into the forest like Little Red Riding Hood. But I underestimated you—you always possessed an innate cunning. You’re right not to bring my niece here. Nobody is safe in this house, Joanna; nobody.”

Six

House parties being what they were, even for a stay of only two days, the quantity of garments required verged on the ridiculous. Lord Ingram packed kits for walking, sailing, and tennis playing, in addition to ensembles for everything from a game of cards in the afternoon to formal dinners in the evening, along with the necessary footgear, headgear, and accessories.

Some ladies were known to change five times a day. But even a man, aspiring not to stylishness but to mere conformity, became a traveling wardrobe. Only a mile, as the crow flies, separated Sans Souci from High Burrow. But to cover that mile, it was incumbent upon him to don travel attire. And now that he’d arrived, he needed something that signaled he was once again at his comfort.

Fortunately, High Burrow had a competent butler who understood the demands house parties made on not only the hosts but the guests. The footman who delivered Lord Ingram’s luggage did not consider his work done when he’d set down the valises but proceeded to iron everything Lord Ingram would need for the rest of the day and the next morning.

Mr. Gables, the butler, returned with refreshments. The small, efficient man poured for Lord Ingram, then dismissed the footman and took over the ironing.

Lord Ingram was highborn enough not to be surprised by Mr. Gables personally serving him his tea, but he was a bit astonished at the man starching his shirt. The senior servants of a grand household were its administrators and overseers; menial tasks were for their underlings.